Early in the semester, I wrote one of my blogs about how angry and disappointed I was with events that had transpired in my sorority.
This past weekend was our initiation weekend. It was amazing.
I had another sudden moment of clarity, while we were all bearing our souls to each other, and now I will try to share that dawning of comprehension with you.
The question was: “what is something in or about DZ that you are grateful for?”
I am grateful that DZ is a rollercoaster ride. My mom has always said that life is a rollercoaster, and that the low points make the high points higher.
Let’s face the truth. We don’t get along all of the time. In fact, we can be cruel to one another, and say some really mean things.
I think it is funny that I learn the most when there are problems, and when life isn’t easy.
Last semester, Erika and I almost killed each other, and yet, here we are still friends. A few days ago, Baxter and I had a huge fight over text messaging, and yet two hours later we were fine.
What is so amazing about us is that we don’t give up. So many people just stop trying when life gets hard, people will just drop their friends when life gets rough and they start fighting.
I have so many “ex best friends” it’s disgusting.
That is what is so amazing about us. No matter how we treat each other, we can move on and be fine. As soon as we get all of those thoughts and feelings out of our system, we move on.
I am grateful that each semester is so different. Each semester, the people we are close to change. I never would have thought a year ago, that Bianca and I would be going grocery shopping together and actually be able to have a conversation the whole time.
I’m grateful that we truly are sisters. No matter what happens and how much we hate each other one day, we can still come together to help each other.
This semester was extremely hard on this house. I’m proud and grateful of the fact, that I can look around this room and say that you really are my sisters. We’ve pulled through everything and we are stronger and better for it.
If any of you ever need anything – I don’t care if it’s three in the morning and you are stuck in the middle of nowhere – call me and I’ll be there. I’m grateful that I feel like I can say the same thing about every woman in this room.
Thank you guys for that.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Here's to the boys who lost me
Tonight, as I was driving home after seeing the boyfriend, I stumbled upon a surprising realization: I haven’t truly been single since I was 15. I mean, yes, I have been single, but there has always been some kind of intimate male presence in my life.
This sudden awareness of my past led me on an interesting path through the last six years. It is amazing how painful an event can be while you are in the midst of it, and yet, years later, looking back upon those days, you can be grateful that whatever transpired did happen.
For the past year and a half, I have been furious at my ex. I was betrayed, abused, and he left me broken hearted and confused. Tonight, as I drove home, I forgave him. I realized that as painful as all that was, I wouldn’t be with my current boyfriend, and finally happy, if he hadn’t pushed me to the breaking point.
Looking back, I realized that if I hadn’t been with any of them, I never would have met the next one. As much as I despise many of them, I’ve decided to get over it. If it weren’t for my mistakes, I wouldn’t be my amazing self now.
To all the jackasses that I’ve had in my past: thank you for being undeserving butt heads, because I’ve finally realized how truly amazing I am, and how much I deserve from whoever I choose to be with.
Thank you.
This sudden awareness of my past led me on an interesting path through the last six years. It is amazing how painful an event can be while you are in the midst of it, and yet, years later, looking back upon those days, you can be grateful that whatever transpired did happen.
For the past year and a half, I have been furious at my ex. I was betrayed, abused, and he left me broken hearted and confused. Tonight, as I drove home, I forgave him. I realized that as painful as all that was, I wouldn’t be with my current boyfriend, and finally happy, if he hadn’t pushed me to the breaking point.
Looking back, I realized that if I hadn’t been with any of them, I never would have met the next one. As much as I despise many of them, I’ve decided to get over it. If it weren’t for my mistakes, I wouldn’t be my amazing self now.
To all the jackasses that I’ve had in my past: thank you for being undeserving butt heads, because I’ve finally realized how truly amazing I am, and how much I deserve from whoever I choose to be with.
Thank you.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
The Babies are Almost JIs!!!
Two semesters in a row, I have had the honor of getting a little sis. I absolutely adore both of them, and I am honored that they chose me to be their big.
I love that my house is different from the others. We have three “pals” throughout the semester. They are secret pin pals for the new members, they last a week, and they are an opportunity for the new members to get to know initiates better. It is also an excuse for the new members to come over to the house and hang out with initiates; it is an icebreaker of sorts.
Another differentiation is that we do everything much later in the semester. We wait until after Halloween to pair our new members with a big sis, and we have our initiation in the last few weeks of school. I think this is a huge benefit of our house. This extra time allows the new members to get to know the girls before they pick their big and it allows them to feel as though they are truly members of our house before they are initiated.
Despite the benefits that these little differences make for our new members I must say that it creates many problems for the initiates. I absolutely adore both of my littles, but it is extremely burdensome that I must take time away from studying for midterms and writing papers, in order to make each of them their own scrap book as well as bulletin boards, clip boards and even more gifts to shower them with.
I love that my house is different from the others. We have three “pals” throughout the semester. They are secret pin pals for the new members, they last a week, and they are an opportunity for the new members to get to know initiates better. It is also an excuse for the new members to come over to the house and hang out with initiates; it is an icebreaker of sorts.
Another differentiation is that we do everything much later in the semester. We wait until after Halloween to pair our new members with a big sis, and we have our initiation in the last few weeks of school. I think this is a huge benefit of our house. This extra time allows the new members to get to know the girls before they pick their big and it allows them to feel as though they are truly members of our house before they are initiated.
Despite the benefits that these little differences make for our new members I must say that it creates many problems for the initiates. I absolutely adore both of my littles, but it is extremely burdensome that I must take time away from studying for midterms and writing papers, in order to make each of them their own scrap book as well as bulletin boards, clip boards and even more gifts to shower them with.
I think it is extremely important to give our babies – yes, that is what I call them – the time they need to become comfortable in our house and with our initiates, I also feel that it is detrimental to our initiates and their academic performance.
I adore both of my littles, but the time that I have been spending on their scrapbooks would have been much better spent on my paper due next Monday. I guess my new little is just going to have to settle for a half finished scrapbook, just like her twin did.
Oh well. I love you little!
I adore both of my littles, but the time that I have been spending on their scrapbooks would have been much better spent on my paper due next Monday. I guess my new little is just going to have to settle for a half finished scrapbook, just like her twin did.
Oh well. I love you little!
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Not so complicated
Really boys, women aren’t as confusing as you think we are. Most women would argue that your sex is much more confusing than ours is.
Women are easy to figure out. We want you to respect us, desire us and care about us. We will never understand how it is that we can take care of you, and adore you, and you fail to return the same affection.
Lately, I’ve heard a few of my male friends complaining about the girls that they were interested in. Apparently, girls can be cruel towards men as well. Is it bad that I find it reassuring to know that men are hurt by us as well?
Every time I hear one of these stories, all I can do is try to imagine what a man did to her to make her that way.
Women are easy to figure out. We want you to respect us, desire us and care about us. We will never understand how it is that we can take care of you, and adore you, and you fail to return the same affection.
Lately, I’ve heard a few of my male friends complaining about the girls that they were interested in. Apparently, girls can be cruel towards men as well. Is it bad that I find it reassuring to know that men are hurt by us as well?
Every time I hear one of these stories, all I can do is try to imagine what a man did to her to make her that way.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Untitled
Currently, my house is going through our slate process. I have been slated for three executive board positions. The following is my essay that was due when I had my interview.
Recently, I had an eye opening experience. I had a glimpse into the life of one of my sisters, who I see to be the epitome of sisterhood and who I hold in the highest of regards. This semester has been quite hard for Delta Zeta; we have gone through a lot in a very short amount of time, we have experienced the failure to communicate as well as the pain that is caused by gossip. What I experienced has given me a different perception of our house and the women who make it.
