Archive for the ‘Lies’ Category

Last night I had an art therapy session scheduled for 6. I got to Dallas about 5, so I sat at the biggest Half-Price Books in the world and read until 5:45, and then wended my way to J.’s office. When I arrived, she was still in session with another client and was running late. So I sat down and opened up Chakras and Their Archetypes by Ambika Wauters.  I’ve been reading on this off and on since Saturday. After a moment or two yesterday afternoon, I arrived at this exercise:

Recall an experience in your life where you felt like a Victim. This would be a time when something happened to you which was out of your control and left you feeling hurt or unsure of yourself.

When I was 13, maybe 14, a grown neighbor up the street molested me.  Some of the specifics around the incident are blurry–I don’t remember his name. I seem to recall that he and his wife had grown children who no longer lived at home. But I know that they always welcomed all the kids in the neighborhood at their house. They let us play pool on their pool table, served sodas and snacks, and were just really fun to hang around.  One day I was there with some of my friends. His wife wasn’t there, so it was just him. My friends left, and I was about to leave but he wanted to talk some more, so I stayed. He molested me that day. I left his house feeling filthy, dirty, terrified of him. It reaffirmed my feelings that I was a bad person.  I never dared talk about it in direct terms. I tried telling my friends that he wasn’t a very nice person after all, and I never went there again. I don’t know if any of them believed me, and I hope he never did that to anyone else.

The first time I ever spoke of it again was earlier this year when we did a cleansing ceremony at Jehara’s flat. I wrote a letter to everyone who sexually used me, and as I was writing that letter decided it was time to address him as well. I still remember how I felt reading that aloud, how angry I was–not just that he had harmed me, but that I had let him continue harming me by keeping the incident bottled up inside and allowing myself to feel guilt and shame over something that wasn’t my fault.

What are your feelings about this situation now? Are you angry, enraged, sad, grieving? Are you willing to tell yourself more about how you feel regarding this situation? Be willing to take the lid off your feelings and experience them as they are.

When I read these questions, I asked myself how I felt about it. And I felt nothing. That seemed very peculiar to me, so I closed the book to allow myself time to ponder the question. I skimmed through a few magazines and a book, but still couldn’t feel anything. J. was still with the previous client, so I went into the room with the sandbox.

I got some dolls down–a Chauceriangirl doll, an Amazon warrior doll, a Buffy doll to represent Izzybella, a red-haired buff doll to represent Amethyst, and a buff black-haired doll to represent Jehara. Then I picked an innocuous-looking male doll to represent the man who molested me.

I acted out the scene with the me doll and the him doll. After the incident was over, I sort of buried the incident away, so I threw sand all over the me doll to symbolize the shame and guilt and hiding. And I sat the him doll in a corner of the sandbox.

Then I acted out the scene at the cleansing when I told Jehara, Amethyst, and Izzybella about it, and I remembered the rage I felt then. I buried the him doll in sand, but no matter how hard I tried, his head was still sticking out above the sand. My sister dolls hugged the me doll, and I started shaking the sand off of the me doll. My Amazon warrior doll told me that I have always had the strength to deal with these things, and I didn’t need her anymore, so she went away.

Then I started wondering about him. I don’t know what his life was like. I don’t know if he ever regretted what he did to me, if that was a sole occurrence or if he molested more people. And I knew that I understand it wasn’t my fault. And I forgave him.

As I went through all this processing, I just never once had any feeling toward him. No hatred, no anger, no hurt, no tears, no resentment, nothing. I have somehow been able to let go of it.

There is another thing in my past that has caused me incredible amounts of guilt and shame. I first admitted it aloud about a month ago. Since then I’ve talked about it with J. several times. So last night I thought about it too. And the shame and guilt are gone from that as well.

In another book I read recently, the author says that lies are toxic. I’ve been lying to myself for many many years by burying all these things and not facing them. It was like I thought that if I admitted it, then it would make them real and would mean that I was a bad person. But when I did finally talk about them and admit them, I was able to realize that while they did happen, and nothing can undo that, I am not a bad person.  I feel like the toxicity is leaving my body.

