How I Became So Fucking Cool One evening, recently in a bar, a guy came up to me, told me I was ‘so fucking cool' and bought me a drink. As we talked some more, he continued to drop my so-fucking-coolness into the conversation. For example, I lamented the Dodgers trading away Paul Lo Duca, and the guy responded with ‘you are so fucking cool'.
After about a half-hour, I became bored with being ‘so fucking cool'. It became overkill. It no longer entertained me. I finished up my beer and left with my friends because they. . .uh. . .needed me.
I came up with two possible reasons for this so-fucking-cool reaction. One, the guy was drunk off his ass and trying to get into my pants (for the record, he didn't). The second possible reason for this reaction is that I really am so fucking cool.
If the latter reason is true, I really appreciate drunk guy informing me of my SFC-ness. For several days after the encounter, I walked around with a cocky grin on my face. I was just not cool. I was so fucking cool.
Then, like I always do, I started to ask questions. Why was I so fucking cool? Was it my manner? My clothes? My witty repartee? Was being so fucking cool a gift? Or was it a curse? Whyyyyy? Why was I burdened with being so fucking cool? Will the fucking coolness bring me triumph or tragedy?
I spoke with my wise aunt about the coolness. She looked up from her jigsaw puzzle and muted the television. Even though I know not to interrupt The Gilmore Girls, some things are just too important.
‘Ah Jen, it is time I told you the old family story.' She said.
‘Another old family story.' I said. I come from a family that tells a lot of stories.
‘This one is the oldest of them all.' My wise aunt said and proceeded to tell me the following.
A long long long long long long time ago, in a muddy field, probably in Ireland but maybe somewhere else, a lone Shepherd tended his sheep with his dog, Spot. The Shepherd was a kind, hardworking, and all-around good guy, and he made a comfortable living as a Shepherd. Well, as comfortable as one could before there were flush toilets.
Then one day (as always happens in these stories----the inevitable one day), while tending his sheep, he came upon a strange woman sitting on the side of the hill and crying her eyes out. The woman wore a dress made completely of wild flowers (this is my embellishment, it is fashion week after all). She was not just weeping. She was full-on bawling. Tears streamed down her cheeks and watered her dress. She was not a pretty sight.
‘Strange woman, are you hurt?' the Shepherd asked. Maybe he didn't say exactly that, but he was concerned because he was a good guy.
The woman sniffled and sniffled and finally spoke.
‘Good sir. I am sad. My dog died.' The woman said and started crying again.
The Shepherd could have laughed at the absurdity of her sadness, but instead, his heart was opened to compassion. He wanted to help the strange woman because he was a good guy.
Meanwhile, his dog, Spot, went over to the woman, sniffed her, and decided she was okay. Seeing this, the Shepherd came up with an idea.
‘Why don't you just take my dog. He seems to like you. His name is Spot. He's a good dog. Real smart.' The Shepherd said.
‘Really???? Gosh, thank you, kind sir.' The woman said, and she embraced the dog.
As she embraced the dog, she started to glow---not just the glow of a happy young maiden filled with inner joy, no, it was the glow of a light bulb---very bright, very ILM. At that point, the Shepherd realized that he had encountered not just any girl, but a magical fairy queen. She smiled at the Shepherd regally.
‘You have been so kind. It is my turn to give you something in return. I give you a happy life, a long family line, and one of your descendents will be so fucking cool. Farewell, Shepherd. Woosh!' And with the woosh, she was gone.
The Shepherd did have a happy life, a long family line, and now one of his descendents is so fucking cool. The Prophecy has been fulfilled. Phew! Glad we got that taken care of.
As for Spot the dog, he lived a good dog life among the fairy dogs.
Okay, I added that bit about Spot the dog. My wise aunt is much more a cat person.
After she told the story, my wise aunt un-muted the Gilmore Girls and went back to her jigsaw puzzle. I stirred a martini and wondered many old family stories there were and if I could get the film rights to them. Who would play the Shepherd?