Lame. Lamer. Lamest.

There's this person I sort of know who I'm pretty sure has been placed on this earth as an example of how I never want to behave.

Because s/he's so cool. How cool? The coolest. And s/he wants to make sure that you realize it. And make note of it. You'll never be as cool as her/him.

This bugs me.

Not because I think I'm cool -- I'm not cool. I've never been cool. I'm awkward, and not the adorable Zooey Deschanel kind. Just the awkward kind. It doesn't bother me, as a rule, because I've had thirty six years to deal with my social clunkiness and feeling like everyone else got the "this is how to act/dress/speak/whatever" memo and I didn't.

Except that, with the vantage point of those thirty six years, I also know this: there isn't a memo.

We're all just sort of scraping by with our own uncoolness. Some of us have an extra sprinkling of it. Some of us just have a little bit. It might be well hidden, but it's usually there, under the surface, worried over and waiting to be found.

I'd rather be completely accepting of myself and my dorkiness, my flawed and sometimes rather obnoxious self, my discomfort with some social situations, than be someone who walks about practically yelling "LOOK AT ME I'M COOL."

Because that's kind of NOT cool. It's kind of sad. And even though I know that, on some level, it comes from a deeper, more insecure place, it still bothers me. Because I want to give this person a hug and tell her/him that we're all just kind of big idiots, hanging around and hoping no one really notices how lame we are.

I don't think it would be appreciated, though.