NerdGirl: Living with a Cheerleader
By Jenn Zipp
I’m a nerd. I’m not playing it safe when I say this. I’m not the beautiful starlet that sits down, one on one with Barbara Walters, and modestly plays down her stunning beauty by proclaiming herself as a former nerd (this is usually when black and white yearbook photos appear on screen of a frizzy haired, brace-faced, pimply teenager).
No. Instead I am the Before picture. I am the beginnings of a transformation. However… the transformation into something cooler, something more sophisticated and elegant hasn’t really materialized.
No. I’m a complete nerd. And I’ve learned to accept it and come to terms with it.
I knit. I start bookclubs. I have a cat. I occasionally snort when I laugh.
I edit a blog.
So what? What of it?
I wasn’t always this confident in my Nerdom. I thought surely this was a stage of my life that I would grow out of. Kind of like baby fat. It dissipates after a while. But no growth spurt was strong enough to shake off the stench of my Nerdom.
There are times when my acceptance of my Nerdom is challenged.
I live with a former high school cheerleader. We actually went to the same high school. Every morning, between slumber and consciousness, I’m suddenly transported back to those poorly, fluorescent lit halls of school, where the hierarchy of adolescent social status still remains in effect.
There she is.
Bubbly. Bouncy. Beautiful. Positive about life. Doesn’t use the f-word. Likes butterflies and sunflowers. Doesn’t drink coffee, only because she finds tea so calming and soothing. She likes to giggle.
And here I am. Acne-ridden and still not quite grasping the idea of personal hygiene. Has learned to have low expectations because somehow having high hopes never did me any good. Curses like a sailor. Has a hard time keeping glasses on my nose because of the sweat that collects there.
She hums through the halls on her way to 6th period Geometry. And just as I wake up from this horrible nightmare, her humming is coming from my bathroom.
I’m living with the high school cheerleader and at the tender age of 26, I am still scarred by my reputation as “that girl who hangs out in the Yearbook room with pit stains.”
I thought karma was giving me a swift kick in the ass. As if to say, “Here’s what you get for making fun of that cross-eyed baby that smiled at you that one time. At least, you thought it smiled at you. Who can really tell with cross-eyed babies?”
Being housemates with the popular high school cheerleader was Fate’s way of telling me to suck it. Hard. “Thought you could get away and reinvent yourself? Not so fast, Zipp. Try living with the most popular girl in high school.”
Are you kidding me?
Perhaps this is my place. Perhaps I am destined to be NerdGirl forever. It’s fine. I’ve accepted my place in the social stratosphere. And although life shouldn’t be a high school hallway, we still fall into those oh-so-familiar categories. At least when you live with the popular cheerleader from your high school, those stereotypes seem to still apply. Welcome to NerdGirl-ville.
(After reading this to my housemate, she said “It’s funny that you focus so much on the bad things about being a nerd. There’s some good to it too!” Spoken like a true cheerleader.)