My lie revealed

20% of you know your stuff.

Story one is TRUE.
I did in fact get pulled over by an amazingly hot police officer (though his hotness does not even remotely compare to my Greg's hotness) and everything I wrote about is completely true, absent license and all.

Story two is FALSE.
There were marriage proposals that took place in the restaurant where I worked (one involved a suit and flowers if my memory serves me correctly), but I never helped a friend propose with a sundae. I mean, it's kind of a risky venture, wouldn't you say? What if you spilled it on someone else? Shrug. (But I think it's important to mention that I do, in fact, make an incredible sundae... just fyi.)

Story three is TRUE.
Yup, I was in a short foreign film. And it was kind of sort of really embarrassing. (I'm shy remember?) It actually used to be on youtube, but I don't think it's there anymore. Perhaps one day I can track down a copy and share it with you all. Maybe.

Story four is TRUE.
Unfortunately. I am truly that spastic.

Thanks for those of you who voted. I thought it was kind of fun.

Vote for which story you think is false

on this nifty little poll. You can vote until Sunday.
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Happy guessing!

Story Four: Decaf anyone?

From Monday to Thursday, I will post four stories about my life, one per day. Three of them will be the "I may just wish I was kidding but am totally serious" truth, and one will be an outright lie. On Friday, you will be able to vote for which story you think is fictional. I will reveal my lie the following Monday.

{P.S. Some of you may already know one or two of these stories, and if you do, please go along with the fun and not share your knowledge with others. I want this to be something interactive and fun for all my bloggity friends.}



When I first started working at my current place of employment, I had a set of jobs that I had to complete before I left for the day. One of these jobs was to prepare a coffee pot with the appropriate amount of water and Starbucks House Blend Medium Roast Decaf Coffee, so that when my boss got in the next morning, all he'd have to do is press the start button. (This is ironic for many reasons, including the fact that I didn't and don't drink coffee, nor did I know how to make it. Because a mini-coffee maker at the PF, used twice a year, does not count.)

I was also to monitor our coffee supply. Initially, the decaf and regular coffees were packaged in different bags, so they were quite easy to distinguish.

Which is why I was dismayed to find, one evening, as I was emptying the decaf into the coffee maker that there wasn't enough to make a full pot. (In fact, I don't think there was enough for an entire cup, it was that empty.) I looked in the freezer, and all I found were bags and bags of regular coffee. I didn't know what to do. Hadn't I sent the runner for more decaf this week? Where was it? And who else had used it today, because there was plenty last night. Should I try to mix it with regular coffee? No, I can't... he'd KNOW.

I didn't dare leave for the night without preparing the sacred coffee, and left with no other choice, I set out for the nearest Starbucks, empty bag in hand.

I got to Starbucks and asked for three bags of House Blend decaf, medium roast (I was reading the info off the sticker that was affixed to the empty bag). The Starbucks employee asked me another question that I didn't understand, so I just handed him the bag and said I needed three bags of whatever that was.

He put them in a sack for me and rang me up, and I rushed back to the office.

I got back to work, and after sitting in the elevator on the ground floor for two minutes, realized it was now after hours and I'd have to scan my electronic card to get the elevator to work.

When I got back upstairs, I literally ran smack into my boss, who was confused to find me there so late.

Boss: "What are you still doing here?"
Me: "Well, we were out of decaf, so I just ran to Starbucks to get some more really quick. So you could have your coffee in the morning."
Boss (with a pitying look) "I think I would have been fine without it for one morning."

GREAT. Glad I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut-off for the last hour.

I take leave of my boss, and head into the kitchen. I then open the freezer to place the newly purchased coffee bags inside and about faint in disbelief.

Because I notice that the bags that I had just purchased from Starbucks were packaged in the same bags that the regular caffeinated coffee was packaged in. And that fact caused me to notice something else...

The freezer was already full of decaf. Because you see, I didn't understand that the defining feature of a bag of coffee is its sticker. It is the sticker, not the bag, that tells you what type of coffee it is.

Like I'm supposed to know that. I don't drink coffee. But still... how lame am I?

