More Nicknames

October 9, 2009

So my sister “Sara” invited me to guest blog for her on the subject of nicknames.  You can just call me middle sis or the best sis, whichever you prefer.  I’ll break you in easily and start with a recently termed name…

1.  Mr. Thursday:  Originally given to the guy I was dating for at least 6 months who would conveniently not have much going on Thursday nights, so he would always ask me to hang out then.  Now, I’m not sure who’s more to blame here, me or him.  You’d expect that after 6 months you’d either go in one direction with a relationship or another.  Meaning that (a) it’s not going anywhere so you break it off, or (b) you decide to be in a committed relationship.  Now I teetered back and forth with this one, and liked hanging out with the guy, but really, you need to see someone more than just once a week (Thursday) to be considered dating.  So finally I stopped hearing from him on Thursdays for a few weeks and thought that maybe he just found someone else to fill that slot (which he had).  But then I started to hear from him on Sundays.  So what happened to his Sunday timefill, had she moved away?   Why was I suddenly pushed to the Sunday slot instead?  This was mystifying to me.  Was I not even good enough to warrant time on a weekday?  Clearly these questions were driving me crazy, so I had to end it.  Plus, my friends already knew him as Mr. Thursday and if I switched it to Mr. Sunday, no one would win.

2.   The Murderer:  Yes, you may ask, The Murderer?  Well this came as a surprise to me, as well.  I had hung out with this guy a few times and found him to be a pretty good catch.  He was tall, cute, and easy going.  Came from a good background and was financially stable. Not the brightest tool in the shed, but you can’t win them all.  So one night I was out with my friends at a club and The Murderer came to meet us.  I’m not really drinking and he’s trashed, but generally everything went well, he asked me to come to his place, I accepted, and we hailed a taxi.  I was okay with this.  Like I said, he was seemingly a catch.  Now this is the part that becomes strange.  In the cab, he starts talking to the driver.  The two of them are just regular pals at this point, whooping it up. Yes, he’s one of those “nice” guys.  Like my dad.  But you know if you have to call yourself a nice guy, you really aren’t a nice guy.  He was ranting and raving about how effed up the Holocaust shooting was, which had happened a few days before.  Then he starts talking about how when he was 13 years old, a robber broke into his parents house and he was home alone so stabbed the guy in the back, and then went to jail for 2 years because the robber died.  He thought it was so messed up that he had to go to jail for this offense.  I mean, he had only murdered someone.  How ludicrous of the law to punish for this.  Now, you may think this is the climax of the story.  Well, it’s not.  He proceeds to make these strange sounds that I’d never heard before, and I ask him what the sounds are.  He says “you know you’re not going to make it through the night, right?” and tells me he’s making Freddie Crougar sounds.  So let me recap.  I’m in a cab with a guy I don’t know that well, I’m dead sober, the guy is wasted, and he tells me that I’m not going to live through the night.  Every red flag that could possibly be waving is, and the best friend cab driver is suddenly dead silent.  This indicates to me that I am not the only one who thinks this situation is a little effed up.  As we near his place, he asks the driver to stop at the 7/11 so we can pick up some food.  He asks me if I want anything, and I ask him to just get me a water.  So as he’s inside, I obviously make the driver leave him there and drive me back to DC to my friends.  Yes, I’m an A hole to leave the guy like that.  I thankfully value my life more than a bag of Andy Capps hot fries and some scratch tickets.  The cab driver lectures me the entire 25 minute ride back about dating and how you need to do family background checks before going home with guys.  I’m in such a frenzy when I return to DC that I hurl $80 to the cabby and storm out to find my sis and friends.  It was not surprising when I had ten missed phone calls and texts from him that night.  And the dude still tries to talk to me.  You can understand now why Mr. Thursday wasn’t such a bad option.  At least he never killed anyone.