Every initiated member of Delta Zeta was in some way responsible for the mess we created this semester. We, myself included, have been guilty of gossiping, creating dissent, and in general adding fuel to the fire of unrest, dissatisfaction, and cliquishness that had arisen within our house. We all played a role in this and a great majority of the distrust and gossip grew from the fear of, and failure to, confront and connect with sisters.
My recent experience made me realize how close and, at the same time, how distant we really are. I believe the general tension that our house experienced this semester was normal, and in some ways healthy. Personally, I only express my frustration when I am comfortable and when I know that I am in a safe environment. This does not justify any wrong actions I may have made; it is a fault in my character, which I am working to resolve. However, it did show me how safe I truly feel here and with my sisters.
Women within our house have acted catty and cruel towards one another this semester. This behavior has created division between the different groups in our house. Since sisterhood retreat, I do believe that the overall feeling of the house has lightened a bit. I still feel that there is a lot of work to be done before our house is healed and we are all able to forgive each other for our malicious, shallow and selfish behavior. I believe that this change has to start with our executive board. This semester it has felt as though the executive board is separated from the rest of the house. I know that some feel as though they are one of the many cliques, separated by power and socioeconomic status as well as their relationship with certain alumni.
The incoming executive board needs to be able to stay connected with the members of the house. I am not saying that this separation solely rests on the shoulders of our current executive board. This is just one way that our entire house has failed to act like sisters. It is just as much of my responsibility to connect with my executive board, as it is theirs to connect with me.
This sense of separation does not end with our executive board. Our entire house has become divided into cliques. We have separated ourselves into the small groups we connect with best. In general, that is not a terrible thing; it is important to have a close relationship with a select few and it is a given that with 50 plus sisters we will only have an intimate relationship with a few over the course of our time in Delta Zeta. However, it is extremely important that we are able to form relationships with everyone in Delta Zeta; that we may truly be members of a sisterhood.
I believe the problem we find ourselves facing is that no one wants to make the first move. We all seem to believe that we have been wronged or hurt by another and it is therefore someone else’s responsibility to act first. This, I believe, is the underlying issue our house is facing. If we could all stop acting so hurt, then we could move forward and start healing our house.
There is one particular sister who I have always believed hated me, or even worse, was completely indifferent to my existence. It has been my personal goal to connect with her this semester. By no means, have we become close and I doubt she has noticed any difference in my behavior, yet I do feel that in the pursuit of my goal, we have become more connected and I finally feel as though if I needed her she would be someone I could turn to.
If I could implement any program into Delta Zeta next semester, it would be creating goals such as mine for every sister. We all have women we are distant with, the purpose of this would not be to make a new best friend, but would be to break down the barriers which keep us from experiencing sisterhood. If we could each pick one sister we are angry with, were hurt by, or just do not know, and make the effort to reach out to her over the semester, I believe it would change the dynamics of our house.
This process should begin during recruitment school and I would recommend that this be added to the duties of our executive board. If it were plausible, I would have members of the executive board meet with individual women and come up with personal goals for the semester. The executive board would then become a support system and provide our house with a safe avenue to create these new relationships. It would definitely be a process of trial and error to get this program to work; however, in the end I think it would drastically affect the overall moral of our house.
People project their fears and insecurities onto others and assume that those feelings belong to them. Our house is full of this behavior. The only way to stop it is to make an effort to connect with one another.
Last night, I had a glimpse into another sister’s life and I realized how wrong about her I had been. I still hold her up as the example by which all sorority women should live by and the embodiment of why I wanted to join a sorority, but I also realized that she is human, fragile, strong, and beautiful in ways I had never imagined before. She let me see into the most painful area of her life. At that moment, I realized that every woman in this house has experienced things that no one else could ever understand, but I also realized that we fail to make the effort to get to know each other on that intimate of a level. Even though we may not see it, these same powerful and amazing qualities are present within each woman in our house. Our house will only survive if every member makes a concerted effort to find these qualities within themselves and each other. This doesn’t require that we all know each other’s life stories, but that we find the humanity within one another.
Recently, I had an eye opening experience. I had a glimpse into the life of one of my sisters, who I see to be the epitome of sisterhood and who I hold in the highest of regards. This semester has been quite hard for Delta Zeta; we have gone through a lot in a very short amount of time, we have experienced the failure to communicate as well as the pain that is caused by gossip. What I experienced has given me a different perception of our house and the women who make it.
Every initiated member of Delta Zeta was in some way responsible for the mess we created this semester. We, myself included, have been guilty of gossiping, creating dissent, and in general adding fuel to the fire of unrest, dissatisfaction, and cliquishness that had arisen within our house. We all played a role in this and a great majority of the distrust and gossip grew from the fear of, and failure to, confront and connect with sisters.
My recent experience made me realize how close and, at the same time, how distant we really are. I believe the general tension that our house experienced this semester was normal, and in some ways healthy. Personally, I only express my frustration when I am comfortable and when I know that I am in a safe environment. This does not justify any wrong actions I may have made; it is a fault in my character, which I am working to resolve. However, it did show me how safe I truly feel here and with my sisters.
Women within our house have acted catty and cruel towards one another this semester. This behavior has created division between the different groups in our house. Since sisterhood retreat, I do believe that the overall feeling of the house has lightened a bit. I still feel that there is a lot of work to be done before our house is healed and we are all able to forgive each other for our malicious, shallow and selfish behavior. I believe that this change has to start with our executive board. This semester it has felt as though the executive board is separated from the rest of the house. I know that some feel as though they are one of the many cliques, separated by power and socioeconomic status as well as their relationship with certain alumni.
The incoming executive board needs to be able to stay connected with the members of the house. I am not saying that this separation solely rests on the shoulders of our current executive board. This is just one way that our entire house has failed to act like sisters. It is just as much of my responsibility to connect with my executive board, as it is theirs to connect with me.
This sense of separation does not end with our executive board. Our entire house has become divided into cliques. We have separated ourselves into the small groups we connect with best. In general, that is not a terrible thing; it is important to have a close relationship with a select few and it is a given that with 50 plus sisters we will only have an intimate relationship with a few over the course of our time in Delta Zeta. However, it is extremely important that we are able to form relationships with everyone in Delta Zeta; that we may truly be members of a sisterhood.
I believe the problem we find ourselves facing is that no one wants to make the first move. We all seem to believe that we have been wronged or hurt by another and it is therefore someone else’s responsibility to act first. This, I believe, is the underlying issue our house is facing. If we could all stop acting so hurt, then we could move forward and start healing our house.
There is one particular sister who I have always believed hated me, or even worse, was completely indifferent to my existence. It has been my personal goal to connect with her this semester. By no means, have we become close and I doubt she has noticed any difference in my behavior, yet I do feel that in the pursuit of my goal, we have become more connected and I finally feel as though if I needed her she would be someone I could turn to.
If I could implement any program into Delta Zeta next semester, it would be creating goals such as mine for every sister. We all have women we are distant with, the purpose of this would not be to make a new best friend, but would be to break down the barriers which keep us from experiencing sisterhood. If we could each pick one sister we are angry with, were hurt by, or just do not know, and make the effort to reach out to her over the semester, I believe it would change the dynamics of our house.
This process should begin during recruitment school and I would recommend that this be added to the duties of our executive board. If it were plausible, I would have members of the executive board meet with individual women and come up with personal goals for the semester. The executive board would then become a support system and provide our house with a safe avenue to create these new relationships. It would definitely be a process of trial and error to get this program to work; however, in the end I think it would drastically affect the overall moral of our house.
People project their fears and insecurities onto others and assume that those feelings belong to them. Our house is full of this behavior. The only way to stop it is to make an effort to connect with one another.
