Why I’ll never get to sit at the cool kids’ table

I was out shopping at the big box store that starts with “W” (for toothpaste actually, thanks for asking)by myself earlier this week and I had a revelation while paying for my items (everything BUT toothpaste) that made me realize that no matter how old and mature and past it I think I am, I’ll never be one of the ‘cool’ people. There were two soccer mom types, close to my own age, having a loud-ish conversation right behind me as I checked out and even though the women didn’t do anything to make me feel weird, I kind of did. I’m sure I didn’t even register as a blip on the radar (and I’m not saying that I want random strangers to acknowledge my very existance either. That would be really…strange and a little creepy) of either of the women, but I just realized how different from that ‘type’ that I really am. I wouldn’t really stand out in a crowd as the lame one (okay except maybe for my hair and that’s only because of the length–it really is almost waist length and I really need to cut it, but I just keep putting it off) and until I open my mouth to talk, most people can’t sense that my inner dork is just waiting to spring out and make me say or do something that will completely betray how lacking my social skills really are.
Do you ever really get to a point/age/frame of mind that its really okay that you aren’t with it and hip and aren’t a social lemming? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not really wanting to be so…mainstream and…bland. I think diversity is a wonderful thing–it is what makes things interesting. I just always assumed that the whole popular/unpopular ‘thing’ would end after the microcosm that was high school (which, even though I wasn’t ‘popular’, I actually had alot of friends and enjoyed) was over. I was wrong. The popularity contest didn’t end after high school, everybody just has a better car now.
Does it bother me that I’ll never be that perfectly dressed/size 2/tanned/with cute flippy hair/soccer mom? Sometimes, yeah, I will admit, I want to be a lemming. The rest of the time, I’m okay being me, even if that means that I’ll never join a mom’s group and other people think I’m ‘weird’. I just hope that by being my own kind of individual, I’m able to show my kid(s) (Owen and any potential future offspring) why it is good to be different and not that being different automatically means that you’ll always be picked last for kickball.