Wednesday, December 16, 2009

A Collection of Nicknames I've Held (With Analysis!)

Don't worry, this picture is relevant. Let's get right to it.

The Nickname: Puke

The Cause: My name is Luke, which rhymes with puke. Kids are clever!

The Effect: This lasted for roughly a three year stretch between 3rd and 5th grade, so I honestly don't remember how I took this one. Considering I wore sweatpants every single day in elementary school (I'm not joking) and I also cried on a daily basis (again, not joking), I'll theorize that I didn't exactly cherish being called Puke.

Today, a few people still call me Puke every once in while, most of them being my older cousins. I can dig this. As I've matured, I've come to realize that I'm a badass and the people who call me Puke do it as a way to bond. At least, this is what I tell myself as I sob into my pillow before I go to sleep.

The Nickname: Gayser Beam / Truke Layser

The Cause: I think GB came from Pixar's flick, The Incredibles. There was a dead superhero named Gazer Beam (lol ummmm wut?), and my friends realized Gazer rhymed with my last name, Trayser. Ta-daaa!

As for Truke Layser, that's some simple rearranging of letters in my name. I embraced this one immediately.

The Effect: Both nicknames were founded when I was in college. Gayser Beam didn't last long, but some people still use it sporadically. In fact, a chick at work called me Gayser about an hour ago, which led to the inspiration for this blog post. Thanks, you giant beej full of spooge!

As I said, I embraced Truke Layser immediately, as it was easily one of the most badass nicknames I've ever had. That was my tag on XBox Live, which led to countless illiterate and racist 11 year olds pronouncing the name "Truck" right before I wrecked their shit in Halo.

The Nickname: Big Smooth

The Cause: Someone called me this a few months ago on my Facebook wall, and I promptly decided I loved it and told my friends to start referring to me only as Big Smooth. They were shockingly unreceptive to the request. HOWEVAH, after I shared my love for being called Big Smooth, a guy from a summer basketball team (that played in Italy. No big deal) who I hadn't talked to in years said that he had just watched game film from the tournament in Italy and I was, in fact, the Big Smooth.


The Effect: This is definitely not a legitimate nickname. I just wanted to put it here to make myself feel better. There are some brutal ones ahead.

The Nickname: Stormin' Norman

The Cause: My middle name is Norman, which I got from Grandpa Norm. Sadly, I never got to meet him (I hear he was awesome and would have loved grandkids). He died on August 29th, 1981 and I was born on August 29th, 1983. Bittersweet day. Unless you hate me, in which case it's a fully bitter day.

I started being called Stormin' Norman in middle school, presumably not because of General Norman Schwarzkopf, but because of Chris Farley's SNL portrayal of General Norman Schwarzkopf.

The Effect: Take a lesson from me, kids. If you hate a nickname of yours in middle school, you're very likely screwed, because middle school is horribly awkward, it absolutely blows and every kid is a giant douchebag milkshake just trying to get through the day without audibly farting or having his voice crack. BUT, you could try embracing the nickname. This probably won't keep the aforementioned milkshakes from using it, but you might actually grow to like the name, thus giving yourself a smoother middle school ride.

I did not embrace Stormin' Norman. Every time I heard it I became exactly like The Waterboy, but without the college scholarship. Also, I had no Vicky Valencourt because I still periodically wore sweatpants and had a mushroom hairstyle. Kind of like Rihanna, except not at all hot.

The Nickname: Nose / The Nose / Nosehead / Nice nose, shithead

The Cause: My brother and I each inherited very large heads (which gives us better balance and more brainpower for blogging). As for the nose, one of my best friends in the whole wide world randomly decided one fateful day that I had a huge schnozz, even though I'm fairly certain it's one of my few facial parts that's not abnormally large. I petitioned that my nose was not actually that big. Guess which argument won.

The Effect: Here's an example of someone trying to embrace the nickname. I hated this one in high school, so I changed my screen name to Nosehead4Life (which it still is. Ask me if I was asked for my screen name in the first week I started my new job, causing everyone in the office to wonder why I was hired. Go on, ask me!).

The Effect: I eventually came to accept the nickname, and doing so taught me to laugh at and make fun of myself, something I was horrible at before. This new trait led to my cultivation of a sense of humor, which you might say led to this blog. Diamonds start as coal, son! Just ask Incubus.

