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Bob
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I have always had this little identity crisis thing going for me. Like the fact that I had in my ICQ info that I have a dick that is so big it needs it's own apartment. I know who I am most of the time. Sometimes I need to be reminded though. Like just the other day, someone asked me if they could call me Elizabeth, because they liked that name better. I truly don't mind, nor do I care what people call me. As I wrote to him; I don't hate the name "Elizabeth," I just can't stand to say it myself. And when my brother says it, I can't stand the way it sounds. He can call me nothing but "Sissy." I am happy when I am "Beth" and unhappy while being "Elizabeth." But I don't care really. My grandmother will get upset when I call myself or someone else would call me "Beth" because that's not my name. So to her, I am still refered to as "Elizabeth." My grandfather called me "Betsy," and for the longest time, that bugged the hell out of me. Then I was informed that he couldn't say my name because he didn't have teeth, so I was okay with it after all. *smiles* When writing to my friends, I would always refer to myself as "me" or "George." At least until I met an actual "George" that I didn't care for. My mother named her new kitten "George." She is a cute little beast. I know it's time to go visit home when all my scars have healed. And they have. So look out George, 'cause here I come! My roommate's parents wanted to nickname me "Bob" so that his grandmother wouldn't find out that he was living with a girl. All my P.E. teachers seemed to have this thing about calling me "Liz" in high school. Bugged the shit out of me. Not that I hate being called Liz, I just hated my P.E. teachers!
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