Rememory

I was looking through old drafts of blog posts, and I found this one. Apparently I never posted it, or, if I did, I went to edit it later and never put it back up. An essay from my junior year of high school.

I am in their house, his house, but the doors are twice my height. My sisters wear large pink dresses, layers of tulle bursting around their legs. They wobble about, unable to support their heavy crowns. Although I must stand on tiptoes to see over the couch, the dresses are too small. I leave the other girls and go upstairs, looking for him. I find him using the computer in the kitchen. I sit next to him, on the same chair but barely touching, and he shows me how to fight with animated soldiers.

He races up the hill in my backyard and I chase him, trying to release the competitive spirit that he has been coaxing from me all night. He trips over a tree root and slows, I slam into him, we tumble down. He catches himself on his elbows before landing above me, but his leg still comes down on mine and I groan. I look down, trying to disentangle, and I see his pale, pale arms, glowing in the barely-there moonlight.

The moon is above us, and we are silhouetted in its light. I dance down the middle of the street, ignoring the glass shards in my hand, forgetting that I’m leaving tomorrow. I dangle the spicy mint he wants so badly in front of his face before snatching it away as he lunges and I twirl down the street, singing “mine, mine, mine.” He gives up, returning to the sidewalk, but I continue to twirl and joy under the dull moon. Then he is beside me, grabbing me, pulling me over and a car runs by so fast I can barely see it, so close I can almost touch it. He saves me. Our mothers say that now we have to get married, like the rescued damsels in distress do in all the stories, and our blushes are hidden by the dangerous darkness. I still do not give him the mint.

We are back, before it all, in Iona, where the beach is close and the tide closer. My sister hit him earlier, and he didn’t hit her back, because he never hurt anyone, not back then. He has taught me to fight the way I could, has taught me not to flinch from pain by hurling ping-pong ball after ping-pong ball right at me, but would never hit a girl, would never hurt a soul, would always save my life. I trust his goodness. Our families are on the couches, spread out and close together, and we play a card game that is more laughing than thinking. I am wet for the first time. I notice, but I don’t know what it means. When I go to the bathroom later, there is a bloody spot on the inside of his basketball shorts, the ones I wear because my luggage is lost. My mother gives me Motrin and a bulky pad and cleans the shorts and tells me that I am a woman now, and I wear her sweatpants to bed and think but I am still twelve, and I am confused by all this growing up when all I really want is to play another round of cards.

I lie in bed that night in a room with my sisters but in my own bed because now I am special, now I am old. I realize, as the last bit of wakefulness leaves me, that my body has just told me that it is ready for sex, for love, for children. I try to picture it, but I don’t know how. The next day, I examine the books in the house until I find one with vivid sex scenes, perfectly specific, and I read until I can see it in my head and have to put the book down because the image disgusts me.

I am fifteen now and he is naked, above me around me within me, sweating, panting, shaking arms dark and glowing in the dim lamplight. I toss and turn, the visual plaguing me even though it has not happened and is based entirely on imaginings, but it makes my insides warm in a way that no other dreams do, and I decide not to chase it away.

It is snowing, and he is at my house, and we chase and run with a flock of children, throwing snowballs, and I see him break a window but he doesn’t know I saw. When the window is found later, no one ever knows that it was him. He wrestles his sister who is less than half his size after she calls him weak and emasculated and worthless. He is pushing her, tugging her, pinning her down with the arms that hold him over above within me. She claws at him, writhes, but cannot escape, and he tries to smother her with a pillow. I scream.

I can never marry him, never be with him, says my mother, because he is angry and only knows how to hit. That’s what comes of having a father like his.

I am sprawled across a couch in my basement, the gangling limbs that I’ve finally come to control and love and cherish stretching all the way from armrest to armrest. He is seated on the other couch, joystick in his hands, voice calm, steering an animated car around and around an animated track, destroying competitor after competitor as he tells me that he and his girlfriend broke up because he got angry and didn’t know what to do, that it just comes out, that, that now he’s not allowed to drive because his mother saw him hit his sister. “I don’t know why it happens,” he tells me, looking only at the television. “I can’t control it, can’t see it coming, I just get angry, sometimes.”

He breaks things.

We stand in the lights of the subway car, close together although it is late and the car is empty, falling into each other with each bump and curve and turn and stop. His eyes go transparent, the pale green-blue washed out by the bright bright lights, and I can see through him and into him and he is mine and I love him and I want him but I know he is not safe.

I bike down roads less than a mile from home but they are foreign now. I go faster and faster, imagining monsters on my tail, fighting to get away, fighting the urge to go to his house and throw rocks at his window and cry that I want him and need him and beg him to hold me. I cannot go there, cannot do that, cannot let him know because even if he loves me, even if he wants me, I cannot have him. I pedal, and I cry, and I pray, seriously for the first time in my life, that this hurt can go away, that this love can run its course and leave me because I am too feeble to fight him and to weak to let go. I must not love a boy who is dangerous.

So I meant to go to sleep

I told James that I was, and it'd be rather rude for me not to, now that I said I did. Particularly since I was up well past midnight last night. I'm not sure what I was thinking with that--probably that my body doesn't seem to care, and that Mafia and the subjunctive tense are more entertaining than whatever else I was up to.

I still haven't made a "sleep" tag for posts. I refuse to. Sleep is for the weak, as Becton would say.

It's ridiculous, isn't it, how frequently I talk about RSI people, months after the fact. I still hang out with them, too--I almost got lunch with Gopika today, I spent so much of those preview weekends with Rickoids--I feel bad about how many awesome people I'm not meeting, but whenever I'm not with my summer buddies I miss them. I've turned into a "One time at band camp..." person, but it's science camp, instead.