Feel like revealing your most hated nicknames? I'd love to hear them. Write that comment. DO IT NOW.

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  1. I too was referred to as big nose. However, unlike yourself, I DO have an oversized sucks.

    Also, Gertrude. Don't know how this actually happened but to this day I am referred to as Gert/Gerty/Gertrude.

    I have others.. but i think I am boring now.

  2. You forgot Skywalker!

  3. Jolly Green - middle school (or as we called it, junior high) named for the Jolly Green Giant from the wonderfully clever vegetable commercials. Did I mention I towered over everyone in junior high (even the boys - the center on the 8th grade boys basketball team was two inches shorter than me.) Junior high school sucked.

    Daddy Long Legs - being tall, I also have/had very, very long legs...also from Junior high school

    K - in college, met my future husband who's nickname is T, so I became K when we started dating

    Hot Wheels - in the last 5 years, from co-workers who think I drive fast

    K-Train - also in last 5 years, my rap nickname.

    The last 3 are fine, the first two are awful.

  4. Angus / Angus Beef
    My last name (Agnes) sounds a little bit like the most preferred beef in America.

    My dad has always called me that instead of my first name (Greg). So much so that I wonder if he tried to pitch the name to my mom when I was born.

    An enemy of mine decided to call me this one day in a derogatory manner. It stuck with all my friends ever since.

    I was the kicker of my high school football team. Also one time in history class I didn't know an answer so I just said "foot" for a filler word as a response. I have no idea why.

    My friend Matt Shelly decided during a football practice that my last name and the term for "a pile of sticks" sounded good put together. That is one that I do not enjoy.

  5. Big Bard / Bard - my last name is Bardin, I'm big. Hooray high school jock intelligence! Still used to this day. I dig it, it was my license plate alerting others to my vanity and greatness. Until I figured out it was lame.

    Sasquatch - While in a Spanish class in college, I got up from my desk to hand in a quiz, (I was one of the first ones done, bueno!) and promptly tripped over a desk on my way to the front. The girls who's desk I tripped over looked, with great disgust, and said, "Watch it, Sasquatch!" The class laughed and my self-esteem bubble promptly decreased ever further. Made the mistake of telling my truly evil friend, Christy about this (we went to the same school) and she has called me that name since.

  6. Were you asked for your screen name in the first week you started your new job, causing everyone in the office to wonder why you were hired?

  7. I didn't have many creative nicknames. I think the best one that I ever received was "Turd Muffin." No reasoning behind it. It was from my first boyfriend though. Should have told me right away to run for the hills and hide.

  8. @Michelle - My bad! All my Printed Blog peeps loved that one. I beg your forgiveness.

    And to all you ladies, I'm sorry you had some brutal nicknames. That's just not right. A person shouldn't have to go through life with a name that they can't stand.

    Right, Sasquatch?

  9. If Sasquatch didn't fit so perfectly and be one of the most fun words to say, it wouldn't have stuck =)

    Calamity Jane – as a child I was accident prone in dumb circumstances i.e. breaking an arm jumping off the swing (apparently I forgot to land with my feet first) and burning my eye ball with a burning stick…both in the first grade. So my dad has always called me Calamity Jane for my lack of coordination.

    Crooked-arm Corbin – I demonstrated how to serve a volleyball in jr high gym class (still no clue why, I am far from athletic) and was immediately pointed out in disgust by a classmate that my arm bends down at my elbow. I had no clue it was bent until then. Thankfully that one didn’t get around too much…

    Crusty Christy or just Crusty – again jr high...this time art class and some girl decided to call me that, don’t know why, I don’t believe a person can really be “crusty” occasionally I’ll hear that from a random person and wonder how they could think of something so ridiculous.

    Christ or Christ-E – you can’t really shorten Christy much, and NO CHRIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE! That’s a boy’s name, I’m not a boy thank you. Started in high school and continues with my girls from college, this one I actually like and embrace. I only have problems with those knuckleheads that think it’s somehow sacrilegious – and that’s not something I particularly care about.

    Double C or for short Dubs – with initials CC it’s pretty self-explanatory, my friend Megan is really the only one that uses Dubs on a regular basis but that’s because she likes to shorten/make a word slang for just about everything. She drives a Malibu which she calls the “Bu” and my Civic is the “Civy”.

