Nicknames, the apocalypse and crab legs
Hello my darlings. Recently I was thinking of nicknames. Random I know, but when my mind wanders, I usually just let it go to see where it takes me.
I have had lots of nicknames. As a kid, like many young southern boys, I was called Bubba. Now my nephew is called Bubba, and so is my niece’s son. We are a creative and country bunch of bumpkins. My family has always called me Jamie. I demanded to be called James, my actual name, once I got into kindergarten.
Fast forward a buncha years, and I became Cassie Nova. I get called Cassie by most everyone, sometimes Miss Nova. Edna Jean used to call me Minoba on occasion. I guess because it kinda sounds like Miss Nova.
My husband calls me Babe. I call him Babe. It was never anything we discussed; “Babe” just became our word for each other.
Nicknames, at least in my world, usually come from the most random of things. I have a friend named Josh.
One day a group of our friends were doing Sunday Funday, and we ended up at the Eagle. Josh and I decided to play their electronic dart game. First you have to type in your name, but the button was finicky, and I accidently typed in “Jorp” instead of “Josh.” Now every time I see him, I always say, “Hi Jorp!”
One of my best friends name is “Sweet Mark.” We knew so many Marks at that time — Drug Dealer Mark, Big Dick Mark, Tall Mark — so Valerie Lohr started to call this one Sweet Mark, and the name stuck. It’s pretty obvious why she chose “Sweet Mark.” He is a very sweet person, plus he’s a big ol’ gay — he’s sweet in that way, too.
My dogs all have a bunch of nicknames. Our Maltese, Bentley, gets called Bee, Little B, Wittle B and Old Man. He answers to all of them. Our Pom, Riley, sometimes gets called Ry, but that’s it. Our Chihuahua, Toby, sometimes goes by Tobes, Fatty or Asshole. I say it out of love, but he is an asshole sometimes — so much so that I tell him, “Fuck off Toby!” at least once a day (of course, quoting a famous line from Romy and Michelle). Benji gets called Jerk so much that he absolutely thinks it’s his name. For the record, he is a jerk a lot.
My poor neighbors probably think I am crazy, out in the backyard yelling, “Come on Old Man, Fatty, Riley.
You heard me Jerk, git in here right now!”
I guess I should be thankful I don’t have human kids. They would fo-sho need some therapy. Could you imagine my kid — farts once and I call him Tootie or Stinky for the rest of his life. I catch him masturbating once, and he is forever Spanky. Talk about developing a complex. Poor kid.
Next stupid subject that I think about way too much is the apocalypse. Of course, whatever it is that kills off millions, I somehow survive. In reality, I’m pretty sure I’d be one of the first to perish. My survival skill set is lacking, but I still think about it.
And do you want to know what keeps me up at night? What’s the first thing that is on my mind in an end-of-the-world scenario? Freakin’ crab legs. If the world goes kaput, I’m super sad I will never have snow crab legs again. I can’t get to Alaska to go crabbin’.
I loves me some crab legs. Of course, I will miss all the people — well some of the people. I will miss the convenience of grocery stores after I have picked through them all. I will miss so much, but I will miss crab legs the most.
Stupid right? Between global warming, COVID, Russia and the eventual rise of the zombies, I guess I should eat as many crab legs as possible while I can.
I remember the first time I had crab legs. It was the end of my junior year of high school, and I had been invited to my best friend’s girlfriend’s best friend’s graduation party. The party was held in a nice, big house in Garland. They had a pool. They was fancy. They were so fancy they served crab legs and skrimps.
Unfortunately for the girl that the party was for, but fortunately for me, not many people came to her party.
Her mom told us jokingly that we would need to eat all of the food because it wasn’t going to keep for very long. Bitch, I thought: Challenge accepted!
My friends and I fucked that food up. Her bougie little party was fun. We actually got the few people that were there to dance and have a good time. That was also the first time I had Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill “wine.”
That night changed my life. I knew that I needed to have money so I could afford booze and crab legs, and guess what? Today for lunch, I had crab legs and a margarita. I did it y’all. I did it!
Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova
