Letter to the Gods

Dear Gods on your foggy mountain,

One evening in 2006, two of my friends, the mind-fuck ex, and I were sitting in the MFE's dorm room. All of us, as I recall, were stressed, angry about various things in our pasts that we each remembered and told one another.

"I'm pissed off now," Jenn remarked, gulping down the last of her Bacardi Raz bitch beer.

"Me too," I replied. "I just wish I could break something. I fucking love the sound of glass shattering."

Everybody was quiet for a moment, and the air in the room was so tense it was practically crackling. It wasn't awkward tension. It was more like pensive tension, the tension when the sky is cloudy just before the thunder and lightning.

"Let's do it," Gia (the MFE) said, sitting up from her reclined position on the floor.

"No way. Are you serious?" I said, disbelieving.

"I'm for it," said Shar, and Jenn agreed non-commitally. Everybody looked at me, waiting for my response.

"I'd love to," I said.

We gathered up all the glass bottles in Gia's room, stuffing them in a backpack, and walked down the spiral staircase into the dark. It was relatively warm out that evening. And, as I recall, the creepers at the base of the Victorian-type turrets were green. I think it must have been springtime. We made sure that nobody was around, and then fucking lobbed the bottles as hard as we could against the brick wall that supported the porch at the base of the turret. My throw was weak and girly, and I so envied the baseball-pitches my friends were making.

Despite my weak arm, I thoroughly enjoyed the ritualistic destruction of the bottles. It was such a release. And I never even thought about the poor groundskeeper who'd have to clean it up. I don't think many 18 year-olds are that conscientious. I certainly wasn't.

I wish I could do it again. But now, I'm too old, too accountable, too responsible to even seriously consider it. Now, I'd be the person to clean it up. I'd also have to think of an explanation for the noise to deliver to Mo's family, with whom I cohabitate. My life has lost so much of that innocent unaccountability, that spontaneous rashness I once had. Sometimes I'm sad for it, ache for it. Sometimes I wish that I could go out and do something completely ridiculous without chastising myself the next day, the next hour, during the act itself. And while some might call the loss of impulsivness "maturity," I can't help but think that it more resembles old age. I'm only 22 years old; aren't I too young to be so reserved? Shouldn't I be going out and raising hell every once in a while?

I used to have this ability to walk into a room and instantly tear it up, like a tornado. Now I'm a fucking food-colored whirlpool in a coke bottle. I used to be gorgeous and sexy, play at temptress. Now I'm just an overeducated nerd with a nail-biting problem. Okay, I had the nail-biting problem when I was channeling Aphrodite, too, but that's beside the point. The point is: Where did my devilish 'tude get to? Where did my "fuck all to you stupid girls who think I'm competition" go? I've lost that "sexual aura" some of my friends have told me I have. I want it back, damn it. I want to wear high heels and strut. I want to wear a tight black skirt and lots of makeup. I want to be the unattainable again. But I have no idea how to get there, especially when midterms are looming. And would getting back my sexual aura mean sacrificing something important? Have I made trades in my life? Does everybody make trades? If so, this barter-system sucks.

Hope all is well on Mt. Olympus (and that Aphrodite doesn't chuck an apple at me),
Sophia

I've been awarded!!!

"This award means you're really going places, Baby. You'll still be blogging about your great adventures 10 years from now, and I'll still be reading them."

The Rules:

1. Link back to the blogger who gave you the award. ✖
2. Post where you'd like to be in 10 years. ✖
3. Pass it on to special bloggers. ✖

Le Blogger...

Miss Angie awarded me with this thingie. :-D

Where I'd like to be in 10 years...

I hope to be living somewhere quiet.

I hope to have gotten my Master's or my PhD.

I hope to have a child.

I hope to have a career in Anthropology.

But most of all, I hope to be happy.

Other bloggers...

All the other blogs I read are to be kept secret.

(SSSSSHHHH!!!)

