Two Truths and a Lie

Two Truths and a Lie is an introductory icebreaker game where someone will offer up three statements about themselves to a group, two of which are true and one is a lie, because there's nothing that makes you warm up to someone quite like having them say "Hey, I just met you and this is crazy, but here are some things about me and some dishonesty maybe." The object of the game is for the group to figure out which statement is the lie. The thought process here is to make each statement interesting and entertaining, but one of the things shouldn't quite be there, it's kind of the "Matrix Trilogy" of meeting someone. Again, it's a good way to get to know people and learn some things about them. Unfortunately, given the technological barriers between us, if you and I were to play this game, I would have no way of telling you if you correctly guessed which statement was the lie, but I'd still like for people to get to know a little bit about me, so I've come up with a "Mark Modified" version of the game where I am going to share three things about myself, but much like the ending to any romantic comedy, you will be able to tell exactly how this is going to end long before I am finished. So, in the words of Jigsaw "Do you want to play a game?"

Truth #1: I Once Had A Pet Tarantula

When I was in third grade, my family took a trip to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon and visit one of my dads' friends from college. We enjoyed the long flight and sticky humidity very much. No, the natural beauty was breathtaking and I've never seen a night sky quite like I did out there. It's kind of like when you watch a football game with surround sound for the first time at a friends house and then try to enjoy the game the next week on your TV, because I appreciate a starry night as much as Vincent Van Gogh, but these dimly lit downtown Nashua dawns just don't impress me anymore. Along with some new celestial sightings, I also saw some animals I had never seen in the wild back in New Hampshire. As we walked the rugged terrain, we saw a tarantula scurry into a nearby crevice. My brother eyed that thing like a fat guy in the food court and was determined to have it. To say I was a part of the apprehension of this arachnid is like saying a line judge took the championship at.Wimbledon. Was I there for it? Yes. Did some of my decisions that day get us to a point that made that event a possibility? Absolutely. However, while my brother was perfectly content picking up frogs and snakes, I was more into picking video games and my boogers so I was involved from a strictly observatory standpoint. "Oh my gosh, that's a really fat spider, I'll be over here if you guys need me."

So, they lure this thing into a jar with a sweet Siren song or they just asked it nicely, I don't know, but we got it and are now headed home on a plane. Again, given my lack of involvement I say "we" in  the same way people do when they're talking about their favorite sports team, because I knew how I wanted this to end, but I had no effect on the outcome. I just really did not want to go to prison. So we get the thing home and we put it in a large glass container with a heat lamp, some sand and a cardboard cutout of a cactus to make it feel a little bit more at home. After finding out that tarantulas like to eat crickets, we went to the pet store and bought a large box of chirping chewables for our furry friend. In a tragic case of ignorance, we did not account for the incredible vertical ability these little guys possessed and only about 2/3 of the critters made it from their little box to the heated Hell where they would meet their end. The insect escapees scattered throughout the house and I can honestly tell you, there is no combination of bedhead and morning breath that compares to the a.m. anxiety of that combination of eyes and antennas looking at you while you sleep. Anyway, with this addition our family felt whole and we couldn't wait to take the Christmas picture that year. I'm not sure whose idea it was (which means it was probably mine), but like a hotheaded housewife. someone decided that the tarantulas surroundings needed some changing and rearranging so a small bowl of water was added in the all-inclusive enclosure so the tarantula could drink or bathe or whatever the heck we were thinking. Unfortunately, we woke up the next morning to find that he had opted to use it for scuba diving. The sinking feeling of finding a dead tarantula in the bottom of a water bowl we had provided was unlike anything I had felt before. You know that feeling when you go to hold a door open for someone and they still give it a little push on their way through or they go through a different door completely? You're left standing there like "I try to do something nice for someone and look what happens!" This is kind of a dead animals version of that. I think we will be sticking with cats and dogs from now on.

Truth #2: I Played the Trombone

By the time I entered the 5th grade, I had already cancelled any reservations I had for sitting at the cool kids table by making decisions to establish myself as a solid student and top notch member of the Cross Country team. However, that Spring, I took the final step in achieving the Triple Crown of Chastity by joining the school band as a trombone player. Setting aside the fact that the instrument weighed more than I did and extending my arm to hit some of the notes practically threw me off balance, my music teacher was absolutely insane. He was one of those guys that was so in to what he was teaching, he was determined to make sure that every last one of us 11 year-olds had a recording on the Boston Pops Kidz Bop CD. There's a fine line between passionate and psychotic and this guy was a straight up John Philip Psycho. He acted as if we had no other options out there other than pursuing a career in music and as a reward he gave candy to the kid that could hold the longest note. I think that we can all agree that there is absolutely nothing okay about a grown man looking at a young boy and saying "Hey, if you make yourself almost pass out I'll give you some treats." On a note that seems to be simultaneously more and less creepy than that, this guy also had the weirdest sweat patterns I'd ever seen. He sweat profusely from his head despite the fact that he was completely bald and if he wore a fire engine red dress shirt to class, by the end of our time together, severe strokes of sweat had completed their painting of perspiration and turned the material located by his armpits, upper back and around his belly button for some reason, a deep shade of maroon.

