She wanted a name…

After many references made to my girlfriend (you know, done generically), she finally asked me for a name.  Granted, it would be a nickname for use on here– but a name nonetheless.  Her exact reasoning was, “You have names for your left and right hands; I think I deserve a proper noun.”  Right you are, honey, right you are.  So, like preparations for mass intake of alcohol, I put a good long thought to this.

This has posed more of a problem to me than pulling up a zipper one-handed.  Do I give her a random fake name, like thousands of other pretentious bloggers?  I could refer to her with some kind of cutesy-poo pet name (like how nauseatingly romantic couples do), but we’re bad enough in public as it is.  Not to mention, if I were to engage in that kind of behavior, my reader base would drop faster than a presidential approval rating… well that and I don’t have any sickeningly confectionery proper nouns for her.

Anyway, that leaves using proper nicknames in a fashion akin to Tucker Max.  If you don’t know where this is going, you’re either new here– or don’t know me very well.  Perhaps both, but I digress.

It's doubly not fair-- I'm still partially gimped, *and* I would never take a swing at a chick. If you see me with a black eye, do my self-respect a favor and don't ask.

Considering that the night we met, she corrected my shithoused summation of the parentage of Artemis (mixed it up with Athena), I could refer to her by a goddess’ name.  Then again, that’d be awfully Sheen of me.  I’m a big fan, but that doesn’t change the fact that it wouldn’t snow under my nose after getting punched.  Referring to her as a divinity might also go to her head, and my bed’s only big enough for one ego my size.  I’m being a realist here, don’t judge me.

I could refer to her as “Vodka Girl,” after a nickname that she told me she had at one point at UVM.  That wouldn’t work either, because that’d paint her in the wrong light.  I mean sure, she pretty much kept pace with me at homecoming— but nah.  It fails to represent her properly.

This request of hers is as bad of a double-edged sword as the question that has been the downfall of many a man, “Does this make me look fat?”  Seriously, I have to tread lightly.  She has ways of making my brain hurt itself, and the freaking cold I caught is bad enough.

This is either the path of genius, or utter stupidity. Maybe I should have taken the ego-feeding way out like any lesser (read wiser) man.

Well, dear, you asked for it.  I dub thee…  Cortana.

Yeah, that’ll do just nicely.   Why?   Because for the longest time, I thought a girl like her could never be physically real– just only exist in my head.  Yeah, my geek is showing, so I’m gonna go toss back a drink or three and get back to work on the costume.

Unplug