I told J. the first night I met with her that I just think it’s the right time for me to do this. Last night we brought that up again, because I’m making so much progress so quickly. It is the right time. I’m reclaiming my Amazon warrior. I’m reclaiming a sense of myself as a good person. I’m no longer allowing anyone else to run my life, whether by active design or by default because I bury my head in the sand and permit it to happen. When I brushed the sand off of my chauceriangirl doll last night, I brushed it off of myself as well.

I’m clean. I’m whole. I’m complicated. I’m real. I’m honest. I’m good.  Processing will continue.

And processing of another kind–I love, Love, LOVE our new juicer! When I got home last night, Joe made me some apple carrot celery juice. And it was just as delicious as it could be. The juicer’s a little bit of a pain to clean, but nothing difficult. I’ll definitely be using it. Yay for the juicer!

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Another one for the S-Project

The Truth About Lydia’s LiesLydia lied fluently, habitually, mellifluously. Lydia lied as easily and as effortlessly as she breathed. Her lies were totally believable, and totally unnecessary. She never knew why she started telling lies, but it had gotten to be such a habit that she did it incessantly.

She couldn’t remember the first lie she’d ever told. In fact, it was probably nonverbal. Perhaps she’d stolen something off her brother’s plate and stuffed it into her mouth; when he’d slapped her angrily, she’d stared, wide-eyed, at him, and then broke into watery-eyed howls of indignation. Her parents would have rushed into the room and seen the red mark on her cheek and punished him despite his protests. Yes, her first lie was probably something of that nature, she thought.

Astounded at how easily she got away with that, she moved on to bigger tales. She learned just what to say to whom. People were so gullible, and almost no story was too over-the-top. In fact, she realized that the more outrageous the story, the more willing people were to believe it.

Lydia even lied when she went to confession. Not out of guilt, not at all. She felt sorry for the priests, having to listen to the same old boring things all the time. She wanted to give them something interesting to hear. So she made up exciting stories for them, with the end result that she was given extra penance (which she gladly did).

She looked on her facility with lying as her special gift. Some people could sing, some could write books, and Lydia could lie.

But then she met Francisco.

Ah, Francisco! He was the most guapo man she had ever met, with deep brown eyes that melted her insides and turned her steely heart to warm goo. He had very firm opinions about many things, and honesty was one of them. He didn’t know about Lydia’s lies—no one did—and he was as much in love with Lydia as she was with him. And he proposed to her one sultry romantic evening, and she said yes of course and wept salty sweet tears of joy.

But her insides were squirming. Francisco did not approve of lying. So that night as Lydia lay in bed, she made a firm resolve that she was not going to tell any more lies.

As fate would have it, she overslept the next morning. When she opened her dazzling eyes and saw that it was 8:23, she smiled dreamily. Today I will tell my boss that … she began to plan her alibi. But then she remembered. No lies. An hour later, she stood penitently before her boss’s desk, hanging her head.

 “I am sorry, Charles,” she said. “I overslept.”

He stared blankly at her. “What?”

“I overslept this morning. Francisco proposed to me last night—see, here’s my ring—and I was so happy, and we stayed up so late, and then I just overslept.”

Charles sat back and laughed.

Lydia looked at him with amazement. “What’s so funny?”

“You are,” he said, still laughing. “C’mon, Lydia, what really happened?”

“I just told you.”

“You overslept. Please. Nothing that banal ever happens to you.”

And no matter what she said, he would not be convinced. Finally she just left his office, shaking her head. Throughout the day, he came to her desk three or four times, trying to pry the truth from her, and she kept insisting that she just overslept, and he still would not believe her.

When Lydia got off work that afternoon, she picked up her sobrina, Alicia, who was going to spend the night with her. On the way to Lydia’s apartment, she drove to a touch-free carwash.

Tía Lydia, how does this carwash work? There aren’t any brushes.”

“Oh, mija,” Lydia said, “the force of the water pressure washes the car. And then after the wash is finished, then a giant vacuum-like thing passes over the car and kind of sucks up all the water to dry the car.”

Alicia looked reproachfully at her aunt. “Tía Lydia, why are you telling such fibs?”

Lydia looked surprised. “I’m not fibbing, mija. That’s how it works. Watch, darling.”

And Alicia watched, and saw that it was exactly how it works. “Lo siento,” she apologized.

When Lydia and Alicia arrived at the apartment, they immediately began to prepare dinner, because Francisco was going to come dine with them. Lydia had a savory pot of moros y cristianos waiting in the crockpot. She and Alicia made fresh corn tortillas, a crisp green salad, and, because Alicia begged so hard, a layer cake with thick fudgy icing.