Last night, I had a glimpse into another sister’s life and I realized how wrong about her I had been. I still hold her up as the example by which all sorority women should live by and the embodiment of why I wanted to join a sorority, but I also realized that she is human, fragile, strong, and beautiful in ways I had never imagined before. She let me see into the most painful area of her life. At that moment, I realized that every woman in this house has experienced things that no one else could ever understand, but I also realized that we fail to make the effort to get to know each other on that intimate of a level. Even though we may not see it, these same powerful and amazing qualities are present within each woman in our house. Our house will only survive if every member makes a concerted effort to find these qualities within themselves and each other. This doesn’t require that we all know each other’s life stories, but that we find the humanity within one another.
Monday, November 12, 2007
DeeZee Land, the Happiest Place on Earth
Friday, a large portion of our house, 43 girls, drove down to Anaheim to visit the wonderful world of Disney. Easily, it was one of the best weekends I have had in a long time.
We stayed at a little roach motel that was, simply stated, disgusting. It was all right though, because now it is a great memory. The “continental breakfast” consisted of old burnt coffee, cheep orange juice and pastries still in the plastic. It was set up on two folding tables in a dingy little room, which used to be the front office.
The motel was just a few blocks from Downtown Disney, where my car mates and I spent our first evening. We hungrily made our way through Downtown Disney and decided to rest our weary bones at the House of Blues. What a mess that place was! The hosts were mean and didn’t know the first thing about customer service, the creepy bartender had a haircut that looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe and our server left much to be desired and finally, the food was horrific. Our server knew we were Delta Zetas, he said that girls had been coming in all evening.
Usually, there are bands playing at the HOB, but not tonight. Instead, my sisters and I got lucky – we had the best DJ ever. There was a song list and request form sitting on the table when we sat down which was the prelude to an amazing first evening.
We requested more music than any other group in the restaurant. We started the party. My little and another girl rocked the dance floor. If it had not been for them, no one would have gotten out of their chairs to dance.
We stayed at a little roach motel that was, simply stated, disgusting. It was all right though, because now it is a great memory. The “continental breakfast” consisted of old burnt coffee, cheep orange juice and pastries still in the plastic. It was set up on two folding tables in a dingy little room, which used to be the front office.
The motel was just a few blocks from Downtown Disney, where my car mates and I spent our first evening. We hungrily made our way through Downtown Disney and decided to rest our weary bones at the House of Blues. What a mess that place was! The hosts were mean and didn’t know the first thing about customer service, the creepy bartender had a haircut that looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe and our server left much to be desired and finally, the food was horrific. Our server knew we were Delta Zetas, he said that girls had been coming in all evening.
Usually, there are bands playing at the HOB, but not tonight. Instead, my sisters and I got lucky – we had the best DJ ever. There was a song list and request form sitting on the table when we sat down which was the prelude to an amazing first evening.
We requested more music than any other group in the restaurant. We started the party. My little and another girl rocked the dance floor. If it had not been for them, no one would have gotten out of their chairs to dance.
We made it back to the hotel around 1 am and I was up by 6 the next morning. I don't know how I was able to make it through the day, but I did and, wow, what a day it was!
We were in line and ready to go at 8 am. Our day was full of adventures! We chased Captain Jack Sparrow around the park, got yelled at by some old guy in line for Pirates of the Caribbean, we were harassed by a 9 year old girl while we were in line for Big Thunder Railroad and I ran over some girl while running to Toon Town. We saw Josh Groban singing in front of the castle and discovered that the majority of the people who visit Disneyland are not the happiest people on earth - despite being in the happiest place on earth.
Despite the set backs we experienced with grumpy and unhappy people, we had an amazing day. Hands down, our group had more fun than any one else in the park. I do not care if we were obnoxious and drove some people crazy - we were able to let loose and enjoy the last sane weekend of this semester. After riding Indiana Jones, another man who had been on the ride with us told my group that we had "made the ride", what a complement.
Monday, November 5, 2007
what's your secret?
I want to send Frank Warren a postcard.
For all of you who don't know, Frank Warren is a genius.
People send Frank Warren hand made post cards with their deepest and darkest secrets written on them. He organizes them and publishes them. He has three books out containing just a fraction of these secrets.
Some people don’t send their secrets to him but place them inside copies of the books in bookstores. There are stories of people who go to purchase the book and when they open it, postcards come falling out.
I’ve become addicted to it.
He has a blog and every Sunday he posts new and unseen secrets. Some of them are funny, some are shocking and others make my heart stop.
There is something liberating about reading other people's secrets. My favorite secrets are the ones that go something like: “Frank, if you are reading this it means I’ve decided to …” they almost always end in something positive.
People send Frank Warren hand made post cards with their deepest and darkest secrets written on them. He organizes them and publishes them. He has three books out containing just a fraction of these secrets.
Some people don’t send their secrets to him but place them inside copies of the books in bookstores. There are stories of people who go to purchase the book and when they open it, postcards come falling out.
I’ve become addicted to it.
He has a blog and every Sunday he posts new and unseen secrets. Some of them are funny, some are shocking and others make my heart stop.
There is something liberating about reading other people's secrets. My favorite secrets are the ones that go something like: “Frank, if you are reading this it means I’ve decided to …” they almost always end in something positive.
I want to send Frank Warren a post card.
It sounds liberating; writing your secret down and sending it out into the world anonymously. I think I would drive really far away, maybe to Tahoe or LA, and send it from there. That road trip would be agony - arguing with myself over whether or not I really want people to read it. Then again, no one would know where the secret originated from; who knows, maybe someone, somewhere would read it and know exactly what I was expressing.
Is it sad that as much as I feel that I want to write him telling him everything, I feel I have nothing to say?
photo credits: http://postsecret.blogspot.com/ November 6, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Insert Swear Word Here
Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.
There are about six weeks left in the semester.
Insert swear word here.
When the semester began, it couldn’t end soon enough. Now that it is almost over, I’m terrified of the next few weeks.
Unfortunately, my “it’s just one of those days”, has no end it sight. This semester has just happened and it left the station without me.
May God give me strength and the ability to concentrate over the next six weeks. My calendar is completely full – I don’t know where I will find the time to accomplish any of the stuff I have to do.
Insert another swear word here, maybe two.
On the bright side, I have gotten two new littles this semester! That means I have three littles now! I also got a twinnie and a grand lil! My family has just doubled in size and I love them all!
At least I have the support of my family.
Well, I’m off to finish my homework for the week.
I hope your month is going better than mine.
There are about six weeks left in the semester.
Insert swear word here.
When the semester began, it couldn’t end soon enough. Now that it is almost over, I’m terrified of the next few weeks.
Unfortunately, my “it’s just one of those days”, has no end it sight. This semester has just happened and it left the station without me.
May God give me strength and the ability to concentrate over the next six weeks. My calendar is completely full – I don’t know where I will find the time to accomplish any of the stuff I have to do.
Insert another swear word here, maybe two.
On the bright side, I have gotten two new littles this semester! That means I have three littles now! I also got a twinnie and a grand lil! My family has just doubled in size and I love them all!
At least I have the support of my family.
Well, I’m off to finish my homework for the week.
I hope your month is going better than mine.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Shut it
I do not have a problem admitting that I am a freak.
I require complete and total silence in order to focus on my homework. Sometimes, even the sixth, seventh and eighth floors of the library are too noisy for me to focus.
This is the very problem I am facing now. To escape the Monday night festivities at my house – where right now there are about 50 plus people – I decided that I would head to the library with the intentions of catching up on some of my long over due homework. My only other option is driving to my parent’s house in Santa Cruz, which isn’t quite so budget friendly.
Well, all was going quite well until these two men decided to sit at the table behind me. They will not shut up! Don’t they realize that whispering non-stop is just as bad as talking at full volume! Seriously guys, there are “loud” floors in the library if you really must talk while studying!
