Caterwauling

Not so much fun this time. Oh well. Something to do when avoiding work, right?

1. Did you vote in your last elections?

Of course I did. And my vote counted, because NOVA isn’t getting a sales tax increase. At least, not yet. 🙂

2. Do you know who your elected representatives are?

Hell no. I used to follow that stuff when I lived in Pittsburgh, and I still followed those elections. But not down here — ironic because of my location. 🙂

3. Have you ever contacted an elected representative? If so, what was it about?

Hmm. I remember writing to a newspaper because I was pissed off about the Hatch Act (early 1990s — I was 16) — it was published. Oh, wait, when I worked at my last job, I contacted our state and local representatives and senators to attend press conferences and to write letters of support for the agency for grants for which we applied. I DID write to Ronald Reagan when I was 10 years old, ranting about the effects of the steel mills closing down in Pittsburgh in 1984. I described the struggles of our families who now had a laid-off head of household. I somehow thought Reagan was responsible for it. I got a letter and a cool book about the Oval Office for my efforts. 🙂

4. Have you ever participated in a demonstration?

Yep. Mostly rallies though, for mental health and the Democratic party (I don’t have any political affiliation anymore). IKEA Boy and I attended a Ku Klux Klan meeting in Pittsburgh — actually, they were having a rally and we were with the protesters. Not that we were protesting it, actually. We were on the student newspaper at college and we simply went out to get the story. It was fucking scary inside the cage. We stayed outside and just observed, as we expected pandemonium to erupt at any moment. Pittsburgh is very much a black-vs.-white city, so everyone felt passionate about either the rights of the Klan to meet or the audacity of the Klan to exist. My opinions at the time fell somewhere in the middle of the extremes, so I was just an impartial observer.

My participation in demonstrations has, of late, been limited to voting and to signing petitions. (That reminds me, I need to renew my NOW membership and make a donation to NARAL and the ACLU when I get a raise, hopefully in January.)

5. Have you ever volunteered in an election? What was the result?

No. I did have friends who campaigned for local leaders when I was in high school, but I didn’t participate. I wish I had, though.

The Pub Club converged last night at Ruby Tuesday. Everyone was happy with the level of service except me. I don’t care how hot the bartender was, I still thought he was a dumbass. I mean, Christ, he kept removing my empty glasses and not bothering to refill them or even ask me if I wanted something else. And while I do demand service on a normal occasion, I was in no mood to beg him to let me spend money. The way I see it, he’s dependent upon tips, and if he keeps serving me drinks, that ups the bar bill. Further, the happier (and let’s face it, drunker) I am, the better the tips. We were there five hours, and I had four drinks, and that’s only because Shan and O were begging the guy to serve me. He did fine by them, but again, they were not shy about calling attention to their empty glasses. And Ed (the bartender) is damn lucky that Shan and O paid the tabs and tips, because I am a lot less forgiving, considering that nobody else was in the fucking bar but us and IKEA Boy.

At any rate, the night ended badly. IKEA Boy offered to drive O home, which pissed her off. He had to leave, so Shan and I decided that if he thought she wasn’t in good enough shape to drive, then perhaps we should pick up on his lead and make the same offer. She was FURIOUS!!! She began ranting that she’s a grown woman and that we don’t know her and that we need to just back the fuck off. It got ugly. Very, very ugly. She started crying and raging and essentially, making a fool out of herself — which only served to prove that she was entirely too toasted to get behind a wheel.

I’ll be perfectly honest — I love O, I’d do anything for her, but my concern was just as much for innocent pedestrians and drivers on the road as it was for her own personal safety. I’ve been in a car that was smashed by a drunk driver. I’m lucky to have lived. I drive when I’m tipsy, but it’s probably no worse than when I’m sober, because I am an erratic, hyper driver by nature. And we learned the hard way that O is one belligerent drunk, and when you’re trying to take the keys away from someone in that state and they aren’t letting you, you feel the beginnings of survivor’s guilt — not to be a fatalist, but you know to start preparing yourself in the event that bad news involving that person comes your way.

At any rate, O said she’s had it with the Pub Club, we’re all assholes, fuck us, and don’t think that she will ever be a part of any drinking activities with us again. Whatever. Perhaps the Pub Club, as it is, needs to change. I go drinking with Shan, and I go drinking with IKEA Boy, and no drama like this ever occurs. Maybe the three of us should keep the club going. Like Shan says, we all have too fucking much drama in our personal and work lives to deal with anybody else’s drama.

I don’t mean to sound like a bad friend or even a callous ass, but I’ve got better (or at least, more pressing) things to worry about. But I do hope she got home OK. I haven’t wandered down the hall yet to see if she bothered showing up today. I hope she did, because, I’ll admit, I’ll be thinking about her all weekend.