Courtney Lipthay. I Thought That Was You.
Introduction
In eighth grade we were expected to write a short poem using the headline: Who am I? Meant to be an exploration of mindfulness and one’s own ability to set that awareness to pen, my poem was a good page and a half compared to my classmates’ half-pagers. Complete with what was possibly the only decent picture of me in my pre-pubescent glory, lightly padded Limited2 bra, braces, and all, my poem included such lines as:
I am a grain of sugar in a bowl of salt.
To you I might look like everyone else,
But my insides are sweeter than the rest.
At the ripe age of 13 I identified, probably unknowingly, the paradox that would be my entire life. Somewhere between acknowledging my own distinct existence and my absolute lack of meaning in the universe, I felt profoundly special and insignificant. And I liked it.
13 years later as I sit on the edge of the ugly side of my twenties, I would probably write the exact same poem given the task. Hopefully I would use better diction to elevate my poem from an eighth grade writing level, but the message would be the same. Who am I? Some would correctly regard me as book smart but street dumb. Some wouldn’t regard me at all. The truth of it is I propelled from my embryonic sack shitting self-esteem and that metaphoric rainbow has guided me in a state of blissful unawareness through 25 years of life. I revel in the delicate line between accepting and denying my own futility and that either has an effect on someone or it doesn’t. Basically I think I am fucking fantastic, but I really don’t expect anyone else to believe that of me. Except for my mother. She always has to think I’m great.
Because of this contrasting strange state of being self-assured and utterly lacking outer awareness, I am constantly surprised when I am regarded to any varying degree. You would think that eventually the shock of existing would evaporate, but then you clearly don’t know me, and you would be wrong.
Welcome to my world. It’s filled with a lot of fun things like unicorns, fairies, and prancing up and down a beach. Mainly it’s packed with stupid shit that I’ve said, dated, or done. For posterity or my own vanity I have recorded some highlights. Please enjoy, or don’t, (even though I really hope you do).
Going Greek
Back in 2009 the world wide web introduced us to trending websites where college-aged people who never had the courage to bully from the playground could spew anonymously rumors about fellow sorority and fraternity members. Originally meant as a recruiting tool for new prospects the sites quickly turned into smear boards where provocative commentary reigned. Here you might expect to see a post about how Kappa Kappa Gamma girls were constantly coked up while Delta Gamma girls were really good at swallowing. In college I was so behind the times that it took me a good six months of being involved in the Greek world to finally learn that these sites even existed. In fact, I only learned about them because my sorority sister lamented to me that someone had written horrible comments about her and it was effecting her dating life. Although I was originally sympathetic It didn’t take me long to suspect that she was actually the culprit of purporting these self-incriminating rumors. Jenna thrived on drama. You need only introduce yourself before she plunged head first into trite remarks about people you neither knew nor cared to know.
I didn’t last long in Greek life. I rushed as a Sophomore only because I realized that all of my friends were affiliated in a sorority and I thought it would be fun and jolly to join. I should have thrown in the towel when I realized that we were meant to learn a secret handshake and pass code. If there is anything that I detest more than stupid rituals and rules, it’s pickles. As there weren’t any mandatory pickle consumption practices, the spoken and unspoken conduct of the sorority world made me die a little on the inside.
There are people who are passionate Greek members. Good for them. Often people need to feel connected to something larger. In college some had Greek life, some had God, I had a bounty of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and that should have been good enough for me.
Naturally, my Rush experience didn’t go without incident. A couple days before it began I came down with the 2008 epidemic of the Swine Flu. Swollen eyes, red nose, and clogged ears, I was past the point of contagion but really unattractive and unfit for social interaction. Still, I persevered. As I meandered through the rooms in bouts of forced interaction I explained that I was actually a really fun person despite the remains of the flu making me look like I had barley survived the trench warfare of WWI. My favorite rush experience happened in Delta Gamma when one of their members explained their philanthropy event.
“Yeah, it’s a really great event that we are really happy to host. It’s called the Greek Talent show where each sorority participates and the proceeds from the tickets go to help the blind.”
Excited that I could possibly relate to the larger meaning of the sorority, I responded that the charity was of interest to me because my aunt is visually impaired.
“Oh that’s awesome!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, I don’t think she believes it’s awesome.”
“Haha, what?” the member asked as the bell rang to indicate that our time together was up. “So nice to meet you! Hope to see you again!”
I didn’t choose Delta Gamma. And Delta Gamma didn’t choose me. No shock there.
