Last night after a horrific loss at softball we trekked to the usual bar and proceeded to drown our sorrows.
This particular pub is often overrun in the summer with interns, students, and other young DC newbies. And, in the course of our drowning, we met one such newbie who eventually told his name was Steve.
“No,” BNF said. “I’m not going to call you that. I’m going to call you Jor-El.“
Jor-El was a pretty good sport, so he went along with it. Embraced it even. (By the end of the night, even the other guys in his program were calling him by the new nickname.) And then he played along with BNF’s next game.
“We’re not going to tell you our names. You just tell us what you think we look like. First name that comes to your mind.“
And that’s how I became a Jessica.
(Later he dubbed me Jezebel. I’m honestly not sure which I prefer.)
Now, before I get yelled at, I don’t have a problem with the name – for other people. But for me, after 26 years of identifying as something completely different, it just felt all sorts of wrong.
I’ve been toying for a while with the idea of putting my real name out here on the blog. I’m sure it’s probably dropped at some point and I’m friends with several bloggers on Facebook (and real life!) so I know that it’s not a complete secret.
But I figure there’s no time like a) my 500th post! today! and b) after being called the wrong name all night to officially reveal it.
So, hi! I’m Elizabeth.
And definitely not Jessica.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.