I went looking for "This one time at band camp" on tvtropes, since I assumed it must be something of a trope, and it turns out it was repeatedly used in American Pie. Or, it's frequently referenced from there. The line in question is "And this one time, at band camp, I stuck a flute in my pussy." I'm telling you this so that next time Cammie launches onto the topic, I won't be the only one feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

SHP is still fun, even though I barely comprehend cosmology and I'm alone on the train because no one else bothers to show up. It's good to see Gopika. It's occasionally even good to see Rube, though not usually.

I haven't really talked about any of the college previews here...I need to remember to talk about James and his complex manifolds, though I've already told most of my readers it, I think. Ah well, it rarely hurts to repeat a funny story, and there could be people I don't actually know who would appreciate it! Right? Right...

On the plus side, James is coming to college with me, bringing [my school] to 2 more committed Rickoids than [other school]. Which means that we're way more awesome. Duh.

Why are English papers so much work?

Because I devote hours and hours (and pages and pages) to the following drivel:

The intersections of morality, religion, and sex.

How does an individual define what is right? When people choose a path, what makes them determine in which direction they want to bend? Society influences, yes, but in what ways? How so?

The power of religion. Decisions are made around it, people join or flee it. Yet it is defined, more often than not, but the individual.

Religion and the conscience. How do we decide things?

Tess of the D'bervilles

-innocence destroyed by rape

-rape defines a marriage

The Purity Myth

-goodness of women is defined entirely by what they have between their legs.

But is it? Really? Truly? The fallen woman can be seen in so many places, but she redeems herself in the eyes of the reader. But what is redemption for the men?

Gender and atonement: what sins are worth a life?

Jane Eyre—he's redeemed himself, but has she?

Orlando—a man, a woman, both at once, but he is not a man who ever needs redeeming

Tess of the D'ubervilles—Tess, obviously, spends a lifetime trying to make up for a sin that wasn't hers, but it seems, in the end, that it is religion understanding, not atonement, that drives her (with the death of her 'husband' she returns to her husband). For Alec, though, what is there? He turns to religion, then believes that the only way he can make it up is through marriage, a life's commitment.

Redemption is sacrifice.

What is it that makes an individual good? How do people define what is right and what is wrong, and to what extent is this dichotomy of thought present in our everyday lives?

The Purity Myth, by Jessica Valenti, centers on the idea that the societal perception of a woman's morality stems entirely from her chastity. No quality is as important, no trait as worth protecting, as virginity.

Is this true? Judging by the books, the answer is resoundingly yes. In Tess of the D'ubervilles, we have a woman who, after she is raped, is a ruined woman; her eventual marriage falls apart, her life is spent searching for redemption.

When old books—centuries old, not whatever your grandmother considered popular literature—are read, it becomes very clear that from a modern perspective, with its own take on what is morally upstanding and politically correct, the good can be far more evil than the author intended. Who today would consider the ivory trade savory, the oft-said 'nigger' polite? This is made even more clear when considering opinions that haven't changed. In past centuries, marriage has shifted away from a sacred institution, defined by God.

The lack of stagnation in moral perceptions is demonstrated clearly by shifting perceptions of marriage. In days of yore, marriage was defined by sex.

You should see how much worse the handwritten crap is.

Lemocy

What a beautiful, beautiful captcha. I bet Dino cried at that.

So, what is occurring in my life? I'm reading The Purity Myth and freaking myself out.

"Have you already unwrapped the priceless gift of virginity and given it away? Do you now feel like "second-hand goods" and no longer worthy to be cherished? Do you ever wish you could re-wrap it and give it only to your future husband or wife? Guess what? You can be abstinent again! You can't change the past, but you can change the future. You can decide today to commit to abstinence, wrapping a brand-new gift of virginity to present to your husband or wife on your wedding night."

--from this website, from which we can also learn that people who have sex like to do so "when there's no one around."

"Your body is a wrapped lollipop. When you have sex with a man, he unwraps your lollipop and sucks on it. It may feel great at the time, but, unfortunately, when he's done with you, all you have left for your next partner is a poorly wrapped, saliva-fouled sucker."

This is a) a mixed metaphor and b) sexist. Because nobody bothered to compare men to these. Unless they're saying that men would become one of those if they have sex with other men. In which case we should all just be lesbians. Screw men.

I'm not sure I can take much more of this.

Monday, Lovely Monday

There's a title that will probably never get repeated. Oh, how happy I am that there is no school tomorrow.

My younger sister's carpool buddy for swimming got a foot through the sclera and she's at the hospital. My stomach churns just thinking about it.

Ginny and Yuma are coming over tomorrow and we are cooking chocolate donuts. If Ginny's mother asks, we are working on physics. All of you, remember this.

In other news, I should be practicing for math team, but I'm putting it off because I'm busy. I should be working on college applications, but I think I'll be able to get my drafts done by tomorrow morning. I should be talking to people, but I'd rather read.

I hope that Kathrya is doing well, and that she continues to do well in the coming days.