In my haste to get home, I didn't stop my car soon enough to avoid gently tapping the car in front of me (I was late for something else I can't remember, and was still harried from the coffee fiasco). To my dismay, a huge bald man with copious tattoos and piercings angrily emerged out of said car. I rushed to open my door, get out and apologize. (Though I think my speech undertones probably denoted a plea of "don't kill me.")

Luckily, there was not even the slightest nick or even paint transfer on either of our cars (I've had worse door dings... and as I told you, I barely tapped his car) and the man was nice about it and got back in his car and drove away.

Let's just say it wasn't my finest day.

But on the plus side (insert sarcasm here), my boss didn't run out of coffee for a long time.

Story Three: Action!

From Monday to Thursday, I will post four stories about my life, one per day. Three of them will be the "I may just wish I was kidding but am totally serious" truth, and one will be an outright lie. On Friday, you will be able to vote for which story you think is fictional. I will reveal my lie the following Monday.

{P.S. Some of you may already know one or two of these stories, and if you do, please go along with the fun and not share your knowledge with others. I want this to be something interactive and fun for all my bloggity friends.}

In college I had a thoroughly hip roommate, with impeccable style (including an incredible knowledge of designer denim) and wit. She was dating (and later married) a guy that was equally stylish and witty, and I enjoyed their company immensely. It was one of those (many) times I wished I had a cool boyfriend of my own so that we could go on double dates and stuff. Without me being some creepy third wheel type. You know how it goes. Or maybe I'm just a loser...

Anyway, hip roommate's boyfriend also happened to be a filmmaker, and he enlisted my help for a project he was working on for a short film festival that was going on at school. Being the introvert that I am, I have to admit I was quite reticent, but I decided to buck up and help him out. For free of course. Because I'm nice like that. (And because, let's be honest, I can't act.)

My role was that of Fernanda, a shy college student from Brazil, working hard to support my family in my native country, whilst seeking to get a degree from an American school. I was not required to speak, because the whole film was to be in Portuguese. (Basically, a woman fluent in Portuguese provided Fernanda's voice in a narrative style. The scenes I shot had no dialogue in them, they just portrayed Fernanda's daily life.)

The filming was to take place over a two day period right before finals, so campus was crawling with people, much to my dismay. Because of the whole "I don't like attention, but now I'm going to be walking around the library with a camera following me" thing.

We filmed the scenes on campus the first day... shots of me studying... of me sitting around by myself while the other students ignored me... that old chestnut. To be honest, I think I nailed the whole "I'm sort of pathetic" vibe. But I will admit, I got quite a few stares in the library from students who obviously were not studying too intently... or perhaps my gynormous {I like it with a "y" and not an "i"... take that webster} backpack and equally conspicuous camera following me proved to be too enticing to look away from.

The next scenes we shot were with my "co-star," I forget his name, who was playing my drug addicted/dealing, abusive boyfriend. We had to do a rather difficult scene in which he grabs me and slaps me so hard I fall down. And me, not being an actress, had to do my best to give the scene the emotion and the believability that my friend needed. I had to throw myself against the wall a lot that day. And my counterpart was actually a really nice guy, so I think he had a difficult time playing such a jerk face. I know it sounds awful, but we had to do a lot of retakes because I was kind of giggling. Just due to the fact that I had absolutely no acting experience and could not fully embody my character. Plus I was really tired.

The climax of the film happens when Fernanda is walking across the street and gets hit and killed by a car. (A hit and run, no less.) I literally had to walk into the street with a car (being driven by the guy who played my boyfriend) coming right at me (very sloooowly, thank heavens), and, at the moment of "impact" had to throw myself backwards onto the asphalt. Let's just say that this scene took the longest to film, and I had my fair share of bruises (and maybe a slight concussion) after we got the shot.

Oh yeah, did I mention it was raining during this whole thing?

I had to stay on the ground after I was "hit" in a puddle in the rain whilst the final scene of the film was shot. A whole inner monologue type-thing to be spoken later.

The end product turned out well, no thanks to my acting, because roommate's boyfriend is really that talented. And, in spite of all the bruising, I actually had a fun time helping him out.

Story Two: Will you marry me?

