Friday, February 25, 2005

Fast Times At Harvard High

I was sitting in religion class last night, feeling kind of sleepy, taking notes, checking out the other people in the class, trying not to doze off, when I crossed my legs and accidentally sort of sat on the seam of my jeans...that way. Ladies, you know THAT way. Everything's fine and normal when all of a sudden you shift in your jeans, there's some pressure somewhere, and if you thought you were going to be learning anything in class tonight, well you can just forget it because now all you can think about is sex. So there I am, gazing at a vague spot over the professor's head, thinking about dirty, naughty things while he's droning on about Hindu gods. It was all wrong and bad, I know, but I couldn't help it. I must be ovulating or something. Anyway, I'm lost in my own pervy world when, as if from a great distance, I hear..."Ok, let's take a break. You can hand in your papers and then we'll talk about yoga." Ummmmm.......hand in our what-ers? Ok, folks. You all know that I am a dedicated student. I may not always like it, but I work hard and I get excellent grades. I have occasionally handed in a late paper, but never in my life have I handed in a late paper because I HAD NO IDEA A PAPER WAS EVEN DUE. I mean, I've had this DREAM before - this is a classic anxiety dream - except I wasn't asleep! It was really happening!!! How the hell did this come to pass?? Well, I think we can look at the first paragraph of this post and get an inkling of the problem. So I tried to sneak out. I am such a cowardly asshole. I tried to SNEAK OUT of the class while the professor was lecturing about yoga so that I wouldn't have to confront my TA and admit I hadn't written the paper. This did not so much work as......not work at all and cause me even further embarrassment. TA (watching me tiptoeing toward the door): "Pssssstttt!!!" Me (bright red, skulking back to where he's sitting while everyone stares): "Hi?" TA: "I didn't get a paper from you." Me: "Uh........no you didn't." TA: "So you were just going sneak away and not talk to me about it?" Me: "Uh.........yeah." TA: "..." Me: "Well, I was going to send you an email later." TA (too loud): "No emails!!" Me (placating): "Ok, sorry - no emails." TA: "When can you get it to me?" Me: "Monday?" Monday was accepted as the new due date for my paper. The only problem is, as of this moment I still have no idea what the paper is even supposed to be about. I don't know how long it's supposed to be and I clearly haven't done the reading. The good news is that I now have my home computer to write on. The bad news is that said home computer doubles as a doorway to a world of free porn and, as I mentioned, I think I'm ovulating. This weekend will be an exercise in Herculean feats of self control. Wish me luck!

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Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Spicy Feet

Have you ever been sitting around listening to music and feeling sort of sad and depressed when your iPod switches from Alison Krauss to Buckwheat Zydeco and suddenly you're in a great mood? No? Never? Well, let me tell you, it really makes you think about how what is outside of you affects what is inside of you. Anyone who hangs around Slothville with any kind of regularity knows that I have a gargantuan shoe addiction. In the past two weeks I have bought seven pairs of way-over-my-budget shoes. I'm ready for spring! So you will be shocked, I'm sure, when I tell you that the thing that affects my mood even more than my music is my footwear. If I'm wearing my pastel-striped galoshes, I feel a little goofy and vulnerable. If I'm wearing my Doc Martens, I feel all tough and on-the-go. If I'm wearing my orange patent leather sling-back heels, I feel sort of exotic and sly. The effect is total. Unless I slip off a curb and fall on my ass, I will be feeling exotic and sly all day long. As soon as I take them off, though, WHAM. I'm back to being plain ol' Sloth with her plain ol' feet. Today I am wearing my super-sexy, dark red, kitten heel boots. Not only that, I'm wearing my long, fitted leather coat and a ton of lip gloss. I'm sex in heels. The sex-in-heels look can be a bit destructive in that it tends to make me stomp around, hips akimbo, in my best supermodel walk which does not allow for waiting for a walk light, moving aside to let people pass, or slowing down for any reason, even when the person in front of me is hobbling through the snow with a cane. Poor lady almost got mowed down by a shiny-lipped train this morning. Trust me, people. If you ever need a pick me up, just throw on a pair of shoes that you know will make you feel like a hot tamale and go for a walk. I'd like to think this applies to men too, but I may just be talking to the ladies here.

