Embarrassment, Hatred, and Guilt, Oh My!

Three things.

As you all know, I am not easily embarrassed. I do, after all, share my embarrassing social faux pas with you on a semi-regular basis. But today? My requested copy of Stori-telling, the memoir of Miss Donna Martin herself, was sitting in my work inbox, with my name on it and everything, for all to see. And I felt like everyone at work had seen my skivvies. And they were torn ones. I think I need to quit my job, as I may never be able to face them ever again.

Let’s talk about something I HATE, ok? Tra la la, skippety doo dah, look at me all full of sunshine.

I hate cliques. HATE THEM. Hate hate hate. Leaving people out, because they are not cool enough? DISGUSTING.

Here’s what’s weird. I was totally immune to cliques in high school. I never even noticed them. I have told you all that before. So my hatred does not even arise from some after-school-special psychodrama where the popular kids left me out or poured pig’s blood on my head or kicked sand in my face or whatever. So I don’t quite know where this feeling of hatred comes from. It definitely has heightened more and more the older I get. And I notice it. If you are being cliquey around me, I SEE YOU. Even when it has nothing to do with me. I just notice it. Why exclude? What’s going on, people? Where’s the love?

I may be a little cliquey myself, as maybe it’s something we can’t avoid. I hope I am not, and I don’t feel like I am, as I am sort of hyper aware of it. But if anyone I know out there is reading this, and you see me being cliquey, will you do me the honor of KICKING MY ASS? You can choose to not tell me if I have spinach in my teeth, or if my skirt is tucked into my underpants, or if there is a boogie hanging out of my schnozz, because all in all I will get over that. But seriously, if I am being a cliqueish dickwad? You gotta let me know. Because that shit is unsightly.

There are people I know, and I know deep down that they are kind of not so jazzed about me. I mean they think I am ok, but that I am not really worth a whole lot more than just ok. (If you are one of those people, yeah, that’s right, I am getting that from you) and I see that the reason for that is because I am not cool enough. I am talking about ADULTS. Hipster adults who want to cross-pollinate with other hipster adults. And I am not a hipster, and so they get confused, because outwardly, at first, I seem like I am one of them. I seem arty, and political, and I have funky shoes. But then they get to know me and see that in addition to those things I am just a big old dork who likes to talk about tv shows and giggle about stupid stuff as a pasttime. So then they can’t quite make up their minds about me. Dork? Or hipster? Dork? Or cool girl?

Let me clear it up for you. It’s DORK. And you want to like me, hipster doofus, I know you do.

Third thing. I walk to work on days when my job doesn’t require me to be all over the city in meetings and such. And now that it’s summer, I am doing this quite a bit. And in my neighborhood, sometimes there are little kids who set up lemonade stands. First of all- wow, people still do that? And why am I saying “still” because I never remember anyone doing that when I was a kid? Just…people do that? How cute is that? And because I never leave my house in time to be very leisurely about my walk, there are days when I am (a) running late, and (b) don’t have any cash with me, and I am sure the little 10 year olds do not take debit cards. Whenever I pass by and I CAN buy one, I do. But other (most) times? I don’t. And I feel like the BIGGEST SCROOGIEST ASS ever. There usually isn’t a ton of foot traffic either, so the kid will just look at me, all sweet as can be, and I always say hi, and I will buy another day, but not today, sorry, but great job! and I love your sign! and good luck! But still. I feel bad.

That’s all. Oh, and PS. It’s the weekend and I am almost faint with glee.

I’m out,
Librarian Girl


  1. one of my friends is subconsciously cliquey and i’m terrified that i come off as cliquey because i associate with her. perhaps an asskicking is in order.about the lemonade: maybe when you get change you can stash it in a jar by your keys and then just grab it when you’re out the door?

  2. I, too, freak out about the cliques. I think because most of my formative years were spent in schools that were too damned tiny to have enough people to form more than one clique. We were monoclique, I guess.This came up when Sky and I went to the Salon of Shame (www.salonofshame.com) thing a few nights ago — it was SO CLIQUE-y. Like, they all knew one another, and you got the feeling that only the same 4 people ever read their stuff outloud, and you felt that you had tripped into the middle of a big private joke. I loved the idea of reading from old diaries, hated the weird feeling I had there.

  3. I am rather weirded out by cliques as well, mostly because I was the brunt of many of their abuses. Life was not fun in middle school. I still get a little weak in the knees when I see a crowd of 3 or more chic looking women together.

  4. I, too, have suffered from the insider by appearance factor. Only to be “discovered” and shunned later. (For instance, once I actually speak.) This seems to truly piss The Selected Ones off, like I was some Trojan horse sent to infiltrate their ranks by nerds. But really? I am WAY to cool for them anyway. I am. I’m serious. Really…

  5. Cliques piss me off too. Much more so as an adult than they ever did as a teenager. I think because I assumed we’d all grow out of that mentality, so when I meet someone who hasn’t, it infuriates me. How is that kind of behavior acceptable? Especially in the workplace, don’t even get me started on that business.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s