Then "sex addicts" popped into my head and I thought, "Gosh sex addicts! What a ridiculous reason to go to rehab." So just below my underlined title I wrote, "sex addicts." I thought that was just hilarious. And then I started doing light research on sex addicts and I wound up feeling kind of bad about preparing to make fun of something that maybe actually is real and sad. So I crossed it off my list. But then I was like, "Oh ha-ha scientologists" and "ohmygosh Angelina Jolie" and "you know what I hate? Actors who say they're quitting their TV show to work in film and then disappear for a while and then come back to TV."
My list grew quickly. My hatred just seemed to spill from me: "Leonardo DiCaprio's South African accent" and "snobby people at expensive gyms" and "city moms who use their baby-strollers as weapons of mass destruction" and "organic mania" and "CSI: Miami previews" and "Bush jokes" and "out-of-control kids" and "Fergie" (the performer, not the former duchess) and "non-Italians who say 'Ciao'" and "the term: fine lines and wrinkles."
I just kept digging up things I derive sheer pleasure from hating (the volume of my findings-- a little worrisome, I agree). I was throwing back my head and giggling, rubbing my hands together saying occasionally, "oh and!" before scribbling yet more down the page. But it wasn't long before I realized that not one item on this laundry list compares to my hatred of... mean girls.
I'm not talking about ordinary, perhaps even respectable girls who are in touch with their mean streaks. I firmly believe that every girl should find that bitch within and pull her out when needed. Cause, she's gonna need her at some point. Guaranteed.
No, I'm talking about "mean girls" in quotes. Like, "gossip girls." Like, those girls that you can remember being in middle school, praying you had a time machine just so you could fast forward and see her get her comeuppance.
I was teased a lot growing up. My family moved to a small suburban, resort town when I was in 5th grade. So, I was teased for being new. I was also teased for being from "the city" (we moved to Long Island from Queens). I was teased for wearing hats (I loved hats. I blame the movie "My Girl"), for the types of earrings I wore, for collecting those little trolls with crazy-colored hair. I was teased for reading so much I'd spend lunch and recess in the library. I was teased for being too skinny, for being flat-chested. For being shy and nervous and neurotic and weird or different or both. Most probably I was teased because not once did I ever expect it. The insults came from around a sharp corner- I never saw them coming- and probably the look of shock and confusion on my face made it all worthwhile.
When I was a senior in high school, my ex-boyfriend started dating a mean girl. She wasn't popular (as in, "elite"), but she had her group of friends, and she was mean. She was bitter and awful. And one night after a basketball game, I was making my way to my car, walking through the parking lot of people doing the same. I was walking, minding my own business I swear, when I crossed a few feet in front of a car that had just slowly pulled out of a spot. But then the car's headlights turned on. It was my ex-boyfriend's car. I looked up for a split second, but kept walking. Moments after the headlights turned on, the ex's car lunged forward in my direction and made a huge screeching noise. I jumped out of my skin. My hands flew up to my face. I thought for sure I was about to get run over and die a painful death. But I didn't. The car had barely moved. And when I stepped out of the headlights I could see Mean Girl was in the passenger seat, covering her face, laughing.
I hate reliving this moment, because the truth is, I got her back in a bad way, and I feel guilty about it. So, retelling this whole thing doesn't really make me feel better. I'm not proud, okay? But I'll tell you anyway.
Not long after this incident I was assigned to a public speaking class. She was in it. She sat there-- quiet and safe and smug. The fact that she was in that class and got to live in peace every day with no visible remorse ate away at me. On the last day of public speaking I gave the biggest, baddest speech of all time. I gave everyone in the class a certificate, awarding them titles based on the speeches they gave ("most dysfunctional family" and "best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches"). It was a big hit. But when I got to her name though, I told the story I just told you. I told the story about how she thought it was just so funny that this guy scared me by pretending to hit me with a car. And I threw in there that I suspected it was all her idea. And then I said that I didn't have a certificate for her, but if I did it would name her "piece of shit." I closed with: "And I hope you do feel like a piece of shit. Because as far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what you are."
The kids in the class went in an uproar and I saw her tears from my podium.
It was to date, the first, last, single meanest thing I've ever done. I sure hope that doesn't make me a "mean girl." ...Wait- does vengeance count?
Anyway, truth be told, that is not the way to handle a mean girl. If I could rewind to that night in the parking lot, I'd get over my initial shock, take a deep breath, walk over to her passenger-side door and open it. I'd pull her out by her collar and throw her to the ground and say something cool like, "What's so funny, bitch?"
Nip that sucker right in the bud.
Not sure I'll ever be up for that. I am kind of a lady. Not entirely, although I try to keep up appearances. But I do think that alternate ending wouldn't have humiliated her so that I'm still thinking about it 10 years later.
So yeah, mean girls. Love to hate 'em.
1 comment:
Dear Meanie:
Love to be 'em.
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