Three stories, one lie... guess which is which in the comments.
1) I got the name "Smurf" when I was in California, trying out for a wrestling promotion that I later ended up writing for... after they banned me from active duty when they found out I had been knocked unconscious for over 5 minutes following an in-game collision with a Ukrainian exchange student on my high school soccer team.
Anywho... we were supposed to come in with some sort of idea pertaining to what character we'd be portraying. I was born in Rouen, I sound like it, and I figgered I'd be the snooty French heel character. I wore my best blue dress to the meeting, and I may have got 5 sentences out of my mouth before one of the producers cut me off and said... "She looks like a goddamn Smurf."
It stuck... and here we are.
2) My father was a rather succesful financial advisor. While legitimate himself, he had a lot of clients who were fairly high-up in the New England crime syndicate. They often came by the house, and I'd been on the knee of several men who undoubtedly had ordered/performed a few killings before I was 7 years old.
When my parents died, the siblings and I were pretty strapped financially. One night, while my sister and I were splitting a miserable alphabet soup dinner, there was a very heavy knock on the door. I answered it, and saw a Cadillac driving away at a fairly rapid pace.
I looked down, and there was a grocery bag. I brought it inside, and it had about $35,000 in it. I was like "nice." My aunt, who was sort of watching over us, didn't agree. "What happens... is like 10 years later, he comes up to you looking to get the loan back... and if you can't pay it, they either kill you or force you to murder a union dissident."
So I had to dig through my father's address book, call this dangerous organized crime figure, and return the money.
A meeting was set... on top of a parking garage in downtown Boston. For some reason, I ended up going in alone. I was 16 years old, and I had to take the train into town... then walk through a fairly dangerous neighborhood carrying a shopping bag full of what must have been the greatest mugging prize in Massachusetts that day. I'm 5 feet tall, and even children aren't intimidated by me.
Quite naturally, I was challenged by the attendent as I entered the garage. "I'm just supposed to meet Mr. ______ on the roof," I said. The guard nearly fainted, but he walked me to the the elevator. I got out, and there's the Boss, with a rather burly friend, sitting beside the you-know-it's-gonna-be-a-Cadillac.
He's actually a pretty nice guy, once you get past all the contract killings and such. Always impressed with my scholarship, he made a point of assuring me that I could go to college pretty much anywhere in New England or New York for free if I went through him. He also asked me if I needed work, and I blew it by telling him I was pretty happy at Friendly's.
I headed back for the T, but he wouldn't hear of me riding on a subway at night by myself. So he drove me back to Duxbury- an hour ride- while I taught him how to order wine in French without sounding Italian. I failed, but he seemed to enjoy the trip.
3) I'm walking down the seawall, eating a popsicle. I see a cute guy who was new in town, and start to say "hi." My next steps hit nothing but air, and you know I fell off the far side of the seawall. I hurt my ankle, and this same guy had to carry me home while I cried all over his shirt.
He checked up on me a few days later, and we agreed to go on a date. We had a wonderful dinner, and then went to the cute little 4-H county fair. We go on a roller coaster, and while I didn't get sick ON him... I got sick. It could have been worse- my bag at the time had a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash.
Rather than go on rides (which he greatly enjoys), we walked through the farm exhibits and talked to cows. He was charming and polite, he won me a sweet stuffed shark, we watched the fireworks from the hill... and by the end of the evening, I knew I'd marry him.
When he showed up for date #2, I knew he'd marry me. It was only logical- after falling like a dork and puking on him, there was no feasible means of lowering the bar... short of maybe castrating him in his sleep.
We're married now, and have two accident-prone daughters.
Extra Credit: I can lie with the best of them. I managed to keep my younger sister believing in Santa Claus until she was 11 or so, simply by offering technological/cultural excuses for the phenomena: "Santa only does North America and Europe, while Buddha handles Eastern Asia," or "Chimneys were wider in the old days... Santa just lets himself in now."
True stories that I considered, but decided against using:
1) While reading a state rep's blog about people stealing his campaign signs, I offered to find and kill these men for $5000. The politician wrote back, and asked me to coffee.
While letting him know I'm married to a pretty huge ex-soldier, I did sneech an invitation to one of his fundraisers. If I decide that he has a long future in politics, I plan to set him up with my younger sister (they're the same age). From what my parents told me, it will be the first arranged marriage in our family in over 200 years.
((Editor's Note: The state rep- Aaron Malloy, who happens to be very handsome- is as gay as a San Francisco parade. Oh well....)
2) I'm not that old, but I've broken the same leg twice, tore an ACL, broke my thumb, had a concussion, nearly had my finger torn off by a snapping turtle, been beaten up in a soccer brawl that I had to bite someone to get out of, herniated a disc in my neck, sprained both ankles multiple times, went right through a glass storm door while chasing my sister, had a shark swim under me while I was floating on a raft, and I bet I'm leaving some things out even now.