“I need to think up a nickname.” I said from the kitchen, directed to Mike, my eligible roommate, sitting on the Super-squishy-elle-shaped sofa of love. Mike cocked his head. “I mean when I blog. I’m sure I’ll be referring to The most beautiful boy ever more often… if all goes well.” Sitting at the bar, the most beautiful boy ever raised his head from his MacBook. He gazed over at me. “I have a name…” I then had to explain my blogging history. How “Fuzzy” my Ex was called Fuzzy for blogging purposes. How the names get changed to protect the innocent. The most beautiful boy ever, continued to look blankly at me over his glasses. “What did you nickname the apparently long string of twenty-two year olds that came before me?” Mike, my eligible roommate, laughed from the couch.
I can tell when people have not read my blog entries. I usually prefer this; when people have not read my past blog posts. Nothing is worse than when I’m half-way through an exciting story in regard to the life and times of StevieB, when they correct me on a detail as they remember it from my on-line diary. They most likely are correct, as my memory distorts as my dramatic retelling gets… dramatic. Other times it is comforting. I don’t need to tell Patrick how ten grade was for me, he already knows. He read the transcript.
But, for the long string of twenty year olds, I honestly couldn’t tell, nor remember, if he read about them, along with nicknames, in my blog. I honestly don’t remember blogging about them… other than the Olympic Swimmer. The Lebanese wrestler, whom I was afraid to talk too… The Amazing Mexican. Oh, God.. The Ginger… Mike, my eligible roommate, noticed how I began to drift off in a haze of ex nicknames. He snapped me back, just in time for me to lock eyes with my most beautiful boy ever. Head turned a slight to the left pondering his choice in me. “You could call him The Indian?” Mike blurted. “That’s raciest” I snapped. I guess your nickname for the blog will have to be, The Most Beautiful Boy Ever. TMBBE?