Francisco arrived about 8:00. When Lydia opened the door, she greeted him with a kiss.

“Mmmm, it smells wonderful in here! Hello, small-fry,” he said, smiling at Alicia. “What’s for dinner?”

“Black beans and rice, salad, and cake!” Alicia said excitedly.

“Well, let’s eat, then!” Francisco said.

And eat they did. The food was as delicious as it smelled, and they had a good time. Afterward they cleaned up the dishes together, because Francisco was a very thoughtful man.

“I’ll put the movie in, sweetheart,” Francisco said. “Where did you put it?”

“The movie?” Lydia looked at him blankly.

“Yes, the movie.” Francisco said impatiently. “You were going to stop at the store and pick up the movie that I asked you to buy, remember?”

Lydia thought back. She could not remember him asking her to buy a movie. When she said this, he got a little angry with her.

“Of course I asked you to buy the movie. You told me that Alicia wanted to see it, and I asked you to pick it up for me.”

She timidly said again that she didn’t remember him saying any such thing.

“Of course I did!” he said even more impatiently. “Do not lie to me! You know how I hate being lied to!”

Lydia burst into tears.

Alicia looked as if she might do the same thing, staring first from Lydia to Francisco, and then back to Lydia.

Francisco looked ashamed of himself. He took Lydia in his arms. “Sssh, sssh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Lydia managed to calm herself down. She rested her head against his broad chest. As she struggled to stop her tears, the little voice inside her head said See what happens when you deny your gift? She had to agree with it.

“You’re right, darling,” she told him, drawing Alicia into the embrace. “I promise I’ll never lie again.”

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(I had to write about what happened at Trolley Square Mall in Salt Lake City on 1/12/07; I couldn’t write what I wanted to because it wouldn’t come out. So I wrote something much, much, much milder for the Scheherazade Project on the assigned topic of lies.)

All I wanted was to have a nice, quiet evening, unwind a little, ya know? Go get some spaghetti, do a little retail therapy. How could I have known what was gonna happen?

You get to where you almost expect it at the schools. Well, maybe that’s a little strong, but you know what I mean. You hear about a school on lockdown, your heart stops beating, you think about everyone you know, their children, realize no one you know attends that school, you don’t know anyone who works there, and you can sort of breathe again. I mean, it still gets you right in the gut, but at least you know it doesn’t affect you personally.

But a mall! Who shoots up a mall? And anyone could be at a mall. Your nana, your next-door neighbor, your Sunday school teacher, your baby-sitter, the punk kids who keep toilet-papering your house, the principal, the mayor, your best friend, you–

Yeah. I was there. I like the Old Spaghetti Factory–they have the best fettuccine alfredo in town. And I wasn’t really in the mood for Italian, but I wanted to unwind a little, like I said. And then I thought I’d do a little shopping, get some body lotion, a little candy, try on some clothes. I’ve been on a diet, I’ve lost 40 pounds–I see you’re looking at how fat I am but it’s true. I know I’ve got a lot more to lose, but I’ve lost a lot, honest. Anyway, what I’m trying to tell you is that Trolley Square is one of my favorite places. It’s not like those other malls, all carbon copies. Well, it kind of is, it’s got a lot of the same stores as they do. But it’s got atmosphere.

Well, I wasn’t really there. But I could have been. I mean, I thought about going. My sister-in-law, Kitty, whenever she visits from Buffalo, we used to go to Schmitt’s Bakery and get coffee and eclairs. She always used to say that Schmitt’s had the best eclairs. And what if Kitty had been here last night? We would have gone to Trolley Square, because we always go to Trolley Square even though Schmitt’s isn’t there anymore, because it’s tradition. You understand tradition, don’t you?

But what I don’t understand is all these young people, they’re unhappy, and they think they have to go take it out on the world. Well I’m unhappy, you don’t see me shooting people. Although Ernie, God rest his soul, there were times I felt like shooting him! Well, anyway, what I’m saying is when you’re unhappy, you just gotta deal with it, know what I mean? Because shooting people isn’t going to make you any happier. And then you shoot yourself, and there’s all that mess, and all those people, and everything’s in such an uproar, and nothing gets solved. And then what happens? All those other miserable little punk kids see what you did, and they think, wow, that’s a good idea, only they’ve gotta do it bigger, they’ve gotta do it better, and it goes on and on. Today Trolley Square, tomorrow the Galleria, next week Mall of America, know what I mean?

