Parking is especially difficult for me, seeing as how I own a Ponitac Bonneville, a car so large it can comfortably seat the entire population of Rhode Island. It also gets about 2 miles to the gallon. Every year, Exxon sends me a big Christmas card (along with a dead oil-covered piece of Alaskan wildlife. I guess they've still got a lot leftover).
As it turns out, I have to spend most of my time trying to parallel park. This is even more difficult for a big car because I often find myself trying to parallel park into spaces that, in theory, shouldn't be possible, seeing as how the space is typically several inches smaller than my car. But, as I've learned, if you move back and forth enough, you can eventually bump the other cars a few inches out of their way. Either that or accidentally knock off their bumper, which also gives you plenty of space.
This strategy does not work with motorcycles. Parallel parking next to a motorcycle is one of the most stressful moments of my life, seeing as how when I try to park, my mind is playing for me every movie where the hero knocks over a row of motorcycles which undoubtedly belong to a group of guys who eat radial tires as a snack.
But parking does have its benefits -- you become part of a big city-wide society along with other people who need to park, developing your own system of signals and gestures -- one meaning, "Hey? Are you about to get in that car and leave?" another meaning, "No, I just went back to the car 'cuz I forgot my purse." another meaning, "Listen, missy, I'm driving a car bigger than most studio apartments, so you'd better get in that car and drive away right now." and one other that means, "I have a gun."
Plus, having a car gives you a good perspective on romantic relationships. All of parking is just a metaphor for the dating scene. Think about it: you always start off aiming for the perfect spot; you know, the one right in front of your house. The problem is that the perfect one is always taken. So you start looking for ones further and further away from your original ideal, but still keeping your standards high. Then, after some fruitless searching, fear strikes. You think, "What happens if I never find a spot at all? What happens if I never ever find a parking space again?!" At that point, you begin to search for a space... any space... now matter how crummy it might be. Even if it's some temporary space and you know you're going to have to find another one the next day... you're just glad to be parking again.
Of course, it's only after you've settled on a parking space that really isn't all that great that you realize the perfect space, the one you were looking for all along, is finally available. But by that point, you don't want to bother getting in your car again, so you let it pass.
But I don't mean to be cynical. Sometimes it works out -- sometimes yous get that perfect space if you wait long enough. And sometimes it turns out the spot you thought wasn't very good is really perfect for you, while the perfect spot turns out to be under a tree full of pooping pigeons.
Well, okay, the piegons part is kind of hard to translate into the whole relationship metaphor, but you get my drift.