I need to get going on The Purity Myth, which I think I'm going to add to my Lit X paper. The first three books (Orlando, The Scarlet Letter, Tess of the D'ubervilles) are from very different eras, but I think I can make it work, and I'll possibly be able to incorporate Lolita as well, in which case I'll be done with the reading phase of the paper. My current plan, though I haven't yet read the nonfiction text, is to focus on marriage and virginity through time. My main point is that the definition of marriage has changed considerably, granting much more power to the female counterpart (I'm going to have to think of any modern books I've read that would support this well, but I'll hopefully be able to find something...I wonder how Jane Eyre would fit into this analysis. I'd also rather like to read The Age of Innocence, which seems applicable. There are so many things I want to do in so little space!), while the societal perspective of virginity, placing it on such a pedestal, giving it this grand significance that is so similar to the power it has in Tess of the D'ubervilles (loss of virginity is equated with marriage to the partner in the text) is in a marked contrast.

Yay for plans!

Another Day, More Work

I've almost (almost almost) got the patent finished up. Just have to rewrite the claims and do a final figure description. I'm rather looking forward to getting it all submitted.

I also finished Summer Reading Book #3, also known as Tess of the Deubervilles. This adds on with 1984 and Lolita, and now I've just got to get through God of Small Things. At the moment, my biggest topic linking the three books is something regarding perceptions of purity and attractiveness, because, for some reason, all big books seem to come back to sex.

Today, I did some (but not enough) cleaning, some (but not enough) talking, and a fairly reasonable quantity of work, although, like I said, I have the figure description to write up, and I think I might try to make a bit of a dent in the summer chemistry work, and I'd like to do another one of my RSI blog posts (I must remember ALL!!!!!)

Anyways, that's today's update. Sorry it's brief, but I'm pouring my energy into far too many things at the moment.

Oh, right, last night I hung out with Nyx, and then Dad got mad at me for how much crap I still had in his office. Tonight, Gretchen is coming over. Tomorrow, Kathrya and Nia are coming over. I am in no way listing these to increase the number of tags held by particular individuals. No sirree, I wouldn't dream of it.

Not-So-Scientific Scientifical Adventures

Today, Julie gave her "state of the project" ASR presentation. Which reminds me, I should be working on mine....eh, I'll do it tomorrow.

I wish my back didn't hurt. It's making typing uncomfortable, and I don't understand why it's only the right side. It's extremely odd. Mother dearest thinks I strained it unloading the truck, but I doubt that, as it took all of two minutes to unload the whole thing. It was quite nice, actually- all of the brush was stuck together, so I pulled on a branch and the whole thing came out.

Anyways, I got to Science Research and was rather dismayed to discover that Mario was there, because I had specifically chosen to wear the pants on a day when I wasn't going to see him. However, he didn't comment, so I think he may have forgotten about them. Well, that or getting laid was enough to stop him from being creepy about other people's butts.

Let me reiterate- EWWWW!!! MARIO! DOING THINGS! SEXUAL THINGS!!! EWWWWWWWW!-

To fully make that point, this is a conversation on my facebook wall:

Kathrya: AH. GRETCHEN. THE THING I TOLD YOU WAS TRUE.
EWW.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Gretchen: I KNOW!! I REALLY WISH IT WASN'T.

Kathrya: ME TOO. SO DISTURBING. ON SO MANY LEVELS. BRAIN A-SPLODING.

Gretchen: NOTHING WILL EVER BE THE SAME. AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Kathrya: NO IT WONT NO MATTER HOW MANY IRVING JOKES I MAKEEEEEEEEEEE :(

Gretchen: hahahhaaaaaha

THIS IS JUST SUCH A TRAUMATIC MOMENT. THE EARTH IS SLOWLY STRAYING FROM ITS ORBIT. WE'RE DRIFTING OFF INTO SPACE. IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD!!!!!!!!

Kathrya: IT IS THOUGH THE EARTH IS NOW OFF ITS AXIS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW THIS COULD HAVE HAPPENED EWWW. LOOK AT IT THIS WAY. AT LEAST THERE WERE NO BABIES. THEN I REALLY WOULD DIEEEEEEE.

Gretchen: AHHHHHH!!!! THERE WOULD BE BABY CLONES. AND WE WOULD ALL DIE!!!!!!!!!

Kathrya: YES WE WOULD. THE WORLD WOULD START TO IMPLODE AND COMPLETELY DESTROY ITSELF.

Gretchen: THE HUMAN RACE WOULD BE ENEDED. ALL LIFE WOULD BE DESTROYED.

Kathrya: OH SO TRUE. I HOPE I WOULD DIE SOON SO I WOULD NEVER HAVE TO LAY EYES ON THE KIDS

Tea: OKAY THERE WOULD STILL BE ONLY ONE BABY BECAUSE THERE IS ONLY ONE GIRL INVOLVED EXCEPT FOR NUMBER 6 BUT THAT BABY WOULD BE REALLY MESSED UP BECAUSE ITS PARENTS WOULD HAVE THE SAME GENES BUT YEAH

Gretchen: EVEN ONE BABY IS ENOUGH TO DESTRY THE WOLRD. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES PEOPLE, EVEN THOUGH THERE IS NOWHERE TO HIDE.

Tea: I don't know- I think the art department would be an effective hiding spot.

Kathrya: uhm, I doubt it, because the mother is very artistic I've heard.

Gretchen: why did we stop the caps? it's so much more dramatic.

Tea: OKAY FINE, BE THAT WAY! ANYWAYS AHHH EVIL DEMON BABIES

Gretchen: THAT'S WHAT I SAID TO START WITH!!!!!

