Here's the deal: I think I'm a genius. I'm endlessly entertained by my own lies, and nothing thrills me quite as much as telling and retelling my brilliant tales.
However, in the interest of karmic cleansing, and all the ensuing awesomeness that I'm super super convinced it will bring, I really have been staunching my lie-flow lately. I just don't write about it, because frankly, it's boring.
No one wants to read about how I was late to work not because I had a magical encounter with a stranger at Starbucks, but because my hair wouldn't flat-iron itself into a ponytail. And no one wants to know that most emergency room patients present with colds and toothaches, instead of bazooka injuries and gloved hands (where all the hand skin gets peeled back, exposing its bloody interior. It never happens, which is why I've worked there a year and only learned about it yesterday).
The truth is dull. It kind of bums me out. Nevertheless, I adhered to it, strictly, for almost an entire week, until I was convinced that karma would deliver Ryan Gosling on my doorstep, and he would tell me that he digs chicks who almost had mental breakdowns when Hershey's stopped making Kissables.
Unfortunately, I flew a little too close to the honesty-sun, and in one careless moment, ruined my chances at Ryan Gosling forever. And it wasn't even a good lie. In an act of lie-desperation, I fell into my old, "I'm not from Kingsport" routine, which, as I've already pointed out, is pretty pointless.
Even more unfortunately, I'm a freakishly dedicated liar, and even after my lie targets tried to call me out, I insisted that no, I definitely didn't grow up in Appalachia, even though I live on a goat farm and talk with a twang when I'm tired.
Also, my avid readers (all three of you) probably noticed a lapse between my last two posts. If I wanted to lie, but still be boring, I'd say that my work week drained my desire to be funny. If I wanted to tell a me- lie, I'd say it was because my mom told me that taking a week off from the Internet makes your sense of smell stronger.
However, the truth is that this song got stuck in my head a few days ago, and like the Yeerk aliens, latched onto my brain and destroyed my ability to function.
(That was an Animorphs reference. If you don't know what I'm talking about, Google it if you ever want to be my friend, or understand any of the dozens of upcoming K.A. Applegate references. Be prepared).
See? Honesty kind of sucks.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Germaphobia!!
Things I Love: Penguins, Disney musicals, unicorns and ballet. All of which are also adored by small children.
Things I Hate: High-pitched noises, stickiness, germs and hunters. All of which tend to coincide with small children, except maybe the hunting-- I've never talked to one long enough to find out.
This makes my life hard. Any time I want to go to the zoo, or buy a Beauty and the Beast DVD, I have to navigate through herds of ankle-biters, who seem determined to cough or smear jam all over me.
Therefore, in order to have the best of both worlds, I have to resort to some pretty creative lying. I once told a group of parents at the Chattanooga Aquarium that the penguins carried bird flu, and I'll swear, until the end of time, that I started the Baptist Church's Disney boycott, just to cut down on the lines at Disneyland.
Truth: I've never been to Disneyland. But I imagine it's full of sticky little noise-makers.
I'm not afraid of the children, per se, but I do hate the thought of catching a cold just because they haven't learned to cover their mouths, or getting jelly stains on my clothes because hand-washing hasn't been covered in preschool yet. The anxiety worsens if my preemptive strike lie fails, and I'm in an enclosed space, like a staircase or cubicle. Then, I'm forced to use creative diversions (read: lies) to escape.
Until yesterday, I'd been amazingly subtle about it. When necessary, I'd feign sudden onsets of food poisoning, misplaced keys and a myriad of other excuses, all of which conveniently allowed me to slip away from the predator. I once escaped a jam-encrusted munchkin by shouting, "OMG, I think I see James Franco!!!" and seizing the elevator for myself while its mother turned to look.
That was a lie. If I was going to rely on the banal, "Hey! Is that..." lie, I'd probably reference Miley Cyrus or iCarly, to ensure that the child was more distracted than its parent, thus granting me a little more breathing room. Like I've said, I don't know any children, but I seriously doubt they spend their days watching Freaks and Geeks reruns.
