incredulous

one of my rather infamous rants to follow.
if you're in an exceptionally good mood,
and your parade would rather not be rained on,
stop reading now.



i rolled up to work this morning in a rainy haze --- it's pouring buckets in the suburbs, and strangely it's kind of refreshing. the broken gutter outside my front window was spewing water like a garden hose on full blast --- something about the sound of water makes it seem like all is getting clean.

but back to my rant --- i rolled up to work and managed to find the one spot still open near the front door. we don't have patients today, so i can park by the building. thank goodness, because otherwise i would've gotten soaked.

{sidenote: i had the thought yesterday afternoon that i'd better cut a few lilacs from the bushes around the building, in case it rained today and they all got smashed. for once my foresight paid off. i only cut 2 small blossoms, but they're safely in vases in my apartment. end sidenote.}

so i'm walking to the door and i see one of those sporty Cadillac STS sedans. the license plate reads: GUCCI 23.

what the HELL kind of world am i living in??? first of all, who puts "GUCCI" on their license plate? how pretentious and snobby is that? the only way i would excuse it would be if this person was the president of Gucci Chicago or something, but even then, i mean COME ON. we already know you're rich because of the car you drive. didja really need to put "GUCCI" on your car's ass too?

i scowled at the car (poor car, it's a beautiful machine, and really none of this is its fault) and began to wonder who this car could belong to that would be in this rather drab building. as i walked up the stairs and heard the frilly shrieks coming from the suite next door to ours, i knew.

see, next door there's a pilates studio. all day long, lines of chattering women with perfectly blown out hair and coordinating gym outfits parade in and out of this place. the weird and most infuriating thing? they're all skinny as sticks. their muscles are obviously toned, their legs long and lean, their hands manicured and holding Starbucks lattes. why else do they DO pilates, except to breathe into their hot pink Motorola Razrs, "ahhhh, dahling, i must go, i'm off to pilaahhhtes."




maybe one day i'll be rich (and stupid) enough to exercise for no reason.