I presently call my new home “Rathole Cottage” or “Cockroach Cottage,” depending on daily beastie sighting frequency. When I fix it up, it’ll be “Von Trapp Mansion.”
I call my grandmother’s chaise “The Brown Beast.”
I call my landlord “Pothead.” (Not original, I know.)
His children are “Zeke & Deke.”
What nicknames do the rest of you give to the various entities in your lives? Share them with us! The names could be good or bad, people or things, johnson or hoo-hah, whatever.
“The Purple Giant” is already in use. Don’t ask.
Actually, I’m kind of kicking myself for never going to The Scary Gyro Place before it closed down. Again. This time for good, I think.
My little sister drives “The Green Hornet”
My big sister drives “The Silver Bullet”
We call my brother “Skippy” (Yeah, he loves THAT at 30)
We used to call Soupo “The Boy” before he got a brother. Now we use names.
The Little Woman has been known to (lovingly) call me “Idiot”.
Here’s an evolution of nickname for your collection:
When I brought my son home from the hospital, he could not lay still when held. He was constantly squirming around. Hence, he earned the nickname “Squirmy the Wormy.”
Which I bastardized into “Skirmy the Wormy.”
Which I shortened to “Skirmie.”
And I now call him “Skirm.”
Most recently I’ve taken to referring to him in the third person: “Is The Skirm ready for school?”
The evolution took more than seven years.
In college, most of the people in my major (Computer Science) had nicknames. Most didn’t know their own, since they were usually not flattering and not used to one’s face. Here’s a sample:
Fatty Longhair - self explanatory
The Gamesmaster - guy who was always reading roleplaying game manuals during class
YFD - Yan F**king David - guy who was good, but a complete suckup and ass.
Nakedguy - not really naked, but came to class shirtless and sweaty once.
consequentlythereforebecause - Phil, I think, was his real name. He spoke really fast, but never actually said anything.
At work, we have a cabinet piled full of dead power supplies that we call the “tower of power”.
I have a friend nick-named “The Big Toe”. He drives a truck that we call “The Toe Truck”
I call my brother Brat boy… That’s the only nickname I really have for anyone…
My cat’s name is Willyum and I call him (along with most of the family) Dill. Wilyum > Will-a-dill > Dill. The other cat is Bernard, or Nard-o.
My little sister is Anna-ban (from Anna bananna)
My room is the pit.
My SO is Beautiful. (My mom thinks that’s disgusting. Its not used in a googly pet name way, I’ll call across the house for him with it. And he answers. And my mom rolls her eyes and sighs. Hehehe.)
My nickname, apparently, is “Hey Asshole!”
For a while my friends and I used to call everyone “The Guy” and every place “The Place”. Someone would say “I’m meeting the guy at the place at noon” which could mean “I’m meeting mom at the bank at noon” or “I’m meeting Lisa at the coffee shop at noon”. Oddly enough, we were hardly ever confused about this. Sadly, this is now out dated. No one says it anymore, and when I try to bring it back to life I get weird looks…
I also call my guy “Ball”. It sounds a lot cuter in Swedish though. And it works with so may prefixes, such as Sweet Ball, Dumb Ball, Sex Ball, Tired Ball…
Oh and possible TMI-warning! When my brother and I were still living at home I had the unpleasurable experience of going to the bathroom after my brother. It was nasty, I couldn’t even go in there and I asked him “What kind of ugly things have you been doing in there?” My mom heard me say it and damn near fell over laughing and now, “ugly things” is what my entire family calls taking a dump.
shaking Claudia, Bitchmonkey,
Names I only use when saied person is not present:
Turkish Bride (she married in Turky last year), **bulimic Claudia (there are just too many Claudias), the Brit, big momma
Places when I was little:
slap-hill (named after a fight I lost), devils-hill…
cow-green (that s in Cambridge. And if the cows are still alive I bet they are still “mooing” in the public green right in the middle of the city)
of course there is always fat 80s blob (my p.e. teacher)
I always refer to men with especially strange beer-bellies to “bowling belly men” cause it looks like they are hiding a bowling ball under their cloths.
And my grandma used to be legs-ache grannyto tell her apart from my other grandma. Now she is travel granny.
and of course I forgot one damn /b…grrr sorry
I tend to hand out nicknames. My old place of employment was a great place to do this.
The “smoking crew” that hung out by the east entrance consisted of: Slim Shaggy, aka Greasy Mike, Fucking Guy, Red Coat, Dan the Man, Doug A Butt, Ralph Notgonnaworkhere… aah the memories.
My first car: Desdemona. 1985 blue Olds Calais. We were reading Shakespeare when I got it. It was later dubbed “The Blue Blur”. My VW Golf I affectionately call “the VeeDub”.
I had an apartment on Elm Street once, so it was called Nightmare. People thought it was a nightclub when I’d say “I’ll meet you at nightmare.”
And then there’s me… I’ve been called Crash, Skippy, and, of course… Rasa.
