So, I notice it's been awhile since I had anything in particular to say here. I suppose it's just been life as usual, nothing in particular that stands out. Rather than just sit idly by, I've checked my list of potential topics. Let's talk about nicknames, shall we?
I haven't always been a fan. I remember being a proud first-grader, showing off my new glasses. Pretty cool, huh? It wasn't long before they were calling me Cat-Eyes. And it wasn't a term of endearment. Needless to say, I wasn't ever one of the cool kids in elementary school. I was just one of the dorky kids with dorky glasses and dorky hair and all things dorky.
Move ahead a few years to fifth grade. We were the big kids. Our last year before junior high (or middle school...I think it was called both during our time there). The Equal Rights Amendment was in the news. We had a young teacher who seemed to understand the minds of kids in the '70s. I don't remember what exactly possessed us, but four or five of us decided we wanted to use a boy's name in that class rather than our perfectly good girl names. I chose "Charlie." Was it the catchy tune in the commercials for the perfume by that name? I can't imagine I was swayed by that. All I know is that Mr. B was a good sport and respected our self-naming for as long as it was important to us. He even called me Charlie when he signed my class autograph book. (Remember when those were a thing?) I was beginning to take just a little control over who I wanted to be and how I wanted to be seen by others. I made a choice for myself!
If I had any other names in high school, I don't remember them...or they were never used to my face. I still wasn't one of the cool kids, but I was just happy that people knew my actual name and said "hi" in the hallway or in the cafeteria.
Now, my college nickname sounds silly, and the back-story makes even less sense. But for nearly two years, quite a few of my friends could be heard calling me "Spud." Yes, Spud, like the potato (not like the Bud Light dog). I enjoyed a close enough relationship with these people that they could use a goofy little name for me, and it felt good. We all felt comfortable with each other, and I knew that they called me Spud with love (or at least with like). It made me feel special. They liked me, they really liked me! I never said, "Hey, my name is Sandy, but you can call me Spud." But I welcomed the moniker. I recently reconnected through Facebook with some more of my friends from that era. One of them used that name in a message and it took me right back to that time in my life. In many ways, I'm not the same person I was back then, but I sure have fond memories of being Spud.
As you know (if you've read many of my posts and know even a little about me), I was a proofreader at an ad agency for a number of years. That was new territory for me, and it took some time for me to feel like I fit in. I truly felt like one of the gang when I was unofficially christened Slasher. I believe some editors traditionally use blue pencils for their notes. I used red pens. (See, the title of my blog does make sense!) And I was quite enthusiastic with those pens. On one particular day, I returned the printed layout to the designer. Apparently, the paper resembled a blood-splattered crime scene and I became known to some as The Slasher. Sometimes I felt bad for catching things and, in effect, making more work in another set of revisions. But that's what I was paid to do, and that's sort of what I'm naturally compelled to do. I wasn't called that out of spite or (much) ill will. I think he was just shocked to see so much red in one place. I shall refer to it as my sobriquet, simply because I like the sound of the word. It certainly vividly describes what I did at work on any given day! Those particular days are gone, but in some ways I'm still a slasher at heart.
If there are other oft-used names for me, I can't say as I know of them, and I probably wouldn't want to know. And I'm OK with that. It's hard to force a nickname. I think it's more meaningful when it just develops organically out of an everyday situation. For now I am happy to simply be known as one of a select group of staunch women. Ask me again in five years or so to see if I'm known by any other name. I'll still be as sweet...I promise.
So...you can call me Sandy, or you can call me Spud, or you can call me Slasher, but ya doesn't hasta call me Cat-Eyes!
I haven't always been a fan. I remember being a proud first-grader, showing off my new glasses. Pretty cool, huh? It wasn't long before they were calling me Cat-Eyes. And it wasn't a term of endearment. Needless to say, I wasn't ever one of the cool kids in elementary school. I was just one of the dorky kids with dorky glasses and dorky hair and all things dorky.
Move ahead a few years to fifth grade. We were the big kids. Our last year before junior high (or middle school...I think it was called both during our time there). The Equal Rights Amendment was in the news. We had a young teacher who seemed to understand the minds of kids in the '70s. I don't remember what exactly possessed us, but four or five of us decided we wanted to use a boy's name in that class rather than our perfectly good girl names. I chose "Charlie." Was it the catchy tune in the commercials for the perfume by that name? I can't imagine I was swayed by that. All I know is that Mr. B was a good sport and respected our self-naming for as long as it was important to us. He even called me Charlie when he signed my class autograph book. (Remember when those were a thing?) I was beginning to take just a little control over who I wanted to be and how I wanted to be seen by others. I made a choice for myself!
If I had any other names in high school, I don't remember them...or they were never used to my face. I still wasn't one of the cool kids, but I was just happy that people knew my actual name and said "hi" in the hallway or in the cafeteria.
Now, my college nickname sounds silly, and the back-story makes even less sense. But for nearly two years, quite a few of my friends could be heard calling me "Spud." Yes, Spud, like the potato (not like the Bud Light dog). I enjoyed a close enough relationship with these people that they could use a goofy little name for me, and it felt good. We all felt comfortable with each other, and I knew that they called me Spud with love (or at least with like). It made me feel special. They liked me, they really liked me! I never said, "Hey, my name is Sandy, but you can call me Spud." But I welcomed the moniker. I recently reconnected through Facebook with some more of my friends from that era. One of them used that name in a message and it took me right back to that time in my life. In many ways, I'm not the same person I was back then, but I sure have fond memories of being Spud.
As you know (if you've read many of my posts and know even a little about me), I was a proofreader at an ad agency for a number of years. That was new territory for me, and it took some time for me to feel like I fit in. I truly felt like one of the gang when I was unofficially christened Slasher. I believe some editors traditionally use blue pencils for their notes. I used red pens. (See, the title of my blog does make sense!) And I was quite enthusiastic with those pens. On one particular day, I returned the printed layout to the designer. Apparently, the paper resembled a blood-splattered crime scene and I became known to some as The Slasher. Sometimes I felt bad for catching things and, in effect, making more work in another set of revisions. But that's what I was paid to do, and that's sort of what I'm naturally compelled to do. I wasn't called that out of spite or (much) ill will. I think he was just shocked to see so much red in one place. I shall refer to it as my sobriquet, simply because I like the sound of the word. It certainly vividly describes what I did at work on any given day! Those particular days are gone, but in some ways I'm still a slasher at heart.
If there are other oft-used names for me, I can't say as I know of them, and I probably wouldn't want to know. And I'm OK with that. It's hard to force a nickname. I think it's more meaningful when it just develops organically out of an everyday situation. For now I am happy to simply be known as one of a select group of staunch women. Ask me again in five years or so to see if I'm known by any other name. I'll still be as sweet...I promise.
So...you can call me Sandy, or you can call me Spud, or you can call me Slasher, but ya doesn't hasta call me Cat-Eyes!