IT'S SO MUCH BETTER TO JUST RUN AROUND SCREAMING OUR HEADS OFF

Kathrya: I CONCUR. GOD. BABIES. EWWW. NOT WITH THOSE PARENTS THEY WOULD MAKE HIDEOUS BABIESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Tea: AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH BABIESSSSSSSSSSS EWWWWW

Kathrya: PROCREATION IS GROSSSSSSSSSSS ESPECIALLY THEMMMMMMMMMMM EWWWWWWW HE HAS COOTIESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS /acts like a five year old

Gretchen:THIS IS MUCH BETTER!! :P

Tea: WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY FIVE YEAR OLD BUT EWW COOTIES LAST NIGHT THERE WAS A GIANT BUG IN MY ROOM AND I STARTED SHRIEKING AND MY MOM HAD TO COME AND KILL IT FOR ME AND IT WAS TERRIFYING BUT NOT AS TERRIFYING AS THIS SITUATION I SUPPOSE.

Kathrya: NO GIANT BUGS ARE FAIRLY SCARY BUT THIS DEFINITELY TOPS IT ITS LIKE A WHOLE HOARD OF GIANT BUGS AHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Gretchen: LIKE LIFE SIZE SPIDER SCARY!!!!!!

Tea:ACROMANTULA WTF!!!!??!??!?!?!??!?!(INTERROBANG)

Julie: YOU ARE COOL
EWWWWWWWW
UGLY BABIESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS AND PROBABLY NOT SMART EITHER
I BET HE BELIEVES IN COOTIESSSSSSSSSSSSS

Cammie: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW AN ARMY OF EVIL UGLY CLONE BABIES!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!1!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND THE 1'S WERE NECESSARY

Tea: I LOVE THE ONES THEY ARE TOTALLY AWESOME AND WAYYY COOLER THAN NUMBER ONE AND ALSO DID YOU HEAR THAT NUMBER 27, THE ONE WHO DID THE DEED, IS NOW DEAD DUE TO SOME STD OR OTHER?

Cammie: OH NOOOO!!! THAT MEANS THAT NUMBER 27 WILL BE REPLACED BY AT LEAST 2 MORE AND WE WILL HAVE 9 EVIL MUTANT CLONES RUNNING AROUND THE SCHOOL!!!1!!

Julie: THEY ALL DID IT BECAUSE THEY COMBINE ON THE WEEKENDS UNLESS IT WAS DURING THE WEEK WHICH WOULD BE EVEN CREEPIER AND CAN STDS REALLY KILL YOU? WAIT THEY CAN WE LEARNED THAT IN HEALTH CLASS. NOOOOOOO WHAT WILL HE DO WITH THE EXTRA?

Tea: NO THERE ARE NOT ANY MORE WE BEIEVE, IN FACT, THAT THEY ARE SLOWLY DYING OFF, WHICH IS SIMULTANEOUSLY FORTUNATE AND UNFORTUNATE. WE WOULD ALSO LIKE TO REPORT THAT 27 WAS THE ONE WITH THE NICE ASS, AND THAT THEY ARE NOW NO LONGER WORTH LOOKING AT.

not that anyone was looking anyways...

Anyways, speaking of out-of-the-blue inappropriate comments, after Julie's presentation, the floor was open for questions and comments.

Mario: You seemed rather...tense. I mean, not like, tight, per se, but, just, somewhat nervous. Maybe afraid, or...

Tea: Uncomfortable.

Mario: Yes, uncomfortable.

Julie: I am uncomfortable.

Mario: You need to try to relax. Think of something calming, like Lumiere's shirt. It's so nice, and pastel colored. Pale blue is a calming color. And you could imagine undoing to buttons with your tongue.

Reconvening into the Wee Hours Cont.

Gretchen: Very random, but Vaccination had/still has nice hands, but I don't care anymore. Very nice wrist flexibility. I mean, I'm kind of jealous. More or less.

Tea: I'm not going to say what that wrist flexibility could be used for. I'm not. I'm really not.

Gretchen: EWWW.

Tea: What?

Gretchen: I was talking about VIOLIN.

Tea: Did you get it at all? Because I'd like to hear what you got out of it.

Kathrya: HAha. I found it amusing, but didn't actually get it, which is sad, since I generally do.

Gretchen: I understood the implication.

Tea: See, I would explain, but I think Gretchen would be angry. I suppose she could always just not read the explanation. It's not even much of one. It's a bit of a stretch, but less of a stretch than "you broke it" in my opinion.

Kathrya: Well, you broke it is pretty clear. But I want the explanation. Sorry Gretchen.

Tea: Yeah, but that's not really sexual in nature. This one isn't really either. I'm just thinking.

Gretchen: Ok, I don't get "I broke it."

Tea: I'll just explain both. I broke it is because there are weird sexual accidents in which guys break their dicks and have to go to the emergency room and it's really awkward.

Gretchen: EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Oh, that was in an episode of gray's anatomy.

Tea: The other one is if a guy is trying to get a girl off using it hands, it helps to have a little bit of mobility. Just sayin.

Gretchen: EEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW. omg.

Tea: Kathrya, did you catch that?

Gretchen: I did not need to know that. Gah. Urgle. TEA. NO.

Tea: I was explaining for Kathrya.

Kathrya: I don't know. It wasn't as good. And I got it broke. That one is simple.

Tea: I broke it is totally not an innuendo. I don't care if you laugh at it all the time, and the wrist thing was mostly to bother Gretchen.

Gretchen: I actually leaned away from the screen. HEY!! Not cool.

Tea: Sorry. Well, not really.

Gretchen: It's okay, I guess. Only cause you're Tea.

Standardized Acute Torture

Or something to that effect.

