Right now, you have donated $1,880 to Genre’s Kids With Cancer Fund. You reached $1,500 last night, but by the time I was able to get on my computer this morning, you’d jumped to $1,880.
Your reward is three pictures from my childhood that I think nicely illustrate the sheer magnitude of my dorkiness.
I am the dorkiest dork that ever did dork. Queen of Dork.
First up, the hair.
Yes, friends. I had a mullet. A fuzzy, sexy mullet that would make Joe Dirt jealous. Why was that picture taken? I’m not doing anything exciting. Just stuffing my face, which if later pictures of my teen years are accurate, I got really good at doing. Mmmm, twinkies.
But why this picture? Do you suppose my father looked at me there, stuffing my pie hole, and said, “Man. She looks ridiculous. Look at that mullet. Someday, I want to remind her that she had a mullet. [CLICK!]”
Child abuse, is what that hair is. Child abuse.
Let’s move on to my athletic prowess as an early teenager.
You’ll notice the mullet is gone now, but the dorkiness is shining like the evil in a red pigeon eye.
I clearly recall this race. I clearly recall how much I sucked at running. So it’s kind of ironic that I’m raising money for a charity RUN. I recall that when the gun went off, I was in fourth place for the first two steps of the race and that I was thrilled by that. “[step] OMG. I’M IN THIRD! [step] FOURTH! PARTICIPATION RIBBON, HERE I COME! [step] Hello? Anybody out there?”
The sad part is that even though I look like I’m taking a leisurely jog with a turtle, I am, in that photo, exerting every single ounce of my athletic ability. That is what my 110% looked like.
And … commence laughter:
There I am, at 16-years-old. Sexy yellow pants up to my boobs and down to my virginal knees, what looks suspiciously like a mullet, and glasses that look like they may have belonged to my father or a wise old owl. But even at 16, I was dedicated to the black and gold. Notice how adorable and awesome my best friend looked. Look at her. Look at me. Look at her again. Now back to me. LOL.
So, the dork in me? I clearly didn’t get that from my mother because while she and I were hunting for terrible pictures of me in my youth, we stumbled upon this picture of her in HER youth. My mother, at 16:
WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY?!
Why is she adorable? Why is she pretty? Where are the glasses and the mullet and the mustache and the fashion sense of Richard Simmons?! WHERE OH WHERE IS THE FUG?!
Now, more than ever, I am convinced I was adopted.
I have now shared, what, five photographs that have completely erased the, I don’t even know the words to use here, “fake veil of awesomeness”?, that previously surrounded me. You have now seen me at my absolute worst. My absolute dorkiest. There are no secrets anymore.
But there’s this. I’d like it if we could give Genre $2,000. That’s only $120 more dollars and then I promise I will stop bugging you.
$2,000 is a nice round number. $2,000 would outfit two month’s worth of pediatric cancer diagnoses in Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh. Two months of bright eyes and scared smiles.
Your generosity amazes me and I know it amazes Genre and his family.
Thank you, Pittsburgh.