I would love to turn around and let them have a piece of my mind, but I know that that would not be a wise idea. First, I would be acting hypocritically and secondly they don’t appear to be bugging anyone else.
People who can focus on homework despite the goings on around them amaze me. I don’t get it. I hope all of you realize how lucky you are.
I require complete and total silence in order to focus on my homework. Sometimes, even the sixth, seventh and eighth floors of the library are too noisy for me to focus.
This is the very problem I am facing now. To escape the Monday night festivities at my house – where right now there are about 50 plus people – I decided that I would head to the library with the intentions of catching up on some of my long over due homework. My only other option is driving to my parent’s house in Santa Cruz, which isn’t quite so budget friendly.
Well, all was going quite well until these two men decided to sit at the table behind me. They will not shut up! Don’t they realize that whispering non-stop is just as bad as talking at full volume! Seriously guys, there are “loud” floors in the library if you really must talk while studying!
I would love to turn around and let them have a piece of my mind, but I know that that would not be a wise idea. First, I would be acting hypocritically and secondly they don’t appear to be bugging anyone else.
People who can focus on homework despite the goings on around them amaze me. I don’t get it. I hope all of you realize how lucky you are.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Sisterhood
According to Microsoft Word’s dictionary, “Sisterhood” means 1. Solidarity among women: the empathy and loyalty that women feel for other women who have shared goals, experiences, or viewpoints. 2. Women’s groups 3. Status as a sister 4. A community of nuns. (For the intention of this narrative, we can ignore the fourth definition. Honestly, I just think it’s funny.)
“Definition” has come to have a new meaning since one of the lectures I had in Political Science 195a. In this particular meeting, I was listening to a discussion how to define abstract constructs. The Professor went over indicators of Democracy and freedom and other such broad concepts one might be interested in studying. She assigned homework in which I had to come up with indicators for any political construct of my choice. I chose pre-adolescent delinquency. When I got my homework back I realized how much more thorough and detail oriented I need to be when defining an idea.
This lesson, however, has played out into my daily life. Lately I have been struggling with the aforementioned definition of sisterhood. What in actuality does sisterhood mean, and how can you measure it? Further more, what good is it to know that “sisterhood” means solidarity of women? I have learned absolutely nothing from that definition.
I am still struggling to define it. Actually, as of yet, I have not been able to come up with a single measurable indicator of sisterhood. Sadly to say, I can report that I have realized my personal expectations of what sisterhood should feel like and mean are unreasonable. I have also come to realize that what I expected sisterhood to feel like and mean were not indicators which would be useful in measuring sisterhood.
Reading over this for the 15th time, it pains me that the state I now find myself in allows for me to discuss something as theoretically wonderful as sisterhood, without any emotion. Last night I spent at easily 4 hours crying over the loss of something I can’t even define. Now, I see the way to maneuver through the end of the semester, and potentially the rest of my college career, without being attached or emotionally involved in something I used to hold dear.
If certain events had not transpired, I could see myself feeling like a traitor to the ideals, values and morals of sisterhood. I, however, have realized that you can’t be a traitor to something that has no definition. I can’t betray something that other people don’t understand.
At this point the only person I can betray is myself.
I realized last night that I am my only responsibility and at this point I have to do only what will enable me to survive and succeed.
“Definition” has come to have a new meaning since one of the lectures I had in Political Science 195a. In this particular meeting, I was listening to a discussion how to define abstract constructs. The Professor went over indicators of Democracy and freedom and other such broad concepts one might be interested in studying. She assigned homework in which I had to come up with indicators for any political construct of my choice. I chose pre-adolescent delinquency. When I got my homework back I realized how much more thorough and detail oriented I need to be when defining an idea.
This lesson, however, has played out into my daily life. Lately I have been struggling with the aforementioned definition of sisterhood. What in actuality does sisterhood mean, and how can you measure it? Further more, what good is it to know that “sisterhood” means solidarity of women? I have learned absolutely nothing from that definition.
I am still struggling to define it. Actually, as of yet, I have not been able to come up with a single measurable indicator of sisterhood. Sadly to say, I can report that I have realized my personal expectations of what sisterhood should feel like and mean are unreasonable. I have also come to realize that what I expected sisterhood to feel like and mean were not indicators which would be useful in measuring sisterhood.
Reading over this for the 15th time, it pains me that the state I now find myself in allows for me to discuss something as theoretically wonderful as sisterhood, without any emotion. Last night I spent at easily 4 hours crying over the loss of something I can’t even define. Now, I see the way to maneuver through the end of the semester, and potentially the rest of my college career, without being attached or emotionally involved in something I used to hold dear.
If certain events had not transpired, I could see myself feeling like a traitor to the ideals, values and morals of sisterhood. I, however, have realized that you can’t be a traitor to something that has no definition. I can’t betray something that other people don’t understand.
At this point the only person I can betray is myself.
I realized last night that I am my only responsibility and at this point I have to do only what will enable me to survive and succeed.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Get excited!
****This was written during the second week of school****
How many sorority girls does it take to change a light bulb?
1 to screw it in and 40 to wear t-shirts about the event.
As I’m sure the student body on SJSU’s campus has noticed, thanks to the hordes of matching neon pink t-shirts, the splendid time of year known as fall recruitment is upon us once again.
Women quickly start avoiding Seventh Street due to the Pan-Hellenic Council table which calls it home, and consequently the area where the PHC sorority women in mass congregate to talk to other women about the SJSU Greek community. The women who do not have the luck of being able to avoid this area pass by speedily; they will pull out their cell phones and have an imaginary conversation, they give that glowering annoyed look most reserve for the stalls that sit out in the middle of the walk way at the mall with the somewhat questionable sales guy who wants you to try some amazing new Dead Sea hand scrub. Women preemptively explain that they are late to class and shrug off attempts at being handed flyers. They explain that they already know what sorority life is about and want no part of it.
As adults, we know that stereotypes exist. Blondes are stupid. Fraternity men are alcoholics. Asians are bad drivers.
At the beginning of this semester the Pan-Hellenic Council presented to our houses the stereotypes the other councils on campus (UFC, IFC, and NPHC) came up with for PHC women. Among the list, were white girls, daddy’s girls, rich, snobby, easy, cheaters, stupid, partiers, and two-faced, friendly, yet fake and backstabbers. Sad to say, the list goes on.
I can’t tell you how disheartening it is when a co-worker or friend scoffs at me saying “I can’t believe you are a sorority girl! You’re too nice. You don’t seem ANYTHING like that trash” and yes it has been said. It’s moments like those where one should stop and consider the evidence presented to them which is contradictory to past assumptions.
We often feed our own ideas and stereotypes of other groups because we fail to even allow the possibility to cross our minds that we may be wrong. People will also see an opportunity to make one group the center of an issue instead of addressing how those same characteristics are present in everyone.
Being one of those women and knowing those women who are out there at the table, I can assure you it is not an easy thing to do. We make ourselves look bad by standing clustered together in the middle of Seventh Street talking and fanning ourselves. I can personally attest to the fact that no matter what it may look like we are not talking bad about you. We do say “oh, let’s go talk to her” and then we see you pull out the cell phone and speed up, so we stop walking. Or we’ll see another girl who is with her boyfriend or just some guy, but as we approach she’ll move closer to him or grab his arm at which point we turn around and look for someone else who we feel won’t shut us down if we say hi to them and extend our hand.
You do not want us to talk to you because of our stereotypes, but we cement some of our stereotypes when we fail to connect with you.
How many sorority girls does it take to change a light bulb?
1 to screw it in and 40 to wear t-shirts about the event.
