Filed under: Blogging with Purpose
So I’ve decided that I should probably start blogging with a purpose. That’s really the only way people ever get recognized through this medium. I have a slight idea of what I would blog about, too.
Names.
It’s sort of a fetish, obsession, love, pastime, hobby. I’m currently awaiting the birth of Ashlee Simpson-Wentz’s baby because I can’t imagine what such young, hip parents could come up with to bestow upon their child. They have some tough acts to follow, what with Harlow Winter Kate Madden (daughter of Nicole Richie and Joel Madden), Honor Marie Warren (daughter of Jessica Alba and Cash Warren), and Sunday Rose Kidman Urban (daughter of Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban), whose parents, by the way, thought it would be a good idea to name their child after a suicidal poet. Good call, ‘rents. That girl has so much to look forward to.
I suppose this love is closely related to my slight infatuation with the celebrity world. However, it really is my only source for unique and laughable names. I don’t know people who are having/naming children on a monthly basis, and I myself am not ready to take on the challenge myself. However, I’ve been in the recommending names business for almost 7 years now, and my ideas have been taken into consideration. My 8th grade English teacher was going to use the name I had chosen if her baby had been a girl. Emma Kathryn. The relationship I have with my best friend is based on our first meeting where we discussed the names we had chosen for our future children whilst dog-paddling in the high school pool during freshman P.E.
I think what got me interested in names is the idea that names help shape who we are. My life would be completely different had my parents named me Ashleigh or Kellie — and yes, spelling counts. I grew up with a huge cloud of peer pressure hanging over me, but I like to think that my individuality helped me go a different way, my name being part of that individuality. I got through all my years of elementary, middle, and high school without having to be known as Melanie B. in any classroom. I was never “one of many”, and I like to think I’m that way in the world. I’m unique, irreplaceable, if you will. Now that I’m in college, that has changed drastically. Even at this small school, I’ve encountered probably 15 new Melanies in just this semester alone. My uncle recently remarried a woman named Melanie, which complicates Christmas exchanges. However, because I spent so much of my life being the only Melanie, it’s almost a compliment when I find someone else with my name. And that’s exactly what it is: mine.
In case you’re wondering, (and I have no statistical information to back this up, and I don’t know where the following body gets their information…but) there is a website where you can see how many of “you” there are in America. Check out howmanyofme.com. It’s pretty cool. According to their database, there are 3 of me.
So I think I’m going to run with this idea. Let’s start a blog of names. Send me your name, tell me the names of your children and why you chose them. And traditions have to start somewhere, so here is mine.
The names of the day are:
Boy: Macon (French) — “mason”
Girl: Abra (Hebrew) — “mother of nations”
(All origins and name meanings brought to you by babynames.com.)
*Update*
Ashlee Simpson delivered a healthy baby boy! 7lbs. 11 oz. and 21.5 in. long.
The name, you ask? Brace yourself.
Bronx Mowgli Wentz. As in, J.Lo’s hometown borough and the kid raised by wolves…err…gray, species-neutral bears. At any rate, congratulations to the family!
Filed under: Oh my job!
To answer your question, yes I’m going to card you. That’s probably the stupidest question I’ve ever heard. The remainder of this post is the blog I submitted for my class that prompted me to start writing this thing to begin with.
You Have To Get Your Money Out Anyway…
I was at work today, and a girl whom I have carded many times came in to buy cigarettes. She has given me trouble in the past when I have carded her, and I didn’t feel like dealing with that today. So I didn’t card her. I know she’s 18; I’ve seen her ID before. But I was so angry with myself after I sold her the cigarettes. I broke the law. But what made me feel worse was that I let her have power over me; I let the potential of a minor confrontation take the reins.
I have never felt so threatened by a group of people ever before. When I’m trying to decide whether or not to card someone who I know I’ve sold tobacco products to before, I weigh the possibility that they could either throw a fit or something at my head. My heart starts pumping harder, and my palms get sweaty. I think I would be less nervous if a man came in with a mask over his head and pointed a gun at me. At least I would have a better idea of the outcome if I didn’t do what he asked. I feel like I’m getting in the middle of people and their addictions, and that can become a dangerous situation. I have to tell myself that I didn’t initiate their addiction, so it’s their problem if they can’t handle what comes along with feeding it.
State law requires that people under 27 must show their ID when purchasing tobacco products. In addition, there is a sign on the door (as well as one right next to the shelf of blunts) that reads “We card under 18. Have your ID ready.” So, with all this preparation, why do people assume they won’t be carded?
One of the most popular retorts when I ask to see someone’s ID is, “We’re in college; everyone here is 18.” However, that statement is not completely true. I have carded people who haven’t turned 18 until well into their first semester, and there are also high school students who take classes on campus. However, that’s beside the point. My employer could be fined and I could lose my job if I don’t card everyone who looks under 27.
Some people have a really hard time with being carded. I have had customers who don’t have their IDs on them walk out angrily without their other purchases, those who try to guilt me into giving them cigarettes anyway, (“Do I really have to walk all the way back to West Campus?”), those on the verge of tears, those who claim I sold them cigarettes yesterday, when I didn’t work yesterday, and I’ve been cussed out. All of these reactions take me aback every time. You chose to start smoking. Take responsibility for that choice. Have your ID ready, or the least you can do is not whine and cry when I ask to see it. And it’s not just the first time, either. You have to show me your ID every time you buy tobacco. I don’t care how many times a week (and in some cases, a day) you come into the store to buy tobacco products. We are not “friends” and I do not remember how old you are.
The guy who both cussed me out and left without his stash of energy drinks now acts like we’re best friends. He invited me to a party he was throwing, and smiled at me when we passed each other in the library. But it wasn’t the “Hey, I know you!” kind of smile. It was a “You remember me forever!” kind of smile. And I will remember him forever. That guy who would stock up on Parliament Lights and Redbull and pay with his Nursing Student ID card. That guy who left his ID at Murph’s so he could play pool instead of bringing it when he came to buy cigarettes that fateful night.
All in all, I’m just tired of people giving me excuses. I’m tired of giving in because I know that there’s a chance someone might give me a little attitude. Maybe that means I need to grow a backbone. Or maybe it means people should come prepared and take responsibility for their lifestyle choices. I’m going to card you. It’s not my decision to make.
Filed under: Life in General
Do you ever have those moments where you replay your most embarrassing instances over and over again in your mind? I’ve been doing that all day and it’s driving me crazy. Embarrassment is a really funny thing. I mean, the entire premise of embarrassment is that one cares what someone else thinks. And people are always trying to be cool and say they don’t care what people think, but how would we form relationships if we didn’t? We wouldn’t have friends mostly because we wouldn’t have enemies. Let me think this through. If I didn’t care what anyone else thought of me, I wouldn’t have to find things in common with people who would eventually become my friends. The entire world would just be full of apathy, which would be very strange….. I have a feeling that life would be different if no one truly cared what other people thought about them.
Does anyone care to share embarrassing stories? I’ll share one of mine! …I’m blanking. How about…yeah, I can’t think of one. Tell me yours and maybe my memory will return.
