Art on an Island

For a few brief months, and semi- accidentally, I was an Alpha Gamma Delta. Freshman year of college: I remember during orientation day, being handed a nicely colored pamphlet with pictures of smiling girls all over it doing fun things. There was one girl my age that was at Wayne State University with me from our high school. We weren’t that close when we were younger but this new world instantly bonded us. We did everything together, and she quickly became my confidant, and my best friend. Well, she received this same pamphlet and exclaimed to me, “We HAVE to join!” My moms voice rang in my head, “Join a club. Join a social group. Be social!” I never would have thought that would mean joining a sorority.  Somehow, this landed me in a huge dankly carpeted conference room of some forgettable building on campus with hundreds of other girls who were also rushing. I remember feeling awkward and like everyone could tell I was an artist and a different thinker and wouldn’t fit in to this new class of popularity. But I thought it could be some kind of fun social experiment for myself and I could experience all these movies about pledging and college first-hand. So, in a fog and a whirlwind, I stood in lines, was sized up by the different sororities, made horribly awkward meaningless conversations, filled out paperwork, and was bid on: CHOSEN. There were four houses to fight for. I chose AGD because there was one girl who I had seen on campus that was just so cool and independent and artsy looking and fashionable and NICE. So when I saw her at recruitment day, I wanted in her house. After a few strange rituals, I was a squirrel- an Alpha Gamma Delta, and said girl was my “Mom” and I was her “Daughter”. I was given gifts, clothing, sisters, and…… homework. I didn’t really understand the point of learning Greek and memorizing prayers and songs, other than for tradition’s sake. Sororities, especially AGD, are (trying to be) known for their philanthropic work in the community. The founders were 11 strong women livin’ in the early 1900’s who focused on community service, diabetes awareness, and education. This part of helping the community really was endearing to me. The homework: Not so much. I was taking 18-20 credits a semester and ALWAYS had art homework- which usually involved pulling many all-nighters in a row to finish a piece… on top of every other classes’ studies. It really should be on a resume; Figuring out how to somehow juggle all of what college is WHILE being in a sorority. I found it near impossible. And soon, the magic of rituals, mystery of tradition, and fun girly conversation wore off and I became disenchanted. Every meeting was such a chore to attend, and every dollar they sucked from me felt like thousands. (That’s right, giving money was a huge part of sorority world.) At every meeting I repeated the words in my head, “What am I doing here?” 6 months in, and I started searching for my way out.  Later we found out that in the city of Detroit, three or more women living together is considered a brothel, and illegal. So no beautiful big white pillared house for us. Just the guys. Specifically, the Pikes. Pi Kappa Alpha. The hunks. The jocks. The nerds that dreamed of being jocks. This was the movie type frat house: Horrible hazing rituals, weird black cloaks and candles in the basement, parties every weekend with tons of booze and bitches.  Through all of these coming of age typical popularity contest shenanigans, I still felt a part of something. Is this what keeps girls in? People would wave at me on campus just for wearing a shirt emblazoned with Greek letters. I was invited to all of the parties, I learned all the hit dances, went to the bar every weekend as one big intimidating group, and attended all of the mixers. Mixers were parties sororities threw with a certain fraternity…. felt like a weird mating ritual where we just chose a guy to hone in on and have a few try their hardest to sleep with you. There were rooms with fog machines, rooms with flashing lights, rooms with many beds that definitely smelled like hook-ups, rooms with strangely colored pills, rooms with movies playing, basements with low ceilings, dripping walls, and moldy carpet, and rooms littered with beer boxes and cups. The bathrooms were horrendous. Puke and stains everywhere, all the time, never any toilet paper, and humming halogen bulbs that flickered- I always thought it seemed like the perfect set for shooting a heroine overdose scene. Luckily, in every house, there would be ONE guy that kept an immaculate bathroom that ALL the ladies flocked to. It seemed these frat houses were just labyrinths of games, booze, trash, and sex. I always felt uncomfortable and never found the room I wanted to be in.  