Names

I replied to this girl who wrote because she wanted to say hi. So I, thinking I should write something along the lines of “hi” back, wrote something to say hi back in which, consequently, looked something like, “Hi, Michelle, what’s happening…”. When she wrote back, though, she ended it with: “talk to you later. Michal.” I then had to write back “sorry for misspelling your name”, because she had spelled it the right way in her original message. I was slightly embarrassed about the altercation and had to think of a clever way to end the message to ease the tension.

“Don’t worry about it, I get that a lot,” she wrote back. I was relieved. For one, I’m already a horrible speller. Example: I had to look up how to spell the word parentheses three times today. For dos, people in their teens and early twenties (and by “people”, I mean “girls”) are always spelling their names in unnecessarily complicated-ass ways. On occasion, I imagine it’s the parents’ fault. “Well, we want to name our daughter Courtney, but, then again, we also want to give it either a ridiculous or phonetic spelling so people will think that we’re rich. Ah! Here it is: Quartknee.” Fine, go ahead. I really couldn’t give a more disinterested fuck. But, parents, if you must do this, please stop instructing your children to be easily insulted by a mispronunciation or misspelling of this name. “Kwart-ka-nee? Kwar … Kwaaarrr … I’m sorry, folks, I don’t think I’m saying this right. Is there a Q-U-A-R-T-K-N-E-E here?” (girl in front row raises her hand after showing the shocked look on her face to the girls behind her) “Yeah, that’s me. God. And it’s Courtney. Courtney.”

Again, I’m all for/just not opposed to changing the spelling of one’s name. But when most girls go about this, the creative catalyst behind the process seems to be ignited by the question, “How, with the resources available to me, can I make my name more slutty?” And so it goes: Nicole to Nicckie and Mellissa to Missee and Brenda to RiRi and Catherine to Katie or Cadie or Kat. Hey, I like it. It’s just kind of slutty, but I’m down if you’re down. That is, with your name change … And? Eh? … No? No??? Okay, I can respect that. You sure though? … Alright, I got you. That’s cool, that’s cool.

And girls will do the craziest three-holer shit if enough of their friends will tell them that a given action is not slutty. No, but, quite the opposite, just in fun. Or a joke. “Do you know what would be really funny and stupid? … Guess. Guess! … Okay, what if we made out with Cadie? … I know! … Alright, alright. 1… 2… “

But I guess that’s also the wonderful security of drinking, which also, if not moreso, works in the favor of men. “Dude! Who was that asshole who threw the flower pot at my sister last night?.” Tim? Come on, he was wasted. “Wasted? That dude fucking rules!” I’m not sure, but other than the legal actions that are rendered illegal by drinking, consuming alcohol in the likely event of any crime is probably a good idea. That is, if you would prefer a lighter sentence. Let’s see, I’ll go with: breaking and entering, vandalism, trespassing, robbery, domestic abuse, forgery, assault, threats, impersonating a police officer and … yeah, I’ll stand by this: manslaughter.

Anyway, I want to change my name to three asterisks (***), because each of those little star guys has six points so it’d be like some mind-fucking-blowing code for 666. The kids could dig that. And I would be huge if I incorporated a talent into the mix. Wait, what if someone turned it around and … no!!! Alright, that name’s out. Here’s why: when I’d battle rap someone, they would so call me “three asstricks”. Shit, oh well. “Back to the drawing board,” as my grandfather, Dr. Silas T. Drawing Board, used to say.