As I’m sure the student body on SJSU’s campus has noticed, thanks to the hordes of matching neon pink t-shirts, the splendid time of year known as fall recruitment is upon us once again.
Women quickly start avoiding Seventh Street due to the Pan-Hellenic Council table which calls it home, and consequently the area where the PHC sorority women in mass congregate to talk to other women about the SJSU Greek community. The women who do not have the luck of being able to avoid this area pass by speedily; they will pull out their cell phones and have an imaginary conversation, they give that glowering annoyed look most reserve for the stalls that sit out in the middle of the walk way at the mall with the somewhat questionable sales guy who wants you to try some amazing new Dead Sea hand scrub. Women preemptively explain that they are late to class and shrug off attempts at being handed flyers. They explain that they already know what sorority life is about and want no part of it.
As adults, we know that stereotypes exist. Blondes are stupid. Fraternity men are alcoholics. Asians are bad drivers.
At the beginning of this semester the Pan-Hellenic Council presented to our houses the stereotypes the other councils on campus (UFC, IFC, and NPHC) came up with for PHC women. Among the list, were white girls, daddy’s girls, rich, snobby, easy, cheaters, stupid, partiers, and two-faced, friendly, yet fake and backstabbers. Sad to say, the list goes on.
I can’t tell you how disheartening it is when a co-worker or friend scoffs at me saying “I can’t believe you are a sorority girl! You’re too nice. You don’t seem ANYTHING like that trash” and yes it has been said. It’s moments like those where one should stop and consider the evidence presented to them which is contradictory to past assumptions.
We often feed our own ideas and stereotypes of other groups because we fail to even allow the possibility to cross our minds that we may be wrong. People will also see an opportunity to make one group the center of an issue instead of addressing how those same characteristics are present in everyone.
Being one of those women and knowing those women who are out there at the table, I can assure you it is not an easy thing to do. We make ourselves look bad by standing clustered together in the middle of Seventh Street talking and fanning ourselves. I can personally attest to the fact that no matter what it may look like we are not talking bad about you. We do say “oh, let’s go talk to her” and then we see you pull out the cell phone and speed up, so we stop walking. Or we’ll see another girl who is with her boyfriend or just some guy, but as we approach she’ll move closer to him or grab his arm at which point we turn around and look for someone else who we feel won’t shut us down if we say hi to them and extend our hand.
You do not want us to talk to you because of our stereotypes, but we cement some of our stereotypes when we fail to connect with you.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Another year has come and gone...
On Wednesday I turned 21. Big whoop. Tuesday at midnight, I bought two bottles of tequila, went over to Sigma Nu with my roommate and a friend from AOΠ, and promptly drank the night away. I officially understand how annoying it is when you buy alcohol and everyone else finishes it before you even get a sip. Before I could even bat an eye the first bottle was gone.
To be honest with you I don’t even like drinking. I mean, it is fun on occasion and it can add flavor to a meal, but on the whole I think it is highly over rated.
I feel fortunate enough to have already passed through my “lets get wasted!” phase. I’ve been 21 for 2 days and I still have yet to go out to a bar.
To be honest with you I have no clue what I am trying to say here. Life is super stressful right now and being 21 has just escalated that stress. I’ve had at least five people approach me with their thoughts on how wonderful it is, for them, that I am now 21. My turning 21 means that these people have to only walk to the next room to find someone old enough to buy booze.
I am not confrontational in the least and I am still struggling with the best way to say, “No way in hell would I ever buy you alcohol. Ask someone else”. The girls who have made these comments are barely legal and ridiculously immature. Most of them have a horrible track record of doing stupid and idiotic things while being intoxicated. What makes them think that I would ever promote their bizarre behavior by purchasing them alcohol?
I need to stop expecting things from life and people. Every time I have expectations, high or low, I am always grossly disappointed. I expect a lot from the world and even more from myself.
I really don’t know what I am trying to say, so I’m going to stop here. Come back in a few days and maybe I will have fixed this mess of irrelevant and unrelated thoughts.
To be honest with you I don’t even like drinking. I mean, it is fun on occasion and it can add flavor to a meal, but on the whole I think it is highly over rated.
I feel fortunate enough to have already passed through my “lets get wasted!” phase. I’ve been 21 for 2 days and I still have yet to go out to a bar.
To be honest with you I have no clue what I am trying to say here. Life is super stressful right now and being 21 has just escalated that stress. I’ve had at least five people approach me with their thoughts on how wonderful it is, for them, that I am now 21. My turning 21 means that these people have to only walk to the next room to find someone old enough to buy booze.
I am not confrontational in the least and I am still struggling with the best way to say, “No way in hell would I ever buy you alcohol. Ask someone else”. The girls who have made these comments are barely legal and ridiculously immature. Most of them have a horrible track record of doing stupid and idiotic things while being intoxicated. What makes them think that I would ever promote their bizarre behavior by purchasing them alcohol?
I need to stop expecting things from life and people. Every time I have expectations, high or low, I am always grossly disappointed. I expect a lot from the world and even more from myself.
I really don’t know what I am trying to say, so I’m going to stop here. Come back in a few days and maybe I will have fixed this mess of irrelevant and unrelated thoughts.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
What is in a nightmare?
The last time that I can remember waking up in a cold sweat, terrified to open my eyes and convinced that what I just experienced was real, I was, at most, around 12 years old. I remember this dream only because I had the unfortunate displeasure of having the same dream more than once. In this dream my house was a haunted house ride at Universal Studios – except that it was truly haunted. The guests were acting as security guards and watching security monitors throughout the queue. I don’t really remember what happened on the ride. I do, however, vividly remember that my upstairs closet, where we keep towels, sheets, pictures, and other random junk that doesn’t have a home elsewhere, was a restroom. Pretty insignificant, I know. However, sitting next to the toilet was a plate of pickles, yes pickles. And a sickly, skinny, misshapen greenish colored arm would reach out of the toilet searching for this plate, then quickly snatch one of the pickles up and return to wherever it had come from.
I know that that is not all that scary, but believe me; I was terrified to go to the bathroom after that.
Since that dream that I had when I was around 12, my nights have been pretty uneventful. As a matter of fact, I am lucky if I even faintly remember that I dreamt at all.
Recently this has changed.
This summer during my family’s tour of old southern cities we stopped in Charleston, S.C. Charleston is absolutely amazing. It is hands down one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. It is old and the city works hard to maintain its elegance. Charleston glows with southern charm and hospitality; and you almost have to be southern, or raised by southerners to understand and appreciate it. Being raised by southerners, I fell in love with Charleston the moment we drove across the first bridge.
We had just come from Savannah, where I had been entertained with flyers for ghost tours. Since Charleston is even older and bigger than Savannah I thought this was not something to be missed, so I hounded my mother to go on a ghost tour with me. She insisted that she was afraid of ghosts and graveyards, and I said I was too, but that we would be there together, so it couldn’t be that bad. She soon gave in.
Flipping through the flyers I was overwhelmed with so many different options for tours. There was a tour that took you through the old dungeons of Charleston, and through the graveyards and different places people have sighted ghosts. It’s not that I necessarily believe in ghosts, but it’s a different side of history – these aren’t the stories you read about in history books.
We decided to go on “The Dark Side of Charleston” tour. It was not a ghost tour, but it was ‘rated for mature audiences only’. Our tour started in a downpour that was over within 5 minutes, but it helped set the stage (“It was a dark and stormy night …”). Our tour guide showed us through downtown and the open market area. A family had donated about five huge open air market buildings to the city many years ago under the condition that the property would never be used to sell slaves.
Our tour guide also showed us where the red light district had been. He explained the politics behind it and how it had been established by the law enforcement and politicians of that day. He took us to the first whorehouse of Charleston. We were told some pretty comical stories about pimps hiding children under the floor so that while the john was being ‘entertained’ the children could quickly go through the john’s belongings and steal any extra cash or valuables he may have had with him.
