Before I start, I have to remind everyone to send me their chocolate stories for a chance to win VIP chocolate show tickets We've gotten two really fun entries, but I want more, more, more!
As for the liar meme:
I don't know if I should be proud of this, but out of fifteen guesses, thirteen were wrong--and one of the correct ones (Karlene's) was just because no one else had guessed that one yet.
Here's the low-down on each of my four statements:
1. Once while camping in the High Uintahs, I stood too close to the fire one morning in an attempt to warm up. I locked my knees and passed out into the fire pit, effectively singing off my eyebrows and eyelashes.
FALSE. This is the lie. I took a note when Josi said that people usually don't pick #1. Tee hee. This actually did happen to Cathy, a childhood friend of mine. I was on the same camping trip, but in the tent at the time, so I just heard about it afterward--and saw her singed lashes. Surprisingly (as Don pointed out) she wasn't hurt otherwise, likely because so many other people were nearby and caught her quick. Our Young Women group went on a week-long backpacking trip in the Uintahs each summer (lovingly called, "The Powder Puff and Huff"). Some of the best experiences of my adolescence, bar none.
2. My senior year, I didn’t make it into our high school musical because the choir teacher thought I was a junior. He wanted to give more seniors a chance to perform before they graduated. Uh, whoops.
TRUE. I didn't find out the reason I didn't make it into the play until months later. It made no sense when I wasn't on the cast list, because I knew I was good enough to at least be in the chorus (I had no delusions about getting a lead role), and there were others who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket who were on the list (seniors, I might add).
Worse, most of my friends (being those uber-thespians I've mentioned) were in the play, so they all got to spend months together, leaving me to hang out alone because they had rehearsals and such. That holiday season pretty much sucked.
Then, a month or two after the play ended, I walked into the choir room and our teacher (a dear, dear man whom I still adore) asked how my testing had gone. I had no idea what he meant, but then remembered that the juniors had some state test that day. "Do you mean the junior testing?"
"Yes," he said.
"I'm not a junior."
He went pale. "You're a senior? Oh."
I didn't think much of it until after class when he called me into his office and apologized for not casting me in the play, telling me how it happened.
One of many reasons my senior year of high school was not exactly stellar.
3. For some totally weird and inexplicable reason, instead of continuing with French which I had taken in eighth grade, I took two years of Russian in high school.
TRUE. I even won some award at BYU's high school language fair with my Russian, which never was that good, especially accent-wise. But I still get a kick out deciphering the Cyrillic alphabet.
A random but somewhat connected tidbit: The third date with my future husband was at a mission reunion. He went to Czechoslovakia (when it still was that--now it's the Czech Republic). We sat around a table while one guy played the guitar and everyone sang Czech folk songs. It was freaky to see how similar that language was to Russian but in the Roman alphabet. I had a distinct thought that maybe this is why I studied Russian in high school--that this guy and I might end up going there as a married couple on a mission some day. Yeah. Third date. Being as I was all of nineteen at the time, it freaked me out a bit.
4. I've had four epidurals, one natural childbirth.
TRUE. I know, I know, this was sort of a trick question, which Josi guessed. Many of you know I have four children. With #2, the idiot anesthesiologist (Dr. Bob--I kid you not; that was his name) did the epidural wrong. Not only did he take about half an hour to place it (something that should take oh, a minute--and keep in mind here, I'm in agonizing pain as he's trying to place it during contractions), but I had bruises all over my back for three weeks after the fact.
Worse, he put it in the wrong spot, so it never took effect AT ALL. Not one tiny bit.
By the time my doctor realized the epidural was dripping medication somewhere other than my nerves and wasn't going to do diddly, it was time to push. At that point I pretty much flipped out and wished, wished, wished, I knew something about breathing and relaxation and all that. I remember holding my husband's hand and crying, "I can't do this."
But I did, of course. Somehow.
Dr. Bob came in afterward and apologized for the bad epidural in a way only he could: "I'll only charge you half."
Had I not been so wiped--and holding my baby--I would have jumped off the bed and punched the lights out of him.
I delivered my next two babies in the same hospital, but swore that if ever Dr. Bob darkened the door, I'd personally shoot him.
Now for the fun part: I put everyone's names into a bowl and had my 5-year-old pick out the winner of a copy of Spires of Stone. She selected (drum roll, please) . . . Marcia Mickelson!
Congrats, lady! Hope you enjoy it.
And for the next fun part, tagging people:
I'll go for three of my thespian friends, the only ones from that group I'm aware of who have blogs. They were all (of course) in the play that year, which was Auntie Mame.
Em at Downstage Left (Who played the amazing Vera; holy cow, she was hilarious, although I didn't recognize her at first with the dark wig.)
Sarah (also known as Brownie) and
Blondie (who just got her own blog--I believe this is her first tag. :D)
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