Crankytime Letters

Dear Indian Art History bitch,
Thanks for the nervous breakdown you gave me yesterday. Can I please receive compensation for the five hours I spent crying? How about an automatic A in your class with no more work or attendance throughout the rest of the semester?
Wishing I could blackmail you,
Sophia


Dear Caramel Machiatto I threw out yesterday,
I regret that I never even got to take a sip of you. I also regret throwing you in the garbage. Getting lobbed at the Art History professor's head would have been a much more dignified death.
Sincerely,
Sophia (the machiatto addict with a stomach ache)


Dear Love of my Life,
I am so sorry. I don't know why we fought this morning. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm sorry I've become such a stressed out bitch. I'm sorry that I rely on you so much to take care of me. You should have been doing your homework last night, but I needed you. I wish I wasn't this needy. I'm also sorry that I bought a sandwich and chocolate and I'm going to eat it all before I can share it with you when you get out of class.
Hoping you'll forgive me,
Sophia


Dear Food,
Why are you the thing that consistently makes me feel better? Sure I eat mostly healthy food when I'm stressed (except for the chocolate), but it doesn't change the fact that I feel like a fucking pig when I eat and subsequently feel a bit happier.
Sophia


Dear German Art History Bitch,
Your homework assignment is not worth my sanity.
Hoping you croak,
Sophia

Dear Sanity,
Isn't it about time you got off holiday? You're needed at home, in my brain.
Missing you,
Sophia

Dear friend who needs to get over himself,
Get over yourself. I'm sick of hearing about how depressed you are, how much your life sucks, how hard your life has been. We all have hard lives, and you forget that I grew up in a domestically violent household, too. I'm sick of hearing about how hard your homework is. You're in freshman-level classes, for fuck's sake, and you're of reasonable intelligence. I doubt that everything is as hard as you say it is. Plus, if you're not going to do your math homework, stop asking my girlfriend to bail your lazy ass out when you flunk the test. Perhaps you should finally learn how to put yourself in another person's shoes. It's something that you never do.
Not planning on speaking to you for a while,
Sophia (your cranky friend who still loves you even though she's pissed)

Dear So-and-So

Dear Tuesday morning,

Why the hell did you have to come so soon? I was enjoying my sleep.
Sleepy Girl

Dear Dad,

Please refrain from calling me at such indecent hours. At 5:45 a.m., I'm enjoying the last few minutes of sleep I get. If it's not an emergency, DO NOT call me so goddamned early, FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
Your loving daughter

Dear Fucktard Art History Professor,

Thanks for writing "Assignment due on Tuesday, February 16 (Mardis Gras!) by midnight" on my assignment. I love being reminded that instead of celebrating with friends on a holiday, I'm going to be stuck at home doing your lame-ass fucking assignment. Oh, and thank you for having another four-to-five hour assignment due tomorrow. I don't have any other homework or classes at all and can definitely go to the library and watch a one-hour long documentary, look at an art book, read a 15-page article, answer 30 questions, and write a 2-page essay. Your 3000-level class is so deserving of this Master's level work. And I wouldn't want to do ANYTHING else with my time.
Dedicated Student

Dear Coffee and Art Supply store on campus,
Thanks for the chai... and for the Ani DiFranco following me out into the sitting area.
Cranky but soothed student

Dear Miss Angie,
Thanks for the idea for a post like this. It's quite therapeutic.
Sophia

Valentine's Day (i.e. "Boinkfest")

This entry will be pretty explicit. Just a warning.

Well, I went to a Single's Awareness Day party at a friend's house that was lots of fun. Entertained impure thoughts about the hostess... but in the end, got pretty sleepy and decided to boogie on home.

The next day, I woke up before Mo and did a few interesting things to her to wake her up involving a blindfold and a FunFactory Share toy. After getting up and washing off, we ventured out to the most awesome local coffee shop for breakfast and chai. Then we went to "Dance Church" where I danced with a few hippie friends. It was refreshing to be with some happy pagans for a change, and I would describe the dancing as a wonderfully fulfilling spiritual experience.

After dancing, Mo and I went to the grocery store and dropped lots of money on wonderful food. We cooked dinner together. It's something we both love to do but have so little time for this semester. The food was really awesome. I made citrus chicken with sauteed onions. The spices used gave it a nice kick. Katie made rice with steamed spinach and salad, for which I made the dressing. Dinner was awesome and we got to spend some wonderful time together.

The remainder of the evening (or much of it), I spent in subspace. The night ended with one of the best orgasms I've ever had. Okay... maybe more than one. Hehe. And while the orgasm was amazing, it was not the climax of the evening. The climax of the evening was a moment when I saw the most beautiful thing I ever had ever seen in my entire life, and the moment I felt utmost devotion, safety, and love. I was devoted to Mo entirely. In that moment, nothing else mattered. And she accepted my devotion, loved it. She also knew the power that gave her, and was careful with it. In that moment, everything made sense, and I felt the most safe I (almost) ever have in my life. I always feel that safe with Mo, but it was the first time the feeling of safety was so much in the forefront.

Our second Valentines Day together was even better than the first. And I am still so in love.

