Can you freaking believe it? I couldn’t have done it without YOU, my non-dorky readers. Thank you for voting. I will now carry on my dorkly duties with pride and a little bit of embarrassment. Thanks, Lin!
And as Margaret from Nanny Goats once said, “We’re ALL dorks . . . I mean, winners.”
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Yes, I am competing with other dorks (including the mysteriously named “Baby Corn”) for the title of . . . dork? Hmmm. How did I get roped into this one? Anyway, I guess it’s an honor to be a dork, so won’t you please vote for me? If you don’t think I’m dorky enough, there are plenty of other good dorks to choose from.
And the glory of beating Baby Corn.
But you must vote by the end of today!
Lin made this contest real easy-like by just asking people to submit their dorkiest photos. But to give you more reason to vote for me, I submit:
The 4 Most Dorky Things I Ever Dorked
- When I was 11, I loved looking up big words in my thesaurus and using them in sentences for vocabulary exercises. One such word was “ejaculate.”
- Those orange elephant pants? They were part of a three-piece ensemble. Orange vest, orange elephant pants, and patterned blouse. I wore this proudly through the halls of my junior high school. Somehow I didn’t get beat up.
- I almost got beat up by one of the tough girls in junior high. No, not for the elephant pants but for imitating how she squinted her eyes. Those squinty eyes fell on me at the wrong time, unfortunately, and I was busted. “Meet me on the hill,” she said ominously and extra-squintingly. I ran home bawling to my neighbor to protect me.
- While all the cheerleader-types were doing their modern dance routines to “Beach Baby” and “Who Do You Think You Are,” my friend Sheri and I were busting out the moves to Alice Cooper’s “You Gotta Dance,” complete with inappropriate grinding movements. Yes, I still remember the routines.
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And now I have some sad, non-dorky news.
I am leaving.
This Friday, Dave and I will board a plane headed for Jamaica, where we will stay forever. No, not forever, exactly. Maybe just a week. Can we stand to be parted from each other for a week? I can’t. I’m not going! Wow, I really am a dork. No, of COURSE I’m going, and you’ll just have to deal with it. I’m not even sure I’ll have a post to
Wait. I stopped mid-sentence to let a howling Prudence into the bedroom, where Dave is trying to sleep. When I came back, I read that above fragment as “I’m not even sure I’ll have a potato.”
Oh, my GOD! I hope they have potatoes in Jamaica! I’m pretty sure they do. But what if they try to feed me sweet potatoes? Man, I hate those!
OK, obviously, I’m quite upset. I’ll miss you. I hope you won’t mind if this site gathers dust for the next week or so while I gather skin cancer and eat non-sweet-potatoes.
You KNOW I’ll be busy doing some good “things” so you don’t have to, right?
I may get another post (or potato) up between now and my return. If not, fly your dork flags high!
And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.