Top o' the Tuesday mornin' to you all. I hope these words find you well. I have two stories for you this morning that share a common thread. I'd love to stretch them out into two separate posts, but I don't think they're long enough on their own. Maybe some tangents will come along and help me out.
The common thread of which I spake is that of exaggeration. I've told a lot of bizarre stories in this space over the past seven months or so (damn, that's a long time!), and I've done my best to stay true to them and avoid the temptation to sensationalize them. I ask friends for details when I'm missing something, but usually they're not of much help. I have a better memory than most of them, and it's served me well in my blogspedition so far. Yes, blogspedition.
That, my friends, is why I don't like my accurate stories to be exaggerated by others. I can think of two stories from my past that have been exaggerated almost beyond recognition, and I'm here to set the stories straight.
The first one involves me as a kid in a restaurant. Here is exactly how it happened. I went to the bathroom and was sitting in one of the stalls. Through the crack, I could see the backs of a couple of men at the urinals. Over the loud speaker, I heard a woman's voice that sounded like it said, "Mark, we can see you now." One of the men looked up at where the voice was coming from, then hurriedly washed his hands and left. The voice spoke again: "Charles, we can see you now." The other man did the same thing and left.
Remember, I was a child at the time. I thought to myself, "That's really weird that they're saying they can see those people. If that was Mark and that was Charles...I hope I'm not next!" I finished up, looked around a little while washing my hands, and went back to the table. I said to my mom, "Mom, a really strange thing happened in the bathroom." I proceeded to tell her about the whole thing, and she started cracking up. "I'm sure they were saying "seat you" instead of "see you," Peter." She told everyone else at the table and we all shared a laugh at my hearing error.
Nice, cute story, right? Well, the way my mom now tells it, her son came running out of the bathroom with his pants still around his ankles, crying that people were spying on him in the bathroom and that they were going to say, "Peter, we can see you now" any second. In fact, it's officially the "Peter, We Can See You Now" story. Ya know, the one that makes me look like a paranoid lunatic instead of the one who had trouble hearing things. To my credit, they really should've said, "Your table is now ready" to avoid confusion. Stupid restaurant.
The second story is one from years after that. I was living in Santa Barbara with some friends, and we were all hanging out, having some drinks, and playing some games. Twilight had gone into the kitchen to bake some dessert for the group, because she's super cool like that. After a while, she came back with some chocolate brownies and white frosting on top. Here's how it really happened: I took a bite during one of our games, and said, "This brownie's really good!" Then, in my own warped head, I realized that it sounded like I was only praising the cake part and didn't want the frosting to feel left out. (Remember, I'm the same guy who thought a cat was talking to him and started to apologize for not formally introducing himself.) So about a minute later, I spoke up: "The frosting's good too," I said. They busted up laughing.
As I then learned, they had secretly hidden the fact that it was a cream cheese frosting from me, since they knew I didn't like cream cheese. Here I was proclaiming that I liked it though, and that was very funny to them. After one more bite, I started really tasting the cream cheese in it and didn't eat any more of it. I know it's silly, but I couldn't get that out of my head.
In any case, my friends like to tell the story that ends with me jumping to my feet and exclaiming, "Especially the frosting!!!" Sensing my discomfort at this exaggeration, my friends (mainly Dusty) have only expanded their hyperbolic telling of the tale. "Oh my God!" I now say. "I had no idea it could be like this! I want to make passionate love to that frosting right now in front of all of you! Come here, everyone, watch how much I love this frosting!" I know, they're so funny sometimes. I just sit there and take it for as long as I can, before ultimately muttering, "I didn't say that" under my breath.
The thing that really gets me about that one is that Dusty has such a bad memory that I find it almost offensive for him to tell me how it went down. I mean, this is the same guy who talks about how funny it was in Drama class when a huge thing of snot blew out of a guy's nose on stage, then flung right back into the nostril as if on a yo-yo or something. He wasn't in that class and has only seen my recreation of the story, yet he "remembers" being there. And that's the guy telling me what I said about the frosting. It's infuriating being me sometimes.
So there you go: my exaggerated tales. Maybe they're more entertaining after being spiced up a bit, but you don't come here for fiction, right? If any of those clowns post a comment saying that their versions of these stories are accurate, don't believe a word they say. After all, I'm willingly portraying myself as a guy who mis-hears things, invents a bathroom spying scenario in his head, and cares about frosting's feelings; it's not like I'm airbrushing out the oddities here.
Have a great Tuesday, gentle readers. If any of you have real stories and the exaggerated versions your friends or family tell, email them to me at
ptklein@gmail.com. That could be fun.
11 comments:
Elayne Clown says that it was considerably more my way than yours. Okay, your pants were not down around your knees. But you were unzipped and untucked and quite agitated. Just go with it...it's legendary now. And by the way, I had no idea how much you love cream cheese. I'll be sure to bake with it from now on.