    Sweet C – Neil started this one, which you think is a romantic pet name, but no… I guess it’s a reference from that stupid show Always Sunny in which some character is called Sweet Dee. I reluctantly accepted this one based on the fact that it sounds nice.

    I've had other horrible nicknames but don't care to invoke bitter adolescent memories that will drive me to drink a bottle of wine when I get home...

  10. Jam- my initials, developed circa the release of the movie "Space Jam". I received 7 bonus coolness points in 4th grade for this one, which were later taken away when middle school came around and my dad cut my bangs into 1 1/2 inch stubs

    Stubs- I don't want to talk about it

    Loch Jess- creative, and ties along nicely with my impersonation of a raptor/Chewie hybrid creature

    Jess the Mess- self proclaimed. It rhymes and matches my eating style.

    Poopy Pants- a cruel pet name that has no rational development other than inducing tears. Thanks Luke.

  11. Nosehead, I've got a story for you.

    If you want to strip away "Zeny" or "The Italian Stallion" - or even a name I picked up at a surprisingly young age; "Stud" given to me by my father, used as both a quick-and-easy, single-syllable nickname with punch, and to suggest I embody the definitional sense of the word - you are left with one I held for a short, painful duration of time: "Fatty McButterPants".

    The Cause: It's senior year at the University of Illinois. By year four, I've learned a thing or two. Where as day one, 2002, I was smart enough to figure out you could sleep for 20 hours of each day - and still not fail out - I had yet to realize that other aspects of college life - in this case, movement and social interaction - need not remain paired; ergo, to maintain social relationships, one need look no further than the interwebz. The series of interconnected tubes would carry to my friends my instant messages, video gaming trash talk (whilst pwning, in any number of network-equipped forms of electronic entertainment), and swift-defeat in online poker rooms.

    Traversing the quad was a thing of the past. I found even alcohol could be purchased and consumed (at the apartment) while sitting, instead of taking the risk that a drink out with friends would result in my bonding with the wood/puke combination that is the floor at Clybourne.

    If it weren't for the emergence of Guitar Hero during the Spring of 2006, I might not have broken a sweat that entire year. Seriously - Bark at the Moon on Expert? My whammy bar was never the same and I developed guitar-strap rash on my shoulder from shredding with my shirt off. I was a sight. But I digress.

    In an effort to maximize floor space storage in my tiny bedroom, I procure from the local Meijer a set of four, dense plastic riser blocks, used to give approximately 7” of lift to my bed. When the set of four are placed beneath each of the bed frame’s four legs (coincidence?) the bed is elevated just enough to allow for the storage of dead bodies, suitcases, empty boxes, or sets of now-unused poker chips. While the plastic riser blocks are hollow to reduce weight and production costs, they are none-the-less durable enough to support the weight of the bed, plus me, plus (insert lucky female companion here). And believe you me, test that claim I did (living up to the nickname handed down from my father).

    Well, the over the course of the year, the aforementioned activities had taken a toll. From my lifestyle, collateral damage had been dolled out to my bed’s lift-blocks, and - though I have no bathroom scale to verify this - my physique. I was still dead sexy, don’t get me wrong, but I was just heavy enough to be considered “heavier than I once was”, and that was as heavy as I needed to be.

    One faithful night, after a full three-hour marathon of Walker Texas Ranger and the consumption of many chicken quesadillas - made by yours truly - I decided to turn in for a 20 hour nap. Upon hoisting myself into my bed, to the surprise of no one except me, my bed forced its weight through the riser blocks beneath it, utterly destroying the plastic blocks, poker chip sets, empty boxes, suitcases, dead bodies (yes, even further), and my ego.

    The Effect: With the crescendo of destroyed, thin-metal bed-leg singing out across the apartment-scape, my three roommates appear at my doorway in time to see the terror painted on my face and to provide me with a new moniker: Fatty McButterPants.

    For the remainder of the year, any “creak” squeezed out from a floorboard beneath my step or “pop” resulting from my plopping down into our sadly aged couch was quickly followed by a declaration of my new nickname; “watch out, here comes Fatty McButterPants!”

  12. 'I was still dead sexy, don’t get me wrong, but I was just heavy enough to be considered “heavier than I once was”, and that was as heavy as I needed to be.'

    Doesn't this describe all of us? Thanks for describing succintly the hope & horror of adult life.