I digress. My point is (was): until yesterday, no one caught my subtle maneuvers. However, upon leaving Ripley's Aquarium (outdoor penguin exhibit!!), my mother and I headed to the parking garage at the same time as a toddler and its family. We all drew toward the elevators at the same time, and initially, I thought it would be OK. The child was on a leash, which its mother was wielding like a drawing-rein. Unfortunately, I soon heard the sounds of doom.
"Cough... sniffle... sneeze... slurp... coughcoughcoughcoughcough."
An elevator's what, five feet by five feet? And I'm convinced that little kid-germs are approximately 739 times more potent than adult germs, so when combined with the tight space... I can't even do that math. I needed an escape lie, quick. With no time to prepare, and without making eye contact with my marks, I had only one option:
"Cough hack sneeze hack cough hack."
Fight fire with fire, I guess. Also, herein lies the hypocrisy of most exhausted parents. They don't realize that their child is already infested with a myriad of microbes; however, they automatically detect any impending illness. And sure enough, I saw the mother's shoulder's tense, as she tried to casually gauge the infection level of the girl behind her.
I could almost hear my mother's eyes roll. I waited for her to whisper the patented, "Ashlea Chase, that child will not hurt you. Leave it be." However, before she had the chance, she, too, heard the snuffles of impending doom, and burst out with,
"Aw, Ash, I thought you beat that cold! You're probably still running a fever, too!"
And... win. The mother-daughter lie is a blessed event, with a 95% success rate. It also proved that despite her occasional grumblings for grandchildren, she finds children just as sticky and scary as I do, though it does make me wonder how she raised two children.
However, that is probably a question best left for the therapists.
Things I Hate: High-pitched noises, stickiness, germs and hunters. All of which tend to coincide with small children, except maybe the hunting-- I've never talked to one long enough to find out.
This makes my life hard. Any time I want to go to the zoo, or buy a Beauty and the Beast DVD, I have to navigate through herds of ankle-biters, who seem determined to cough or smear jam all over me.
Therefore, in order to have the best of both worlds, I have to resort to some pretty creative lying. I once told a group of parents at the Chattanooga Aquarium that the penguins carried bird flu, and I'll swear, until the end of time, that I started the Baptist Church's Disney boycott, just to cut down on the lines at Disneyland.
Truth: I've never been to Disneyland. But I imagine it's full of sticky little noise-makers.
I'm not afraid of the children, per se, but I do hate the thought of catching a cold just because they haven't learned to cover their mouths, or getting jelly stains on my clothes because hand-washing hasn't been covered in preschool yet. The anxiety worsens if my preemptive strike lie fails, and I'm in an enclosed space, like a staircase or cubicle. Then, I'm forced to use creative diversions (read: lies) to escape.
Until yesterday, I'd been amazingly subtle about it. When necessary, I'd feign sudden onsets of food poisoning, misplaced keys and a myriad of other excuses, all of which conveniently allowed me to slip away from the predator. I once escaped a jam-encrusted munchkin by shouting, "OMG, I think I see James Franco!!!" and seizing the elevator for myself while its mother turned to look.
That was a lie. If I was going to rely on the banal, "Hey! Is that..." lie, I'd probably reference Miley Cyrus or iCarly, to ensure that the child was more distracted than its parent, thus granting me a little more breathing room. Like I've said, I don't know any children, but I seriously doubt they spend their days watching Freaks and Geeks reruns.
I digress. My point is (was): until yesterday, no one caught my subtle maneuvers. However, upon leaving Ripley's Aquarium (outdoor penguin exhibit!!), my mother and I headed to the parking garage at the same time as a toddler and its family. We all drew toward the elevators at the same time, and initially, I thought it would be OK. The child was on a leash, which its mother was wielding like a drawing-rein. Unfortunately, I soon heard the sounds of doom.
"Cough... sniffle... sneeze... slurp... coughcoughcoughcoughcough."