My pants were absolutely not unzipped, clown. I wasn't panicked, but rather told you in a concerned tone about what happened in the bathroom. I refuse to "just go with it" when it's a fabrication. Standing firm,
Peter
I remember going to a Dodger game more than 10 years ago with our friends, Bob and Roberta Levine. A foul ball landed near us and kicked into the row behind us. Bob reached in between 3 or 4 people very quickly and snagged the ball. I recounted the story to Bob while we were out as couples. Bob said, "that never happened". I told Bob yes, I remember it, you were really quick and grabbed the ball. He said, "I never got a ball at Dodger Stadium." Everyone laughed at me (again). This is one of many stories I remember clearly that never happened. So, I guess you could say that I was a false Tall tale teller.
Oh my. Where do I even begin? I think by saying "I call shenanigans!" Or perhaps, horsefeathers. First of all, I thank you for your fair and balanced presentation which preemptively discounts anything I say here out of hand.
So I guess when I say I don't remember any of that happening, I must be wrong, then? Well, it's true. I don't recall that happening at all. There was never a night in which I was present while you ate frosted brownies baked by Twilight.
I'm flabbergasted that you think I was there, and it makes me question your memory, dear sir.
Your tale does remind me of another night that we spent together. A night I, and many others, will never forget. A night during which you ate cake that was lovingly adorned with cream cheese frosting. I remember that night well, eating cake, watching you eat cake, listening to your every word as you exclaimed how "especially" you liked the frosting on said cake.
CAKE
Oh my word. Something has just occurred to me. Rather than two incredibly similar nights, is it possible... Could it be... That Peter's recollection of the night, that Peter's memory may be faulty?
You be the judge. In civil court, a case must be demonstrated by a "preponderance of the evidence". In this case, multiple eye-witnesses corroborating your giddy exclamation verbatim.
Then we have your own unabashedly revisionist testimony, in which you recall the object being consumed as something almost wholly it was not. For God's sake, man, the frosting makes up such a small percentage of the treat, for you to forget what type of thing was frosted only magnifies your inept recollection of the entire event.
You disgust me.
My astute colleague Dave points out that your desire to have the dessert have been a brownie makes sense, as it justifies why you would point out the unconventional frosting on the brownie in your delusional rant. But cake, when you compliment a cake, I think we can all agree that you're complimenting the cake as a whole, frosting included.
Frosting on cake is not generally optional, and with this in mind, we can understand why Peter went to such lengths that night to single out the frosting, so that we would understand, when he said "This cake is so good, (and I'm so glad it's not a brownie)" what he really wanted us to register was how much he loved the frosting; that he really thought it was the frosting, flavored with cream cheese, that made him enjoy it so much. Hence the delayed, well-ruminated additional wide-eyed proclamation of "especially," delivered with a distinctly cracking and insistent voice, full of zeal, I might add.
Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have established, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Peter's own self-serving and clearly inaccurate recollection of the night is an understandable, though sad attempt to save face in front of his peers. While this may be Peter's fantasyland blog, I must speak up when things get out of hand.
Peter, I hope you're wearing rustproof Kevlar pants as you read this, because you are entirely moded, as well as corroded, and I think we all know what just happened to your butt.
Doling out facial-disgracials,
Dusty
Dusty,
You're wrong. I must hand it to you though; that was the most intelligent-sounding bullshit you've spewed in quite a while.
Lick my cupcake.
-Peter
Not to jump in here only to defend my often indefensible partner in his effort to out-memory you, Peter, but really...
I can't help but question your telling of this story. Mind you, I've always been more on your side than theirs, but now...well,
Brownies aren't frosted with cream cheese frosting, Peter. It simply isn't done. Brownies are rarely frosted in general, and then only with chocolate. Brownies with cream cheese frosting would taste disgusting. It's just not possible that you were eating a brownie.
I don't believe that recipes for brownies frosted with cream cheese frosting even exist. You're going to come back at me with some sort of, "well, of course recipes don't exist, they weren't using a recipe, these fools were trying to trick me!" (or something like that) Even still. You would not have taken a bite of a brownie frosted in cream cheese and proclaimed anything about how wonderful it tasted. I'm sure you wouldn't have felt that way after biting it. It's just gross to imagine. Even if you like cream cheese frosting - and I do.
I don't believe it's possible, so find a recipe for me where cream cheese frosting tops a brownie, and I'll go back to believing that your version is more plausible...
Listen, fuckers. A square piece of rich chocolate dessert was handed to me. If I made an error by calling a piece of cake a brownie, I don't think that automatically means I'm incorrect with every other word in this post. If it was indeed cake that intoxicated Peter ate instead of a brownie, then the cake was delicious. The frosting was good too. Not "especially" good, but good nonetheless. I'd hate to be on trial and find you two on the jury, because it sounds like you'd latch onto the most inane detail of something in the prosecution's case and start yelling "Guilty! Guilty!" around the courthouse.