I'm done. Well, for now, at least, I'm done. It's rather difficult to believe. It feels as if I've passed some great milestone, as if I've crossed the line from being a girl to being a woman.

Wait, no- that was when I was twelve. Menstruation and examination are such similar words, it's difficult to keep track sometimes.

Even so, it does seem like I've gone somewhere. I've taken a meaningful step in the college process. Well, visiting Dartmouth was meaningful, all three times. And visiting Harvard was fun, even if it's downright impossible to get into. But this test, it's here to validate my ability to get into those schools. It's a rather scary thought. I mean, if I bomb this, could it make that difference? I'm not sure that it could- my GPA and everything else is high enough as it is- but you never know.

But I didn't bomb it. I can't have. I mean, I can't even remember the last test I truly bombed. We're talking about a girl who was disappointed to get a 93 on her physics midterm, for chrissake. I can do it. I probably did it. It might not be a 2400, but I'm sure it's amply sufficient.

Any more would be a superfluity.

Mushroom World

Gchat during science research, corrected with nice grammar and punctuation so it looks pretty.

Tea: Julie is offline. What is her problem? omgeedeeeez.

Julie: Jeez, I'm online.

Tea: Howdy.

Julie: We're sitting right next to one another.

Tea: yayyyyyyyyyyyyy

Julie: maybe we can talk.

Tea: haha. oh.

Julie: WHOAAAA.

Tea: Kathrya and I were making fun of Mario during gym today. Cause he was doing random high kicks. He did, like, two and-

At this point, Julie snorted, and I started giggling, and we both dissolved into hysterical laughter loud enough that the entire class turned to look at us. Angela then started chatting me as well.

Angela: WHAT HAPPENED

Tea: Nothing happened.

Angela: tell me NOW.

Tea: I TOLD YOU.

Angela: TELL ME

Tea: okay, fine, well, in gym today, my friend Kathrya and I were making fun of Mario because he did random high kicks.

Angela: mario...?

Tea: over there. behind you. by the computer in the front. next to the sub.

Angela: oh. HAHA SP FUNNY. So* SO**

Tea: yup.

Both conversations then devolved into massive numbers of copied and pasted crab emoticons.

About a half an hour later, I remembered that I could go and get my research paper back, so I snuck out of class and retrieved it from Mrs. Seltzia's room. On page five of the paper, I had written "Mario, who is quoted above, asked to be introduced in this paper as 'Paperclip's resident genius' (Mario). Although he wasn't entirely serious, these types of attitudes are not uncommon."

Seltzia's comment on the bottom: for this reason, I do- as much as I love Mario- question some of what he earlier said- though the reasons for his dissatisfaction I think may connect with what you also have already written about.

I immediately understood that she was implying that Mario's arrogance meant that his expressions of boredom probably flow more from a braggart's nature than an actual capacity beyond the schoolwork. I showed the comment to Mario, and he got stuck on the bit near the quote where she wrote "excellent." I attempted to explain the arrogance bit, but he just looked confused.

In order to further my own understanding, I endeavored, in a truly Mario-like fashion, to read some fun advice by people who talk about sex a lot. My horoscope here advises: That hottie you're so enamored with? Turns out they don't always say what they mean or mean what they say, if you know what we're saying. And we always mean what we say." Mario may not be that much of a hottie, and I'm not exactly enamored with him at this point, but he certainly does say conflicting things about his own intellectual abilities and whatnot. This horoscope is clearly presaging the comments on my paper.

Also, apparently Cosmo gives awful sex tips, so he's pretty much screwed.

Poor kid.

Purity Lost: Female Vampires in Dracula

A synopsis.

Victorian women were well behaved, unlike Vicky (Happy Birthday!) who wears pants. They also were very pure and chaste, eschewing sexual contact (Vicky merely eschews hugs). When "Dracula" was published, these scary things called feminists were beginning to emerge from the shadows. Actually, they weren't called feminists, just "new women," but the basic idea is the same. In "Dracula," all of these semi-feminists are monstrous, bloody vampires. They want to suck your blood.

For instance, Lucy Westerna. Before being vampirized, she's pure and blonde. Afterwards, she is voluptuous and wanton. Wanton, for all concerned, is not pronounced like the delicious segment of Asian cuisine. This is particularly directed at Jeff, who mispronounced it during English the other day. Also, when Lucy has been stabbed through the heart and killed, she is pure and sweet, not a bloody mess, which is nuts, because she should have turned into a relatively decomposed human body.

Also, the other vampire chicks are ridiculous sluts who make Harker into a mess, because, clearly, he can't retain control of his own sexuality because he is a thirteen year old boy, or something.

So vampires=sex=evil! According to Bram Stoker, anywho.

Love, Tea

Scrabble

Today, Nyx and I played scrabble. I opened with "qat", which I was very proud of myself for remembering, and a few turns later I put down "sex," which I was again very proud of myself for. A few minutes after that, Nyx started laughing at her letters.

"What?" I asked

"Nothing," she said, continuing to laugh.

"Tell me! Do you have an inappropriate word in there?"

"No, I don't."

"Oh, that's disappointing."

"What are we going to do?"

I sighed. "Ah, well, at least we have sex on the board."

Nyx cracked up.

"What? Nyx, what is so funny?"

"Did you hear what you just said?"

"Yes. Why are you laughing."

"You just said we have sex on the board."

"Oh." I chuckled, and we immediately returned to playing.

"You know," I said, "if Kathrya were here, we'd still be laughing."

Nyx won the game.

