The Lying Game

Kelley picked me to carry forward the game: “Five Big, Fat Lies and One Truth.” If you don’t already follow Kelley’s break room, by the way, you are missing out on lots of good, clean fun. She's a sweet lady, too.

Excuse me for this, Kelley, but I took the liberty of some rule tweaking. See, I’m a lousy liar. That’s the truth. Thus, I hereby present you all with five big, fat truths and..one little tiny, harmless lie. Guess which one of these six little snippets is false. That is, five are true in their entirety. One's a major lie. Which might that be? Insert sinister post-Halloween laughter here.

#1: My brother, Jonathan, was in Jack Black’s Temple preschool class. That’s Jack's birth name, not a stage name. He was a strange, sweet kid. Jack hid pieces of candy on the playground for other children to find. One day, his mom hadn’t picked him up, so my mom gave Jack a ride home in our station wagon. He was quiet. I remember him quietly thanking my mother when we got to his home. (Drats. Why’d we let him out?) I made fun of him behind his back, though, telling my brothers, “Jack Black can eat no fat.” (Not too creative on my part, but he was a skinny kid, so it was likely relevant at the time. Sorry, Jack. Clearly, I was just jealous of your impending fame.)

#2: Many years ago, I had two dates with the son of a well known theorist in the social sciences. We sat at a Mexican restaurant, munching chips and salsa, awaiting the meal. While talking, he knocked salsa onto the table, picked it up with his fingers, put it into his mouth, and kept on blathering. The second date was at a pizza parlor in Harvard Square. We shared pizza, and he abruptly said he had to run to catch a cab. Note that there is never a shortage of cabs in Harvard Square. Never heard from him again. It’s probably best, as those family reunions would have provided a frightening amount of fodder. My diagnosis of the guy: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Impulsive Type.

#3: I host an annual Choco-fest. This involves a choc-quiz, taste tests, and chocolate of all sorts until one has nearly achieved choco-coma status. After this year’s festivities, I broke the law (my law) and threw out chocolate. I know. I know. Don’t look at me that way. But I’d already unloaded on the neighbors and the homeless at People’s Park in Berkeley. Still, I had too much left over. You really should’ve dropped by.

#4: One year, I dressed as a hippie/pothead for our agency’s Halloween party. I walked around offering brownies, with a big (fake) marijuana leaf necklace draped over my tie dyed shirt. I wrapped a bandanna around my forehead, painted a big green leaf on my face, et cetera. I’m still embittered that I lost the title of “most out-of-character.” My gay friend Mark, who wore a dress, won. It’s wrong, but I was in a peace loving state and didn't protest (loudly).

#5: For this year's Halloween festivities, I was going to dress as Thomas the Train, since I still have the costume from last year. For some strange reason, though, I changed my mind at the last minute and decided to dress as Justin Bieber. I figured, I already have the hair and was having a good hair day; I just took it up an inch or so and pinned it with Bobbie pins. I wore tight pink jeans, a t-shirt displaying “#1,” and big sunglasses decorated with “Gaga.” (He’s got glasses like that.). I put on lots of bright pink lip gloss and was good to go. When I had an arm free, I held my index and middle fingers up in a sideways V. Still, people were confused. I had to start singing, and that’s when they figured me out. {My singing sucks.}

#6: I am not nearly as cool as Kelley, who knows the hippest of music. I’m embarrassed to admit this one. But my life is an open blog, so here goes: I know almost every word to every Barry Manilow song ever written. (There don’t seem to be too many, and he hasn’t changed it up in decades.) My favorite karaoke piece is Copacabana. I’ve belted this one out at parties and on a cruise ship. I cleared the room every time. I think I was the only one applauding for me. See #5. {My singing sucks.}

I know these are all believable, but one is a lie. I swear, though not usually. Name the lie. ~Insert Sesame Street's song, One of These Things Is Not Like The Others, here ~ Thanks for playing.