Afraid of the Dark

My mind has been playing tricks on me all evening. I went to petsmart tonight to gawk at all the cats I can't have. On my way back out to the car, I thought I saw somebody sitting in my driver's seat. The image lasted less than a second. Within that portion of a second, the first thought that occurred to me was, "Mommy." Not like, "Help me, Mommy." More like, "It's Mommy."

Yeah, I still call my mother "Mommy." Don't be hatin.

So, I got in the car, locked my door and placed a quick call to my parents. It's two hours later there, so they were a little agitated at the lateness of my phone call. They're alive, which is good. But the whole thing still makes me nervous.

Then, on the drive home, I stopped at a light, and the car in the other lane stopped in my blind spot. I had this image of somebody in that car pointing a gun at my head, and I thought, at least let me be in park so I don't smash my car and break my body into an unrecognizable shape. I want Mo to have something left of me. And just like that, the thought was gone.

And I still didn't want to be home after all this?

This is Beautiful

For the life of me, I can't understand why (from what I hear) so many men do not find this to be beautiful, sexy, or desireable.

...?

So last night I went to an old friend's baby shower. It was up in my old stomping grounds, about half an hour north of where I live now. I had a lot of fun, as did Mo. I was going to give my friend Raphael a ride home afterward. So we got into my car and decided to get dinner at a local drive-in burger joint. It also has a dining room.

Anyway, we walked in there, and the manager of the place kept talking like Raphael was taking Mo and I on a date. Raphael is one of the gayest men I know. He paints his nails turquoise and emulates the Lady Chablis, for fuck's sake. So that was funny. And then, Owner Dude made a comment about how, "us girls should have another man with us."..... ok.

"We so don't need a man," I quietly remarked to Mo.

Later, after we had our food, he asked us where we were coming from. I answered, "we were just at a baby shower." And then he asked us where we'd be going.

"We're going to go turning tricks on 25th street after this. We really are living in cardboard boxes on the road to perdition," I wanted to say, deadpan, as if I were serious. Instead, I told him we'd be going home.

As we were leaving, Owner Dude looked at Mo and I and said, "Are you two related? Or are you just really good friends?"

Nope. We fuck each other, sir, I thought. Of course, we do more together than fuck each other; we love, support, and take care of one another, but I was going for shock value in my head.

Mo, ever more courteous than I am, said, "Friends. Have a good night." Or some such thing. And you know what? Friends is true. Mo and I ARE the best of friends.

I'm not sure what the Owner Dude's deal was. Was he saying that Mo and I were too old to still be unmarried? Was he trying to make us feel guilty for being female and being together? Either way, his statements are inconsequential. They're just bewildering and slightly amusing.

I'm beginning to think that, "Are you two sisters? You look alike." or "Are you two related?" is code for "Please tell me you're not lesbians." here in Zion. And it's just funny because we do not look alike at all.

Either way, that was one bizarre experience... but the food was TASTY!

The (semi) Instant Remedy for Inefficiency-Stress

1. Take a shower

2. Let your hair dry the way the good lord meant it to.

3. Drink a glass of ice water (five parts ice, one part water).

4. Prepare dinner:

a. get some Ritz crackers.

b. cut up some cheddar cheese.

c. get leftover chicken breast slices and leave them cold.

d. salt and pepper the cold chicken.

e. get some green grapes and cut them in half.

f. stack thus: (from bottom to top) Ritz cracker, slice of cheese, piece of chicken, three grape halves.

g. Eat whole (like sushi)

And finally....

5. Get a hug from Mo, who gives THE BEST hugs in the world.

Bitchfest

So, I'm sitting here with a dilated eye. My computer is dimmed enough for me to look at it, and believe it or not, doing that is easier than having a lamp on. Fucking eye doctor.

Even though I can read now (yesterday I couldn't), I can't concentrate on the reading with a candle being the only light I can stand. I was having a hard enough time reading one of my ethnographies. It's about poor, sugar-farming communities in Brazil. I can barely read 4 pages without feeling the need to cry. It's so frustrating. I feel like I should be doing something to help the people in these poor areas, boycotting sugar or something. And then I realize that I cannot do anything to truly help. I'm trying so hard and I just cannot read that goddamned book. And I have to because I have work due on Friday. 50 pages behind with 70 more for this week.

This is coupled with an overwhelming desire to fix a person I've never even met. And I guess the problem isn't that the futility of such desires is frustrating. The problem is that it genuinely hurts. It hurts when I can't help people. And I feel so RIDICULOUS for it. I'm carrying the weight of the fucking globe in my chest. And the only time I can finally let it out is at midnight, when I should be sleeping. How stupid am I?