There were “mattress girls” who carried straw mattresses on their back, like we carry backpacks, so their place of work was portable. A guy walking down the street who saw her could flick some money at her; she would set up shop right then and there and would get to work.
Our tour guide showed us where people were executed after being convicted in the court of marshal law and where they were executed after being convicted in a court of municipal law. There was an amazing intersection in town on which each corner there is a representation of the four areas of law: Federal, Municipal, Marshal and God’s law.
Many of the streets in Charleston are the original streets from when it was first built. The street where all of the slaves were sold is one such street. It is all cobblestones. It was painful to walk on. I can’t describe to you how eerie and dirty I felt standing there. Only a hundred and some odd years ago people were selling other humans right where I was standing.
Our last stop was a church. This was my favorite part of the whole tour. It was the first time that I wasn’t afraid of a graveyard, and ever since exploring it I haven’t been afraid.
The church was beautiful. The sky was a dark grey and was reflecting the city lights so it looked as if the clouds had their own glow. The church was round. Not round as in one big circular room, but more like a four- leaf clover type round. Apparently the church was built this way because people thought that the devil hides in corners.
I loved our tour. Once we were back in our room I immediately called my dad and told him every single story I could remember, every single detail that I had been holding onto just so I could recount our time to him.
I don’t know what happened on that tour, but I am convinced that something changed within me. Since we left Charleston I have had many sleepless nights. As a matter of fact I had one such night last night, which caused me to miss my 195a class this morning. I wake up in cold sweats terrified to open my eyes and terrified that if I don’t I will slowly drift back into another such dream.
The most terrifying I have had, which was so bad I woke myself up because I was crying, was about a little girl whose dad slaughtered her. She had managed to hang on so that she could haunt her old home and slaughtering anyone unfortunate enough to cross the threshold.
I remember that entire dream so intensely.
When I first walked into this old Victorian like building, there were these periwinkle blue, tiny flowers spinning on the floor as if they were floating on air. Like the air that was cradling them was slowly pulling them along making them dance just inches above the ground.
Just seconds later I’m filled with terror as I try and leave the house. I manage to make it out of the house, but now I am standing on this field at the bottom of a hill below the house. I can’t force myself to tear my eyes away from the house as I watch my friends being torn limb from limb by the ghost of a seven year old. Blood is spraying all over the glass windows as their screams fade.
What has left the most impact from that dream was the sudden flip from an image so beautiful and peaceful into something so horrid and miserable.
Usually my dreams involve zombies or something like them, which is what I dreamt about last night. However, it is not the creatures that make my dreams disturbing. It is how the people I am dreaming about handle the situations they find themselves in.
For example, more often than not, the people in my dreams are my immediate family, including myself. Last night, my mom knew that these bad people would be coming for us. There was something about a trip to Wall Mart. There was a huge earthquake at which point I ran away to find my boyfriend, because when I called his phone it said that I was trying to dial a Maryland number. (I don’t know so don’t ask). As we stood in my neighbor’s yard chatting it up about what had just happened, we watched a huge 747-with Halliburton written on its side fall apart as it was crashing. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in my room because strange noises were disturbing my sleep. For some reason there are at least 15 people congregated in my room. They all look possessed but blind as a bat. I manage to sneak out of my bed past them. Before I can leave the room though, I have to find something buried in my closet under a pile of shoes. I find it, though I’m not sure what “it” is, and lastly I play with the thermostat before leaving.
I run outside and tell my mom what has just happened. She’s still at the neighbor’s house acting like nothing unusual has just transpired. She says that she is going to go take a look and make sure that I wasn’t acting too hasty in my decision to arm the bomb that she had set up through out the house in our central air system.
Once she is inside the house, she calls me saying that I was wrong and everything is all right. She never gets the chance to explain to me who the hell those people were, because right then our house blows up.
In my dream, I am running around frantically as my big sis walks into my real room to wake me up and tell me that I have class in 15 minutes, I look at her and say no way in hell can I go to class.
Nope. I don’t function well after a night like that.
I know what you’re thinking, because I assure you I’m thinking the same thing at this moment, “that was ridiculous and not even close to a scary dream”. Yes, I see that now, but when I woke up in a cold sweat, that was not what was racing through my mind.
I wonder what it was that I heard or smelled, or saw in Charleston that woke up that part of my mind that enjoys scaring the crap out of me. I am convinced that whatever it is that is different about me changed in Charleston on that walking tour at midnight.
I wonder if that part of me will ever roll over and go back to sleep, so that I may again have a peaceful nights rest.
I know that that is not all that scary, but believe me; I was terrified to go to the bathroom after that.
Since that dream that I had when I was around 12, my nights have been pretty uneventful. As a matter of fact, I am lucky if I even faintly remember that I dreamt at all.
Recently this has changed.
This summer during my family’s tour of old southern cities we stopped in Charleston, S.C. Charleston is absolutely amazing. It is hands down one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen. It is old and the city works hard to maintain its elegance. Charleston glows with southern charm and hospitality; and you almost have to be southern, or raised by southerners to understand and appreciate it. Being raised by southerners, I fell in love with Charleston the moment we drove across the first bridge.
We had just come from Savannah, where I had been entertained with flyers for ghost tours. Since Charleston is even older and bigger than Savannah I thought this was not something to be missed, so I hounded my mother to go on a ghost tour with me. She insisted that she was afraid of ghosts and graveyards, and I said I was too, but that we would be there together, so it couldn’t be that bad. She soon gave in.
Flipping through the flyers I was overwhelmed with so many different options for tours. There was a tour that took you through the old dungeons of Charleston, and through the graveyards and different places people have sighted ghosts. It’s not that I necessarily believe in ghosts, but it’s a different side of history – these aren’t the stories you read about in history books.
We decided to go on “The Dark Side of Charleston” tour. It was not a ghost tour, but it was ‘rated for mature audiences only’. Our tour started in a downpour that was over within 5 minutes, but it helped set the stage (“It was a dark and stormy night …”). Our tour guide showed us through downtown and the open market area. A family had donated about five huge open air market buildings to the city many years ago under the condition that the property would never be used to sell slaves.
Our tour guide also showed us where the red light district had been. He explained the politics behind it and how it had been established by the law enforcement and politicians of that day. He took us to the first whorehouse of Charleston. We were told some pretty comical stories about pimps hiding children under the floor so that while the john was being ‘entertained’ the children could quickly go through the john’s belongings and steal any extra cash or valuables he may have had with him.
There were “mattress girls” who carried straw mattresses on their back, like we carry backpacks, so their place of work was portable. A guy walking down the street who saw her could flick some money at her; she would set up shop right then and there and would get to work.
Our tour guide showed us where people were executed after being convicted in the court of marshal law and where they were executed after being convicted in a court of municipal law. There was an amazing intersection in town on which each corner there is a representation of the four areas of law: Federal, Municipal, Marshal and God’s law.
Many of the streets in Charleston are the original streets from when it was first built. The street where all of the slaves were sold is one such street. It is all cobblestones. It was painful to walk on. I can’t describe to you how eerie and dirty I felt standing there. Only a hundred and some odd years ago people were selling other humans right where I was standing.
Our last stop was a church. This was my favorite part of the whole tour. It was the first time that I wasn’t afraid of a graveyard, and ever since exploring it I haven’t been afraid.
The church was beautiful. The sky was a dark grey and was reflecting the city lights so it looked as if the clouds had their own glow. The church was round. Not round as in one big circular room, but more like a four- leaf clover type round. Apparently the church was built this way because people thought that the devil hides in corners.
