Like Humans Do

As is usually the case, I’m the last person in the world to read Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities, in addition to Winter’s Tale, which oh my God, could I take any longer with this book? I’m enjoying it so much that I’m savoring it like a butterscotch, which is … well, it’s a little ridiculous, is what it is. Anyway, Pledged. Honestly, I’ve written about my sorority experience briefly before, and I guess what shocks me about this book is that really, the “secret” life of sororities? What, exactly, is she exposing here that’s new and unexpected? Girls can be incredibly mean — crueler than cruel, actually, in very subtle, destructive ways — and peer pressure is an unparalleled bitch, especially in such a creepy, self-contained environment where mere adolescents are given far too much power over one another. It’s like Lord of the Flies: Collegiate Edition. We know.

But is this honestly new? The way the writer presents it as investigative journalism really burns my buns, because anyone who’s been a woman knows what girls are like, and if you don’t, well, you were probably too busy playing the oboe in high school AND college (a wise choice, my friends), unlike those of us who gave up the hobby for our post-secondary adventures in order to secure our place in the land of boot-cut pants and Georgia boots (the black oiled leather with the stacked heel was a must-have in 1995). And the promiscuity, drugs and … promiscuity? Well, yeah. It was a free-for-all, and boyfriends were, at least in my albeit limited experience, discouraged, because they took time away from your sisters, unless he was an athlete, because athletes meant you could potentially worm your way into a position as an NBA or NFL wife, and plenty of my contemporaries did (I went to a Division I school). No no, it was much better to have a series of meaningless one-night stands and hook-ups, because then, at least, you could continue to participate in Screw Your Sisters and it left you free to wrangle a date to Paddy Murphy if your sister wants some company.

And public blow jobs weren’t the horror show they should have been back then. I have the distinct recollection of walking in on a particularly blow-job-happy girl I knew– who was, ironically, a virgin and quite proud of it, but … well, oral sex didn’t count, did it? Especially not if you did it everywhere but the bedroom! — having her way with a dude from the fraternity next door in the middle of their living room, and while it raised a few eyebrows, it was nowhere near the over-the-top outrage it would garner today, because, well, that’s generally frowned upon in adulthood, thank God.

(I feel compelled to point out that for the most part, that wasn’t me. I wasn’t particularly slutty, and in fact, I did have steady boyfriends, despite my sisters’ protests, however, I will readily admit, albeit sheepishly, that the boyfriends were in acceptable fraternities, which was the other kind of boyfriend it was okay to have. I don’t know, just in case my male readers erroneously start lining up for free blow jobs or something. Um, what?)

I’ve covered this before, and I don’t mean to go on, it’s just that I feel like calling Alexandra Robbins on the phone and screaming, “NO SHIT. THE SKY IS ALSO BLUE.” I also question her position as an outsider, because it was much, much worse than she could have even seen for those of us who lived it. I realize not everyone had this experience, but for many of us, that’s what it was, but again, this is SO NOT NEW. The sad truth, however, is that I simply wish that I’d written it, because God, if stating the obvious lands you on the top of the NY Times best seller list, I’m all over it.

Breaking news: Florida has good oranges, and sometimes? They’re sweet. I ask you, where’s my Pulitzer?

This reminds me of an ongoing discussion I’ve been having with a friend about alpha females. You know the type. The girl that no one really likes, but everyone claims to like, because she bulldozes over everyone by intimidating the pants off of them. Or the one who’s so confident in her position as Greatest Female Ever that she convinces everyone of this fact by merely playing the part so loudly that you’re afraid to challenge her. One of the greatest things about adulthood is that so many people have finally outgrown this phase, and if they haven’t, fleh, you can avoid them, or at least compartmentalize them into situations where they cannot be avoided. (Work always seems to be flush with alpha females.)

I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here. The great irony in all of this is that while I’ve just spent the better part of God knows how long discussing the pitfalls of female relationships, the truth is, I like women quite a bit, and am entirely a woman’s woman, through and through. While I treasure my male friends, there’s something so special about a bond between women, provided there’s no competition. Because, as I’ve stated before, the myth that there’s only enough talent, brains and beauty to go around is exactly that: a myth. If you’re pretty, I can be pretty too. Oh my God, you wrote a book? That does not mean that I can’t write one, too, because I can, because the world is remarkably generous that way, Thank God.

Generally speaking, and quite paradoxically, I’m distrustful of women who claim to prefer the company of men, as I assume there’s a fear of competition from other women, or at least complete distrust of other women. I always assume this is the type of woman who could become an alpha female if she cared what other women thought. I am, of course, willing to be proven wrong, and have been on several occasions. God knows that my sorority experience was enough to turn anyone against female friendships, if one never had the experience of decent ones.

I think what made that time of my life so incredibly hard was that I compared myself to everyone else. I cared about my status within the house, and I quite readily sized my life up next to the sisters who were very likely doing the same to me, and I hated what I saw, every time, because it just didn’t fit, and the thing is, I don’t think it fit anyone, which is why it was so miserable. If you’re happy with your life and your choices — truly happy — then you don’t very much care what anyone else is doing, except to be happy for them. God, that was such a hard lesson to learn ; probably the hardest, in fact, and yet it’s been the most important of all.

Should I break into Kumbaya now or later? Jesus, again, I’m really sorry, because wow, I’m just rambling about nothing. Incidentally, I still have my pin, despite deactivating. I’m thinking when I die, they’ll hunt me down for it.

Tomorrow, by the way, is my fourth anniversary — a fact that Adam and I remembered while driving back home from lunch with Lawyerish – which means, ha HA!, we have no gifts, but we are, at least, going out to dinner to a fancypants favorite restaurant. Gifts are in two weeks. Don’t laugh, but we have, thus far, stuck with gifts loosely based on the traditional/modern list, which we’ve surprisingly enjoyed. Thus far, there’s been handbags and Moleskins and beautiful stationary for me, and wallets and briefcases and watches for him. But this year? Fruit and flowers or APPLIANCES? Jesus. I’ve no idea. And while I’m yearning for a Dyson Animal, I’m really not going to be all that thrilled if it arrives with a big bow on it, is what I’m saying.

Happy Thursday!

*David Byrne

29 comments August 1st, 2007