My mother, God rest her soul, used to say to me, Nancy, she’d say, these are the best days of your life. Well you and I both know that was a big fat lie. I mean to say, if those had been the best days of my life, maybe I would have felt like shooting myself! But I wouldn’t have shot anyone else! Okay, maybe my mother. But you know what I mean. Not really. Because that’s not how we did things in those days. We didn’t shoot people we didn’t even know just because we were mad or hurt or sad or felt bad. We didn’t fly planes into buildings either, or blow up buildings because we didn’t like our government. Know what I mean? No. Here’s what we did: we got over ourselves. That’s what we did.

I was watching television the other day, some young person’s show called Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Don’t laugh at old ladies, it’s rude. it’s actually a very good show. Anyhoo, this real b-i-t-c-h said something very smart to Buffy and I think all these snotty kids need to hear it. She told her to embrace the pain, spank the inner moppet, but get over it. Something like that. Same thing. Get over yourself. These kids gotta start thinking about something besides themselves.

They think their pain is the only thing alive in the world. And that’s the big lie. They think there’s nothing else bigger than their pain, and the only way they can find any relief for their pain is to kill themselves. But they gotta make the grand gesture, know what I mean, and take out as many others as they can along the way.

How are we gonna teach these kids the truth? I don’t know. What are you gonna do? I’m just an old woman.

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Chicory’s post got me to thinking about lies I’ve told. I’m not going to talk about them just yet, because I’m not ready to do my S-Project post. But it just occurred to me that in my response to her post, I told a whopper.

I said I couldn’t lie convincingly. Well, not in those exact words, but that was the gist of it.

But that’s a lie.

It wasn’t intended to be a lie. I thought it was the truth. See, my husband can catch me out in a lie 99 times out of 100. Sometimes he even catches me out in a lie when I’m telling the truth, but I suppose that’s a different matter altogether. My sister can usually catch me in a lie, but I don’t often lie to her. My mom, well, I haven’t lied to her since I was a teenager, but let’s face it–anyone in the family could lie to my mother and get away with it most of the time. She wouldn’t believe that, but it was the truth.

I can, however, lie to people who don’t know me well. I suppose most people can, because it’s the subtle things that give away a lie, things that people who know you know to look for. But I can also lie to kids, even kids who know me very well. I lie to Clover’s kids frequently. Remember my candy tree? I’ve also, at various times, told them that I make cookies with baked crickets (adds crispness, y’know), was glued to the chair and couldn’t possibly get out (and A’s repeated futile efforts to pull me out added verisimilitude to my story), and I forget what all else. They love me anyway, though, because I keep my word when I promise no more zerberts ever, and I bring lots of candy over, and I give loud noisy toys (to the ones who are still interested in toys), and C and I share fart jokes.

One of the women I work with collects angels. The other day I was 20 minutes early for a dentist appointment, so I stopped in at a Dollar General Store that was going out of business. I found a really cute little angel doll for 30 cents. I bought it, and the next morning I snuck it onto my co-worker’s desk. Anonymously. As in, I didn’t want her to know it was from me. So when she came in later on that morning, I heard her asking around about who left the angel on her desk. Eventually she made her way into my office, and I managed to keep a straight face as I asked what she was talking about. She showed me the little angel, I agreed that it was cute, and said that perhaps the person who left it for her didn’t want her to know who it was. She agreed with me, but continued trying to find out. I was amazed, that time, that I managed to lie convincingly, because that’s usually the kind of situation that gets me caught.

The most frequent lie I told my husband related to either books or clothing. When I would spend too much money on either item, I would, instead of taking the bags of books or clothes (or shoes or handbags) into the house, I would leave them in the trunk of my car for a while. Then when I decided it was time to clean out the car, I’d take everything into the house and put it away. He’d see me sporting a new blouse or pair of shoes, or see a new book (like how he could notice a new book amongst our piles I have no idea, but he still manages to every now and then), and ask when I got that. “This old thing? I’ve had it for ages,” was my not-so-innocent response. One day in a fit of honesty, I confessed my tactics. Perhaps that’s why he thinks he’s catching me in lies now when I’m actually telling him the truth. I quit doing this over a year and a half ago, but he is still–naturally–suspicious.

