Ah, the English Language!

One of the topics of conversation that came up on girls' night this past Tuesday was the stuffed animals we used to have, and what we named them. Now, I was the least creative stuffed animal-namer on the planet, and I may have accidentally influenced by little sister to be the same in that regard. Either that or we were both independently awful namers.

We had lots of stuffed teddy bears, and each one was named according to the color it was: Bluey, Whitey, Pinky, Browny, etc. Yes, that's right: We couldn't think of anything better.

This one time I was given a stuffed dog that was sort-of ginger-colored that had its tongue sticking out. So, at the time, I decided that I would be a little more creative than ususal and name this dog "Licker." I remember informing my mom that this new doggy toy was going to be "Licker," and she was like, "um, no honey, you can't name your dog that." Which I thought was crazy. But, that's because I had no clue that it would be bad for a little kid to have a stuffed animal named "Liquor." I mean, when I was four, I was much more of a beer-drinker anyways.

So, after arguing with my mom and finally accepting the mandate to change my doggy's name from "Licker," I comfortably decided on "Ginger."

Nicknames

Today on Dooce.com, "The Dooce" (Heather Armstrong) was discussing nicknames and where "Dooce" came from because it is almost the 10-year anniversary of the website. She asked for comments on what people's nicknames are. That got me thinking about the nicknames I've had in the past, and the nicknames I have now. So, here are all the ones I can think of:

-"Ryannie": My parents called me this for awhile as a kid. My mom says it with a West Virginia accent. My dad actually sometimes still calls me this.

-"RyanBee": In elementary school, there were two Ryan's in my grade. So, we each got the distinction of being distinguished by our last name initials. SO, for years, everyone called me "Ryan B." But the way people said it made it sound like it was all one word: "Ryanbee." I don't know why they didn't just call me "Girl Ryan" or "Ryan Sans Penis" or something... (the other Ryan was a boy...)

-"RJ": I remember trying to make people call me this (my middle initial is J) in elementary school, but it never stuck. I thought it sounded cool...

-"Rye Bread": I frickin' hate this one. This girl started calling me this in 3rd grade, and I HATED it... Especially cuz I hate Rye Bread.

-"Sneezy Head": I have kinda fluffy hair. In middle and high school, when I wasn't using conditioner (yes, I already know I failed Girl 101), my hair was QUITE fluffy. So, when people would hug me, they usually got a face-full of fluff. My mom dubbed me "Sneezy-Head" as a result.

-"Booger": Another one from my mom. Just 'cause. My sister's counterpart nickname is "Rotten." I think hers is nicer than mine...

-"Babas": When I got to college, life started anew. All students were assigned email addresses as freshman based on their first initial, middle initial, and first four letters of their last name, so mine was rjbaba@wm.edu (This is inactive, so don' try sending shit to it). People were amused by the "baba" part of mine, I guess. So, I became "Babas." Funny thing is, Chris called me that for awhile before we became "an item." It's actually pretty weird to think of that now.

-"Bert": This one is hilarious (to me, at least!) Chris and I and some of our good friends went on a Spring Break trip to Memphis, TN freshman year of college (Chris and I were not yet "an item" at this point). One of my good friends (who was my bandmate, my roommate for two years, and my all-around partner-in-crime), who I call "Parker," pretty much planned the trip, and I think we sat together on the bus most of the way back (and yes, we took a Greyhound. 22 hours there, 13 hours back to Southwest VA. Oy. That's a whole other story...). Anyways, we were cracked-out on no sleep and probably too much coffee, and we invented a language, which we dubbed "Bertian." The way you speak "Bertian" is to add the word "Bert" onto the end of words. So the bus would have been "Bus-Bert!" And there's a sort of way you're supposed to say it, but it's hard to explain. Let's just say that it always has an exlamation point on the end! I believe I laughed for like 3-hours straight at "Bertian." After that, I became, simply, "Bert." I'm sure Parker will be mortified if she ever reads this. :)

-"Ryan-Loo": My good friend Jared always calls people (actually, usually females) "Insert-Name-Here-Loo."

-"Toast," "Toasty," "Toaster": This one is pretty amusing too. My friend Gina is the only one who calls me these. I told her the "Rye Bread" story, and she started calling me "Toast!" Quite cute and clever.

-"Babus": Chris calls me this one. It's like a Latin version of "Babe." You know, like an Ancient Roman Babe With a Toga Showing a Little Leg.

-"Ryan the Girl": I made this up. Turns out, there is already some other Ryan the Girl out there who cooks and blogs about it. Slut.

I feel like I'm leaving one out, but I can't figure out what it is. What are your nicknames?

*** UPDATE: Two people have now pointed out that I left nicknames out! My bad! Here are two more:

-"Reenst": I've called my sister "Bean" for as long as I can remember. That has been morphed into all sorts of things like "Bean-face," "Beanie," and "Beanst." Her counter to "Beanst" is "Reenst!"

-"Ryjan": I worked with a woman named Danelle (who goes by Danny). She called me "Ryjanelle" once, which was hilarious, and that got shortened to "Ryjan." She is now "Danjan!"

Uterus!

Hello you lovely, gender-obsessed people! I'm Ryan. And I have a uterus (at least, my gyno tells me I do. I'm not flexible enough to verify that by myself). Cuz I'm a girl. Or woman, or whatever. When a female technically become a "woman" is beyond me. I guess being in your early twenties means being in-between a lot of labels. Anyways, so yes, I am a female with a traditionally male name. And boy (girl!), has it shaped who I am. I've often wondered if I would be a totally different person if my parents had named me "Ashley" or "Britney" or something.

I was that tomboy girl. I wanted legos and tonka trucks and I wanted to play sports. Barbies and pink shit were not ok with me. Ever. My grandmother would still try to give me that stuff for Christmas, because that's what little girls are supposed to get for Christmas. I remember ripping my Barbie's head off once. Bitch deserved it, always grinning smugly at me like she knew that her hypotheical 18-inch waist was going to be forever unattainable to women everywhere. Then, it occured to me that I could get in trouble for breaking a toy someone had so generously given me, so I hid that blonde, nipple-less doll under the couch cushions in our basement.

I may have even ended up having an unhealthy aversion to all things feminine. It wasn't until college that I started getting in touch with that "girly" side of myself (What, Ryan's wearing... a dress???? Since when does she do that?). It took me a long while to see "feminine" as anything other than weak. After some struggling, I've learned that I can be feminine and strong at the same time. In fact, my mother, who is one of my heroes, is the epitome of the strong, feminine woman. So, now if a guy calls me "pretty," I don't have an uncontrollable urge to punch him in the face. And I lift weights and then go drink the pinkest martini drink you've ever seen.

I can't help but wonder what alternate universe girly-named-me would have turned out like (Let's call her "Rhonda."): Would Rhonda have been a pink-wearing, purse-toting, high heel-loving fake blonde? Would Rhonda have worshipped Michelle Pfeiffer instead of Michelle Akers? Would people have treated Rhonda differently than they treated me? Would Rhonda's life be totally different than mine? I certainly hope not. I'd like to think that "I yam who I yam." But, the cynical side of me is saying that it so does matter.

One thing I'd like to say is that I'm so thankful that my parents never tried to push "feminine" toys, clothes, or stereotypes on me. When I expressed a liking for something, they encouraged it, regardless of what "gender" was supposed to like it. My sister and I both learned to be strong, and both grew up believing we could be anything we wanted.

I want to be a writer and I want to love deeply.


(But I still refuse to wear pink.)