An elevator's what, five feet by five feet? And I'm convinced that little kid-germs are approximately 739 times more potent than adult germs, so when combined with the tight space... I can't even do that math. I needed an escape lie, quick. With no time to prepare, and without making eye contact with my marks, I had only one option:
"Cough hack sneeze hack cough hack."
Fight fire with fire, I guess. Also, herein lies the hypocrisy of most exhausted parents. They don't realize that their child is already infested with a myriad of microbes; however, they automatically detect any impending illness. And sure enough, I saw the mother's shoulder's tense, as she tried to casually gauge the infection level of the girl behind her.
I could almost hear my mother's eyes roll. I waited for her to whisper the patented, "Ashlea Chase, that child will not hurt you. Leave it be." However, before she had the chance, she, too, heard the snuffles of impending doom, and burst out with,
"Aw, Ash, I thought you beat that cold! You're probably still running a fever, too!"
And... win. The mother-daughter lie is a blessed event, with a 95% success rate. It also proved that despite her occasional grumblings for grandchildren, she finds children just as sticky and scary as I do, though it does make me wonder how she raised two children.
However, that is probably a question best left for the therapists.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Sparkle Motion and Me
The year: 2004. My junior prom had just ended, and in the wake of that Great Defining Life Moment, my date decided that he and I needed a movie night. I hadn't yet seen Donnie Darko, and since that made me "so lame!!!" we decided to kick off things with Richard Kelly's cult classic.
Twenty minutes later, I fell asleep. I didn't have a clue what the movie was about, and I honestly believed that I dreamed the creepy lurking bunny thing.
Nevertheless, as the credits rolled and my date turned the lights back on, he beamed at me and asked, "So... what'd you think?!?!?!"
That's right-- a 17-year-old boy was more enraptured with Donnie Darko than the 16-year-old girl sitting on the couch. I'm not sure whose self-esteem needs to take a hit from that.
Deep inside, I really am a sweet, sensitive girl (insert your snort of derision here, if you wish), and I didn't want to insult someone's favorite movie. This was clearly before Twilight came out, and I got a chance to hone my mocking skills. So, I gave a statement that went along these lines:
"Ohmigod, it was so good! You're right-- it balances nihilism and black humor so well. But hey, I'm pretty tired, and think I'll head home. Night!"
And that should've been that. Also, it bears mentioning that until this very moment, I didn't even realize that I'd lied. However, a brief, "I liked that movie," lie doesn't merit an entire blog post. Instead, we're going to explore the Donnie Darko rabbit hole (pun a little bit intended).
Like Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice, Jake Gyllenhaal's Donnie has followed me through the years. I didn't re-face it for the remainder of high school; thankfully, quirky indie movies aren't terribly popular amongst East Tennessee teenagers.
College, however, brought me to an Honors dorm in a Nashville suburb. And guess what? Nerds love Donnie Darko (I use the term "nerds" super-lovingly, by the way).
Four years and six viewings later, I finally gleaned the gist of the movie. A guy in a bunny suit follows Jake Gyllenhaal around, a plane crashes, the greatest songs in the history of the world play in the background
and a woman says that she "doubts [some other woman's] commitment to Sparkle Motion!"
Have you ever heard a sentence, and just known that it would change your life forever? For Sparkle Motion and me, it was love at first listen. We split up briefly in 2007, when Daniel Day-Lewis uttered the immortal "I drink your milkshake!" line, and that enjoyed a moment in the sun as my go-to response for... just about everything.
Most of the time, however, I tell people that I doubt their commitment to Sparkle Motion. It works in dozens of situations: at work, on dates, trying to organize sorority reunions. As such, most people assume that I'm a complete Darko fangirl. This, despite the fact that I've yet to make it through the entire film.
Someone called me out on it last month. A friend texted me, and said, "Um, Ash? You know how you throw around that 'Sparkle Motion' quote all the time? Have you actually seen Donnie Darko? I just did, and I gotta say, it doesn't seem like a 'you' movie."
Busted. However, that friend lives about 300 miles away, so I've still felt pretty safe keeping up the facade, and pulled it out a couple of days ago, when trying to convince a co-worker to help me revive the phrase "rollin' with the homies" (don't judge me!!!).
