Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold - Janet you SUCK!

We all pretend we'd never really seek revenge on someone who did us wrong in our lives, but really, REALLY is that true? Sure, everyone has had that one (or more) relationship in their life where'd they'd love to go back and shove their foot right up the ass of a jerk of an ex. But that's not where I'm heading...

The other night I was watching The Dave Chappelle Show (The Lost Episodes) and he did a skit about how after he got all his money, he went around and sought some mutha fuckin bad-ass revenge on everyone in his past who did him wrong (the woman who cheated on him the night he asked her to marry him, the talent agent who thought he was shit, the comedy club owner who banned him, etc.). As typical with his skits, they were almost too hard to watch in their harshness, and damn funny.

I've been thinking about this. And I can think of one person, that no matter how much time passes, I have never seemed to be able to think about her without instantly turning homicidal.

Janet Woodard!

Okay, it may actually be Woodward, I'm not sure.

And I haven't changed her name to protect the innocent because a) she's not innocent, and b) As I have learned from that sage, Judge Mathis, it's only "slander" if it's not true.

Let's go back in time....*waves arms in the Wayne's World way to indicate a time warp*

In 7th grade my very best friend, Mary Catherine Phelan (yes, she was Catholic), and I decided to try out for Pom & Cheer. We were both lifetime jocks, but like many young girls, we wanted to be cheerleaders! Loved by all! Wearer of cute, sexually-explicit outfits! Popular! We practiced hard, though we had no idea what we were doing, and tryouts finally came. I remember the night before in my room, with socks tied around my knees, where I spent HOURS slowly teaching myself how to do the splits on my smooth, concrete floor.

The next day Mary and I tried out, and soon we learned that I had made it and Mary had not. Talk about awkward and sad and exciting all rolled into one for me. It turned out only two other
7th graders had made the Middle School squad, the rest consisting of 8th graders who were veterans from the year before. The other two girls were best friends and thrilled to be together. I was on the "Pom" squad. All my other friends who had made it had tried out for "Cheer" which separated us from them during practices after school. Suddenly, I was alone.

My first practice was a disaster. I was a die-hard tomboy who loved to play in the dirt with boys, and suddenly I was learning how to dance (something I did not possess much of a talent for) with a bunch of girly-girls. Though I could kick a kickball over the heads of the entire 6th grade the year before, now I couldn't seem to get coordinated enough to stick out my right arm, NOT my left arm when doing a certain twirl. It was hell, and I was shy and embarrassed.

The girls who were teaching me grew quickly impatient, and as their irritation grew, their regard for me diminished. By the end of that long first day, I was persona non grata of the Pom squad. I walked home, completely defeated, and completely despised. And who do you think despised me most of all?

You got it, Janet Woodard!

I dreaded after school every day like Prometheus dreading sunset. It was a nightmare, and though I did begin to improve my dancing skills, the mold had been set. The other girls taunted me, called me names, and Janet was always the most vocal of all. To this day I don't know why she took such a dislike to me. But as we know, kids can be cruel.

Some of the worst moments were when we went to away games. As you know, the school bus is its own little social world, where sitting alone is death. Of course, no one sat with me, which was a source of constant embarrassment. What was worse, the boy I had an intense crush on was on the baseball and basketball teams, and so rode the bus with the cheerleaders. For him to see me ostracized by the other girls was humiliating for me.

I remember during the winter I was walking home, and Janet and her friend Nancy (who was one of the only decent people to me on the squad), were walking a few yards behind me. I was wearing a big green winter jacket, brand new, which I took great pride in. Suddenly behind me I heard Janet call out, "Nice green jacket!" in a melodramatic voice. I was horrified. At that age, how people see you is everything.

And that's what made this whole situation so weird. This was the first time in my life I ever experienced this kind of cruelty. I had had an amazing time in grade school. I was popular and had many friends, though at the time I didn't realize it. I had never been a pretty child, and at that age, I thought "popular" was defined as "pretty" which was relegated to a select few girls. But I was a top athlete, I won awards in Art, and I excelled in academics, particularly English where I once won an award for reading the most books in the city (during a reading program). I was well-adjusted and secure. Then 7th grade came, and with it, a new school.

And even during the school day in 7th grade things were fine. I was well-liked by my classmates and was even elected to student council, where several of the cheerleaders also resided. I was happy during the school day, miserable afterward.

And yes, most of it I attribute to Janet, who just never let up. While other girls seemed to tire of the teasing and cruelty, Janet was unrelenting. Some of the girls, particularly one who joined the squad later, started to treat me decently, from which I found some solace. But Janet was on a mission, and she was going to make sure to carry it out to its end.

As you can imagine, once 7th grade ended, I said a big fat "Fuck you!" to cheerleading and went back to playing basketball and volleyball and my life returned to its happy, normal self. Due to the fact that our middle school closed, I went to a new middle school on the north side of town, and Janet went to start high school at the south part of town, so after that year, I never saw her again. But once in awhile I think of her with a great deal of malice.

Well, actually, it would be dishonest to say my life went totally back to normal. Having that microcosm of hate in my life did something to me. From that time onward, I was absolutely paranoid of being seen alone. I took great pains to always have at least one friend with me, and I made sure that if there was even a chance for one of those bitches to be around, that I would be seen smiling and laughing, so they would know that I had friends, I was happy, and they couldn't hurt me. Of course, it was a total lie, but it was important to me at the time. It took years before I could ever be comfortable being alone (eating alone, sitting alone in the library, sitting alone on a bus, etc.). I just felt so vulnerable. The ironic thing that years later when the real me came out, I absolutely loved doing things alone, and hated myself for ever letting those young girls affect me in such a way.

To this day I am surprised that I stuck with it. Why didn't I just quit? If I am to be honest with myself, maybe I liked wearing the outfit to school on game days, with our gigantic yarn pom poms bouncing obnoxiously from our white Keds. Maybe I liked the notoriety of sitting in my outfit in each class, the attention it got me. I don't know.

And the truth is, as painful as it was for me to go through that, and despite the fact that I carry such a grudge against a 14 year old Janet, I was glad for the experience. It made me painfully aware of what it was like to be that one student, you know who he or she was, that one that everyone hated, treated like shit, and basically made his/her life a living fucking hell. Suddenly I knew what they were going through, and had a deep appreciation for having to face that day after day, year after year. I never treated anyone like that again, and I never will.