(no subject)
I had completely forgotten that I had been invited to ADChi's "BLING" themed party on Thursday night, so I set off to Campus Crusade large group in those gray fleece pants I always wear and that really comfortable long sleeve shirt that has "PURE" written across my breasts. Comfortable but form-fitting. So when Donna and Caleb started talking about the party after the last worship set, I started feeling antsy and a little sorry I hadn't dressed all sexy for the Lord like I usually don't.
So Caleb and Ken and I started talking like we're gonna go and I'm a little sad I had left my 15-lb. chains and golden medallions and "pretend" glock at home (it was, after all, a BLING party) and that I was wearing a shirt that went up to my neck. But we're talking about it like I have all this hard-core moxie and I resolve to go and turn that party out and shake my ass and all that stuff, and I'm feeling a little happier because it was for sure gonna be like a rap video, where I scream "Where's the booze?!" and Ken screams "Where's the bikinis?!"
So I get to the house, and it's very dark like all greek parties should be, only you can tell this is a Christian sorority because there's a table of chocolate-dipped strawberries (which I totally killed, by the way) and Martinelli's and a little room set up for chatting. And I go into the dancey room and the rap song's going "GIRLS! They soakin' wet!" and I smile and fondly remember the times we would have Bible study in this room. Before I start dancing I go to a bathroom to put my purse and jacket down and pray to Jesus that no one steals my iPod. A little while later I'm trying to get my groove on and shake it like a polaroid picture but nothing's happening. I'm too distracted by the bling and sequined lingerie and Christian frat boys trying to freak in a way pleasing to God that I go through these huge mood changes, swinging from existential despair about my place in this world to hysterical giggling at a white boy trying to step.
I thought I'd try my luck in the chatty room. The plan was to pinch my cheeks for color, cross my legs, and look weak, witless, and therefore insanely attractive. But oh, damn that Pure shirt I was wearing! I looked like some proud virgin. Then again, everyone in that room was probably a proud virgin, too. But that's not the point. The point was, is, that I suck. So I chatted up Nancy, the security monitor, ignored the one guy who tried to approach me, sat silently for three minutes, and decided to leave. As I was going for one last strawberry, a group of four asian guys talking together caught my eye and I had this fleeting moment of pity for them because I knew that each of them would rather be talking to any of the bejewelled ladies at that party. I also realized that if I wanted to, I could walk over to them and instantly turn the group into an Anna Adoration Association (indeed), but I thought better about it and went home alone.
At the co-op I put some groceries away, rearranged the bread (again!), and thought about whether I should do the Barthes reading or the Paz reading first. And I'm a little frustrated because earlier that day Wesley had told me that a few girls think I'm gay because I "talk directly" (I know, wtf?) and I'm feeling a little sorry for myself. Because, you know, I'm thinking that if only the girls knew how much I want a man to kiss me softly on my neck or hold my hand tenderly or stroke my hair as I go to sleep at night/in class, then there'd be no question of my orientation, for the strength of my desire for some guy, this guy. And why did Wesley's news affect me that much, anyway? Who am I? I wish I knew.
So Caleb and Ken and I started talking like we're gonna go and I'm a little sad I had left my 15-lb. chains and golden medallions and "pretend" glock at home (it was, after all, a BLING party) and that I was wearing a shirt that went up to my neck. But we're talking about it like I have all this hard-core moxie and I resolve to go and turn that party out and shake my ass and all that stuff, and I'm feeling a little happier because it was for sure gonna be like a rap video, where I scream "Where's the booze?!" and Ken screams "Where's the bikinis?!"
So I get to the house, and it's very dark like all greek parties should be, only you can tell this is a Christian sorority because there's a table of chocolate-dipped strawberries (which I totally killed, by the way) and Martinelli's and a little room set up for chatting. And I go into the dancey room and the rap song's going "GIRLS! They soakin' wet!" and I smile and fondly remember the times we would have Bible study in this room. Before I start dancing I go to a bathroom to put my purse and jacket down and pray to Jesus that no one steals my iPod. A little while later I'm trying to get my groove on and shake it like a polaroid picture but nothing's happening. I'm too distracted by the bling and sequined lingerie and Christian frat boys trying to freak in a way pleasing to God that I go through these huge mood changes, swinging from existential despair about my place in this world to hysterical giggling at a white boy trying to step.
I thought I'd try my luck in the chatty room. The plan was to pinch my cheeks for color, cross my legs, and look weak, witless, and therefore insanely attractive. But oh, damn that Pure shirt I was wearing! I looked like some proud virgin. Then again, everyone in that room was probably a proud virgin, too. But that's not the point. The point was, is, that I suck. So I chatted up Nancy, the security monitor, ignored the one guy who tried to approach me, sat silently for three minutes, and decided to leave. As I was going for one last strawberry, a group of four asian guys talking together caught my eye and I had this fleeting moment of pity for them because I knew that each of them would rather be talking to any of the bejewelled ladies at that party. I also realized that if I wanted to, I could walk over to them and instantly turn the group into an Anna Adoration Association (indeed), but I thought better about it and went home alone.
At the co-op I put some groceries away, rearranged the bread (again!), and thought about whether I should do the Barthes reading or the Paz reading first. And I'm a little frustrated because earlier that day Wesley had told me that a few girls think I'm gay because I "talk directly" (I know, wtf?) and I'm feeling a little sorry for myself. Because, you know, I'm thinking that if only the girls knew how much I want a man to kiss me softly on my neck or hold my hand tenderly or stroke my hair as I go to sleep at night/in class, then there'd be no question of my orientation, for the strength of my desire for some guy, this guy. And why did Wesley's news affect me that much, anyway? Who am I? I wish I knew.