One night, two sororities had a mixer with PKA. The normal room chaos was happening. I remember the cupid shuffle playing non-stop with drunk kids stumbling all over the house trying to dance to it. I was with my friend from high school that joined with me; we were in two different houses now so we didn’t see much of each other unless we had mixers together. We shared many glances that screamed, “What the HELL is going on?’’ and “What have we done?” All of a sudden, just like you’ve seen in the movies, red and blue lights flashed through every window in the house. My friend and I looked at each other and said, “F this, we are too young to get caught being in this stupid house.” So we ran out the back door where a hundred unknowing people still sat, smoked, and drank. Sweating, we flew to the corner of the fence and decided the only way out was up. Over the ten foot wooden fence we went. I can’t remember how we climbed it and got over…. I DO remember the scrapes and bruises I had the next day so I can only imagine how stupid we looked. Where were we going to go? We were miles from our dorms on campus and it was midnight in Detroit so walking would be super dangerous. Across the street from this frat house, there was this tiny hole in the wall bar, (that could have even been the name), nestled in between two buildings that no one ever noticed. We were only 18 but fueled by our liquid courage, decided it would be fun to sneak into a bar this night; keep the story going. We walked in, the bar went quiet, and everyone stared. I went straight to the bar where there was a row of drunk well dressed men sitting. I ASKED THEM TO BUY us drinks. (what?). AND THEY DID! (WHAT?). I remember getting a glass of beer and the bartender TOTALLY handed it to me with a smirk. Looking back, I’m 98% sure she served us O’Dooles. I was trying to act so suave and grown up so of course, I accidentally dropped the glass and it went everywhere. These well dressed men happened to be post-wedding drinking. We explained our situation and they thought it would be awesome to relive their college days (they were probably 45 years old) and begged us to take them to the frat house. So we did. (duh). We made sure the cop coast was clear- Now I question if the cops were ever really there because the party was STILL going strong. They were not well received at the house.(Also duh). After one quick refusal of the keg to these men, they decided we were lame little girls and high-tailed it out of there. These moments were so poignant, I can’t recall how the night ended. Probably non-dramatically. I probably walked home and nothing happened.   A week after this, I quit Alpha Gamma Delta. I wrote my resignation letter, which is tradition, and it had to be reviewed. (Try and tell me no!). The president emailed me asking me to stay, but how can you go back from this? I wrote her and said something like, “It’s not you, it’s me.” P.s. Once you leave a sorority, you CAN NEVER COME BACK. Ever, ever, ever. The door is shut. You are shunned like a Mennonite that loved Rumspringa too much. So this obviously meant being treated like a pariah on campus. Oh, and numbers are important to them. The house that has the most girls, gets the most school funding. So they try their hardest to get you, don’t care when they have you, and hate to let you go. My final email back was the president telling me there is a quitting fee of $300. ARE. YOU. DRUNK? I never emailed back. No one ever tracked me down. I enjoyed the next 3 years of college life ritual free (aside from my OCD). I was very much over frat parties and drunk boys. I heard whispers that my exit inspired a few others to leave as well… Including my “Mom.”   Since those days, I’ve realized my favorite kind of relationships are the organic ones. I do like to get dressed up and hit the town every once in a while. I do still think squirrels are adorable and I still stay in Facebook touch with a few of the girls that I made decent connections with. Part of me wishes I could have had the big house with tons of girly roommates that stay bosom sisters forever, but I think it was important for me to learn what was uncomfortable and how to actually quit something. I still have an impressive resume, and the taste of O’Dooles still brings the burning pain of embarrassment to mind.

Picture: A piece of fire agate found April 2011, at a craft show in Sedona, Arizona. This piece is about  3″x 2″. It represents the transition between October and November well for me. I’ve tried to translate this depth of layering and opal sheen to paint, but haven’t been successful yet!