I’m interested in lies, why people tell them. Sometimes I just can’t help myself! I have to tell a lie or twenty. That’s when it’s time to start writing like crazy. I get to lie like crazy, and I don’t get anybody mad at me.

I like to tell lies.

Should I be ashamed of myself?

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The Candy Tree

Yesterday I told Tate (Clover’s youngest) that I have a candy tree in my back yard. Every so often, when the candy on the tree gets ripe, I pick it and take it over to their house. He looked suspiciously at me, and said that he wants to see my candy tree. I promised that he could come over around Halloween, when it will be ripe again, and he can pick some candy off the tree. He said that he would just go over to my house and sneak in my back yard, but I told him that unripe candy will make him very sick, so he has to wait until it’s ripe. He wanted to go plant 3 tootsie pops to make his own candy tree, but I somehow convinced him that they wouldn’t grow. I told him that my dog once took a bag of Hershey’s kisses and buried it in the back yard. We found that bag, but maybe she buried some other candy, and that’s what made my candy tree grow. His older and less gullible brother Chase suggested that the candy tree gets watered with sugar water, but I hastily vetoed that, and said that we don’t take any extra special care with the candy tree. It just grows.

So it’s all set. I’ve invited them over on the 28th of October for a candy harvest. I’ll have to post pictures of the great event afterward.

I also told Clover and her husband that Joe has a tattoo of the Marshall logo on his butt. (He doesn’t, of course, but is an avid fan of the Marshall amps/stacks/heads/whatever they’re called.) That lie backfired, as he told me on the way home that he wants to get a Marshall logo tattooed on one cheek, and a Gibson Les Paul tattooed on the other cheek. He’s joking, right? Of course I won’t let him, so it’s a moot point, but still– nah. He’s joking.

I’ve got to quit telling lies.

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I always say that I steal a good idea when I see it. I noticed Chicory’s list, and thought it was a cool idea. So here goes:

1. My very first memory involves me and a childhood friend standing at the side of a large, deep hole in the ground. I used to think it was a dream until I saw a photograph of the two of us standing by a large, deep hole in the ground. I have no idea what the holes were there for, or why we were standing there, but there you have it!

2. Once I mixed up a batch of mud-water in an old milk jug, and told my brother it was chocolate milk. He drank it, and got sick (of course). I was too young to understand about germs, so I didn’t realize that the bacteria in the dirty old milk jug was what made him sick. I insisted then, and still insist, that the first swallow was my fault. If he was too dumb to realize that it wasn’t chocolate milk after one swig, then he deserved to be sick.

3. Along similar lines, I gave my husband a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans one day. He didn’t suspect anything, because I am a fiend for Jelly Bellies. The look on his face as he asked me what the hell he was eating was classic.

4. I’m sorry for that now, though, because on Christmas Day I ate a soap-flavoured Bertie Bott bean, and was sick for two hours.

5. As a kid, I was an incredible liar. I lied all the time, even when there was no need to. The truth was too boring.

6. Maybe that’s why I started writing, so that I could tell the lies on paper and tell the truth in person.

7. Didn’t work, though. I still tell lies every now and then, just for the sheer fun of it.

8. When my sister Izzybella was a baby, she had platinum blonde hair. I used to love brushing it, and would sit there and brush her hair until she got bored and wanted to do something else.

9. When I was 11 or 12, I had some friends who dared me to shoplift some lip gloss. I did.

10. I also shoplifted cigarettes. I thought it was cool to smoke. The only reason I’m not a smoker to this day is because someone told me that it wasn’t enough to just pull in some smoke and then puff it back out. She told me that I had to pull in some smoke, take a deep breath, and then puff it back out. I did so one time, puked violently, and was nauseated for two days. I never smoked again.

11. During the brief interval that I was a smoker, I was afraid to light matches. So I used to light my cigarettes on the burner of our gas stove. One day when I turned on the burner, it took slightly longer to ignite, there was a puff and I burned off my eyelashes.