He refused, and when I promptly questioned his Sparkle Motion allegiances, he finally asked what in the hell I was talking about. I cited the movie, and he responded with,
"Oh. You must really love that movie, huh, since you say that all the time? I've never seen it."
An honest, decent person would reply, "I've never seen it, either, really!" However, I came back with:
"You can't have a Pretentious Kids movie marathon without Donnie Darko! It's like having a breakup without Ben & Jerry's and Meg Ryan. Or an emo phase without Death Cab for Cutie. Seriously, how have you made it through life without seeing it?! You must be the last person on earth. Jeez."
And that is why I pride myself on my lies. It's physically impossible for me to just say, "Oh, yeah, I saw Donnie Darko. It was OK." My lie not only keeps going, but it also becomes an integral part of my Ashlean lingo.
Donnie Darko also stands as one of the rare times when I lie to misrepresent myself; in this case, by pretending that I enjoy an indie movie that's weirdly popular among my ex-boyfriends. Lord knows why, since the normal reaction to an ex-boyfriend's favorite movie is, "Ohmigod, that movie sucked. I'm glad we broke up, so I can stop pretending to like it," even if the movie's something great, like Star Trek or Death to Smoochy.
Things I Learned in this Post: I can't spell the word "commitment." I ran spellcheck, and it was misspelled every single time. Way to go, Kingsport City Schools!
I was also incredibly sleepy while writing this, and had to check my own Facebook page to remember some of my actual favorite movies. Truth.
Twenty minutes later, I fell asleep. I didn't have a clue what the movie was about, and I honestly believed that I dreamed the creepy lurking bunny thing.
Nevertheless, as the credits rolled and my date turned the lights back on, he beamed at me and asked, "So... what'd you think?!?!?!"
That's right-- a 17-year-old boy was more enraptured with Donnie Darko than the 16-year-old girl sitting on the couch. I'm not sure whose self-esteem needs to take a hit from that.
Deep inside, I really am a sweet, sensitive girl (insert your snort of derision here, if you wish), and I didn't want to insult someone's favorite movie. This was clearly before Twilight came out, and I got a chance to hone my mocking skills. So, I gave a statement that went along these lines:
"Ohmigod, it was so good! You're right-- it balances nihilism and black humor so well. But hey, I'm pretty tired, and think I'll head home. Night!"
And that should've been that. Also, it bears mentioning that until this very moment, I didn't even realize that I'd lied. However, a brief, "I liked that movie," lie doesn't merit an entire blog post. Instead, we're going to explore the Donnie Darko rabbit hole (pun a little bit intended).
Like Mr. Darcy in Pride & Prejudice, Jake Gyllenhaal's Donnie has followed me through the years. I didn't re-face it for the remainder of high school; thankfully, quirky indie movies aren't terribly popular amongst East Tennessee teenagers.
College, however, brought me to an Honors dorm in a Nashville suburb. And guess what? Nerds love Donnie Darko (I use the term "nerds" super-lovingly, by the way).
Four years and six viewings later, I finally gleaned the gist of the movie. A guy in a bunny suit follows Jake Gyllenhaal around, a plane crashes, the greatest songs in the history of the world play in the background
and a woman says that she "doubts [some other woman's] commitment to Sparkle Motion!" Have you ever heard a sentence, and just known that it would change your life forever? For Sparkle Motion and me, it was love at first listen. We split up briefly in 2007, when Daniel Day-Lewis uttered the immortal "I drink your milkshake!" line, and that enjoyed a moment in the sun as my go-to response for... just about everything.
Most of the time, however, I tell people that I doubt their commitment to Sparkle Motion. It works in dozens of situations: at work, on dates, trying to organize sorority reunions. As such, most people assume that I'm a complete Darko fangirl. This, despite the fact that I've yet to make it through the entire film.
Someone called me out on it last month. A friend texted me, and said, "Um, Ash? You know how you throw around that 'Sparkle Motion' quote all the time? Have you actually seen Donnie Darko? I just did, and I gotta say, it doesn't seem like a 'you' movie."
