I have a lot of nicknames. Either people really don't believe I look like a "Haley," or they just like to personalize things in regards to me (which probably means I'm very, very important). I am, depending on the person speaking, known as: HSAB (haleystarrasteroidbelt), Bean (no idea), Angelface (my aunt clearly recognizes my obvious beauty), Cupcake (because I'm so sweet--uh, yeah, that's it), Cosmo (because I make them for my friends), Elverna Bradshaw (kiss my ass, Mom), Bubbles (why, Ang?), and Halo (high school....sigh....). I've also been called "crazy bitch" and "fucking whore" numerous times in the past, but since those relationships neglected to be maintained, we'll just leave those out for now. So how does one keep all of those monikers straight, you ask? DO NOT QUESTION MY BRILLIANCE, MINIONS. Jesus. You'd think you people would have learned by now.
Anyway, as I was mulling over the abundance of nicknames I have accumulated, I realized something. I, TOO, am a giver of nicknames, though I prefer to think of them as pet names. I have Bug, Ray, HoneyB, SuperSutt, Hotstuff, Special K, Adonis, Jean Bean, Sandstorm....the list is pretty much endless. I can't help but wonder WHY I do this. I have no idea. I don't set out into the great and endless world thinking, "Today I shall establish a new nickname for someone less fortunate in the nickname lotto than I." But there must be a reason, right? Hell, I don't even call my DOGS by their real names. Mimi, Maddie and Elmo have always been Pants, Junkyard and Monster. (Why didn't I just name them those names in the first place? Because then I would have ended up calling them something different. Keep up.) Is there something wrong with me? (No. The answer is NO. There may be something wrong with you, but I'm just fine, so back off.)
HSAB is very confrontational today.