Judges & jury

So there I was in the most unglamorous spot of any bar – the loo. I could not help but eavesdrop on a conversation that was ensuing between two chicks as I was locked in my 4x4 stall. All I could see of course were two pairs of shoes, very J-Pop in a lost kind of way (one in a vinyl Debbie Harry blue and the other in a faux croc orange both with odd kitten heels), you’ll know the root of my bitterness later on.

"Just saw that Celine, she’s so fake," said one, (me presuming it’s fake croc orange) while putting on lipgloss.

"Yeah and she’s always falling all over the place. Can’t even write and just so full of herself," said vinyl Debbie Harry blue chick while she washed her hands. They had a good chuckle and left.

I stayed in the stall a little longer. Despite their fake shoes, what if all they said were true? This is how alcoholics are made, just kidding. I got out of my panic stall and applied an extra coat of Dior Addict lipgloss for extra oomph. Fake, falling all over the place, full of myself – I‘ll show them! The only fake thing about me is my tan!

Of course, the moment I swung the doors open, there they were the J Pop Olsen Twins drinking their so-over coconut martinis. "Hiyeee!" they both chirped, I recognized them as acquaintances, third degree in the Kevin Bacon tree.

Brave with my extra coat of Dior Addict lipgloss I flashed a semblance of a smile, the one that would lead them to really think I’m fake, and ran to my cat club table.

Judging with our juries has always been a favorite pastime for the bored and really bored. However, those on the moral high horse are also culpable of this guilty pleasure. This was not the first time.

How many dates have I been in where perfectly decent guys on their third martini would tell me that they really thought I was stupid and are pleased to know that I made sense pala. This sentence I hate most second to you’re soooo much healthier now, i.e. fat. I would end the date by getting the bill and erasing them from my Nokia. I won’t gain pleasure with some jerk spotting for my meal and insulting me at the same time. Thank you very much.

I admit that I do enjoy playing Jessica Simpson, dressing up like Hilary Duff and batting eyelashes like a young Goldie Hawn. It’s no fun to be square and I guess I put it upon myself to get in these quandaries.

I used to sooo want to be taken seriously, using big words to express my little ideas, talking about self-righteous crap and for a time wearing knee-length skirts – ugh (it’s a personal thing, it just looks so die on me). Now that’s fake. Me falling all over the place, that’s so me.

But I’m no saint either. Although I’m a Libra and predisposed to surrounding myself with beautiful people, I’ve not been fair with my first impressions of many of them. My best friend Wendy, for example, is simply gorgeous, I look like her yaya. The first time I met her I thought she was glaring at me and making fun of me in French to my friend Chut who by the way does not know how to speak French. She was nakakagalit. Of course later on in the evening I realized that she was not glaring, that’s just how she looks, perma-seductive that even when she orders a cheeseburger in McDonald’s she creates a riot. And now she along with all my cute friends love each other. I’m a true Libran, I guess.

The best and most interesting people I have actually come across are those who have rubbed me the wrong way in the beginning. What actually makes them more real is the fact that perhaps they have their own J Pop Olsen Twin stories to tell and thus the Berlin Wall complete with graffiti that they put between them and the rest of the world.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve been a J Pop Olsen twin too. Making presumptuous remarks about people I hardly knew, only to have me shit faced later after I swallowed my words. I guess it’s always easier to expect the worst in people than trying to understand them. It’s sort of a societal virus, socialite herpes, it can have outbreaks after knocking back a couple of margaritas and finds itself contained after you pop an alka seltzer in the morning.

For others unfortunately, it is a permanent condition. Anything from some fight chick having a newer Chloe bag to someone getting a windfall of dead presidents from some forgotten uncle can be the object of ire of the eternally afflicted one. Whatever the case may be, being judgmental is highly contagious, even to those who think four-letter words should stay being called four-letter words.

I asked my boyfriend about this issue after reeling from guilt after making an unnecessary comment about some chick in a magazine. Being the wonderfully ambivalent fellow that he is, he only had this to say, "I don’t think it’s something we like doing per se but it’s something we instinctively do without second thought. I guess it’s easier for us to do this to people who are in the limelight. Such as celebrities, socialites and such. Because we already have preconceived notions about certain people and we like the idea that it be true when in reality it’s probably not. I think this is why people love gossip rags, it just confirms what we want to believe about other people. Dumb, mabababaw, trying hard, etc."

I really hate this guy sometimes. No fun and always right.