What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

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Cat_Hey
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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby Cat_Hey » Wed Nov 12, 2008 7:54 am

"Hey, Sponge, what the tuck is going on?" said Ryan Tucker the Tuckster a high school buddy and pitcher on my soft ball team.

This came as a surprise to the black-tie group of serious minded corporate fuddy duddies I was required to have lunch with at the Stouffer's Restuarant revolving around and overlooking the St. Louis Arch and Busch Stadium.

"Hey Buddy!" I said relieved to see a friendly face after listening to mumbo jumbo corporate speak of numbers and statistics of our failing company. We chit-chatted briefly before I returned to my appetizer that might just fill a cavity. I'd be stopping for fast food on the drive back to the office for a couple of quarter pounders, large fries and a large cola to fill the gap my stomach was already complaining about.

"Sponge?" My CEO and Rick Moranis look alike asked.

"Yes," I replied trying to find anything to change the subject.

"Why?" He asked, and there was no turning back, so I gave him my best answer:

"It's because I use to absorb and recite Illinois Eastern College's basketball stats," and added, "But I've forgotten a lot in recent years." I left out the part that cinched the name because I won most eating challenges and drank my frat brothers under the table. It was a need to know basis, and they didn't need to know.

"And that's how I got my nickname," I said and noticed the Tuckster, waving his leaving with his band of corporate fuddy duddies. I knew he'd be stopping at a fast food joint too.
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oldtt
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Re: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby oldtt » Thu Nov 13, 2008 12:52 pm

Don’t Call Me Jake

“This may come as a surprise, but Howie addressed me like that because he doesn’t know my real name. I was born in Minneapolis, but my family had to move to Old Forge in upstate New York when I was three because my mother was put into the FBI’s witness protection program. I grew up hanging out with Howie and some of his friends, and all the way through high school he knew me as Bob Merewether. No one ever called me Jake back then. I took that name after I graduated from Oswego University and got my first job in Philadelphia because my mother once slipped up and called me that before she died

I went home to visit her grave several years after graduation, and I ran into Howie at a convenience store. He started calling me Bobby, which bothered me for some reason. I didn’t know my real last name, only my first name, and Howie kept using my fake name. So I told him to call me Jake or call me nothing. Howie didn’t get it right away, but didn’t object either. We went to the cemetery together and found my mother’s grave. The last time I had seen it was the day of the funeral. Not too many people attended, since we had no family thanks to the circumstances of relocating, but I did remember ordering a plain monument to be filled in with her name and actual dates of birth and death. But when I saw it for the first time, everything was different. Instead of ‘Joyce Merewether’ the name on the monument said ‘Constance Pallazzo’. I loved the idea of knowing my real last name, but at the same time I felt exposed. We weren’t in the witness protection program for nothing, and I started to worry that somewhere people might be looking for me out of revenge for whatever my mother had cost them. Someone knew enough to get the name right – if it was right – and they might track me down using my fake surname. So I told Howie that I was adopted and my real father’s name was Bogardis, which really confused him. He stopped calling me Bobby Merewether, but never could get used to calling me Jake Bogardis.

I found out several years later that I had nothing to worry about. My mother had testified against some guy who shot a grocery clerk in Minnesota while she was in the back of the store. The guy had a brother who called her after the trial ended and swore he’d make her pay. So the police worked a deal with the feds to hide her. The brother died a few years later, but the FBI must have decided to leave things as they were.

Howie gave up trying to figure out my actual name. But he remembered what I told him back in that convenience store.

And that’s how I got the nickname ‘Nothing’.”

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby ajones1 » Thu Nov 20, 2008 9:54 am

This may come as a surprise, but I use to be a pole dancer. I was known for a birthmark on my upper thigh. It looked like a ocean wave. So, everytime I did my little twirl on the pole, all the men would throw their arm up in the air and say "Wosh". One day a man came in and he noticed my blue eyes. He said, "Your eyes are beautiful. I'm a tatoo artist and I would love to turn you ocean wave blue." So I let him tatoo the wave blue. And that's how I got the nickname "Blue Wosh."

