I’ll never forget that fateful day in art class, senior year of high school. This (pardon me if I seem rash in this titling) bitch named Ashlee was in my class. She was cool in the sense of…not cool at all, with a god awful short haircut and horrible highlights and delusions that her Nike sneakers with Mudd flares threw her into some high fashion club.

She was also dating a guy–the quarterback (of course)–who had secretly had a crush on me (a fact I didn’t find out until college).

The quarterback and my sporadic and subtle flirting, combined with the fact that she hated me for not kissing her ass, lead to Ashlee on a mission to make me cry. And one day; it almost worked.

There was a spider in our classroom. Ashlee flipped out in the typical “popular” girl fashion (”oh my gawd, oh my gawd! Do something!“), and I told her to chill and went to pick it up to put it out the window. I squated down to let the spider walk onto a piece of paper and suddenly, there was her ugly grass stained Nike sneaker…smashing it on my hands. I wanted to cry but instead I stood up and said,

“God, you’re such a bitch.”

The popular girls pretty much stopped liking me by 9th grade. I was one of them in middle school, but when I started to meet more artistic people who had more to offer me than their mom’s wine coolers, I bailed on their little club. I started playing guitar and had shows by 9th grade and this somehow turned me into a lesbian in their books. I could have cried and let their taunts and teasing get to me, but, I went a different route.

I decided to play nice to any one of them as long as she was being nice to me. When one of them would turn on their bitchswitch, then so would I, and it drove them crazy. I honed my gift of sarcasm because of these chicks and I can’t remember the last time someone hurt my feelings by making fun of me.

Not only did these talentless girls teach me to be smarter and funnier than I used to be, but they also taught me how to simply walk away from useless conversations. Now most of them have babies and husbands who cheat and I can’t say I feel that badly.

After all, they were in the high fashion club…

What about you? Have a mean girl story? Were you a mean girl yourself? CC wants to know all the dirty details!!