Sunday, August 03, 2008

How to feel like a dork

First, you have to get trapped in an empty stairwell.

You start your day singing in a church choir, since that's about the dorkiest thing you can do on a Sunday morning.

Then arrange to sneak out of church a little early. Realize you need to hide your purse in the choir stalls so you can bring it with you as you sneak out.

Grab your purse and music and head upstairs from the choir room. At the top of the stairs, discover that the door to the sanctuary is locked. And then, when you go back downstairs, discover that the door to the choir room is locked, too.

Pound on the door until someone comes and lets you out.

Run around the outside of the cathedral until you catch up with the choir. In full view of the congregation, scurry down the aisle and squirrel your purse away. Hope that you haven't held things up too much.

Then, find something to do that is so incredibly lackluster, you're ashamed to admit it.

Begin by heading out--not to brunch with friends, or to the beach, or on a shopping trip--but to the annual meeting of a non-profit organization.

Because nothing spells d-o-r-k-y like spending your weekends doing--for free--what normal people would only do if they were being paid large sums of money.

Next, manifest dorkiness in front of the maximum amount of much cooler people.

Walk briskly down an elegant boulevard crowded with shoppers and tourists. Try to do this on a hot day, for the maximum in sweatiness. If you can manage it, try to get some chafing going in the inner thigh area.

As you get closer to Grant Park, where Lalapalooza is in full flow, notice all the concert goers wearing band and concert t-shirts. See the Led Zeppelin 1972? Daft Punk? The Police? The bands that are so indy-cool you won't remember the names later on when you're blogging it?

OK, now show these people your snappy outfit from the Talbot's.

"Hi," your outfit says. "See how my mouse-colored knit top and long skirt covered with a huge print of Montmartre? That are sort of Amelie-ish? Well, don't tell Poppy, but Amelie was probably a size 2, if that, and a skirt like this in a size 16 isn't going to look like something Amelie would wear; it's going to look like a backdrop for the stage adaptation of the movie."

Congratulations! You have attained the maximum degree of dorkiness! And it isn't even lunch time.


  1. I makes it easier if, all the while, you are thinking, "I'll have something to write about for tomorrow's blog post." I'm pretty sure the Governor of Jennsylvania once found herself NOT avoiding weird situations, for the very same reason: stellar material.

    LMAO re: movie backdrop. You speak my language. And wear my size.

  2. I think every single day I experience the dorkiness factor. The older I get, I find I care less and less.

  3. I had no idea you were a fellow dork. {secret handshake}

  4. {secret handshake} Hey, I'm a dork, too! Complete with the Talbot's clothing that completely disguises my inner bohemian. And, unfortunately, the chafing.

  5. I have never, not even for one minute, ever been cool. Luckily, I don't actually care.

  6. Totally practical response:

    1. Body Glide OR
    2. Avenue has these bike short style underpants that are not too heavy or squeezy like Spanx (I hate Spanx) and totally eliminate the thigh friction problem.

  7. Was Amelie really a size 2?

    Not being a girl, I dunno what advice I would give you, but I would have totally pranced by Lollapalooza in madras trousers.



Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.