From Monday to Thursday, I will post four stories about my life, one per day. Three of them will be the "I may just wish I was kidding but am totally serious" truth, and one will be an outright lie. On Friday, you will be able to vote for which story you think is fictional. I will reveal my lie the following Monday.

{P.S. Some of you may already know one or two of these stories, and if you do, please go along with the fun and not share your knowledge with others. I want this to be something interactive and fun for all my bloggity friends.}

In college, I worked at a lovely restaurant that I will affectionately refer to as "The PF." I have lots and lots of random stories about my time serving there, but this one is one of the most random.

I met a lot of people whilst working there, and one such acquaintance I acquired was that of a certain... "prominent," shall we say, member of a certain athletic team of the college I attended. Maybe some super fans even went so far as to track him down after games and get their photo taken with him. It got pretty crazy sometimes, I won't lie.

Anyway, we were always just friends... he wasn't really my type (though I did have a friend try to set us up once... which is another story for another day) and I wasn't really his. So it worked out great for both of us. (I always liked relationships like that with boys. No pressure whatsoever. So lovely.) He'd come in fairly regularly (a lot of the time with "the team," because we always fed the sports teams the day before their home games) and he'd always be nice and come up to say hi and chat for a bit.

A perpetual bachelor, he (shockingly) started exclusively dating a lovely girl, who happened to be obsessed with our Caesar salad and breadtwists. Needless to say, they came in a lot. A. LOT. Oft times I would be their server, but not always. (I always felt weird about people requesting for me to be their server, call me crazy.) Which is why I surprised one evening to receive a text from my athlete friend.

Athlete Friend: "ru workin 2morrow nite?"
Me: "yup. my shift starts at 5. why? what's up?"
AF: "k good. were comin in 2morrow & i'm gonna need ur help wit somethin."
Me: "k. see ya tomorrow."

The next night, work was pretty busy. My section was full, so when the hostess came back to say that a table requested me (it was my friend and his girl and some other people) I had her put them in the back room so I could still serve them. Once they sat down, I took their drink order and went to the wait station to get them. A few seconds later my friend left the back room, telling his friends that he changed his mind about the drink and wanted to get it straightened out. (At least that's what he told me later.) He pulled me aside and asked if I was still, "down to help him out with somethin." I said of course, and to my surprise, he pulled out a ring.

AF: "I'm gonna propose to her tonight."
Me: "Oh wow, congrats. And good work on the ring." {It was really quite lovely, I won't lie.}
AF: "Thanks."
Me: "So what do you need me to do?"
AF: "Well, I was thinkin' that towards the end of dinner, you could come out with a Sundae or something, just out of the blue."
Me (thinking the perhaps he just wanted a free Sundae, but still willing to play along, since this was a special occasion): "Sure, no prob."

So, toward the end of the meal, I prepared a specialty Sundae, the likes of which the PF had never before or has since seen. I put extra scoops of ice cream atop an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie that was fresh our of our oven. I garnished it with our homemade whipped cream and fudge sauce and caramel, and stuck spoons around the perimeter. I then brought out my masterpiece, my explanation being that we had a new, larger, specialty Sundae that we wanted customers to try out (hey, I'm not the best at lying on the fly ok?) and give their feedback. As the table dug into the delectable treat, my friend took a big bite, and summarily spilled it on his shirt. He excused himself to go clean up... and took a really long time. I was attending to some of my other tables, when I noticed him walking back to the back room clad in a suit, carrying a dozen roses. I snuck back just in time to see my friend get down on his knee and propose to his girlfriend.

She said yes, by the way.

And later, he actually paid me for the Sundae.

This week's venture: three truths and one lie

One of my favoritest bloggers, cjane, came up with the brilliant idea to enact the "three truths and one lie" game on her blog. Since I am currently out of town, I thought it would be an excellent time to personally try this out (you know, because I can write these ahead of time and schedule when they're to be published), instead of not posting all week.

The rules:

From Monday to Thursday, I will post four stories about my life, one per day. Three of them will be the "I may just wish I was kidding but am totally serious" truth, and one will be an outright lie. On Friday, you will be able to vote for which story you think is fictional. I will reveal my lie the following Monday.

