If your 97% of Americans who grew up in the past ten years, chances are you have seen/heard/memorized every line from the movie Mean Girls. You identify with Caty (Catty) and her struggles to navigate the jungles of high school, praise queen bee Regina George (Rachel McAdams can slay me), and join Damien in his quest to put down Gretchen Weiners (who's father invented toaster strudel).

But let's not forget, the coolest adult in this entire film - she just wants the 4-1-1 and the boobs like rocks.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: The Cool Mom

(This is my go-to dance move besides leg guitar).

While I've yet to accept breast augmentation, and can firmly say that I have no children, I feel as though I've embraced this stereotype, and maybe by making it more prevalent, some other people may shed some light on this new persona that I am beginning to notice in myself.

Aspects of the cool mom stereotype vary widely, as I straddle a tight-rope between "mom" and "friend". On my mom side, I tend to value safety and preparedness as two essential virtues for doing anything. When is safety not cool? Why does fun have to be unsafe? You can never be too prepared!*

(*These are questions I associate with myself embodying aspects of being a mom, and may not accurately portray this sort of stereotype I'm trying to classify)

You can always come to me if you need medicine, tissues, tide-to-go, snacks, hugs, memes, or extra supplies in my gigantic backpack, and I'm always willing to share with those in a stressful situation.

In addition, a good portion of being the cool mom is monitoring your friends during at-risk events, like parties (let me tell you that is the most mom-thing I've ever said and plan on never using those words in that way ever again. ever). Personally, all parties to me are fun, regardless of context, and I will show up to have a good time with the company I've been presented with. Amidst parties of this nature, however, I will never hesitate to help a poor drunk girl get home. Sometimes you have to hold someone's hair back while they vomit in some bathroom, connected to a moldy mustard-colored "master bedroom" with no bed frame and fake flowers, to really make sure that someone is helping a person in trouble.

Though I was no where near comfortable with the environment I had placed myself in, all I could think about was this girl that I was taking care of who, being disoriented for the sheer amount of tequila shots she ripped consecutively at the bar, probably would have no recollection of our encounter, and I would just be the one girl who wanted to help rather let someone else deal with her (as quoted by a frat star who explained to this girl what I did and subsequently called to apologize). Even after her apology, I told her not to worry about it, because everyone has those nights where it sneaks up on you, and you sometimes have to lend yourself to the generosity of a stranger to make sure you end the evening on a good note.

Here is an instance in which I can allude back to my tight-rope imagery, where I straddle the line between mom and friend. Despite my clear distaste for the state of mind I had to be into tolerate my surroundings, I knew that this girl could possibly suffer from alcohol poisoning, so I swallowed my self-centered ideas and made sure her night ended well.

Couldn't tell you this girl's name while I was at the party, as she told me thank you more times than my name has probably ever been spoken aloud, and I let her have a drink when she was almost completely sober. In this way, I can see myself being more like a friend, where I watch her well-being, but I don't want to suffocate her and make her feel bad for indulging and pressing her limits. After sobering her up and watching her behavior turn exceptionally normal - she used manners and made herself drink more water than I'd asked her to - the party was still going on, and I didn't want to ruin her night by making her go home if she didn't need to. Part of being a mom is to let your kids make their own mistakes, and guide them through their bounce-back, rather than scolding them for making the mistakes in the first place. Cursing the destruction of the bathroom and stupidity of her drinking habits consumed a good part of our conversation once I was able to get her to stand up and talk without heaving. She - of course - was crying, but I was able to boost her confidence, making sure she knew that it was okay to try going too far, but to start realizing limits. Thankfully, she was comforted by my words, and held on my arm for the rest of the night.

And this, my friends, is where I've led to the cool mom persona - a woman who cares of your well-being, as she loves you like a child, but is sure to let you live your life the way you want to, even if it's not how you would. Cool parents tend to do that, which is what my parents are doing now. Thanks mom and dad, you're pretty cool.

I'm not really offended when my friends joke that I would be the one to have Tide-to-go in my backpack - but in all seriousness, no white shirt I've ever worn has gone unstained and it's a curse, I know it. When my friends get a little too drunk, they like to say "Okay, mom" when they're sarcastically annoyed with my authoritative look of disappointment, but they know the intent is benevolent and caring.

And to tip the other side of the canoe, Mama - my drunk persona - is more the cool friend than the mom, but that's only because champagne is very dangerous, and so is coupon-ing. Mama comes out seldom, as it takes a substantial amount of intoxication and the right kind of people surrounding me for her to really shine, because people see the true mom-tendencies I have, but the right friends embrace them for all of their goodness. You could be upchucking in a McDonald's bathroom, and I will be there regardless, whether it's Miller or Mama chugging a glass of chardonnay.

The Cool Mom Stereotype might not even be a thing. This might be me just trying to cover up some weird feeling that I have for my friends - a loving, protective affection - and idolizing Amy Poehler and a distant remnant of my hometown's typical housewife may be my satirical way of explaining it. Regardless, I am always down to act like a second mother to anyone who needs that push your mom would give you to do something, but with a side of cool and always down for a midnight run to Wendy's.

Special shout out to Mama. You are the bomb.com.