Melissa, starry-eyed soy-lovin' Expatriated Zulu (oddharmonic) wrote,
Melissa, starry-eyed soy-lovin' Expatriated Zulu

Friday Five (late)

1. Is the name you have now the same name that's on your birth certificate? It's the same plus his last name, but I'm still doing the back-and-forth with the Social Security Administration until they understand that there's no hyphen. Maybe I'll just tell them to drop my middle initial (not a middle name, my parents couldn't agree on one) and use my maiden name as my middle name.

2. If you could change your name (first, middle and/or last), what would it be? There are a few first names I'd rather have, but if I told you I'd have to kill you. *g* Actually, if I did I'd collaborate with my best friend on it since he's the other half of my brain.

3. Why were you named what you were? (Is there a story behind it? Who specifically was responsible for naming you?) Depending on when you ask Dad, I was either named after the Allman Brothers' song "Melissa" (which I like) or Melissa Manchester (which I don't like).

4. Are there any names you really hate or love? What are they and why? I love my daughter's name -- Laurel Thalia -- but technically she picked it out and I just became more stubbornly attached to it after my older sister said she was going to call her "Oliver" if I did that (as in Laurel and Hardy, though she got the first names mixed up). There aren't any names I really hate, although it pains me when I meet people burdened with "unique" spellings (I went to school with a Kortnee, a Keighcee, a Jeniffer and some other horrendous misuses of phonetics) and there are a few names I have negative associations with because of individual experiences.

5. Is the analysis of your name at accurate? How or how isn't it? Fairly accurate. I'm not as serious as it suggests and I'm not sure I'm quite as reliable either, although I do try to be. Himself would also argue that I'm exceptionally indecisive when I don't feel a decision is serious -- I keep a running list of what I like to order at certain restaurants so I don't hold everyone else up when we go out. And it doesn't mention anywhere that my muse is an angry drunken bitch that's constantly sniping back and forth with my inner dyke and homo, who have teamed up against her until I finish the undersea mural in Sarah's room and the ceiling in the main living area (I have to scrape the popcorn finish off the ceiling, prep it, paint it a blue reminiscent of the entry of a Robert A.M. Stern job in the April 2002 issue of Architectural Digest, cover the ridge beam in luan, and put up crown molding). Oddly enough, my few experiences with drinking haven't done squat to shut up my muse, though she is placated when I'm around certain people... and 'berto knows how to shut her up for an hour or so at a pop, but we haven't quite pinned down exactly what does that. And penis jokes aside (sorry about babbling on that when I was sobering up Saturday morning, James), that's why I married him. He makes my muse quiet enough for me to sleep when I'm manic and he puts up with it when he can't and I'm up for three days painting coral on the wall with obsessive attention to detail.
Tags: 304.5_memes

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