A few times in my life, I’ve heard my name spoken and felt like it didn’t belong to me. This is strange, considering my name could not be anyone else’s. Also considering the fact that I made it up myself when I was one year old.
My mother, in a hormonally compromised state, decided to name me Ashley when I was born. (She actually wanted to name me Taylor Ashley, but one of my uncles pointed out that my initials would be T&A…) So, I went home with the name Ashley Taylor Morales, and it stayed that way – for about a year. My mother had my name legally changed to Taylor Kathleen when I was one, and my grandmother expressed concern that she was not being given fair warning because she needed to embroider a new baby blanket. (And that my mother would inexplicably refer to me as Sally for the remainder of my life thus far.)
Now a days, when someone randomly calls me Taylor (either to annoy me or because they are old is always a toss-up), I am surprised when I turn around, considering I decided almost two decades ago that name wasn’t suited to me. Sometimes new friends will figure out my name is Taylor, and if they ask if they can call me that instead, I scrunch my nose with disgust and realize the relationship won’t last long.
As it turns out, identity crisis runs in the family. My great-grandmother was named Olive, but went by Bridget. My grandmother was sometimes Mary, sometimes Marye, sometimes Kathleen, sometimes Kathy, and sometimes Mary Kathleen. My grandfather is named Dudley, but went by William, and goes by Bill. Also, my mother was Brenda, now Brynn. My cousin also struggles with her name, as her last name is different than her mothers, and she has adopted a second middle name. This is excessive. I aim to stop the buck here, and give my child a decent name when that day comes.
But what about other people, more accepting of their given lot in life? I only feel comfortable in my skin when addressed by my proper name, yet I know I am one of the few people that ends up changing their name in their lifetime (the other few people just happen to be related to me, or “exotic dancers”.)
Taking a note from the exotic dancers, I realize names also have a big impact on attractiveness. After all, who wants to get a lap dance from Esther?
Take this scene for instance, in the movie When Harry Met Sally (one of my favorites).
Sally Albright: I'm not going to tell you that.
Harry Burns: Fine, don't tell me.
Sally Albright: Shel Gordon.
Harry Burns: Shel? Sheldon? No, no, you did not have great sex with Sheldon.
Sally Albright: I did too.
Harry Burns: No you didn't. A Sheldon can do your income taxes, if you need a root canal, Sheldon's your man... but humpin' and pumpin' is not Sheldon's strong suit. It's the name. 'Do it to me Sheldon, you're an animal Sheldon, ride me big Shel-don.' Doesn't work.
Is this true? Can someone with an unattractive name overcome their unfortunate circumstance, or are they ultimately unattractive? For instance, there is a girl with the name of an underwater cartoon character in one of my classes. What was this mother thinking, naming her child after the antagonist in The Little Mermaid? I could never take that name seriously.
Names that have been ruined are also a good example of something that simply cannot be overcome in a relationship. Anyone with your father’s, brother’s, or any ex’s name is just out of the question – especially if you are still seeking revenge on said ex.
Moral of the story *ahem, Gwyneth Paltrow* don’t name your children anything ridiculous in an attempt to be witty. Even some family names don’t cut it as heirlooms to pass down. Sorry, Grandpa Dud.
...came with the new house. I'm not sure why it's here. Maybe as a scarecrow for neighborhood dogs considering pooping on our lawn? Not so sure, but it scares me every time come home. Also, contrary to what you may believe, is made of styrofoam. It is being sold in the garage sale next weekend, thank god. 