I loved our tour. Once we were back in our room I immediately called my dad and told him every single story I could remember, every single detail that I had been holding onto just so I could recount our time to him.
I don’t know what happened on that tour, but I am convinced that something changed within me. Since we left Charleston I have had many sleepless nights. As a matter of fact I had one such night last night, which caused me to miss my 195a class this morning. I wake up in cold sweats terrified to open my eyes and terrified that if I don’t I will slowly drift back into another such dream.
The most terrifying I have had, which was so bad I woke myself up because I was crying, was about a little girl whose dad slaughtered her. She had managed to hang on so that she could haunt her old home and slaughtering anyone unfortunate enough to cross the threshold.
I remember that entire dream so intensely.
When I first walked into this old Victorian like building, there were these periwinkle blue, tiny flowers spinning on the floor as if they were floating on air. Like the air that was cradling them was slowly pulling them along making them dance just inches above the ground.
Just seconds later I’m filled with terror as I try and leave the house. I manage to make it out of the house, but now I am standing on this field at the bottom of a hill below the house. I can’t force myself to tear my eyes away from the house as I watch my friends being torn limb from limb by the ghost of a seven year old. Blood is spraying all over the glass windows as their screams fade.
What has left the most impact from that dream was the sudden flip from an image so beautiful and peaceful into something so horrid and miserable.
Usually my dreams involve zombies or something like them, which is what I dreamt about last night. However, it is not the creatures that make my dreams disturbing. It is how the people I am dreaming about handle the situations they find themselves in.
For example, more often than not, the people in my dreams are my immediate family, including myself. Last night, my mom knew that these bad people would be coming for us. There was something about a trip to Wall Mart. There was a huge earthquake at which point I ran away to find my boyfriend, because when I called his phone it said that I was trying to dial a Maryland number. (I don’t know so don’t ask). As we stood in my neighbor’s yard chatting it up about what had just happened, we watched a huge 747-with Halliburton written on its side fall apart as it was crashing. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in my room because strange noises were disturbing my sleep. For some reason there are at least 15 people congregated in my room. They all look possessed but blind as a bat. I manage to sneak out of my bed past them. Before I can leave the room though, I have to find something buried in my closet under a pile of shoes. I find it, though I’m not sure what “it” is, and lastly I play with the thermostat before leaving.
I run outside and tell my mom what has just happened. She’s still at the neighbor’s house acting like nothing unusual has just transpired. She says that she is going to go take a look and make sure that I wasn’t acting too hasty in my decision to arm the bomb that she had set up through out the house in our central air system.
Once she is inside the house, she calls me saying that I was wrong and everything is all right. She never gets the chance to explain to me who the hell those people were, because right then our house blows up.
In my dream, I am running around frantically as my big sis walks into my real room to wake me up and tell me that I have class in 15 minutes, I look at her and say no way in hell can I go to class.
Nope. I don’t function well after a night like that.
I know what you’re thinking, because I assure you I’m thinking the same thing at this moment, “that was ridiculous and not even close to a scary dream”. Yes, I see that now, but when I woke up in a cold sweat, that was not what was racing through my mind.
I wonder what it was that I heard or smelled, or saw in Charleston that woke up that part of my mind that enjoys scaring the crap out of me. I am convinced that whatever it is that is different about me changed in Charleston on that walking tour at midnight.
I wonder if that part of me will ever roll over and go back to sleep, so that I may again have a peaceful nights rest.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Frisco Here We Come!
One of my sisters and I have recently made the habit of traveling to San Francisco on Tuesday nights to attend Club NV. Despite our mid week outings, we don't feel like slackers because we neither one have early morning classes on Wednesday. However, after our past two trips to the City I am beginning to wonder if our weekly escapades are such a good idea.
Last week, we were awkwardly hit on by the man in the toll booth on the Bay Bridge. He creepily watched me stash my money back into my bra, which I guess I was asking for. We proceeded to get kicked out of the club because we insisted on drinking, despite the fact that neither of us are 21 yet. We stood outside of the club pondering what to do with the rest of our night and decided that the best course of action would be to drive to her hometown of Pleasanton and go swimming. Well, that didn't work out too well either as we took the wrong freeway exit off of the Bay Bridge and ended up, at 2:30 in the morning, lost in Richmond and on our way to Vallejo.
Finally, around 3:30 am, we made our way into her neighborhood only to discover that the pool was freezing. Since neither one of us were prepared for a nighttime dip in the community pool we chickened out and continued to have a parking lot party with two of her friends.
We eventually made it back home and into bed around 5:30. The entirety of my next day was spent being sick from eating food at Jack in the Crack.
My sister and I have been laughing at that trip ever since it happened. Unfortunately, this past Tuesday wins the most bizarre and unfortunate award.
We had spent the earlier part of our evening at a game of broomball with Sigma Nu. It was quite exciting. We have both discovered that we make funny noises when we get excited and go after the ball. The best part was when one of the guys knocked me over like a bowling pin and everyone started yelling, "girl down, girl down", all I could do was laugh hysterically.
As we were leaving the logitech ice rink my sister got a phone call from her friends, saying that they were in Frisco and that we should join them. We rushed back to our house to change and promptly drove up to the city.
If only the rest of our night had gone so smoothly.
We had just gotten onto 880, and we were right before the exit for the airport, when we realized there was a cop car behind us. My sister slowed down from 80mph to 70mph in the hope that that had been why they were behind us. To our amazement a few seconds later a second cop car got onto the freeway and rode next to the car behind us. We were both slightly freaked out but decided that since she had the cruise control on we were content to wait it out.
After a couple of miles she decided to pull over into the left lane to see if she was in their way. Nope, he followed us over. Shortly thereafter the car to his right put on his lights. However, he wasn't pulling us over. The lights were facing the cars behind him, as if warning them not to pass and to signal danger. By now, we were thoroughly freaked out and decided that the best course of action would be to get off the freeway and see what was going on.
At the next exit, well past Milpitas, we began to exit the freeway. It wasn't until we were going slower than 20mph that the cop behind us decided to put on his lights and siren. We pulled over, however, the exit didn't have much of a shoulder so the car was pretty much stopped in the lane. Cars continued to drive past us until one of the officers stopped his car in the second exit lane blocking them.
As we waited for someone to approach her car, I looked behind us and realized that there were at least 8 cop cars behind us, all with their lights flashing.
Two officers approached the car, one on each side. We rolled down our windows and my sister was instructed to turn off the car. With the lights of the cars glaring behind us they began to interrogate us.
They asked us only two questions.
The first officer asked us if they had attempted to pull us over earlier that evening. We replied no, and my friend told them that in fact she had never been pulled over before that moment. The second officer inquired as to whether or not we had seen a silver Toyota which looked similar to the car my sister drives. Mind you, my sister drives a silver Jetta Volkswagen. In case you have never compared the two cars, Jettas and Toyotas do not look alike.
We answered the officers inquireies. The two officers moved back behind our car and chatted for a moment, after which they promptly got into their cars and drove off.
We sat there in her turned off car wondering what the hell had just happened. Three of the cars left without a word as to why we had been pulled over, and without a word as to if it was OK for us to leave. As we sat there with the feeling of total bewilderment flooding our bodies, a fourth cop car drove up next to us with his window rolled down and proceeded to inform us that, "oh, by the way, you can leave".
We went to the next light to turn around. As the number of cop cars passing us rose we couldn't help but scream vulgarities at the top of our lungs. "What the fuck just happened?!"
Getting back onto the freeway half of the cars that had been behind us were pulled over on the side of the road and all of the officers were outside of their vehicles conversing.
The rest of our drive was spent making calls to our roommates, housemates, sisters, parents and so on trying to figure out what had just transpired.
