I used to be cool

When my sister and I talk about our memories of high school, she always brings up that she considered me "popular."

I never, not once, thought of myself that way. I had a lot of friends, and they were from all sorts of different social circles. I got good grades, did extra-curriculars, and I was (am) nice. That was just what I did, and I have amazing memories of high school. I never thought of myself as anything but an average girl. It's a compliment, don't get me wrong, but I definitely don't think I was popular. I just smiled a lot.

I think I'm generally pretty easy to get along with. My entire life, I've had jobs working with people who were older than me. Most of the time, until I told them, they had no idea how old I was. I like older music, I like older movies, I know a lot of useless trivia from "before my time." I don't know, but I guess over the years, I have started to think of myself as a reasonably cool person. Until this morning.

I don't sleep a lot lately, so it wasn't a surprise to me when I found myself wide awake at 6am after going to sleep at about 1am. The baby was rustling around in his crib, making a noise here and there, in need of a diaper change and a feeding, and John and I could both hear him.

Being the people/parents we are, John's first reaction was to say that the baby was making "monkey noises, like in the jungle." That's when it happened.

(me, singing) "Welcome to the jungle, we've got poop and pee! We've got everything you want if you're a monkey!"

I think right then, I heard a SONIC boom. There was a crack in the world, and the earth stopped turning. I am officially the furthest can't-see-it-from-Pluto, I have no prayer of being "the hip mom," seriously-did-I-just-say-that thing from cool you've ever seen.

Literally, as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was committing a sin. John was hysterical laughing at me, and I knew my reign as "cool mom," even though it's only lasted 10 months, was officially over. I can blare all the Boston, Bon Jovi (DON'T HATE) and Van Halen I want from my iPod and car speakers, I could mix crowd sweat, a lock of Jani Lane's hair, an original Slippery When Wet tour t-shirt, my uncanny ability to rock Dr. Feelgood on the drums in Rock Band for Wii, the fact that I've seen Nine Inch Nails twice and Metallica once in the past five years and one of David Lee Roth's screams bottled in a jar... and I still wouldn't be cool. It's gone. Adios, au revoir, arrivederci, cool. You were a good friend with awesome hair and a kick-ass wardrobe that I borrowed from... and I shall miss you.

It's not as if I thought my cool chick status was going to last forever. I'm 25. I'm married. I have a baby. I work a desk job. I had my gallbladder out in March. Other than my exceptional vodka tolerance, I'm not exactly the picture of a rockin' good time on a Saturday night, but I at least thought I had a few good years left.

Though I suppose it should come as no surprise. I guess that while today may have marked the official passing of my cool phase, it's not the grim reaper's first deathblow to my ego.

During my time living in San Diego, I spent some time earning extra (piddly) money as a personal assistant to a woman who lived in a different part of the county. I would have to get up at 5am and drive to her house, pick up her two kids -- who at that time, were 7 and 15 -- and bring them to school every morning. I was 19.

Even though I was only four years older than her oldest son, I could NOT have been uncooler. Admittedly, it wasn't like I rolled up to their house in a Porsche, with Dr. Dre rattling the windows -- I pulled up in my '85 Volvo (praying it would make it up that hill with enough gas, because the gauge didn't work), listening to whatever oldies station would come in around there. But to that kid, I may as well have carted him around in a mini-van with a "PROUD SOCCER MOM" bumper sticker attached and given him a big hug and kiss in front of his friends.

At first, he made conversation with me about music and movies and whatever. He was a cool kid, and he went to a performing arts high school. But after a few months, he started asking me to drop him off a couple blocks away from the high school. "You're going to be late, though," I'd tell him. "That's alright. I'll run."

What was that noise? Oh, just my yearbook laughing at me while part of my soul dies.

I didn't think I'd be the popular girl forever, but I didn't think I'd be benched so soon. My only prayer is that '80s hair bands become cool again, we can afford for me to take drum lessons in the not-too-distant future and that this Justin Bieber kid (I still really have NO idea who that is) announces on Twitter that his favorite song is "Living After Midnight" by Judas Priest. Then maybe, JUST MAYBE, I'll get to play a few minutes of the game again.

Otherwise, I'm stuck using phrases like "all the rage" and "back when I was a kid" and not understanding why my kid won't want to have his friends over because he doesn't want his mom talking to them and ruining HIS cool image. Ah, how the tables have turned.

Bye bye cool, it was nice knowing you. If you know of any band in need of a fair-skinned redheaded chick drummer with a c-section scar, you know how to find me.