If any of you had any form of a decent upbringing, not only do you speak fluent movie quotes like I do, but you’ll know the movie the title of my blog came from. In knowing that, you win nothing! Just pride in useless knowledge, much like I carry in my noggin every day.
So, today’s Writing Prompt:
Write about your first name: Are you named after someone or something? Are there any stories or associations attached to it? If you had the choice, would you rename yourself?
My first name is Shanna; pronounced Sh-Ann-Ah. Rhymes with Banana. Really. It can’t be simplified much more. I mean, I’m sure it could. But, I’m not going to. I’m lazy.
Now, when you look at it, it looks simple enough. Unfortunately, I rarely hear people pronounce it right, straight out the gates. Even after I say it for them slow and easy for them on a sliver platter. It frustrating to hear such a beautiful name butchered in the mouths of the ignorant.
I hear everything from Shawna. Shayna. Shannon. Shauna. Sheena. Shane. Shari. Anna. Hannah. Ann. Seriously, the list is unending. It is everything but my own name. It is the one thing that really grates my nerves. If you can’t take the time to learn my name, I’m not going to take the time to treat you with respect. Mind you, it’s one thing to try to get my name right, and fail. I get that. It’s another to just not give a shit. I have family who still don’t know my name. I’m 32 years old. Fuck them.
The origins of my name have been debated as long as I can remember. I’m as hot-blooded Irish as they come. My name is the same. The origins, though technically English (but who likes them anyway?), state that my name means: direct, frank and headstrong; they are authoritarian and bossy characters who like to be in charge. I doubt my mother and father took any of that into consideration when it came to naming me; if they did, they sure hit the nail on the head with that one! Actually, the only thing they took into consideration was that they were hoping I was going to be a boy. I was a disappointment straight from birth.
Now, this is where it gets a little tricky. My mom wanted a Shaun Patrick. Obviously I’m not a boy. So, she was dealt a Shanna Elizabeth on March 17, 1981. Yes, an Irish girl (no, I’m not a creepy little Ginger) born on the holiest of holy days to you primitive alcoholics: St. Patrick’s Day. She had read this saucy little book written in 1977 by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss titled “Shanna” – and we argue that’s where I got my name, and by creative osmosis, my saucy personality. Mom swears she knew of my name from before that book. I make my claim to fame thanks to the book. Because who doesn’t like to be creepy and say they came from a romance novel, a cheap wine cooler, and two horny parents? Hey, I could have been swallowed. Instead, I was the fastest sperm in the wad.
All joking aside, I love my name. It’s different. It’s unique. It is me. I love how my Dad combines my first and middle names to call me Shaliz. It’s that kind of thing that makes my name mine. There’s so many names in the world that are duplicated over and over and I don’t have that. The rarity of my name is what I like about it. I would never change it. It is who I am. My signature; my identity!
I’m not saying my name is the greatest. There haven’t been any hurricanes named after me, but I have to admit if there were it would be one hell of a storm. Chaotic, fierce, and slightly drunk.
Though, what I am saying is that I love my name. I don’t blend in with everyone else when it comes to names. No, quite the opposite. In the end, that’s what really matters to me. I am that chick with that really weird name that no one can ever seem to get right. I am Shanna!
Oh hell. Just call me Bunny.