What's in a name? Castigation!

No matter how many times I tell people to call me by my nickname, some just insist upon addressing me by my Entire First Name. Many of you know that my Entire First Name is long, odd, and outlandish - and when people use it, I feel like I'm being chastised. The only time I hear my first name is when Natty yells at me for wearing her clothes, and we haven't lived together for about a year. I've noticed that there is a correlation between southern-ness and propensity towards calling me by my EFN, as if these people think it's more polite than using my nickname.

Two of my southernest co-workers walked past me on the way to the elevator this morning, and both said, "Good morning, _________." I felt like they were blaming me for something, or sarcastically wishing me a BAD morning. I have told both of them multiple times that no, my name is ___ and not _________, please don't use it, you make me feel like I'm 5 and ate too many oreos out of the cookie jar. My family members don't use it, friends don't (unless they met me in middle school, when I went through one of those phases), and I don't think I've ever heard D use it. That would just be weird.

All I did yesterday after work was dance. I did not eat a real meal all day, only little snacks snatched here and there. Today I have to somehow get what I'm going to wear on Saturday - the black dress I'd been planning on wearing for Latin has faceted beads on it, which are not allowed, so I'm going to buy a brightly-colored ribbon and pin it over the beads. I have a standard skirt, black with a lemon yellow hem, but I have no idea what sort of top I'm going to wear with it. Blerrrrrg! If only I could find a lemon yellow camisole, that'd look hot, my skin is pretty tan. Not that any of you care, but I use this blog to talk to myself. Clarify things, if you will.

You know what song I really like? She Runs Away, Duncan Sheik. Oh God, and Make a Stand, Klute. Putting those together is like putting wasabi on a cranberry scone.