Busted. However, that friend lives about 300 miles away, so I've still felt pretty safe keeping up the facade, and pulled it out a couple of days ago, when trying to convince a co-worker to help me revive the phrase "rollin' with the homies" (don't judge me!!!).
He refused, and when I promptly questioned his Sparkle Motion allegiances, he finally asked what in the hell I was talking about. I cited the movie, and he responded with,
"Oh. You must really love that movie, huh, since you say that all the time? I've never seen it."
An honest, decent person would reply, "I've never seen it, either, really!" However, I came back with:
"You can't have a Pretentious Kids movie marathon without Donnie Darko! It's like having a breakup without Ben & Jerry's and Meg Ryan. Or an emo phase without Death Cab for Cutie. Seriously, how have you made it through life without seeing it?! You must be the last person on earth. Jeez."
And that is why I pride myself on my lies. It's physically impossible for me to just say, "Oh, yeah, I saw Donnie Darko. It was OK." My lie not only keeps going, but it also becomes an integral part of my Ashlean lingo.
Donnie Darko also stands as one of the rare times when I lie to misrepresent myself; in this case, by pretending that I enjoy an indie movie that's weirdly popular among my ex-boyfriends. Lord knows why, since the normal reaction to an ex-boyfriend's favorite movie is, "Ohmigod, that movie sucked. I'm glad we broke up, so I can stop pretending to like it," even if the movie's something great, like Star Trek or Death to Smoochy.
Things I Learned in this Post: I can't spell the word "commitment." I ran spellcheck, and it was misspelled every single time. Way to go, Kingsport City Schools!
I was also incredibly sleepy while writing this, and had to check my own Facebook page to remember some of my actual favorite movies. Truth.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Through the Looking Glass
Myth: Being a great liar makes you immune to others' lies.
Fact: Liars are just as gullible as anyone else. In fact, they're even more susceptible to little, run-of-the-mill lies, because they're constantly on the lookout for grand retellings of mundane events. Actually, a true liar is usually busy comparing your dull, seemingly unembellished story to the amazing, perfectly detailed version he or she would have told, and probably isn't paying attention to what you're saying, at all.
I also like to think that liars are pure-hearted innocents, and they naturally love and accept everyone and every story. Like unicorns.
Anyway, I first became aware of my gullibility a couple of weeks ago, when talking with one of my cousins. We chatted about kids, jobs, music and airport security before turning the conversation to our siblings.
Quick background: my brother lives in Taiwan; as a result, my relatives always ask what he's doing over there, and answering, "Hanging out with Taiwanese people" never seems to be a sufficient response.
Anyway, I think my cousin forgot which Asian country currently hosts my brother, because he asked how it was going "over in Red China."
I told him that things were probably fine in Red China, but my brother was in Taiwan. The cousin's response?
"Oh, yeah. He's in Green China, then."
I was confused-- after all, I pride myself on knowing absolutely everything about everything, except maybe the rules to Deal or No Deal. My cousin (seemingly) didn't understand my confusion.
"Yeah, you've never heard Taiwan called Green China before?"
"Um, no. Is that a thing?"
"Yeah! OK, so you know how the whole 'Red China' thing refers to communism?" Yes. I'm gullible, but I know stuff. "Well, since Taiwan used to be a Chinese territory (insert long, well-informed discussion of history and international politics), and it's like the non-Communist version of China, it's called Green China. See?"
He kept going for awhile, even talking about how, as a country, Taiwan's making huge environmental efforts, and it's earning all kinds of international renown. I was totally on the hook, until my cousin's conscience took over, and he ruined the whole thing by telling me the truth.
He and I are very different people, obviously.
I was duped again yesterday, during a discussion about snack foods. A co-worker of mine was heating a hot dog in the break room, and I made a face at him (I like to pretend that I'm a vegan. No idea why). When he saw my judgy, meat-hating expression, he rolled his eyes and told me to "relax, it's a veggie dog."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Mmm-hhmm. It's made from carrots and soybeans-- so much better for you than the gross meat ones."