{P.S. Some of you may already know one or two of these stories, and if you do, please go along with the fun and not share your knowledge with others. I want this to be something interactive and fun for all my bloggity friends.}

Story One: Officer Hottie

For a number of years, at Christmastime, my dad's side of the family gathered at a little restaurant down in the P-town called La Dolce Vita, to celebrate the season and get together as a family. Thrown by my grandpa and step-grandma, it was always a time filled with pasta, pizza and presents... completely worth the sojourn down south.

On one such year, my parents allowed my sister and me to drive down there separately, in my glorious champagne Geo Prism, affectionately named "The G Dogg." We were quite excited for the opportunity, for we could listen to the music of our choosing and chat about stuff we didn't necessarily want our parents to overhear. Plus, I was seventeen, so driving was still fun and new to me. And it wasn't every day I got to drive on the freeway. {You know, when the freeway was still a little bit dangerous and exciting?}

After a great evening of festivities, we waddled back to my car, stuffed to the brim with more Italian food than one should ever eat in one sitting. Anxious to get home to hang out with friends, I got on the freeway and started for home. After passing the point of the mountain, I decided to utilize the carpool lane, speeding along in my little car.

I felt sooo cool.

Until I saw the flashing lights in my rear view.

Panicked, I immediately pulled over to the left shoulder, out of the way of traffic, hoping that the police officer would pass me by.

Nope.

Nervously, I remembered that my driver's license was tucked safely away in my wallet... which, unfortunately, was at home. The police officer was fast approaching.

Me: "Shna." {Which happened to be my euphemism of choice in those days. Just fyi.}
Sis: "What's the matter?"
Me: "I don't have my license."

We were then interrupted, for the officer had motioned for me to unroll my window. Which I did manually, because you bet your bottom dollar the Geo didn't have power windows. {Gosh I loved that car.}

I finally looked up at the officer... and saw one of the most attractive men I have ever seen. Seriously. We're talking tall, dark and handsome with flawless white teeth. Maybe he was a model posing as a cop. Maybe.

Officer: "Miss, do you know why I pulled you over?" {Well yeah, I was most definitely speeding.}
Me (still dazzled by his hotness): "Uhhhh, yes. I think I was probably driving a bit too fast. I'm so sorry."
Officer: "I actually clocked you at 87 miles per hour."
Me (genuinely shocked): "Seriously? I didn't think this car could go that fast." (nervous chuckle)

The officer chuckled a bit himself. {Could he honestly think I am funny? Puh-lease think I'm funny. And hot. And say that you want to marry me.}

Officer: Could I see your license and registration please?

Oh crap. Think of something, think of something.

I immediately reached over to retrieve my registration (whilst inadvertently shaking... I mean, I didn't have my license... I pulled over to the LEFT... the policeman was so HOT... ughhhh) and asked my sister to please look in my purse for my license. Puzzled, she played along and searched through my purse to "find" my license. I grabbed the purse out of her hands and frantically combed through it... and then gave the police officer the most contrite and concerned look I could muster. {It was about 99% genuine I'd say.}

Me: "I'm so sorry officer, I guess my license is in my other purse."

He asked me some personal info, took my registration, and said he'd be right back. While we were waiting, I saw my dad drive by (sheesh, I must have been SPEEDING) and he called to see if we were all right.

I was just embarrassed, I assure you.

About ten minutes later, Officer Hottie (oh yes, I had thought up a nickname in that lovely ten minutes of waiting) returned.

Officer: "So the good news is I'm not going to give you a ticket."

Say what?

Officer: "What I am going to give you is a citation for driving without your license. Don't worry, it won't go on your record. It's about $20 and basically is like a parking ticket."

Marry. Me Now.

Officer: "Oh yeah, and I printed off a copy of your license just in case you have any more problems. This is as good as the real thing. Feel free to merge back with traffic and continue in the carpool lane. Just slow down a little bit ok?" His smile looked like it belonged in a Crest commercial.

Still dazed, all I could muster was a thank you, and officer was gone. And, thanks to the fact that I didn't get a ticket, my parents weren't that mad at me when I got home.