Unsmooth, Thy Name Is C-dog

I am so unsmooth, it's like I'm a foreign exchange student who thinks you're supposed to eat a hot dog with a fork. You know those guys who tried to get "Jedi" instated as a real religion on census forms? They are cooler than me. All I'm saying is that if our nation's population of dorks need a President For Life, I'm more than qualified to lead.

"But C-dog, judging by your blog persona and the oh-so-attractive pictures that you've posted of yourself on ZFS! (which is my favorite website in the entire world, by the way) it seems that you'd be at least as smooth as a drunk Jude Law."

Well, my friendly, faithful readers, looks can be deceiving. Would you like an example? Sure you would...

An Example of How I'm Unsmooth, or, "I'm Your Dorky Jesus"

So I'm on the train this morning, heading to work, and we're about to reach the stop where I need to get out. I'm standing at the doors, ready to exit, and I'm not really paying attention to anything because I've got my headphones on and I'm in a fairly spacey mood anyway. Now, when the subway is underground, the windows that are on the train's doors basically become mirrors; this is due to it being dark in the tunnel and bright in the car. I've been standing there for a minute or two, my own reflection staring back at me, and it's then that I realize...

I've been making faces at myself in the window's reflection.

We're talking full-on, scary monster faces here. Why? I have absolutely no idea, except for it's maybe because I'm still a twelve-year-old in grown-ass man's body. Emotional maturity? None for me, thanks. So I realize this and I also realize that I'm in public. I turn to my left and, yes, the old lady sitting facing me was watching me the whole time. She looks away from me, I blush, and I turn my head away, to my right, seeking shelter from the embarrassment. Of course, my line of sight lands on two Latina schoolgirls, giggling. At me. Because I was making scary monster faces at myself on a semi-crowded train like I'd been born without the ability to feel shame.

I look forward, staring so hard at the windows that I'm surprised they didn't shatter. Finally, we arrive at the station, and I'm out the door the millisecond that they open.

"But what did you do for an encore, C-dog?"

I tripped going up the stairs, of course. Nearly took out an old lady with shopping bags, too. Because those tatters of dignity really should be trimmed away as soon as possible before they sprout roots and attempt to regrow.

(sigh)

So it's been that sort of morning for me. How's everyone else that's not a huge loser?