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Friday, February 18, 2005

Religion, Shmeligion

In my religion class last week we were asked to think about what our definition of religion is. I gave it a lot of thought and here’s what I came up with: religion is a social construct that uses natural human tendencies toward wonder and worship to control populations of people for better or worse. The following is what Lovisa would probably call a “firebelly” post. It might piss you off, but since my readership has shrunk dramatically since my hiatus, I’m not expecting the kind shitstorm we used to get around here when I talked about God. (They were kinda fun, though, eh?) Have a great weekend everyone! *** I went to a Catholic high school. I wore a plaid skirt and a white button-down shirt and sometimes I even put my hair in pigtails. I listened to the prayers before each class and sometimes I even mouthed the words that became so ingrained in me over those four years. I did my homework every day, colored in the circles on the SAT’s and sometimes I even had fun. I’m not Catholic. I’m not even baptized. I was sent to that school because I had been kicked out of two schools before that. I needed discipline. I needed nuns. I loved the nuns who taught at my high school. They were mostly old and crotchety but that didn’t put me off. They knew I was non-religious and, contrary to my expectations, they respected my choice. They never made me pray or go to mass. During the big prayer meetings I would hang out in the computer lab with Sister Grace and goof off. All of the sisters knew my name and treated me with respect even though I adorned my binder with a fluorescent orange sticker that declared “Abortion On Demand and Without Apology.” They were all about educating the next generation of women and a little thing like me being an alternative, liberal nontheist wasn’t about to stop them. I graduated from that school a much different, much better person than I had been on my first day, but I still don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in anything for which there is no proof. Not fate, not ghosts, not reincarnation, not auras, not ESP, not alien abductions and most certainly not God. The whole concept of God just seems silly to me. There is a giant force that created the universe and everything in it, that is supreme and perfect and omniscient and if you think really hard at it, it might give you a boat? Or a winning lottery ticket? Or your boyfriend back? What? The thing that amazes me is that so many people are so desperate for a little solace, a little unconditional love and the sense of mattering to someone that they are willing to invent a make-believe “invisible friend” to provide that and then use the make-believe wishes of their make-believe God to tell other people how to live. Again, what? Not since I graduated high school have I seen a manifestation of faith that seemed like a good thing to me. Ok, I’m exaggerating. Jon Stewart interviewed Archbishop Desmond Tutu on the Daily Show and the profound love and kindness that the Archbishop exuded from every pore was so astounding that I cried. I know a woman (yeah, Regan, I’m talkin’ boutchoo) who believes that God is feminine and goes to church because she loves the people there and gets a kick out of belting out hymns in the choir. That’s not a bad thing by any stretch. What I mostly see, though, is thinly disguised bigotry, hatred, and downright stupidity masquerading as faith. Masquerading as the moral high road. As God’s will. As an escort for Planned Parenthood, I see the ugliness in faith. I see the violence and the entitlement and the anger. As a liberal democrat, I see the fallacy in faith – the cruelty of using God as an excuse to manipulate social policy in ways that hurt the people we should be helping. Faith usually looks like a bad, scary thing from where I’m standing and I am almost blind to the humanity inside “believers.” I believe religion is a social mechanism by which the powerful few control the powerless many. Make them afraid, make them ashamed, give them a place to go and be penitent, provide the shame alongside the promise of a release from that shame, and you have a populace under your thumb. It is also a salve. A way to feel better about living a finite life by simply denying that life is finite. A way to have a friend when one has no friends. A way to be loved when one is unloved. A way to be right. A way to be chosen. I would probably be happier if I believed, but I could never let myself be such a sucker. I would rather face my fear of death and loneliness and inconsequence than live my life a fool. Perhaps that makes me a fool. Is it better to be skeptical and discerning or is it better to be happy? Are they really mutually exclusive? Somehow I think not and I hope that I'm right.

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Thursday, February 17, 2005

Oh, hello.

Goood eeeeeevening. Well. I have a lot to say. I want to talk about the Justice Department's removal of any mention of emergency contraception for rape victims from their official guidelines and I want to talk about the conspicuous lack of Christian dogma from the U.S. constitution, but I'm too sleepy right now. Instead, just an overdue tidbit about my Valentine's Day. I'm such a cop-out sloth. So, I don't DO Valentine's Day, right? I think it's a dumb holiday. I don't like obligatory romance. So when I'm in a relationship I always warn the guy way ahead of time that we won't be celebrating it and I'd really rather not even get together on that day. Takes the pressure off, you know? I gave Michael my usual anti-Valentine's Day speech and he seemed to agree. He also seemed not-gung-ho about the holiday, but I have yet to meet a man who doesn't take the out I give him on this one with utmost gratitude. So I thought all was normal and we wouldn't see each other on Monday, especially since we had just recently spend 48 hours together doing sort of everything and nothing, you know? Anyone who knows me knows that I don't spend stretches of time with any one person. I need my space and a lot of alone time so 12 hours in one person's company is pretty much my limit. Strangely, I didn't get claustrophobic or sick of Michael at all when we were attached at the hip for two days.......but I digress. So on Monday he sent me an IM asking if I would come over to his place for dinner. I was...flattered, honestly. I mean, not only was I not sick of him, but he was not sick of me! He came to get me and when we got to his place there was a huge bouquet of flowers for me. He then proceeded to cook me this incredible meal of homemade polenta with a portobello, garlic, tomato sauce, green salad and - get this - apple crisp. From scratch. With ice cream. Oh, AND...I was so full and sleepy that he spoon-fed me dessert. CAN YOU BELIEVE I EVER TRIED TO BREAK UP WITH THIS MAN???? Who could have known that I secretly did want to celebrate this silly Hallmark holiday? I didn't even know it myself. It's nice when they can read your mind a little, isn't it? When they know you a little better than you know yourself? What a nice, cozy thought to go to bed by. G'night everyone!

