Lyin’ Games…

A couple weeks back on Twitter I alluded to something fun/happymaking that had happened recently that boosted my faith in my abilities. Now I can finally ‘fess up- not that it’s a huge thing, but it is fun. And happymaking. Which I know I already said. Deal.

Anyhow, as I’ve mentioned ’round these parts before, I’m a fan of the Pop My Culture podcast, hosted by Cole Stratton and Vanessa Ragland. It’s all kinds of naughty, silly, and hellaciously funny. I’ve learned not to be drinking anything while listening. I’ve also learned to make certain the rugrats aren’t too close by, since a few minutes of listening to PMC and one starts sounding like an extra from Deadwood.

Anyhow, some time ago, they hosted actor Timothy Omundson, whom many of you might know from Psych… or maybe Jericho… or maybe Deadwood… or… hell, you get the picture—he’s been in a lot—but for our purposes, we’re going to refer to his gig as Detective Carlton Lassiter from Psych since that was the impetus for his appearance on PMC.  Anyhow, Tim told the tale of his First Big Lie—the one where, because he totally bullshitted his parents and got away with the Big Lie, he knew he was meant to be an actor. If I recall correctly, it involved a BB gun and a sliding glass door and was a fairly impressive piece of utter horsehockey.

So Cole & Vanessa decided that would be the prompt for a contest—tell the tale of your First Big Lie and if they liked it, you could win a Season Four DVD set of Psych defiled, erm, signed by Tim.

Of course I gave it a go—but not because of the reasons you might imagine.  A) I’m not one for autographs and B) I already had all the DVDs, because my husband, who is always desperate for gift ideas (something about me being difficult to buy for…) had given them to me for Christmas.  So no, I wasn’t in it for the DVDs—I merely wanted to share the story of my First Big Lie because it’s a really good one and I wanted it documented somewhere.  I tried to include a version of it in a manuscript once, but my editor made me take it out as too unbelievable. *roll eyes*

Anyhow, I wrote it down and promptly forgot about it… until I received an email from Cole informing me that he and Vanessa had chosen my Big Lie as their favorite.  Color me boggled, y’all. I mean, there were some good ones submitted—I seriously only wanted my Big Lie documented and acknowledged. Somewhere.

So… what was my lie?  I’ve included it below, typos fixed, even. You’ll have to tell me if you think it’s a worthy lie.

Okay, admittedly, I’m a professional liar, too, as a writer, however, this story about my first big lie is absolutely true and yet when I tried to include a version of it in one of my books, my editor made me take it out because she said it was too unbelievable. (As a writer, I’m also long-winded…) So I’m putting it down not because I want the DVD (already have all of them), but because I want this story documented somewhere, dammit.

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Really? Do I look like the reunion type?

The other day, my older sister asked if I had any plans to attend my high school class’ twentieth reunion. After I pointed out that my twenty-fifth was two years ago (and waved the smelling salts under her nose to revive her) I got to thinking. Yeah, yeah, I know—dangerous. But I couldn’t help but ponder my utter lack of interest in attending a high school reunion. I mean, yeah, I went to my tenth. Mostly because my high school best friend also went, so it was a nice chance to reconnect, but honestly, my attendance was driven more from a morbid sense of curiosity. I wanted to see who would choose to attend and yeah, I wanted to see who had changed—for better or worse.

I’m the short one in the middle. I’m still short.

A little background: I graduated from North Miami Senior High School, enrollment 2500, Class of ’85, 520 strong. I was not, despite my involvement in band, much of a joiner. Didn’t do clubs, Student Government, yearbook, newspaper, or anything else. My interests were so focused—i.e. music, music, and more music, in the form of band, drum corps, and the practice required for a concert pianist, that it simply didn’t leave time for any other extracurriculars. Because of the involvement in band and drum corps (in particular) I had a small group of friends with very specific interests and who were spread across a wide age spectrum so to say that I wasn’t in step with the majority of my cohort would be… understating it.

Convoluted way of saying I didn’t fit. And because at that time I was so practiced at being a chameleon and blending into my surroundings, I had no sense of anyone actually knowing or giving a rat’s behind who I was—and this was despite the fact that by senior year I was the drum major of our very successful award-winning marching band.

But you know, boiling it down to its absolute truth—outside of the friends I had in band (and they were pretty few, as well), there weren’t that many people I actually liked in high school. And the other absolute truth is, the converse was true. This isn’t me pity-partying it or looking for hairpats. Just is what it is—I was an oddball who walked her own path during a time when homogeneity is valued and to boot, wasn’t a particularly warm-and-fuzzy person to start with.So no, it was not the time of my life—it wasn’t happy—it’s really not anything I particularly care to revisit, even on an intermittent, allegedly celebratory basis.

But I’m a curious sort (comes with the writer territory) and so when I received notices about my twentieth (how they found me, I have no clue), I kept half an eye on the proceedings. To see who was planning on going and then after the fact, to see the pictures. Yes, I wanted to do a compare and contrast. So sue me, I’m human, y’all.

Basically, the Usual Suspects again. Student Gov, clubs, athletes, extracurriculars, cheerleaders—in short, the Beautiful People. And judging from what little I saw of the proceedings, high school was their highlight and they were trying their damnedest to relive it. Give them props, too—if they’re going to live the cliché, at least they’re committing to it completely.  Another point of interest, considering I went to school in Miami and many of these folks appear to have remained there (which begs the entirely different question of Dear God, why?) I noted an awful lot of Botox and surgical enhancements. A lot. Of course, to balance that out, there were also a fair number of guys who I recalled as being considered hot back in the day, who are now balding, have beer guts, and a lot of mileage on the faces, yet clearly look in the mirror and still think they’re that hot guy from high school.

Oh, Sunshine—that’s so adorable…

So yeah- not feeling as if I missed a whole lot there. I honestly can’t imagine that I would have any more in common with these people than I did back then.

Something to be said for being a late bloomer.

Because my high school apparently wasn’t all that great at engendering a lot of school spirit, the alumni couldn’t even muster enough interest to organize a proper 25th reunion. Instead, they had a multi-class reunion for the classes of 1981-86 that happened to fall in line with my actual 25th.

Nope. Didn’t go to that either. Saw the pictures. Usual Suspects. Acting much in the way they did in high school.

I don’t know—maybe when my 30th rolls around, I’ll consider going. Just out of curiosity’s sake.  Maybe see what the reactions are to me, if any.  If anyone actually remembers me.  Frankly, I’d be shocked if they did.  I suspect you’d see a lot of wrinkled brows as they take in who I am now and try to force a recall that just isn’t going to come.

Or  you know, maybe I’ll just stay home and wash my hair.