I had a boss once (actually my boss’s boss) who couldn’t be bothered to remember the names of all the guys who worked under him. So he handed out nicknames just like ringing a bell. The only problems were these:
(1) He only had 2 nicknames that he alternated between: Chainsaw and Rambo.
(2) He also couldn’t be bothered to remember who he had been calling “Chainsaw” and who he had been calling “Rambo.” Consequently, you might get into a situation where you were standing right beside him and realize two or three sentences into what he was saying to you that he was talking to you:
Ray: Chainsaw, I want you to drive down to the supply house and get us some stuff. We need 4 pairs of gloves, 50 sawzall blades, and one of those big Gatorade coolers. After that, Rambo, I need you to –
Me: You talkin’ to me?
This all reminds me of the great Bill Cosby line: “One day I’m out playing in the rain, and my dad yells, ‘Dammit, will you get inside!’ And I said, ‘But, Dad, I’m Jesus Christ!’”
My father has a penchant for weird nicknames and I have sadly picked up the gene.
Dad’s nicknames: my older sister Andrea; Drediel, your idiot sister, the madam
for my younger sister Janet; worm face thing, Ratzo Rizzo,
little EP, Baby Jan and your other idiot sister.
for me; breadbasket, Sharnon, Kuklapoliton Christmas Celebration. (don’t ask)
He has dubbed my grandparent’s home in Palm Springs
The Winter Palace. My grandparent’s are the old people so I get messages like this on my voice mail: “The old people are firmly ensconced in the Winter Palace. Give 'em a call but make sure you have enough time to let the phone ring for a good 15 minutes so they can hear it.”
He met his best friend in 1st grade (he is now 64) in the bad boys corner. One October evening when I was about 4 (about 30 years ago) Allan (dad’s friend) called and I raced to answer the phone. This is what my dad heard.
me: hello. Yes. No. Yes. Uh huh, uh huh, yes, ok hold on.
Then I held the phone out to my dad and said, ‘Here, its Uncle Allen’
What my dad did not hear
UA: Hello! Is this Sharon
UA: This is the Great Pumpkin (the charlie brown special had been on the night before) Did you watch me on TV last night?
UA: Do you know who the Great Pumpkin is? He come around every Halloween and bring candy to all the good little children in the pumpking patch. Have you been good?
UA: Did you go trick’er treating?
me: uh huh
UA: Would you like me to bring you some more candy?
me: uh huh
UA: OK. Sharon can I talk to your Daddy
me: yes. ok hold on
Dad took the phone and he could hear my uncle swearing under his breath. When Dad got the whole story, he fell on the floor laughing that Allen had been bested by a four year old. From then on, Uncle Allen became the Great Pumpkin. EVERYONE calls him that. He has a million little pumpkin things. There is alway a pumpkin on his birthday cake and his wife Maxine is known as Mrs. Pumpkin.
I didn’t find out how he got the name until last year. Go figure.
Hmmm, I used to call TD “my petite flower” or “delicate penguin” but now I just call him “mic mac paddy-whack, give the mom a bone”
The kids are “little man” or “tiny rainman”(boy) and “lumpy” or “meatball”(girl). Maybe I should go back to my original thought and call em Rocky and Bullwinkle. (TD still calls em “icky and sticky” on occasion)
I’m just “the picture of grace you kids call mom” or geek, the latter from a six year-old.
The last car we had, which I loathed, I named “the party sedan”.
I have a brother that I for a time (still occaisionally) call Doffy. Josh -> Joshy -> Joffy -> Doffy. It never actually evolved as such, I just made the leap along that path in one bound (I often deliberately and grossly distort things I’m saying, a habit that I appear to have inherited off my mother, so it’s not so strange, that’s just one that stuck for a bit).
Two of the larger chain supermarkets where I live are Winn Dixie and Publix. These are called “Winn DickMe” and “Pube Licks”.
In HS, we’d all play softball on Saturdays, and afterwards we’d try and buy beer at the Deli nearby. The guy would never sell it to us, since we weren’t 18 yet. So we dubbed the place “Cocksucker’s Deli”.
My car, which has carried me to hundreds of concerts, is “The Dead Sled”.
My older dog is “Grumpy”, and my sister-in-law is “Dopey”. 2 down, five more dwarves to go.
My neighbor is “Mr. Neat Freak”.
At work, my cube is in the basement of an old restored building. We call the basement “Bedrock” or “Satan’s Fungus Mine”.
Some of my co-workers: Burger Boy, Stick Boy, Lard Ass, Lurch, Sprockets, Invisi-Bill, Randy Roids, Whiffy, The Chimney, The Shitter, and The Furniture Nazi.
In the hotel where I work, there’s an overweight exotic dancer (strange, but true) who comes in and out occaisionally.
We call her Mama Jiggles.
When the gas station down the street started selling booze (not just beer, but also large selection of wines and hard liquor), Mr. Legend and I started calling it “The Drink ‘n’ Drive.”