print Hello world.

Would it be a “good lie” – a pale little white lily of a lie – to say that I am confident about this project? That I am excited at the prospect of having an audience to my scrawl? That the very thought doesn’t terrify me, and that I don’t worry I’m dwarfed by my fellow writers in competency, experience and talent?

Is the good lie to grin, strut confidently center stage and declare to the world that, “I Am So Fucking Amazing!”?

Rhetorical questions, of course. But they are parading through my consciousness nonetheless as we kick off this Most Awesome of Awesome Projects slated to end with an orgasm of cakey goodness. Hello, fellow cakers!

print A history.

Those questions address a moot point anyway, as I was born without the liar muscle. It’s a handicap, really. The truth comes out faster than my brain can spin fiction. Earlier this year, I was asked on a probably-date by a colleague. It was fairly obvious what he was after, but not quite obvious enough that I could call him on it while standing outside of a press conference. Stripped of the comfort of my well-loved blurt, “I have a boyfriend – thanks anyway and sorry!” (Thanks, D, for being my excuse!), I had to come up with a good reason to not walk into this trap. You know: I’m helping a friend move. It’s my Dad’s birthday dinner. My grandma died. Big deadline in the morning. Or screw the details – “I have plans,” would suffice. Anything… Ummmmm….

“Sorry…”

::deafening silence::

“…I’m dog sitting…”

Totally true statement. Score!

Also, it’s 4 pm and no half-competent person needs the rest of the day to feed and walk a dog. But now I’ve blown my one chance.

“…so I’ll need to go home and feed and walk him, but I could come out after that.”

Epic, awkward fail. Terrible.

Actually, terrible does not even do justice to the train wreck that is me lying. A terrible liar plays with her hair too much, or buckles when asked to tell her story backwards. A terrible liar swears up and down that he has not yet had his dessert while donning a chocolate mustache.

But to really play in the big leagues, you have to take it a step further by practicing the art of the Self Tattle. My mother to this day likes to commit suicide by way of laughter while recounting the numerous times I snuck a cookie I wasn’t allowed or committed some other heinous offense and shortly thereafter came running to explain what I had done. Psh. Parenting me was a breeze (kidding!).

Fortunately for me, I gave up even attempting to lie years ago (see: dog sitting).

This past weekend, I went to visit The Boy one state over. On my last trip, I promised I’d see one good friend the next time I was there. And then I didn’t manage to make it happen. Literally while writing this, she texted me to say, “Long time no talk, how are you?”

Dude.

I JUST got back. I can’t IGNORE that I was just there, can I?

::fretting::

By now, you know how this story ends.

I suppose I am just too fragile to handle the remote (or not so remote?) possibility that I might be found out and have to endure reproachful looks. Or that I’d have to keep a detailed chart of lie details in my hole-filled memory so I don’t misstep. Or worst of all, that I might find myself floating above my body, watching myself red-faced and mumbling some half (nay, 2%) baked excuse while others look on, faces contorted in horror. Watching someone trying desperately to use a muscle they don’t have? So sexy.

This is my life. As such, I plead Insufficient Knowledge to Address This Prompt. Which amendment is that, again?

Guests are coming. Oh me, oh my. I’d better do some tidying up around here. Pay no mind to the cobwebs and ancient decor – I’ve been MIA for too long. All you need do is review the comments on my last two posts to see a friend has shown more dedication over the past few years than I have.

Dear me.

Well now, what have you missed? I promised myself I’d quit my last job before 2010, and I did. I moved back to my home state. I brought The Boy. He moved back six months later. Now we do That Long Distance Thing. I’ve traveled to Israel and Germany. I’ve had a small handful of Life Crises, as I like to keep it interesting by constantly reevaluating The Plan. I have a new job, in a new industry that is as unlike me as the last job was. Osama was killed. Allegedly. (Kidding!) Not Obama. Osama. And there was a Royal wedding. I didn’t see it. I hear it was wedding-y.

Consider yourself up to date.

What’s new, other than an updated About page?

My lovely other half has ingeniously devised a plot to enslave myself and others to the typewriter every week by triggering our Pavlovian response to the promise of cake. You can check it out the details here.

Welcome, Cakers!

I turned 27 this past week. I’m ancient. Sure 27 isn’t that old, but when you consider that I consistently act about 60 years older than my age… well… I’m ancient.

In other news, I answered the door at my parents’ house the other day and was greeted by a campaign canvaser who asked if my mom or dad were home.

Sometimes it’s fun to fall off the face of the earth. Give it a go sometime. It’s been a crazy month, so I’ll just start with the first chapter, and fill you in on the rest later. Oooo. Suspense.

We had a work retreat back at the beginning of the month. It was a good and relaxing one. But I’m not supposed to talk about work online. So shush my hush.

We went to the middle of the state, where the weather is much different and high desert-y. I saw chipmunks which are small and run so fast that their black and white stripes are gray. And these bugs that fly like they’re drunk and click while they go. Which is creepy.

The weather was gorgeous. I got some good pictures, including one where the sensor in my phone camera did not like me trying to use it while going over a bump on a cruiser bike with chopper-wide handlebars and pedal-backwards brakes which are nearly impossible to use if you aren’t still six years old. ::Shrug:: But the results were kind of cool and acid trip-y. I’m sure you’ll be able to guess which one it is. Enjoy.

Hint Hint. Cough Cough.

Evil.

Is there a flag that is vertical stripes and goes brown, blue, green?

This one looks like some utopian painting of fakeness. It’s not. I’m not that creative.

Textures. Mmm.

Fancy dinner candles.

I was putting together a file for a new client this afternoon, and when I pulled the folder out of the supply cabinet, it was a more reddish-brown than the plain brown files I’m used to.

Me: L, this is a different color than the ones we usually get, right?
L: Ya. It’s a slightly more reddish color.
Me: Ok. I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t gone crazy. Plus, this is the most interesting type of event that can occur in office life.
L: Sad. But true.

Me: D, do you need to put this client into the billing system or do you already have him entered? ::holds file up for D to scrutinize label::
D: I think I already have it.
…
That’s a STRANGE color. I must have ordered the wrong brand.

Me: M, here’s the new file – you’re good to go.
M: Oh my god what color is that file?!
Me: ::shakes head sadly::