The real surprise came when I received my bids and learned that Pi Phi had dropped me. My best friend and roommate as well as my extended group of friends were in Pi Phi, so I had thought I was a guaranteed admin. That night I cried to my roommate in shock as I asked what happened. She was irate. “Apparently, Amber, [one of the senior members], had complained right before your name went up to vote that you had showed up to her place of business, pulled up your shirt, and said look at all these hickies my boyfriend gave me!”
My tears came to an abrupt halt and a true dumbfounded look crossed my face. Amber? Her place of business? My boyfriend? What the fuck were any of these things? Not only had I been dying in bed with Swine Flu for the past week, I hadn’t had a boyfriend really ever, and the only time I had gotten a hickey was when I gave one to myself as a child because I wanted to know what would happen if you sucked on your skin really hard, (in case you don’t know the answer — you bruise).
“Jac, you knows those things aren’t true.”
“I know!” she exclaimed. “But by the time I heard them it was too late to tell everyone it wasn’t you and the vote was cast.”
Clearly Greek life was not going to be for me. I wasn’t particularly good at being popular, mainly because I had a permanent stick wedged up my ass, (and not the kind that guys found sexy), but I figured I would ride out the experience to see where I landed. I hadn’t pushed myself through a delusional fever for nothing.
I accepted a bid from Kappa Alpha Theta, more commonly known as Theta. We were Kite Sisters, our favorite flower was the Pansy, (ew), and black and gold were our colors. Despite these things, I decided to get really involved. I applied for a position on our Sorority Board and the members made the mistake of thinking I was cool. As I had briefly dated someone from a hot fraternity my Freshman year and was friendly with some of the guys, it was thought that I would have sway to plan some really kick-ass parties. Wrong.
Apparently, while Theta was a great sorority, we weren’t rumored to be good with coke or swallowing, or have something magical like a clit for a nipple. And while I was friendly with the heads of the frat social chairs, they had loyalties to the fraternity to arrange off-the-grid social events with the “top 3” sororities. I think Theta supposedly fell at number 4, or even 5, on the cool meter. Most of the girls in the sorority were really content to hang out with the awesome guys in some of the “lesser” frats, but one of the Board members would constantly barrage me with comments about how we didn’t want to be doing events with Sigma Whatever but should strive for Chi Whatever, because they were “cool” and we needed to be perceived as a top sorority. This bitch. I told her point blank that these “cool” fraternities weren’t responding to my invitations to get drunk on a Wednesday night, but other frats were down and our girls were excited to hang out. She rolled her eyes and scoffed as she walked away while I pulled out my phone to text the social chair of a “lesser” frat that we were confirmed for next week’s tacky-themed party.
If my new inner-circle was going to be filled with such narrow-minded members it was time I made my circle smaller and cut bitches. I lasted three months before abandoning Greek life entirely.
But Greek life followed me!
One day I was procrastinating something of the rather and thought it would be a brilliant time to Google search my name. I wanted to see how many of my few achievements had made it to the Internet. The first few entries were predictable: my admission to UCSD, my involvement in some dance shows, etc. But towards the end of the search page I saw a clip that caught my eye:
“…Courtney Lipthay was OF COURSE wearing the smallest bikini you could possibly imagine at the Theta Katwalk. As If she couldn’t be screaming for more attention. And don’t even get me started about how trashy she was at the Pike formal in Vegas…”
I stared at the screen stunned as I racked my brains for what I had done at Pike formal. The author wasn’t far off on the Katwalk comment. I was wearing the world’s smallest bikini. While I was doing it because I was 19 and thought my legs and ass would only go downhill from there and I wanted a photo to commemorate the event, I could understand how it would seem like a desperate cry for attention. But Pike formal? Other than some sloppy make out sessions with my boyfriend of a month the only social crime I could think of was that I had gifted him a bottle of Jaeger for his birthday. Nothing quite says “under age drinking” like a bottle of douchy medicinal syrup disguised as liquor. I picked up the phone and dialed my mom.
“Hello?”
“Mom! You’ll never guess what happened! Someone was actually talking about me online!”
Unlike Jenna, I couldn’t believe my name had made the list. Someone had felt passionate enough about my perceived sluttiness to put it out there for discussion. Of course, no one responded, but someone was talking about me!
Soon after my Google search the sites were ruled as “damaging,” monitored, and taken down. While the removal was certainly better for my professional prospects I was personally devastated. I was convinced that this was just another example of the world conspiring to keep me anonymous. It was comparable to the time in High School where I won third in the talent show, ran track and field, and danced in a school musical but the Yearbook Committee neglected to report on any of those events FOR THAT YEAR ONLY. Maybe Jenna was on to something. Apparently if you want people to recognize your accolades you need to promote them yourself. Because while my high school actives were absent from a 500 page yearbook, the Yearbook Committee had a nice 2 page spread. Lesson learned.
