Can we go back to the Jackie-Selma thing again for a second? What you (I'm talking to you, JP, the only one who reads this sorry excuse for a blog)wrote yesterday made me think about it. It's about rejection.

What I didn't mention in the previous entry is that Jackie and Selma were just horrible to me. They made fun of how I dressed, whispering behind their hands (loudly, so I could hear), "Ewwwww... look at what she's wearing," and "Oh my God. I can't believe her hair." They avoided me when they saw me coming down the halls, turning to take another route when they saw me coming. Shit like that. Jackie was the instigator in all of this behavior; Selma was the follower.

I hated Jackie with all of my being, but deep down I blamed myself for her rejection. It was true - I didn't know how to dress "trendy." I was 12 years old and some of my pajamas still had animals on them, for chrissakes. I didn't know a thing about boys or hair or makeup. I was pretty uncool.

But if I do say so myself, I was a nice girl. A good person. I didn't deserve to be treated so cruelly.

Only back then, I didn't realize it. I took it all very personally, and I tried to change myself to fit in better. I got a new haircut. I forced my mother to buy me Palmetto jeans (remember those?) and Genera shoes. I thought these things would make Jackie and Selma like me again, and I tried to talk to them and hang out with them. Nope. They still rejected me. I was ... decimated.

Then I met BJ, and you know the rest of that story. Later I heard that Jackie got herself pregnant in 8th grade and had to drop out. (Ha ha! OK, that's mean; I'm not glad about that. Anymore. Not really.) Selma moved to another school. I saw her at a club when I was in college and she greeted me and hugged me as if all of that stuff was forgotten. Which I guess it kind of was. But not really.

Whenever someone behaves coldly toward me, I still blame myself sometimes. "What did I do?" is my automatic reaction. And then I practically kill myself carefully examining my every interaction with the person, desperately attempting to determine what I did or said that could have offended him/her.

Sometimes I actually come up with something valid, usually something I did without realizing. That's cool. Because then I can apologize. Other times I can't come up with anything, and then there's not much I can do, except confront the person. Sometimes it's not worth it.

I'm trying to teach myself that stuff like this isn't always my fault. Some people are just immature assholes. They love to play games and pull childish shit like not acknowledging you in the elevator, or averting their eyes when they see you coming. It's 7th grade all over again, but in a business setting. Fuck that.

It's such a feeling of enpowerment when I realize this. I don't have to blame myself, I can blame them! They suck! They don't want to be my friend? Oh well!

I wish I could go back in time and tell this stuff to my 12-year-old self. "Jackie will get herself knocked up, and you won't give a shit about Selma in a few years," I wish could tell myself, "and you'll feel better about yourself and be more confident. But you'll still be pretty uncool."