Here are the facts of the case: I ate dessert. I enjoyed it. I commented that the topping was good too because I didn't want it to feel excluded. My exaggeratory friends confessed that there was cream cheese in the frosting. I childishly refrained from eating more. Beyond those facts lies nothing but speculation. I know with absolute certainty what was in my head at the time and tried explaining it then to the best of my ability. Instead, my hyperbolic friends thought it would be more comical to accentuate certain parts of the story to make me seem more buffoon-like. They did a good job, and the story's funnier in their version.
Funny does not equal accurate though. Much like in my mom's story and her version with my pants unzipped, I can understand the enjoyment of telling a spiced up tale. I've exaggerated some things in my life as well, but the difference is that I have the memory capacity to also store the actual version instead of having it squeezed out by the sensational one.
Dusty and Mills, don't let the juiced up stories in your heads bully the true versions. Gentle readers, take a lesson from Public Enemy: don't belive the hype.
Word.
Ok, ENOUGH. I cannot stay silent any longer. I'm not one to blog, but when I heard about this post I had to throw my blog-ginity away and respond.
I'm sorry Peter, but I too have to correct an aspect of your version of this now imfamous story. I'm sorry to say that *I* did not bake this chocolately dessert that you loved so much that you felt you needed to comment on each part seperately. It was Dusty. I did however, provide the frosting.
And just for the record:
* It was cake, not brownies
* Brownies with cream cheese frosting would definitely, as Amber stated, be disgusting
The separate comment about the frosting was fucking hilarious because we were all watching you with great interest since we all knew it was cream cheese frosting and that you didn't like it. We were intoxicated at the time, and I remember that you made the comment with a hint of passion (for the frosting) in your voice. It wasn't quite the way Dusty and Dave tell it, but it is funnier that way, and everyone knows they are liars anyway.
Twilight, I'm glad you broke your blog silence. I feel vindicated that another party is attesting to the fact that Dusty's version is exaggerated. You're absolutely right in saying that their version is funnier. I just wish they'd stop flatly denying the truth. I am openly admitting that I made the (obviously crucial) error of calling the cake a brownie. I made another error in believing that you made said cake. I know, I'm an asshole. Dusty, Dave, and Mills: now is your chance to come clean in front of the 0-2 people who might read this comments page. Tell the world that you're exaggerating my response because it's funnier that way. Tell them that you took a funny story, added some key comedic elements, and turned it into the story that it is today. Go on now, let it off your chests. Twilight and I are here for you.
Well, since Dusty has already called shenanigans, I believe it is my duty to call monkeyshines, tomfoolery, gobbledygook and buffoonery. This is seriously getting re-god-damn-tard-iculous. Peter, I hope you have your picture-phone ready, as the pile of bullshit you are erecting is a shoo-in for ratemypoo.com's Poop Of The Year. I mean, it has gotten to the point where not a single detail of your story is accurate. Now I'll be one of the first to admit that you have an amazing memory, however, there must have been something in that night's sauce, as your recollection of that evening is more fucked than your dog in a rolling-luggage factory.
You don't remember the type of dessert, you don't remember who made the dessert, I can easily see how you could forget what you exclaimed after devouring said dessert. Let me spell it out for you, "E-S-P-E-C-I-A-L-L-Y the frosting." Especially! Especially! Especially! At least three of us remember you saying that word, and we were paying particularly close attention to your reaction. Now I know you have a rather twisted mind, so I guess it is possible that you said, "A specially Lee, the frosting." No clue what that means, but you've got the freaky mind, not me. So dear sir I ask you, is that what you were trying to say? This loophole is my gift to you, please take it and run. For the sake of your reputation, I beg of you. It is clear to all of us that you have quickly surpassed me and become the liar of the group. You have brought this upon yourself, and have no one else to blame. May god have mercy on you, ESPECIALLY your soul.
Dave,
I like the word "especially." It really emphasizes things in a given sentence, and I find it to be quite useful. That said, it wasn't said. Allow me to walk you through my twisted mind for a moment:
Let's suppose I'm not 100% sure of what I said (this isn't the case, but I'm using this hypothetical situation to make a point). I do know for a fact that whatever I said was to intended to point out that not only the cake part of the dessert was tasty. I felt like I had left the frosting out and possibly hurt its feelings. In that situation, I just wouldn't use that great word "especially."
Let's transfer this to another situation. When the Yankees (your team) make a huge run this half of the season, I may say to you, "Wow, they're bats have really come alive." A might pause and realize that the bats haven't done this all themselves, so I'd add, "The pitching's been good too." Since they're separate components, I wouldn't say "Especially the pitching."
That night, I saw the cake and the frosting as separate parts of the dessert and commented accordingly.
To conclude: fuck you where you breathe. Especially in the nose.
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