I was baptized Catholic, but I am not the kind of girl to kneel and pray. However, I did fall prey to one element of the World Youth Day spectacle that would put me gladly on my knees. Not to pray, though.
Hel-lo. There were gorgeous cops everywhere! Am I the only one who noticed? Yummy! Mama's hungry!
Fortunately for them, and especially for me, their role was confined to an aesthetically pleasing side dish during Praise The Pope week. Let's give them credit for representing our city so well. There were those insidious Catholic wannabes stopped dead in their tracks from handing out condoms to the pure Christian youth. And let's not forget the arduous task of moving the pro-lifers from directly outside the abortion clinic to the other side of the street. Whew! Our boys really worked up a sweat! And I looo-ooooooooved watching them do it.
Had I joined in any part of World Youth Day's celebration of Catholicism, which I hold in utter contempt for its hypocrisy and archaic ideas that oppress women, stifle the imagination and impede social progress, it would have been for the view our city's law enforcement. Praise Jesus, the Pope came and brought the pigs out of the woodwork. The Pope made a pigfucker out of me. Amen.
Is it a prerequisite now for new male recruits to be so devastatingly handsome? My jaw dropped and I stared unabashedly as I passed man after man in blue -- tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut, cocky and swaggering along. Those determined jaw lines, those dark, mysterious shades. That direct gaze and confident stance. The unflinching power! The hard-edged authority! Spank me now! It's enough to make a girl go to an OCAP protest just for some bodily contact.
Here, however, is where I'm torn. My raging lust turns to shame when I imagine my gorgeous officers of the law tear-gassing my activist friends. Shame, lust, shame, lust... Jesus, Mary and Joseph! The irony is putting a beatific expression on my usually surly face. Help! Police! Get me off! Er, I mean get it off.
Admittedly, I have in the past had a thing for men in uniform: big, hunky nightclub security, tight and efficient military men, the hard-hatted men of construction, paramedics, firemen, waiters, grocery clerks, postal workers, cable repair men. Heck, all you need is a tool belt and I'm all a-quiver. What draws me to these men more than others, I think, is their uniformity. Never having felt like I wholly fit into any particular social group, perhaps I long to be part of that which eludes me -- the solidarity, the conformity -- and therefore, of course, I must bare my breasts whenever I'm pulled over for speeding... but I digress.
While Catholic youth got high on Pope dope and washed away their sins with Pope-on-a-rope, I found all that was holy and illuminating in what's already a fixed part of our city's makeup -- our super-hot cops!
Am I a nasty, obscene, blasphemous girl?
I'm gonna get me some of that servin' and protectin' before the cops head back to the protest marches and start using their big, lovely sticks for less peaceful purposes.
Sigh. I suppose I could always cruise the property units.