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby vsanford » Sat Nov 29, 2008 7:55 pm

This may come to you as a surprise but I haven’t always been a minister. Before I was called up to serve, I spent a lot of time with my cousin’s down in Atlanta. My uncle, he’s what they call a one- percenter. That’s someone who is a member of an outlaw motorcycle club, you know, one not sanctioned by the AMA. Not that he was really an outlaw, he just skirted along the thin line between breaking the law and being considered Joe citizen. It was just that after he came back from Nam, well he was different. Took a few more chances and drank a bit more than usual. Well, most of them don’t want to give out their names so they use aliases. Only problem was, you have to earn your name, kinda like an honor patch in the scouts. Even the kids had nicknames, many long before they could walk or talk, usually awarded because of something memorable they had done. I decided a needed an alias of my own.
And me, being new to the city, about the only thing I earned was a black eye or two from the kids in the neighborhood. Seems like I was always putting my mouth into play long before my brain caught up. My cousins had already been awarded their names long before my visit so they thought it their God given right to help me out with my little problem. Seeing as how they were called Cooner and Buck, the idea of allowing those two to stick me with a name that would follow me throughout my life made my knees shake and my stomach crawl.
Well, we set out to find me a genuine southern nickname, something I could be proud of. But all the really good ones were taken. I offered up a few prime choices of my own, things like Big Mike or Rocky but considering as how I barely stood five foot nine and a good wind could blow me away they were all quickly voted down. We covered all the basics and nothing fit. I had not down anything special, there was nothing unique about my appearance. And having a last name like Weed only brought to mind visions of dead flowers and poison sprays. I can tell you neither one of those made my list.
But luck was with me, I did have one small talent. My daddy made sure I could play the banjo. He put one in my hand just about the time I was big enough to reach around the neck. Buck and Cooner, they had a friend Bo, who had a drum set. So in the unfathomable style of young teen-aged boys everywhere we decided we had to have our own band. Buck convinced everyone he could sing just by being the loudest when we proclaimed our intentions. Cooner, bless his soul, managed to learn three basic chords on a bass guitar and I got the glorious honor of being lead guitarist. Funny thing, We actually managed to sound good. My fingers were already calloused from picking that banjo and all the chords on a guitar were the same.
Suddenly girls found reasons to talk to me. They even stayed around just to listen to us play. My life was finally coming together; all but that stupid nickname. Don’t get me wrong, they tried, offering up choices like picker or fingers or hick-boy but I quickly vetoed them all. Mike instead of Michael was about it. We spent the rest of the summer playing Seeger and Frampton, The Eagles and the Who. But summer was drawing to a close and it seemed like I would have to go home without that all important alias. Then to make matters worse, it came out that I was going into the ministry. Bo thought it hilarious to tell all the girls that I would soon be the Reverend Michael Weed. It really didn’t matter, none of the girls really caught my eye anyway. Until Samantha that is.
I desperately wanted to impress that girl. My riffs got wilder, and any chance I got to use my glass slide or whop pedal I laid it on; Sometimes to the humiliation of the group. Jokes started about my heavy foot and love of the pedal. Then one day she asked my name and Bo popped out with it. And that’s how I came to be called the Right Reverend Wah-Wah Weed.

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby sailing48 » Thu Jan 01, 2009 11:23 am

In 2004 my daughter and son-in-law invited me to attend the New York Toy Faire with them on a business trip. One evening we arranged to have dinner with a few of their business associates. We entered the dining room of the Plaza Hotel when I heard a shrill of a voice say, "I'm thilled to meet you Famous Bev."

I looked around to locate a famous person and found it was me she was referring too.
I was in shock and didn't quite know what to say other than I giggled and laughed along with the other diners.

An animated dinner over a few glasses of my favorite Chateu St. Michele Reisling made me relaxed and I felt 'famous.'

We all had tickets to see 'The Lion King' and the time was getting late to make the 8:00 P.M. curtain.Taxis were at a premium, however a nicely dressed, tall gentleman was standing in front of his long black limosine in front of the hotel. No one saw me go up to him to reserve our ride to the theatre. He opened a door and I said, "Everyone hop in, Paul will drive us to the theatre." Ten of us entered the limo, all laughing and having so much fun we had tears in our eyes. Digital cameras located in little purses popped out for shots both inside and outside of the limo.

By the time the show was over snow was falling in large flakes on our shoulders. It was so much fun we walked back to our hotel. I was happy wearing my long faux fur black coat with sable trim. I was still being called, "Famous Bev."