I have been tagged...

...and what that means is that I have an opportunity to talk about myself. I never do that. Ha. This took me a week to write, but it's finally here!

1. I am planning going to into anthropology. Guess that's evident in the title of the blog. I particularly want to study religions and the development of neopagan movements, as well ritual pain infliction.

2. I grew up all over the place. As a result, the oldest friend I have that I still see on a semi-regular basis I have known for 7 years. It may seem like a while, but I know people who've had friends for 10 or 15.

3. I don't understand it when people consciously choose not to be self-aware. Knowing yourself is very important, in my opinion. So is loving yourself.

4. I just started a new job as a figure model. I've been modeling for a year now, but a private studio with about four artists was hiring. The work is more consistent than modeling for the group on campus, and pays just as well. I did my first night, and it was great. Will be going back for sure.

5. I feel like one of the most innocent people in the world and one of the most jaded simultaneously. I am not naive; I understand the way much of the world works, but sometimes I wonder how I'm not bitter yet.

6. I am the middle child. There seems to be something about middle children in our society that makes us predisposed to getting walked all over and generally being unappreciated by our families... until it finally manages to sink in that you're the only person who EVER helps out around the house, the only person who cares and shows it. Or maybe that's just an empath thing.

7. I'm empathic. It really sucks when I'm trying to do homework and somebody comes home all stressed out. I have usually have a drink in those situations, or I relocate. (Which totally throws off my groove, man.)

8. I LOVE wine. Reds are my calling, but I like some whites. I detest blushes. They're weak , wannabe reds.

9. If it's not wine, it's a margarita. With salt.

10. While we're on the subject of imbibing, I drink lots of coffee. Caramel machiattos are my vice.

11. People who act like they're entitled to receive my help on various school-related things piss me off. Have the courtesy to ask. I will most likely always say yes, but don't skip the asking part and go straight to the "yes" part.

12. I feel like school has made me into a social nincompoop. I mean, I go out. I have my fun and see people, but I don't know what's going on in their lives very much. I don't know who's dating whom, or who's friends with whom. And unfortunately, I don't have enough time or energy to find out. Mo says that I've prioritized. I say that I'm socially stunted. I feel so disconnected from the world sometimes, and I very much dislike it, but it doesn't seem like there's much I'll be able to do about it. Not until May, at least.

13. The world has, also, turned into a big project for me. It's all a research project, instead of an experience. Everybody I meet is part of a data set. (it's not like I collect info on people and write it down in my little notebook, but I'm constantly trying to find cultural implications in people's behavior.) I don't know if I even know how to be friends with somebody anymore, but I REALLY want to try. Is this something every anthropologist goes through at one time or another?

14. I'd say that most social activity I engage in is part of the "learn to be a friend again" attempts. Somehow, my brain ain't routed that way no more.

15. I yearn to be trilingual. I want to learn Greek and Russian. Russian is more of a priority, though, because I plan to study Russians eventually.

16. I'm very excited to go to Greece and Turkey in May. It's a school trip. I'll be learning a great deal about the Byzantine Empire. After that, all my coursework will be done. I'll just have to complete my research journal and a paper for it.

17. I love to Greek dance. I used to do it at the local Greek festival. I'm planning on finding little folk bars in Greece so I can do the kalamatiano like a native!

18. I believe very strongly that the dead come back to visit us. They don't haunt us, and they give us time to grieve for them. they just come back and check up on us from time to time, protect us from harm.

19. I've been falling asleep in class since I was 12. Last semster was the first time in 10 years that I didn't fall asleep regularly.

20. I hate things that make a ticking noise at equal intervals. Like watches and metronomes. They drive me fucking bonkers.

21. I feel like my life lacks a sense of community. Although I once felt at home in the local pagan group, I now feel estranged. Pagan Coffee has turned into a discourse on power, a pissing contest. It's all about energy vampirism these days. There's just no room for us Cosmos-loving daywalkers. And the anthro club here at school is populated with people I don't like to be around. It's sad. And although the gay community is a community, gay men and gay women are so different. I just don't feel at home among gay men.

22. I wish I had more lesbian/girl-loving female friends. It's not that I don't love my non-lesbian friends. I do. But sometimes, I just want to be around other people who are like me. Hence, the community statement made previously.

23. Once upon a time, I wrote fiction.

24. I also wanted to be an opera singer. Now I just wish I had ANY opportunity to sing.

25. I take myself way to seriously sometimes and I'm working on lightening up. I've made some serious progress since the age of 8, though. :-)