In Which I Try To Regain My Rantedness...

I used to be a lot funnier, and I think I'm losing my edge. I'm thinking it's Big Pharma that's done this to me. They're making me nicer, more thoughtful, more what-the-fuckish. Things and people that used to bother me, to get me fired up for a rant worth reading--now, I'm all "eh, aren't people interesting...." So I'm going to cut back on the dosage and see what happens. And practice being mean again.

As in:

I went to a meeting the other day --okay, it was yesterday, but I'm trying to disguise the facts so as not to hurt anyone's feelings. Ooops, scratch that. I went to a meeting yesterday, a meeting of people who live in my area of Elk Grove. We meet regularly because it's the only way we can get to know each other since our houses are constructed so that once we glide into our garages and push the down button on the door, we are hidden from the world. One might, if one were of a philosophical bent, say we stop existing. This in itself is worthy of a rant, but I'll save that for another time.

My topic today is: the meeting. We go around the room and introduce ourselves and say what our street is so that we can at least nod knowingly--oh, yeah, I remember that street...where is it again? I go first because I'm in the first seat, first row where us good girls always sit. I say my name, and then blank on my street. Which doesn't suprise me because it's such a dumb name for a street! And it has an apostrophe in it! Whatever. My point here--and yes, schmuck, I do have one--is the way in which every couple in that room introduced himself. Indeed, you read that pronoun right. "I'm Joe Blow, and this is my wife Wilma." Then Wilma would smile slightly or nod and the next Joe Blow would stand up. I was, to say the least, appalled. Is this not 2007? (I was going to write 1990, but--gee, how time passes when you're having fun.) Are these wives not entities of their own? Do they not speak? And if not, why not? This wasn't just an isolated incident; every couple in the room did this. And IT PISSED ME OFF....!

Topic number two: The cops came to the meeting. Yes, they were invited, and they drank our water and ate our cookies and one even brought her not-very-well-behaved child. The girl cops were in uniform, which fit quite stylishly and made me want to go right out and take the Civil Service exam. The boy cop--well, he was wearing a T shirt that had the name of his department, a kind of generic thing that they probably give out to the SWAT teams to wear under their armor. And he had a black leather belt to which was affixed his badge (which is VERY large). It wasn't a Sam Browne belt, I don't think. Maybe it was his Saturday meeting belt. In addition to his badge, it had his gun. A little snub-nosed something or other. And a little leather pocket in front of it that looked like it might be a good place to keep postage stamps. And on his other hip, he had--his phone. Well, duh. Of course. My point here--and yes, asshole, I do have one is this. After he introduced himself, with name and rank (and the serial number remember was on his badge), he told us he was undercover. So if we saw him on the street, we shouldn't greet him by name, rank and serial number. Or be hurt if he didn't say hi back. We should just walk on by.... Well, this perturbs me. I mean, doesn't under cover mean you're incognito? Hasn't he, by telling us this, just blown his cover?

And finally: a private, personal rant to you, over there, that neighbor who I have met on several occasions and who even when sitting across from me at a table, acts as if I'm not visible. I don't want to see you either. And get a better bra. Your nipples are pointing southward.