Back in my room I asked my daughter what the "Famous Bev" was all about.
She confessed that she had told her friends I was a famous movie star from Hollywood on a vacation in New York.
I live in the foothills of the Sierra's in Northern California.

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby Queenahrts » Mon Feb 23, 2009 8:22 am

“This may come as a surprise, but when I was in high school I wasn’t nearly as conservative as I am today. As a matter of fact, I was downright wild. I hung out with all the wrong people, and my best friend and I got called all sorts of things.
“When we were in Grade ten, we always dressed alike. More than once people called us the Bopsey Twins. Some of our friends thought that wasn’t good enough. They had to come up with something else. After about four months of trying out different things, one friend came up with the term Boobie Twins.
“We were called that every time we were seen together, which was most of the time. It got difficult, however, when there was only one of us around. We kept getting asked which boob we were. Not knowing how to answer that, we just said our names.
“Finally one day we came up with an answer for them. The very next time I was asked which boob I was, I said I am Boobie Number Two. My friend was larger than me in that department, so she took number one. And that is how I got the nickname Boobie Two.”

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby Queenahrts » Mon Feb 23, 2009 8:22 am

“This may come as a surprise, but when I was in high school I wasn’t nearly as conservative as I am today. As a matter of fact, I was downright wild. I hung out with all the wrong people, and my best friend and I got called all sorts of things.
“When we were in Grade ten, we always dressed alike. More than once people called us the Bopsey Twins. Some of our friends thought that wasn’t good enough. They had to come up with something else. After about four months of trying out different things, one friend came up with the term Boobie Twins.
“We were called that every time we were seen together, which was most of the time. It got difficult, however, when there was only one of us around. We kept getting asked which boob we were. Not knowing how to answer that, we just said our names.
“Finally one day we came up with an answer for them. The very next time I was asked which boob I was, I said I am Boobie Number Two. My friend was larger than me in that department, so she took number one. And that is how I got the nickname Boobie Two.”

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby Lightinmyeyes89 » Sat May 30, 2009 7:31 pm

It was the first day at school again and I ate lunch with my friends Kiara, Teagan, and Miley, who had just started as freshmen. I was a sophomore, and after a year at different schools, we had some catching up to do.
“Hey, Waldorf!” Someone yelled from the next table. It was Keely, last year’s treasurer of the activist club I was in. (She was no longer the treasurer, and I was no longer in the club). I rolled my eyes as my friends looked to me for answers.
“Will I never live this down?” I asked, feigning aloofness.
“Hell, naw!” said Keely. “You know I’m just givin’ you a hard time.”
“Alright, spill,” said Teagan.
“This may come as a surprise, but I actually made something instead of going storebought for the Activist Club picnic last year.”
“You didn’t,” said Miley.
“Well, I didn’t use an oven or anything, but I made Raisin Waldorf salad from a recipe off of the carton of raisins. It actually turned out pretty good…”
“Shut up!” interjected Keely.
“Well, it did, until it sat in my car all morning while I drove to the damn picnic forty miles away. It was eighty degrees out and this one threw it in the back seat right in the sun,” I said, pointing at Keely. She had needed a ride.
“Yeah, it was all gross and brown- you know there’s apples in that poop unicorns and rainbows? Apples and raisins, you crazy mofo. Catch you later!”
Keely walked- or skipped- away, and I looked helplessly to my friends as they smirked back.
“And that’s how I got the nickname Waldorf.”

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby theSkilled » Sun Jun 20, 2010 4:48 pm