We eventually made it to the city safe and sound, but slightly shaken.
The rest of the night was a complete waist. Club NV was ridiculous. They were playing techno until last call, at which point the DJ felt that Fergie's "Big Girls Don't Cry" would be the most appropriate song.
It felt like we were back in middle school.
I will admit, I would much rather have a guy come ask me if I'd like to dance, rather than have that sweaty drunk guy who just assumes it's ok to dance with you walk up behind you and start grinding all up on you. Meanwhile, your girlfriend is making that "oh my god, no he's so gross" face at you. Then you have to keep protecting each other from the nasty men who think the only reason you came out that night is to let them grope your ass.
We ended up leaving out of frustration.
We laughed the whole way home about the weird drive up to San Francisco and the crapy time there.
Despite our two less than ideal trips to the City we have not been detered in our ambition to have a good time. As a matter of fact we are planning on making another trip up there tonight.
Hopefully all will work out tonight. If not, then maybe we need to try and find a new way to enjoy random nights with nothing to do.
Last week, we were awkwardly hit on by the man in the toll booth on the Bay Bridge. He creepily watched me stash my money back into my bra, which I guess I was asking for. We proceeded to get kicked out of the club because we insisted on drinking, despite the fact that neither of us are 21 yet. We stood outside of the club pondering what to do with the rest of our night and decided that the best course of action would be to drive to her hometown of Pleasanton and go swimming. Well, that didn't work out too well either as we took the wrong freeway exit off of the Bay Bridge and ended up, at 2:30 in the morning, lost in Richmond and on our way to Vallejo.
Finally, around 3:30 am, we made our way into her neighborhood only to discover that the pool was freezing. Since neither one of us were prepared for a nighttime dip in the community pool we chickened out and continued to have a parking lot party with two of her friends.
We eventually made it back home and into bed around 5:30. The entirety of my next day was spent being sick from eating food at Jack in the Crack.
My sister and I have been laughing at that trip ever since it happened. Unfortunately, this past Tuesday wins the most bizarre and unfortunate award.
We had spent the earlier part of our evening at a game of broomball with Sigma Nu. It was quite exciting. We have both discovered that we make funny noises when we get excited and go after the ball. The best part was when one of the guys knocked me over like a bowling pin and everyone started yelling, "girl down, girl down", all I could do was laugh hysterically.
As we were leaving the logitech ice rink my sister got a phone call from her friends, saying that they were in Frisco and that we should join them. We rushed back to our house to change and promptly drove up to the city.
If only the rest of our night had gone so smoothly.
We had just gotten onto 880, and we were right before the exit for the airport, when we realized there was a cop car behind us. My sister slowed down from 80mph to 70mph in the hope that that had been why they were behind us. To our amazement a few seconds later a second cop car got onto the freeway and rode next to the car behind us. We were both slightly freaked out but decided that since she had the cruise control on we were content to wait it out.
After a couple of miles she decided to pull over into the left lane to see if she was in their way. Nope, he followed us over. Shortly thereafter the car to his right put on his lights. However, he wasn't pulling us over. The lights were facing the cars behind him, as if warning them not to pass and to signal danger. By now, we were thoroughly freaked out and decided that the best course of action would be to get off the freeway and see what was going on.
At the next exit, well past Milpitas, we began to exit the freeway. It wasn't until we were going slower than 20mph that the cop behind us decided to put on his lights and siren. We pulled over, however, the exit didn't have much of a shoulder so the car was pretty much stopped in the lane. Cars continued to drive past us until one of the officers stopped his car in the second exit lane blocking them.
As we waited for someone to approach her car, I looked behind us and realized that there were at least 8 cop cars behind us, all with their lights flashing.
Two officers approached the car, one on each side. We rolled down our windows and my sister was instructed to turn off the car. With the lights of the cars glaring behind us they began to interrogate us.
They asked us only two questions.
The first officer asked us if they had attempted to pull us over earlier that evening. We replied no, and my friend told them that in fact she had never been pulled over before that moment. The second officer inquired as to whether or not we had seen a silver Toyota which looked similar to the car my sister drives. Mind you, my sister drives a silver Jetta Volkswagen. In case you have never compared the two cars, Jettas and Toyotas do not look alike.
We answered the officers inquireies. The two officers moved back behind our car and chatted for a moment, after which they promptly got into their cars and drove off.
We sat there in her turned off car wondering what the hell had just happened. Three of the cars left without a word as to why we had been pulled over, and without a word as to if it was OK for us to leave. As we sat there with the feeling of total bewilderment flooding our bodies, a fourth cop car drove up next to us with his window rolled down and proceeded to inform us that, "oh, by the way, you can leave".
We went to the next light to turn around. As the number of cop cars passing us rose we couldn't help but scream vulgarities at the top of our lungs. "What the fuck just happened?!"
Getting back onto the freeway half of the cars that had been behind us were pulled over on the side of the road and all of the officers were outside of their vehicles conversing.
The rest of our drive was spent making calls to our roommates, housemates, sisters, parents and so on trying to figure out what had just transpired.
We eventually made it to the city safe and sound, but slightly shaken.
The rest of the night was a complete waist. Club NV was ridiculous. They were playing techno until last call, at which point the DJ felt that Fergie's "Big Girls Don't Cry" would be the most appropriate song.
It felt like we were back in middle school.
I will admit, I would much rather have a guy come ask me if I'd like to dance, rather than have that sweaty drunk guy who just assumes it's ok to dance with you walk up behind you and start grinding all up on you. Meanwhile, your girlfriend is making that "oh my god, no he's so gross" face at you. Then you have to keep protecting each other from the nasty men who think the only reason you came out that night is to let them grope your ass.
We ended up leaving out of frustration.
We laughed the whole way home about the weird drive up to San Francisco and the crapy time there.
Despite our two less than ideal trips to the City we have not been detered in our ambition to have a good time. As a matter of fact we are planning on making another trip up there tonight.
Hopefully all will work out tonight. If not, then maybe we need to try and find a new way to enjoy random nights with nothing to do.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Pleasure From Another's Pain
Over the summer, my mother and I went to Georgia to visit family. While in the south we took a road trip to Atlanta and stopped at the Botanical gardens. My mom and I took a combined 500 pictures of flowers.There was one room devoted to orchids. This room was literally covered, from the ground to the ceiling, in orchids. Did you know that every continent except Antarctica has orchids on it? How amazing is that!
There were a few other plants worthy of mention including one which blossoms smell like dead flesh. Although the docent we were talking to said that it actually smells more like dead flesh smothered in blue cheese. Yeah, true story.
However, of all the amazing and exotic flowers that were housed at the Botanical gardens there is one image that I can not seem to remove from my mind. I have a picture of it over my bed and I study it daily trying to figure out what it is about this image that is so – I don’t know, haunting, maybe.
One of the first things we saw when we walked in was a statue in the middle of a very small pond. The statue was of a small child staring up at the sky with a look of exhilaration and excitement for life on his face. I usually refer to the statue as a boy. On the one hand I think the statue is actually a girl, but on the other hand I think the sex is irrelevant.
At first I was so tickled by this child with this look of extreme pleasure and joy painted on his face that I failed to notice the rest of the image. Dangling from each hand is a frog. One is being held by its back leg facing downwards and the other being held by its front leg looking up at the child holding them captive. As if this picture wasn’t tormenting enough, upon closer examination I realized that the child was standing on a ball being held up by more frogs. The child is so giddy that if it were a real child I believe it would be doing the “I really have to pee dance” due to the sheer excitement of the situation he has found himself in.
I still can not find the right word or phrase that I feel this picture invokes. I can not get over it either. Every time I see it all I can do is stare at it and get lost in it trying to figure out what chord this child has struck within me.
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