Dramatis Personae

This blog isn’t always about me.

Sure, it’s a personal blog, but it’s hard to talk about my life without talking about the people in it. And these days, it seems like there is a lot of people involved in my life. So much that even I sometimes have a hard time keeping them straight when I blog about them.

I use nicknames to talk about all of my friends, my enemies, and my frenemies (and scarily enough, I seem to have one or two of those even as I abhor the drama). The nicknames are useful since I feel it’s not my place to expose these people to the internets at large. They have not made the decision to make their identities known to the masses, and I feel that it’s not my place to, either. Thus, nicknames.

Nicknames help me to keep people straight as I talk about them. They also have the added benefit of giving the audience a hint of how I really feel about the person. I have some mean nicknames, and a few friends have nicknames that fall into the personal pronoun category, such as You, ME, Am and Ame. A personal pronoun means that they have a part of themselves that I see reflected in me. Or a part of me that I see reflected in them.

I’ve tried to remember everyone I’ve ever talked about, but I’m bound to miss people. As I slowly edit my archives (a serious project if ever there was one), I’ll try to add people here, but if you ever run across a nickname and wonder who that person is, ask me, and I’ll be sure to add them to the list.

An Unsympathetic Look at Who’s Who

Mrs. Jesus: I met Mrs. Jesus during transfer-student orientation in June of 2007. We hit it off, but didn’t exchange numbers or anything. Surprise surprise, then, when we find ourselves in three classes together (yes, we did sign up for classes at orientation, but we didn’t attempt at all to get into the same classes). How nice it was to actually know someone in my classes besides ME. Mrs. Jesus knows we call her that, after ME had a dream that the four of us lived together: her and Alturas started a theme park around the “choose your own adventure books,” Mrs. Jesus was planning her over-the-top wedding to Jesus, and I was dating E. All of this before I was sorta-dating E. Anyways, it’s a semi-private joke between us all—which always cracks us up when we tell Mrs. Jesus her husband should do something about whatever situation we’re in.

Alturas: The quiet shy one. Younger than the rest of us by three years, she’s the oldest in her family, and from the small town of Alturas, four hours north-eastish of Chico. We met in Grammar (with Mrs. Jesus too), and actually walked back to the room before class one morning to ask me about my macbook. Good thing she did too, since I probably never would have talked to her since she sat in the front row. Asked her to join us (ME, Mrs. Jesus and Me) on our lunch trek to Pluto’s, and the rest is history.

ME: My roommate. We met in the second half of British Literature at Sac City, and I was the one who convinced her to transfer to Chico State with me because I needed a roommate. We get along pretty well, except for when we get on each other’s nerves. Like last semester, when we had three classes together, and spent far far too much time together. My first friend who read as much as I do, and pushes books on me like crack. With both of our book collections in the same room, it’s like living in a library. We enjoy it.

E: The guy I’m sorta dating. We met in an upper-division general ed. class last fall, and it’s the only good thing that made going to class worthwhile. He showed up so often because I’m funny. I am funny. We didn’t start this quasi-dating thing until this spring, when I ran into him in the BMU, and forced him to give me a short list of bars Am and I had to hit when we went out for the first time. He joined us, and it’s been all fun and games since. I talk about him way too much when I’m not with him, and am highly likely to screw everything up because, well, I can’t help but be me.

Am: Another young ‘un, comparatively. Dating Not-the-Ex, which gets confusing sometimes—mostly when we’re drunk—about which guy we’re talking about. Because we talk about them often. She’s my go-to girl when I need someone to talk to about my boy problems, since ME thinks I’m boy crazy and all that. Am understands. We met in Watershed last fall; she thought I was funny (sound familiar), and we hit it off when we were assigned to the same reading group. Haven’t seen her in a long while, worry about her often. Can’t wait until she gets back to town.

Ame: Ex-Navy, slightly older than me, pretty damn awesome. Force feeds me manga, and her roommate and her mirror me and ME. She’s like the me I could have been if I had enlisted instead of screwing around for five years after high school.

Ally: I didn’t have to come up with a nickname for Ally because she blogs—the only one of my friends to do so (well, Mrs. Jesus does over on MySpace, but I still don’t count that). We met in the same fall class with E, but she spent the spring semester abroad in Prague. We’ve been attached at the hip all summer long while everyone else was out of town. She helped enable my Guitar Hero/Rockband obsession, and threw me the best birthday party I ever had.

You: My bestest of all friends. We met way back in 2003, Memorial Day weekend. We always had interesting conversations, but didn’t become friends in our own right—instead of through other people, how we met—until about a year later. The best moment in my life? When you told the Cancer Victim “she’s my best friend, of course I’m going to hang out with her.” Until then, I don’t think anyone had ever called me their best friend to someone else. To me, sure. But to other people? No. I don’t get to see him very often these days, what with his son Newspaper, the part where the Cancer Victim thinks he’s cheating on her with me (like I would ever date anyone she has. Even You) and doesn’t like him talking to me at all, and the part where we live about five hours miles apart these days. I see him when I can, and I write emails when I can’t.

Cancer Victim: I’d been friends off and on with her from the age of 11. At 23, after she’d been dating You for six months, I realized I couldn’t be the friend she wanted me to be. She wanted me to tell her what she wanted to hear, not what she needed to hear. Also, I couldn’t handle the stress of her hating that I was friends with You, even though I introduced him. Things are very forced between us. I’m pretty indifferent to her, but as far as I can tell, she still dislikes me immensely. Not a huge loss. But it does make being friends with You very difficult. But we both knew that when I made this decision.

Dustin: My ex-boyfriend. Spent five years with him, broke up when I left for Chico State. Often referred to these days as the ex. Not much to say about him here because I’ve written about him a lot on the blog.

Newspaper: The son of both You and Cancer Victim. He’s very cute and bright. And shares a name with a newspaper.

Fat-boy: The super ex-boyfriend. We dated for two years, right out of high school. I’d try to break up with him on Fridays, be back together by Sunday. He enjoyed playing Everquest far more than he enjoyed hanging out with me. I was just too lonely to be able to leave him when I should have. Made the mistake of trying to be friends with him after we broke up. That didn’t work out well.

Mr. Pokemon: Dustin’s son. He loves pokemon.