Miscommunication

This week at SHP, it was just Mario, Melissa and I on the train both ways. We were sitting in a three across, with me at the window (although there wasn't actually a window, so I was rather claustrophobic), then Mario in the middle, and Melissa in the aisle seat because it doesn't have a little headrest thing, but she's so short that it doesn't matter. As always, Mario still managed to take up about half the space, because he sits that stupid way guys always do, with about a foot and a half between their knees so that they can air out the junk, or something.

We were having a perfectly reasonable discussion of Irvingisms (things that Irving says frequently, a term coined by Mario, who got an English paper back saying that he lacks control of language, which is basically true, as Vicky can attest to after reading his US portfolio, but he went and talked to his teacher, who couldn't articulate quite what she meant by that, so he doesn't like the teacher, and he's decided that he's going to use his unholy amount of free time to write a book, but you and I know it probably won't be a very good book, seeing as he's not the greatest of writers, but have fun with that, Mario) when Mario broke off mid-sentence and turned to Melissa.

"Melissa," he said, patting her knee. "No matter what you hear, I want you to remember that I am your friend, and that I like and respect you, as a friend."

"What?" she said.

"Just remember that. Also, know that I sometimes like to show off around Irving."

"Mario," she said warily. "What happened with Irving?"

"Just remember what I'm telling you-"

"Mario, we're friends, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"So if you tell me this, it won't bother me, but if I hear it from Irving..."

"Well, you'll find out on Tuesday either way, because he said he would tell you at math team unless I told you before hand."

I laughed. "It must be really bad then, if he gave you a warning period."

"Mario, you have just got to tell me now."

"It won't make a difference if you hear it now or later," he said.

"It makes a difference to me. If it's later, I won't hear."

"Don't worry, I'll tell you," said Melissa.

"Besides, you'll be in math team."

"Yeah, but I'm generally on the other side of the room."

"You sit with the people who actually work," said Mario scornfully, which is such a lie because I know he does his math packets.

"Well, I just feel like Ginny and I would be invading if we went and crashed the other side of the room."

"I wouldn't mind. It'd free me from the boy's club," said Melissa.

"Boy's club?" asked Mario, oblivious as always.

"Well, maybe you don't notice it cause you weren't really there last year, but Irving and Dino and Owen and Tybalt-"

"Did you hear Tybalt's doing different rounds this month? He's giving up on breaking into the 4-5-6 thing."

"Yeah, I know, he told me," I said. "He's probably going to take my spot."

"It'll either be yours or mine," said Mario.

"B Team is way cooler," said Melissa, who, along with Owen, rules the B(ench) team.

Mario shrugged. We sat in silence for a moment, before he said, "Alright, I'll tell you."

"Ooh!" I grinned and turned in my seat so I could observe both him and Melissa's reaction.

"Just, remember what I said before alright?" He put an arm over her shoulder. I laughed because the foreshortening of the angle made his hand look weird, but neither of them noticed. "Well, last week I sent Irving a text message that said 'Melissa and I aren't going on the train this week,' and then I realized that it sounded like, well, you know. So he said why and I said because she had a long night."

Melissa and I laughed when we realized where he was going.

"So he goes where are you, and I go where do you think? And then he tried to call and I was like, I can't talk, she's sleeping."

"And he believed you?"

"Yeah. I went into school on Monday and he was like Duuude! I'd tap that and oh my god this is our stop."

The doors had already been open for a half a minute, so we jumped up and rushed off.

"That would have been bad," I said.

"That's a bit of an understatement," said Melissa. "And he really thought we were having sex?"

"Well, I strung him along for a couple of days, and he literally had no clue I made it up."

"Are you serious? He never said anything to me," said Melissa. We started into the tunnel that goes under the tracks.

"I just can't believe he believed me."

"Maybe he just wouldn't expect you to lie," I said.

"Seriously, though. I mean, you can't just sleep around in high school. Your dad comes home in the morning and sees the car and doesn't think anything of it? Please."

We reached the other side of the tunnel. I turned to go left, Melissa began dialing on the phone which hadn't left her hand, and Mario looked around, confused. "Why am I on this side of the tracks? I'm parked over there."

"I dunno. I'll see you later," I said, and started walking.

"Wait, you drive?"

"Yeah."

"Where'd you park."

"Over there."

"There are spots on the other side."

"I know, but I drive a truck, and I don't like taking that turn."

"Oh."

Melissa waved goodbye and started walking the other way. Mario turned to leave. "Bye, Tea."

"Bye."

I was still laughing when I reached the truck.

Overheard

Today, during extended Health, I slipped out of class to go use the bathroom. There were two girls, probably sophomores, standing in front of the sinks and talking. There was a short, talkative one, and a larger, heavier one. I'll call them L and B, respectively.

L: Nice iphone.

B: Thanks.

L: My parents are getting me an itouch for my birthday.

B: Cool.

L: Know what's great about itouches?

B: No.

L:You can use the internet on them.

B: Yeah.

L: Emily has an itouch. She uses the internet on it.

B: Huh.

L: She looks at porn on it.

B: Wow.

L: Sometimes, I look at porn on it with her.

B: Oh.

L: It's kind of weird.

B: Yeah.

L: Don't tell anyone I said that.

B: That it's weird?

L: No, that I look at porn.

B: Sure.

L, speaking to me as I dried my hands: That includes you.

Tea: I don't know you anyways. Even if I told someone, they wouldn't know what I was talking about.

L: Good.

I, of course, promptly told both Red and Kathrya the entire story after I got back to health class. Kathrya and I agreed that even though we don't watch porn ourselves, it really doesn't seem like the sort of thing you want to do with a friend. I mean, seriously, that just seems like a recipe for either severe awkwardness or clandestine lesbian hookups.