"Ohmigod, it even smells like the meat kind! Where'd you buy it?"
"Have you seen the Veggie King brand at Target? It's sooooo good! I don't eat meat anymore."
He had me until the last sentence. Let this be a lesson for all prospective liars: the lie lives or dies in the details. For instance, if you want someone to believe that you don't eat meat, you should probably remember that you ate ribs in front of them two days earlier.
Because generalizations are pretty much the worst things ever (except Nazis. Or Justin Bieber fans), please realize that this isn't a concrete rule of the universe. Happy, lie-for-no-reason liars may love hearing a ridiculous yarn; however, meaner-spirited liars probably won't enjoy even the occasional flight of fancy.
Therefore, my advice is this: Before lying, it's probably wise to gauge the level of sociopathic tendency in your lie target.
Confession: I may have "improved upon" the example lies a little. It's just... every story has room for improvement.
Fact: Liars are just as gullible as anyone else. In fact, they're even more susceptible to little, run-of-the-mill lies, because they're constantly on the lookout for grand retellings of mundane events. Actually, a true liar is usually busy comparing your dull, seemingly unembellished story to the amazing, perfectly detailed version he or she would have told, and probably isn't paying attention to what you're saying, at all.
I also like to think that liars are pure-hearted innocents, and they naturally love and accept everyone and every story. Like unicorns.
Anyway, I first became aware of my gullibility a couple of weeks ago, when talking with one of my cousins. We chatted about kids, jobs, music and airport security before turning the conversation to our siblings.
Quick background: my brother lives in Taiwan; as a result, my relatives always ask what he's doing over there, and answering, "Hanging out with Taiwanese people" never seems to be a sufficient response.
Anyway, I think my cousin forgot which Asian country currently hosts my brother, because he asked how it was going "over in Red China."
I told him that things were probably fine in Red China, but my brother was in Taiwan. The cousin's response?
"Oh, yeah. He's in Green China, then."
I was confused-- after all, I pride myself on knowing absolutely everything about everything, except maybe the rules to Deal or No Deal. My cousin (seemingly) didn't understand my confusion.
"Yeah, you've never heard Taiwan called Green China before?"
"Um, no. Is that a thing?"
"Yeah! OK, so you know how the whole 'Red China' thing refers to communism?" Yes. I'm gullible, but I know stuff. "Well, since Taiwan used to be a Chinese territory (insert long, well-informed discussion of history and international politics), and it's like the non-Communist version of China, it's called Green China. See?"
He kept going for awhile, even talking about how, as a country, Taiwan's making huge environmental efforts, and it's earning all kinds of international renown. I was totally on the hook, until my cousin's conscience took over, and he ruined the whole thing by telling me the truth.
He and I are very different people, obviously.
I was duped again yesterday, during a discussion about snack foods. A co-worker of mine was heating a hot dog in the break room, and I made a face at him (I like to pretend that I'm a vegan. No idea why). When he saw my judgy, meat-hating expression, he rolled his eyes and told me to "relax, it's a veggie dog."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Mmm-hhmm. It's made from carrots and soybeans-- so much better for you than the gross meat ones."
"Ohmigod, it even smells like the meat kind! Where'd you buy it?"
"Have you seen the Veggie King brand at Target? It's sooooo good! I don't eat meat anymore."
He had me until the last sentence. Let this be a lesson for all prospective liars: the lie lives or dies in the details. For instance, if you want someone to believe that you don't eat meat, you should probably remember that you ate ribs in front of them two days earlier.
Because generalizations are pretty much the worst things ever (except Nazis. Or Justin Bieber fans), please realize that this isn't a concrete rule of the universe. Happy, lie-for-no-reason liars may love hearing a ridiculous yarn; however, meaner-spirited liars probably won't enjoy even the occasional flight of fancy.
Therefore, my advice is this: Before lying, it's probably wise to gauge the level of sociopathic tendency in your lie target.
Confession: I may have "improved upon" the example lies a little. It's just... every story has room for improvement.
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