*clique, clique*

Or:  The Road to Success is Paved with Assholes.

We would sit on the bench along the rear wall of the dressing room lockers and discuss books and music and film while waiting for our turn at "up-time" - a horrible cat-walk get-the-evening-going system devised by the pimpy manager of the club where we worked, Pure Platinum (yes, that was the real name *gags*).  There were two locations; one sort of along the freeway in the middle of a random strata of San Diego burroughs, and one near the airport.  We worked at the one along the freeway.  It was considered the better of the two, which was laughable to us.  Sometimes, during a table dance (and they meant it, at this joint; the dancing was done in a little circular cut-out on the top of the tables) one would cling to the ceiling for balance during the routine, often meaning that bits of decrepit ceiling would flake off and drift down into one's locks.  Picking them out later was a true delight.

There were several dancers who would sit in the same seats, night after night, in front of the mirror that stretched along the wall just beyond the door into the dressing room. It was as if those seats belonged to them.  They were senior dancers in the club and also usually the best money-makers, and they were entitled, somehow, and no one else dared sit there.  Well, there were nights where those girls weren't working and then a second-tier dancer would take her seat; but otherwise, it was understood.  They got those spots.

We called them the mirror-girls.  When we were together and away from the club, we'd mimic them and their almost-ghoulish behavior while putting on their faces; how they spoke to one another, how they flipped their hair, how much rouge they applied to their decolletage. 

They had a name for us, too.  One night, one of the girls flipped her hair and, turning to give us the once-over while we mused quietly on Hemingway and feminism, said something pointed about our being "the nerd group."

We all laughed, genuinely laughed, laughed so hard the three of us were laying about on the floor in choking spasms.  It was such a filthy floor, too, with anyone's guess as to when it had last been cleaned.  But we couldn't help it.  We really *were* the nerd group.

I was so proud of that.

(I was also proud of the fact that, on an almost-nightly basis, I flashed the bouncer, ready to walk me to my car, and the dancers still waiting in the queue to be escorted out, with my regular bikini underwear, that they all referred to as "granny panties."  The other girls wore g-strings, without exception.  This was in ancient times, or about twelve years ago, so it's funny to think of g-strings being so edgy.  But they were.  Going commando wouldn't become a thing until at least a few years later on.)

I'm pleased when I'm not associated with what everyone else is doing in a large group.  To be different, to be able to distinguish myself from the rest of the inhabitants of a scene, it makes me feel alive. 

As a blogger, I'm glad to not play at being a hipster.  I don't know anymore what's cool in the music world, in film, or the realm of fashion, really, though once upon a time, it was the most important thing I could fathom. 

It's an honor to be friends with other bloggers who, while possibly not the edgiest, are the most genuine, the most sincere.  I'm humbled by their continued search for their truth, whether it means their traffic fluctuates or just plain plummets.  It's what makes them the very most edgy of us all.

And FUCK you if you think you're so cool you can't speak to something because it's beneath you.  Even when it's presented by someone who is lovely and genuine and a hundred times the writer, a thousand times the person, that you could ever be.  Especially then.

May your beloved mirror give you the unending pleasure and validation you apparently seek.  But don't assume there aren't people mocking your every move while you absorb yourself into its depths.

Oh, there are.

Comments

[Andrea]

I. LOVE. YOU. That is all.

[Kathi D]

When you get to be A Certain Age, it becomes more clear that everyone is scared and pretending not to be, even the Mirror Girls.

[Jenny, Bloggess]

God, I love this.

Love, love, love.

[Chag]

Nice!

[flutter]

You are so badass deb

[kirsten]

And here I was hoping that people would think I was edgy:)

Love you

[qt]

Loved this slice, ms. debbie. Wish I could have been a part of the nerd group ~ I was just too strange for anyone to adopt. Luckily, it stopped phasing me after awhile...:)

[the weirdgirl]

I love this! I love you, you wonderful dancing-on-tables literature girl!

Nerds rock.

(the mirror people are only mean because we scare them)

[Backpacking Dad]

Whoa! What did I do? Did I blow somebody off? Deb! Tell me! I didn't mean to. But, the mirror. Man. The mirror is so awesome. And if I stand between two of them I just see myself extended to infinity, taking up the whole world, and who can say no to that kind of afternoon?

Wait. Maybe you weren't talking about me. I may be a nerd, and I may be a bit cliquey, but I think mostly I'm in whatever group it is that is certain everyone is talking about them, but is also all paranoid about it. What group is that?

Oh. The losers.

[nancy]

It took me longer than I care to admit to be comfortable with my status as a nerd. But given that it allows me tp be myself - and hang with other spectacular people such as you - I now embrace my nerdy side. WITH BELLS ON.

[janet]

As a life-long member of the nerd group, thank you. I loved this post.

[Suebob]

Yes, what nerds we are, actually following people on Twitter, leaving comments open on our blogs and returning emails. How hopelessly uncool.

I love Attila the Mom's comment up there!

[Maria]

Well FUCK YOU TOO!

:p

How have you been? We haven't talked in a while. What do you think of Obama's VP pick?

[Kyla]

Yes, yes.

You are a jewel, you know. You never needed the mirror because you sparkle all on your own.

[slouching mom]

sing it.

(you did.)

[Mary]

I'd sing "Did you ever know that you're my hero" but I can't stand that song.

Debbie, this was fanF***INGtastic.

[Gwen]

I, for one, have always preferred Depeche Mode to Tears for Fears. Can we still be friends?

[Amanda]

I find this objectivity so ephemeral in my own life, applying the clique disdain not to women in a mirror, but to the moms on the street. Vying for best yard, smartest kid and overall my-shit-doesn't-stinkness. It's exhausting and demoralizing, but today, thanks to this post, I've got clarity again.

[Amy in Ohio]

Edgey is definitely the word to use for g-strings. I've never partaken in that look, my big ass would lose that string in a second and medical advice would be needed. Underwear that might lead to insurance co-pays? Not worth the risk.

It's early. I wonder if I have clean underwear for today.

(Oh, and great post!)

[Attila the Mom]

dayum. If your bikinis were called granny panties, then I wonder what mine are? Omar-the-tentmaker rejects? ;-)

[aunt penni]

Oh. WOW.
"The mirror people laugh at you and laugh at me..."