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Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Connexshion!!

Oooohoooohoooooooh!!!! Lookatmee!! Aaahm... Ohn... Tha... In... Ter... Nehhht... Aaat... HOME!!!! And yes, I'm nekkid. Why wouldn't I be?? I'm AT HOME. ON MY iBOOK. DAS RITE!!!!!! I got me some konnektivity!!!! Sheeeeet, baby, YEAH!!! More tomorrow.... :)

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Friday, February 11, 2005

Quickie Updates

Hello everyone. I guess I've been sort of absentee lately. When classes start Slothy heads underground, but I'm popping my head up to say hi. Hi! Ok, letsee, what is going on.... 1. I'm dropping my geology class. It is the most BORING class I have ever taken in my entire life. Rocks and glaciers definitely have the potential to be very cool subjects, but the professor does every single lecture on PowerPoint. Need I say more? Buh-bye!! 2. I got a B in my editing class last semester. A Beeeeeeeee. Um, excuse me? Sloths don't get B's. I got a 94 on the final exam. How did I get a B???? GodDAMN it!! 3. The diagnosis on my back is that my discs are smooshed. I have to do the physical therapy and I have exactly 8 Vicodin left. *sigh* Aimee says she doesn't like Vicodin because it makes her dizzy. Hmmm.... That is exactly why I LOVE Vicodin. Oddity! Anyway, I'm hoping that the doctor used the term "degenerative" loosely because I'm only 29 and no one likes to hear that word when they are not even 30 yet. Well, I suppose no one likes to hear that word EVER, but you know what I mean. 4. I'm buying an iBook next week. Sweet! 5. Polls show that George W. Bush is scaring old people with all this Social Security reform rhetoric. I don't know about anyone else, but an old-people-scaring, English-language-mangling, religious fanatic is EXACTLY what I'm looking for in a president. You go, W!!

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Friday, February 04, 2005

Yay for Birth Control!!

What is it with children and personal boundaries? What IS it?? This day can only get better. Early on during my commute this morning, eight hundred thousand small children got on the bus. This is a city bus, not a school bus. Why are there children in sleepy-grouchy-grown-up land? And why must they lean and kick and crawl all over me like a pack of rabid squirrels? And the squeaking! Why do they squeak so much??? Sloths are not morning creatures. We don't want to be awake EVER, let alone on a freezing, rainy, slushy morning. And we have very very sharp claws. Razor sharp! When you start envisioning a bus strewn with bloody bodies, you know it's time to find your Zen place. Luckily, "Sirena" by Calexico came on my iPod just in time to soothe my wrath and the children were spared. For two days every month I have baby fever. Then I get my period and am attacked by a herd of small mammals with moon boots and Pokemon accessories and I'm cured for the next 26 days.

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Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Rooted Out Sloth (or Why I Won't Tell You My Name)

I don't know about any of you, but my early twenties are a great big blur. There are huge gaps in my memory from that period. I was a very different, very messy person who did a lot of drugs and slept with pretty much everyone who wandered into my field of vision. Also, I apparently didn't like Stevie Wonder. Let me explain: Remember a while back when I mentioned that I have a very unusual name? Well, it's a nice name, but it's uncommon and with the advent of the internet, it seems I am highly locatable. I have been googled. The man who googled me is not the first from the "messy Sloth" era to do so. But the others who googled me...at least I knew who they were. This guy claims to have dated me for a little while. Or at least we were "hanging out" which means I probably slept with him. I would be more skeptical if I hadn't run across an old diary of mine recently and read whole chapters about a boy I was sleeping with who, until I read it, I had completely forgotten ever existed. Even now, I can only vaguely recall him. He was thin. Jewish. Glasses. Sharp hip bones. Sweet, quiet. I can't remember his face at all. I think he was my neighbor. Anyway, this googler, Tom, decided to email me and say hi. I'm sure he assumed I would be like, "Oh, hey! I've been wondering about you all these years!" Instead I was like, "Ummm....hello. I have no idea who you are." He tells me we met in a bar when I was complaining about Stevie Wonder playing on the stereo. What? I love Stevie Wonder!! But, like I said, my early twenties are difficult to justify. Messy. Slutty. Questionable taste in music. So I believe him. The question is: if I did remember him, would I be friendly or would I run for the hills? Ah, sweet intrigue...

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