Names. Everybody has one. What's yours?

Your Expression Number is 9

An idealist and humanitarian, you strive to make the world a better place. You do your best when you follow your feelings and sense of compassion. Deep down, you dream of being loved by many. You are capable of much human understanding and have a lot to give to others. While you are very ambitious, you never lose site of perspective. You have an abundance of creative talents... you just need to tap into them. Although you are a giving person, you can become selfish if you are ignored. If you are not able to help people, you tend to shelf your talents. Without others, you become aloof and start to lack sensitivity.

What's Your Expression Number?

That's what my real name came up with when I tried the quiz. Interesting. Perhaps there's more to names than just the story behind them. Maybe.
BillT decided to leave the story of my name up to me to tell- both the real name, and the nickname. So... here you go.

"What's in a name"

My name is very odd. Odd names always have a story to tell. Here's mine.

My Dad grew up in the South, with some very oddly named relatives, like Garneta, Willadean, Monroe, Eunice, Jewelene, Galen, Harrol, Freda, Melinda Dawn and Dorthelea. Dorthelea is my Dad's older sister, and Melinda Dawn is her daughter. When Dorthelea was young, no one could pronounce her name, so she started going by her initials, DB. Eventually, she settled on the spelling of Dbie. The year before I was born, Dorthelea and her baby, Melinda Dawn, were in a car accident, and they were both killed. Dad decided to name his first daughter after his sister- but instead of giving me her formal name, he gave me her nickname.

Melinda Dawn was 18 months old when the accident occurred. It also happened to be Christmas Eve. Being named after someone who died a violent death is so strange. I used to have this incredible fear that I would be killed in a car accident with my 18 month old baby, just like she was. Of course, it never happened. My Mom was afraid that I would die when I was 18 months old. Again- never happened.

Isn't it weird what kind of thoughts about your life and death enter your mind when you have a story attached to your name?

And now.... for the nickname of Were-Kitten.
This one is all BillT. Blame him- or thank him, lol.

A couple of years ago, a stray kitten showed up on our doorstep. It was badly malnourished and starved for attention as well. It was a little calico manx (no tail), and sooo precious. He stayed in our garage for about a month and then disappeared. Some kids who saw our sign said his name was Salsa, so we were hoping that Salsa had made his way home again.

Every couple of months, he'd make his way back to our house for little visits. I don't think he ever made it home and has been roaming around the neighborhood since we first found him. Last winter, during a snow storm, Salsa showed up at the back door, frozen and wet. Pitiful. I opened the door, wrapped him in a towel, and sat down on the couch with him. Our other three cats were NOT happy, so I tried to keep them away from each other.

After about 45 minutes or so, Salsa was all warm and dry, and I was ready to put him back outside. Just then, Claire, our alpha kitty, jumped up on the couch and suddenly noticed Salsa. RRRRRAAAR!!!!!!! GROWWWWWWL! But no fight. Salsa was on edge though, and it was hard to settle him back down. When I thought he was settled, I picked him back up to put him out. That's when *it* happened. He bit me. Hard.

Needless to say, I let go. He started to run, so I grabbed him with my other hand. He bit me again. Hard. DAMN IT!!!! With Salsa's teeth still dug into my hand, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and took him outside. ARGGHHH!

Dumbass. I now had feral cat bites on both hands. Knowing how dangerous cat bites can be (puncture wounds that close up around the bacteria deep inside the wound), I scrubbed. I scrubbed, and scrubbed, and poured alcohol on the bites for an hour. The next day, my left hand (which had a deep bite in that meaty part of your hand below your thumb) was so swollen and sore I could hardly use it. My right hand (with bites on the first knuckle of my pinky) wasn't in much better shape.

I tried cleaning them, but had to go to the doctor several times for cleanings and antibiotics- he almost sent me to the hospital for IV drugs. UG....
When I told Bill why I had been so quiet on the computer (because it hurt to type), he dubbed me Were-Kitten, in honor of my feral cat bite and problems that ensued. Funny... but the Scruples appeared about the same time that Were-Kitten made her debut. I think they corrupted her.

Oh, and AFSister- that's an easy one. My brother's in the Air Force.


So... how did you get your name(s)?????