Never A Heather

I remember cliques in high school, A #1 Top 40, The Chosen, and I never got to be a part of the cool kids assembly. No matter how I pretended to not give a shit, I gave a lotta shit. And I've found this same pattern of pre-arranged pecking order to be alive and well with the bitches at Toy Fair. I'm talking about the cool girls, the ones who love to hang together and laugh loudly at something no one else heard, a joke that was just for them, probably about that guy from Target, the rep who had his fly open all day. The cool girls assemble quickly, and if you don't get in on the ground floor, you're persona non grata. They're easily pigeonholed by jealous, petty little people like me. Their clothes are expensive and even if they're carrying a little extra weight, they still look better than you. It's got to be the veneers. Fucking veneers, man. Perfect teeth, my arch nemisis. Oops, I was hasty there. Tall is my arch nemesis, perfect teeth are the arch nemesis' half-as-evil sidekick.

Day #2 of Toy Fair culminated with the cool girls exiting the premises to go get a drink. Very sophisticated, very dry martini, very 'this gentleman at the end of the bar sends you this drink with his regards.' They're impatiently waiting for the lolly-gagging cool girl. There's always one of them who's like, "Hang on, my hair is so not perfect!" She can singlehandedly hold the cool girl show, indefinitely, too. And when she finally arrives, one cool girl sighs and says, "That's what we waited for?" That's the cool bitch girl. She's my favorite. But I can't leave the drama queen cool girl out in the cold. Every elite bunch needs drama, and she's the master of stating the obvious. The tardy cool girl pulls on her suede jacket that matches her suede full-length boots and drama cool girl is all, "Ohmigod, are you ready now?" Yes, drama queen. Her fucking coat is on, she's all set. And thank Christ because "I am leaving with or without you" girl has gotten on my last nerve.

So, as they're heading out, I decided to bust out my sarcastic, pathetic nerd, Catholic-fried guilt trip. "Thanks for the invitation." All I want after that is a heartless, "Aw, we didn't think of it. Come with us." Confident that they'd take the bait, I just stood there, looking hopwful, a bit slighted, lips pursed just like the Church Lady's would be after she said, "SATAN?" But tonight I got...nothing. No response. Tardy girl's arrival must have been riveting b/c nobody acknowledged my fishing trip. Fucking bitches.

Guess what? I wouldn't have come anyway because I'm not comfortable around liquor and bars aren't a "safe" environment for me. Nope, I'm not coming to your party b/c I don't want to, not b/c I wasn't asked. I'm a die hard lesbian who chooses to head home to watch her White Sox in the World Series over tagging along with some hot marketing and sales chicks while they get hammered, and inhibitions evaporate. But the friendly touching escalates and one of them would eventually end up asking me to accompany her and her boots to the 'hotel room that's too big for just one person.' Then we'd have to ignore all that post-coital, carnal connection all week, and frankly bi-curious cool girl, you wouldn't want that to happen, now, would you?

It's that kind of reasoning that never got me "in" with the cool girls in high school. Were I a true cool girl, I'd not give a shit. But I do, so for tonight, I'm back in high school. Although, it's possible that envious and embarrassed feeling might last until my next shrink appointment. I'll bet they're sorry, though. And I hope they have a crap time.