However, it took more than a restricted reach and a sweaty schoolteacher to put my trombone playing days in the past tense. My curtain call came the day after the bands' first concert. I, along with every other member of the band had spent several months preparing for the winter concert we were going to put on for our friends, family and given the poor structural standing of Pelham Memorial School, anyone within a ten mile radius of the building. Unfortunately, all of the natural-born musicianship in the world can not account for one thing, common sense. As we arrived at our seats, I was informed that the two other players in the trombone trio had forgotten their sheet music and they would need to look on with me. Listen, as far as a bad memory goes, I'm in no position to lecture anyone. I've misplaced my phone, I've lost my wallet, but to forget your sheet music for a band concert?! So I spent that entire evening trying to bob and weave my head around the two slides that slipped in and out of sight every two seconds. Eventually, I just decide that I am going to Louis Armstrong Lip Sync my way through the rest of this show and just call it a night. This gave me a chance to mentally withdrew a bit and really listen to the collection of clamoring that my classmates and I were trying to pass off as music. I realized then that, had this performance been recorded, the only album title fitting for such an abomination would have been New York City Traffic Jams. Looking back, I realize now that there was in fact, a praiseworthy performance that took place that night, because following the concert as I was walking out to the car with my parents, they looked me right in the eyes and said "Honey, that was beautiful." I proceeded to take that compliment and shove it back in their face, explaining to them that I had had it with our sweat drenched director, my bad memory band mates and that if I ever had to enter the band room again and move a closed fist back and forth for 30 minutes, it would not be because I was practicing on my instrument, but because someone in there was getting served up a nerdy knuckle sandwich.



Lie #1: My name is George

I have to imagine that naming a child is the first frightful feeling of responsibility a parent has. Our very identity is tied to our name, it's oftentimes the first piece of information others will learn about us. My family has unanimously agreed that my father stood his ground on two pivotal parental power struggles, the most recent of these being my moms' aversion to my brother and I attending an Aerosmith concert with my dad. Despite her initial objections, the three of us went out and saw Motley Crue open up for Aerosmith, this was my first concert and it became a night I will never forget. The second mom and dad debate that my father considered a "must win" involved my naming. My mother really liked the name Clark, a choice she defended by stating that this name was carried with honor by both my grandfather and the Man of Steel, Superman. My mother was also quite fond of the name Montgomery, which is of course the most important city in Alabama, but being the most important city in Alabama is kind of like being the smartest kid in the dumb class, you can dress it up all you want, but in the end, it's nothing to brag about.  

As I was preparing to begin third grade, my family and I attended a new church in our hometown. My parents went upstairs where I'm sure they were discussing adult things like Anselm's Ontological Argument, whereas I was sentenced to Sunday School downstairs. Out of the six kids in my class, the only person who knew me was the daughter of the pastor at the time, so I decided I was going to have a little fun. The teacher in our classroom began taking attendance and I decided to establish myself as the church class clown. I turned to my friend, Alex, and said "Hey, just go along with this, okay?" She shook her head. The fact that my last name starts with a "W" means that, more often then not, I bring up the rear of an attendance roll call, so as the teacher called out my name, I raised my hand and said "Excuse me, but there must be a mistake, because my last name on there is correct, but my first name is George." Without so much as a second thought, my teacher offered a sincere apology and with a few swipes of an eraser, a legend was born. I gave Alex a silly smirk at the innocent and infinitely tiny prank I had just seemingly pulled off. Her and I had a good laugh and that was going to be it.

Unfortunately, as I would later learn from a Veggietales episode entitled Larry Boy and the Fib from Outer Space, once you tell a single lie, it tends to fertilize itself in falsity and grown on its own, because like an Herbalife of Dishonesty, once the class let out, the six kids that I had just introduced myself to as George introduced me to members of their family by saying "This is my friend, George" which is an introduction that I remain extremely ashamed of and impressed by to this day. On a personal level, you need to understand something before I continue, am I "proud" of the fact that my most memorable lie begins with the phrase "this one time, in Sunday school?" No. However, in my past, stretching the truth had never been a strength of mine because I didn't enjoy hurting people's feelings and remembering a lie was always just too mentally exhausting for me. I don't even mean "big" lies either. As an example, if a group of friends and I are planning a surprise party for someone and that person happens to walk by like "Hey guys, what's up?" The rest of the group could play it off cool as a Clooney cucumber, whereas I turn into the Botox Boombox and just stand there and yell "NOTHING!" So, as King Georges' kingdom continued to grow in Sunday school, the angel on my shoulder was saying "OK, you've had your fun, now it's time to tell everyone the truth." Contrarily, the red robed rascal on the other side was saying "Wow, you are actually pulling this off!" This went on for weeks and then months, but eventually had to be shut down when my parents repeatedly noticed kids calling the house asking for "George."

There you have it, I am an arachnid assassinating, instrumentally annoyed young man formerly known as George. So, tell me a little about yourself.