"Hey Stevie!" Paul says to me with a wave of his long, hairy arm. I hadn't seen the fat lug since...well, you get it. Paul looked the same, fat, sloppy, thick black hair and unibrow. How did he remember me? How did he remember Stevie?
"Who's Stevie?" Burn asked. I bit fiercely into my BLT with extra cheese, savoring it, every juicy morsel. I forgot about Stevie, my wild past and The Mystery Man story. I hated leaving Burn out of the know, but he loved stories and so did I.
"This may come as a surprise, but when I was seventeen I ran away into the mountains." I looked at him, waiting for him to laugh.
"What?" He asked. Did he really believe me?
"Yes, Burn, I ran away. But it's a long story and I'm tired..." I tried to look around and find Paul again, maybe he could tell it better that me, but Burn shook his head wildly.
"Tell me, Dawn. I want to know." He said, interest burning deeply in his eyes. He smelled of fancy cologne, his collared shirt not all the way buttoned and gel hair perfect, I sort of had a crush on him. Would he ever like me if I told him about Stevie?
"You see, Burn, I was unhappy as a child. After my father's death, my mother married a horrible man who I called Nick. When my mother died, Nick married Vicky, even worse than him, and when they had seven other children I felt unwanted. I was literally Cinderella." I looked into Burn's loving eyes. He cared so I went on. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I took a train from Miami to Jacksonville. From Jacksonville I got a job working the ticket booth at a movie theatre. After a few weeks I made enough to fly from Jacksonville all the way to South Carolina. Then I was so scared I ran into the mountains. I passed out from exhaustion and woke up in someone's bed." I looked at Burn harder, wondering if he believe me. I paused to see if he was following me.
"Was this someone short, green and Irish?" Burn laughed and I scowled.
"Are you going to listen to me, Burn?" Burn smiled wider and told me to go on. "This someone happened to be a rather attractive twenty year old. I asked him who he was and he told me he was anonymous. I thanked him but asked him why I was so weak. He told me while I was passed out a large tree fell on my lower body in a storm and he didn't think I could keep my legs. It was then that I noticed that I was in a cottage."
"With dwarfs?" Burn snickered. I ignored him.
"He ended up carrying me to the nearest town where I met Paul, that man you just saw. He's a doctor and he helped me through therapy. They said that I was the bravest little soldier and named me after their town's founder, Steve Hans. For a girl's name, Stevie. And that's how I got the nickname, Stevie."
Burns was amazed. "I had no idea, Dawn!" After we left the sandwich shop I smiled. I hope he didn't know that Paul is the check-out clerk at American Eagle and he thought I was a guy so he nicknamed me Stevie. One can only hope.

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RE: What's in a Nickname 10/14-10/20

Postby loganatr » Mon Feb 28, 2011 2:27 pm

This may come as a surprise, but I'm a bit of a beer connousiuer. So when I heard about a rare vintage I'd been looking for across the state line, I decided to head down to the bar and have a few, maybe see if I could get a case to go.
Now the beer is called Jalapeno Charlie, and it's a dark, flavorful, robust, spicy beer. I'd always read that it had a 7.2 alcohol content- it's strong- but apparently that was a misprint. It's 9.2. Two of those and you're good to go.
Or three, I'm not trying to limit you. It's just a strong beer.
Anyway, I get to the bar, and I ask for a Jalapeno Charlie. The bartender looks at me like I'm crazy and then turns away as if he hadn't heard me. I turn to the guy next to me- big guy, italian-looking, friendly and a very frank face, and ask him, “Hey, by chance- have you heard of this beer called Jalapeno Charlie?”
The guy turns away. I turn to the other side of me. “I'm with somebody, champ,” says the back of somebody's head.
There is indeed a girl who's clearly showing off some of her better features sitting two seats down.
“Jalapeno Charlie,” I demand.
“Really?” the bartender asks. “If you drink more than two of those, I'll buy the rest of your drinks.”
Now these are expensive drinks, and the beer is strong. I'm not a fan of getting wasted anymore. “How about next time I drink for free?” I just came to have a couple, and see if you have a case that I could maybe take home with me.”
“You're kidding me.”
“No, why?”
“I've only had one guy finish one of those, ever. It's rotgut. And the jalapenos? They aren't joking about that. It's kind of a local joke, break up with your girl, come have a Jalapeno Charlie cuz the pain is ten times worse than the breakup.”

Long story short, this was the BEST beer I've ever had in my entire life. It kicked my ass, sure, and I have to admit I had to drink it with celery and pretzels- but after two or three of those I was drunk enough to get a hotel; and it was the sweetest, best, most robust, varied beer I've EVER had. I LOVED that beer. Too bad- the next day I walked in and the bartender told me laughingly that the US had outlawed it several years ago; they just had it sitting around at the bar and nobody had had the heart to throw it out; it made such a great gag gift. Well, anyway, the bartender wouldn't let me pay for it and he gave me back the money from the previous night; but they loaded up my car with the last half a keg of Jalapeno Charlies ever made. From then on, all the friends I made that nigth have come to call me by my favorite, extinct beer; and it kind of caught on with my football friends. And that's why they call me Jalapeno Charlie.”

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