What is in a name?

Would a Rose by any other not smell as sweet?

Ah Romeo and Juliet... idiots. They should have never gotten involved with each other. That whole story portrayed a complete lack of communication. The lesson: talk to the people you love... or you will die.

Alas, the quote (not my rant) is more the topic of this post.

You all know me as Roxy. It is a self-chosen nickname that I fell in love with after watching Mary-Kate and Ashley's movie New York Minute... pretty pathetic but true.

It is a name that really has no ties to me. I gave it to Single Girl to use when she talked about me, but that's it. I don't wear the clothing brand. It isn't my middle name. Nothing about the name Roxy has anything to do with me.

My other nicknames do have meanings, though. I love them all, and they're a great reflection on my past.

Sister calls me Rooney. She's been calling me that since I was born.

My mom adds a "ooo" to the end of my real name. It's cute unless I'm getting yelled at.

My father calls me sweetie pie. It rarely makes an appearance since I'm quite the bitch to him.

Others have included Stalker#2, Nacho, Beans, and many more.

I identify with all these nicknames. They're endearing, identifying, funny... memories.

And now I have a new one. The other day RedSox and I got into a discussion as to where the term "Shorty" came from. I hypothesized that while it might have to do with height, I'm sure somebody was high and drinking a forty. When he looked at his ho, he saw a shorty. Shorty rhymes with Forty and thus entered the illustrious hip-hop dictionary.

RedSox decided to call me Shorty... and I in return call him Forty.