On a completely unrelated note, we're writing essays on gender in English. Here are the theses of my group:

Margot: Girls wear clothes that are really uncomfortable.

Carter: Being a guy sucks because, like, we have to fit into expectations and stuff.

Brian: I have great female role models in my family, and we've now studied this so excessively I feel that my brain my spontaneously combust. It's all just empty talk that isn't going to do anything to stop sexism; that takes actions.

Tea: Femininity is an insurmountable obstacle preventing me from controlling my own life.

Rob: What Brian said.

Renna: Being a woman means not knowing what you actually want. Also, is it a problem if I write a synthesis essay using only personal anecdotes?

Nerds Don't Get Any

This is, as we're all aware, a sad but true fact. And it only makes things worse to hear about all of the people who we considered totally beneath us in middle school, back before we moved to the higher level classes where one could, potentially, find a room in which the only person who's had sex is the teacher, are out there hooking up and doing god knows what else. (Forgive me the run-on sentence. Incomprehensibility seems to be my buzzword for the week). For instance, take Grant, who apparently hooked up with a girl and then called her "Isabel" by accident. I personally don't know anyone named Isabel, so who knows what he was thinking, but regardless, I think I'm going to break into another round of pouting along the theme of what-do-they-have-that-I-don't.

This should make for a highly enjoyable evening.

The whole bit about nerds not getting any is a stereotype. It's a true stereotype as far as e the nerds I know go, but it is a stereotype. This week in Health, Kathrya, Nia and I are making a public service announcement about stereotypes in which we film a representation of a stereotype, then demonstrate how this person subverts it. For nerd, Kathrya got all dolled up in high-waisted cords with a TI-85 in the pocket, a tucked in, baggy white tee, and overlarge glasses. We were debating what subversion to use while Nia got the camera working. My vote was for an STD. Kathrya, however, didn't respond favorably to my pleas to tell the health class that she has gonorrhea.

A few minutes later, Mr. Booth walked by, and Kathrya and I both waved and said hi. He walked over to us.

Mr. Booth: So what are you doing?

Tea: We're making a public service announcement for health.

Kathrya: I'm dressed as a nerd. I don't normally look like this, I promise!

Mr. Booth laughs before saying: Nice calculator.

Kathrya: Haha, thanks.

Mr. Booth: So what is this about?

Tea: Stereotypes.

Kathrya: We're dressing up as them and then subverting them.

Mr. Booth: So how are you subverting nerd?

Kathrya: We're not sure yet. Tea wants to say I have STDs, but-

At that, Mr. Booth's entire head, including the top of it, turned red, and he covered up the his face.

Tea: Honestly, it's health class, I don't see what's wrong with it!

Mr. Booth: It really doesn't seem like the best idea.

Nia: Maybe you party a lot or something?

Mr. Booth: Or she could play sports. You still have the whole jock divide, right?

Tea, musing: What sport, though?

Mr. Booth: How about chess club. Would that work?

Tea, puzzled: No.

Kathrya: Probably not.

Tea blinked a few times, confused.

At that point, Tawny emerged from the bathroom in hippy regalia, and we had to end the conversation to go film her.

Fireyes

Today, during English, I glanced over at Alfredo. He was staring at a small spot towards the front of his desk. He looked rather as if he was attempting to set in on fire with his gaze. This continued for a good ten seconds before I got distracted at looked away. I think he's attempting to develop Matilda-esque powers.

Now, I don't know if all of you are aware, but one of my many pointless hobbies is reading dating advice websites. There's a certain amount of irony involved in that- probably roughly equivalent to Mario's reading Cosmo. One of them linked to this, which is (advisory warning here) basically inappropriate drawings of Disney heroes. I, of course, was thoroughly distracted. There's something both incongruous and enthralling about Prince Eric (from The Little Mermaid) making a "sexyface" at the camera and wearing next to nothing. I'd honestly thought that he didn't have anything under that billowing blouse. I clicked through all of them, actually laughing at Hercules (nobody can have arms that big, it just doesn't work), before going back and sighing over the skinny, geeky, bespectacled guy from Atlantis with the glowing blue pendent.

It's funny, isn't it, that I see just as, if not more, inappropriate pictures of women on a daily basis in everything from advertisements to museums, and yet these drawings feel so much more scandalous. I mean, seriously, naked girls are everywhere, but we still freak out over photos of penises on wikipedia pages that are completely related to the topic. It's sexism, I think, but I haven't the foggiest idea how to deal with it.

And yes, foggy is still my word of the day.

Degrees of Hilarity

Funny is Krystal's inability to think before she speaks, to the point where, when having a conversation in English about how Gatsby seems to be choosing his words carefully, she busts out with a "Wait- people actually do that?!"

Funnier is Tonta accusing Alex of giving her the impression that Alex gave a lot of blow jobs, which, now that I think of it, she never specifically denied. It ended with them both accusing the other one of being easy and Julian yelling that he had no interest in hearing anything to do with Alex and blowjobs, and that Tonta was overly gullible, Alex was being sarcastic, and, "seriously, you were convinced last week that I was sleeping with Maculate!" Alex was so distracted by the idea of Julian and Maculate doing anything that the conversation was derailed.

Funniest were the three sophomores talking about hot guys. "And, well, I just think Holden Caufield is so hot!"

"I don't know, he's a bit depressive..."

"You like emo guys, though."

"This is true. And Holden's pretty cute."