12. After that I switched to a lighter. My brother found it and set my carpet on fire. I got grounded for a month.

13. I’m glad all that stuff happened; otherwise, I’d smell like an ashtray and have lung cancer.

14. The thing I regret the most: when I was in 9th grade, I went through an extremely brief spurt of popularity with at my small school. I wasn’t popular with the cool kids, but I was popular with everyone else. I let it go to my head, and someone asked me what I thought of a certain girl. I didn’t even know her, but airily replied that she was a bitch. Her boyfriend, who had been a friend of mine, never talked to me again. I wish I could go back to that moment, and unsay those words. I wish I could tell her now how sorry I am that I did that.

15. When I was 10 or 11, my parents bought a chest freezer stocked with all kinds of food. My favorite snack at the time was to take a can of orange juice concentrate and eat a spoonful of the frozen concentrate.

16. My other favorite snack was boiled peanuts. If you’ve never had boiled peanuts, oh my gosh, you are so missing out!!! My mother sealed them in plastic bags and stored them in the freezer. I would come home from school, boil a pot of water, and put the freezer bag in until the peanuts were steamy.

17. I moved to Minnesota on a whim when I was 18. I hated it.

18. When I moved back to Texas from Minnesota, I stopped my car on the side of the road as soon as I crossed the border back into Texas. I got out of the car and did a little dance, vowing never to leave Texas again.

19. I lied. I did leave Texas. I lived in Salt Lake City and Anaheim.

20. It’s a good thing I did live in Salt Lake City, since that’s where I met my husband, Joe.

21. When I first saw Joe, I thought he was the biggest geek in the world.

22. He is.

23. But I love him anyway.

24. I’ve watched every Harry Potter movie so many times that I can recite along with the dialogue.

25. I have now seen Goblet of Fire six times, and am planning to go again this weekend. I *really* wish it would hurry up and come out on DVD.

26. I have read each Harry Potter book over and over and over.

27. I can make an argument for Severus Snape being on the side of the good guys.

28. Using the same points for the previous argument, I can make an argument for Severus Snape being on the side of the bad guys. J.K. Rowling is a brilliant writer. I wish she’d hurry up and write book 7, so I can read it!!

29. When I was 11, I read Gone With the Wind and thought it was the best book ever.

30. I hate Gone With the Wind.

31. I took some Metabolife this morning, and I have got such a buzz on! Wow!

32. My all-time favorite word is borborygmus. It means the rumbly noise in your gut when you’re digesting food or have gas. I found it one day when I was reading the dictionary for fun.

33. I read the dictionary for fun.

34. Every morning when I get up, I sit at my computer and read my personal e-mail and talk myself out of going to work.

35. Every morning at the last possible minute, I get ready and go to work.

36. I don’t like talking on the phone. I prefer talking in person or writing letters or e-mails.

37. Every now and then, my mother’s voice comes out of my mouth. It’s always a freaky thing.

38. I sing a song to my dog every morning. “Good morning, good morning. You slept the whole night through. Good morning, good morning, to you. Good morning, good morning. It’s great to see your face. Good morning, good morning. I love you. Boop-boop-a-doo.” And we snuggle and kiss each other while I sing it to her.

39. All of my dogs get the same middle name: Stinkbutt.

40. Mine and Joe’s first dog was named Stanislaus Stinkbutt.

41. The dog we have now is named Molly Stinkbutt.

42. I also call Molly Sugarlips, Sugarbooger, Mollypop, and Mollypopsicle Girl.

43. I call Joe Sugarbooger and Sugarlips too.

44. I am deathly afraid of roaches. And we have an older house and get those huge monster ginormous cockroaches from hell. Whenever I see one, I scream, and make Joe kill it. He wants to know why I don’t just kill it myself, and I tell him that killing cockroaches is the man’s job.

45. My all-time favorite meal is cheese enchiladas, rice, and refried beans.

46. My all-time favorite home-cooked meal is porcupine meatballs, Joe’s mashed potatoes, spinach salad, and lazy daisy cake.

47. I can curl my tongue.

48. I can whistle, but only with the “pucker up your lips and blow” technique. I don’t know how to do those loud piercing shrill whistles that are so cool.

49. I can burp on demand, but they’re usually pretty lame little burps.

50. The last time Izzybella and I went to the movies, I forced a burp right after the cute little polar bear cub slugs down some Coke. She laughed. I wish I could burp louder, so that everyone in the theatre could have heard me. Yeah, I’m pretty crass sometimes.

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