"Wait-" interrupted the third. "Are you talking about literary characters?"

"Yes."

"They can't be hot. They don't exist."

"Two words: Edward Cullen."

"You think Edward Cullen is hot? Is there something wrong with you?"

"No, I don't, but if crazy girls can have crushes on him, than I can have a thing for Holden."

I will take this moment to disclose my middle-school crush on Artemis Fowl. Something about those young, evil geniuses...

Cooliality

According to Ali, I am less cool than Tybalt. I am deeply, grievously wounded. Actually, I'm not really that wounded, I just enjoy being overly dramatic about it. Plus, everyone gets mad at Ali at some point, or she gets mad at them, so I consider it something of a right of passage. A right of passage into what, I'm not quite certain.

On a completely unrelated note, here are a few of my fears: public speaking, embarrassing myself while speaking in public, trichomoniasis, those freaky old guys they catch on To Catch A Predator, the creepy news reporter on To Catch A Predator, date rape, and crappy law enforcement policies at universities. Thank you, Health class, for improving my optimistic perspective on life.

Speaking of Health class, you know you have great friends when you can have an hour long conversation about circumcision without anything becoming awkward. I did this on gchat with Nyx last night. The highlight of the conversation is as follows:

N: but how did your parents come to be invited to his circumcision?

T: they're apparently friends with his parents, but they can't be that close considering I never even met him, I don't think, and OMG THERE ARE PICTURES OF DICKS ON THE WIKIPEDIA PAGE!

*dramatic pause that actually builds drama, unlike those stupid fake ones Dino enjoys randomly adding into conversations*

T: that was traumatic

N: AH SO THERE ARE. I'm reading it too. yikes.

T: I totally didn't see it coming and it freaked me out

N: jeez wiki

T: they oughta have a warning or something.

Things Nyx and I learned from our wikipedia adventure: be wary of photos of private parts showing up on wikipedia pages related to said parts, and check skin-care products to make sure that they don't contain foreskin, because it says on wikipedia that it's in some of them, which is really, like, gross.

Sex-Ed in the 70s

For my health class, we had to ask our parents about what sex-ed was like for them. I went to interview my mother, and her response was that there wasn't any. However, I had to get a full 3/4s of a double spaced page, so I dragged it out a lot and talked to my father as well, producing the following literary gem:

My mother had no sex-ed in high school. The only thing she remembers is that in fifth grade, they separated the boys and the girls into two different classrooms and watched a movie about puberty and development and getting your period and stuff like that. It was probably the same animated movie that we watched in fifth grade. She doesn’t recall having any classes in high school about health, sex, sexually transmitted diseases, alcoholism or drug abuse. There was nothing. They basically had to learn everything on their own. They didn’t even the many resources available on the internet today. They had to rely on what their friends told them and what they read in magazines. “We were clueless,” Mom says. She also didn’t learn anything at all from her parents.

My Dad also didn’t have sex-ed in high school. If he did have it, he has completely forgotten about it because it was so ineffectual. He does remember that they had something in sixth grade. They called it some sort of health class, and it definitely wasn’t sex-ed. They pretty much had a couple of classes with a guy teacher while the students were segregated into two classes. The guys got to watch movies. He thinks that he watched Reefer Madness, which was about the dangers of marijuana as a gateway drug. He also watched one movie about STDs. He’s fairly certain that while the boys were watching the movies, the girls were learning about menstrual cycles and stuff like that.

Journal Highlights

1/31/08

Well... today in English Ms. Seltzia read aloud a page of Girl in Hyacinth Blue that basically described sex using musical metaphors. I, for one, was giggling like crazy. Gretchen, unfortunately, was too busy ignoring me to catch my eye, but it was still funny. Also, we discussed vocab tests and how we study. Jess goes "I IM with Tybalt then print out the conversations. That helps a lot." and the teacher goes "really?" and the class takes a couple of seconds to process this before a low ooooh! broke out, and we started laughing. And Jess is like, "it helps! really!" and blushes a bit. Then the teacher goes, "there's definitely a bit of pink in her complexion." By that point, Tybalt was extremely red as well, and attempting to laugh it off, but in an extremely awkward way.

3/6/09

I feel stressed. Let the stress flow from the ache in my stomach and heart, through my shoulder, down my elbow, jetting down the rest of my fingertips and flowing to the tip of my pen, where the dark of ink releases it from my body.

That's a bit better.

11/7/08

Back to SHP tomorrow. Mario's a db. It wouldn't bother me much, generally, but I'm far more attracted to him than I should be, and can't bare to just blow him off, but something just makes me want to slap him, huge pores and all. I am desperately hoping that we reach some level of conversation by June, or I swear to a possibly existing deity, I will cry.

11/18/08

Today was the drawing field trip to the Met....blah blah blah etc. At the end of the trip, Mom told us to meet her at the temple. Me and Gemma were with her, so it was no biggie, but everyone else was late. Mom was so worried. She thought that she was such an awful chaperone, they'd never let her come on a trip again. By the way, it's requiring a colossal amount of effort not to mention Mario right now. That boy has somehow managed to insinuate himself into my thoughts, and it is somewhat aggravating AND I can't talk about him, because Nyx always laughs and GAH!

1/14/o9

I'm glad I don't have to come-of-age twice. Seriously, though, I always feel like I'm a character in some sort of book. Currently I'm in the midst of a classic tale in a high school, with a science and feminism subplot. I'm also in the exposition of another imaginary romance, but right now, I mostly just feel myself growing up. It feels like I'm too self aware.