Jessica and I had a really important conversation today about changing our middle names.

It seems she hates hers and wants to change it, based on the theory that hers is, in her opinion, a boring and standard middle name. I guess mine is, too -- it's Ann, no "e," which riled me to no end as a youth and which led me to beg my mother to let me change it so that I might have the prettier, more graceful-looking "Anne." Mom blinked. "I'm going to start signing my name 'Heather Anne, so it might be better if we do change it," I advised her. "Um, right," she said, then ignored my every plea for a follow-up. Ergo, I remain that which Anne Shirley so feared and reviled: plain old Ann, with no "e."

Come to think of it, her history with answering to my name issues is shockingly poor. That time I begged her to speak to the family about referring to me only as Stephanie? Yeah, there was no activity from her on that. She didn't pick up "Stacy" or "Michelle" either, and so I think "Noelle" was out of the question and I didn't even bother. I knew there was no point. So jaded. So young.

Enough people call me by my initials, which spell a word of sorts, that I couldn't deviate from the "A" name. Mary Beth and Kevin haven't ever referred to me as "Heather," except for once at their wedding, and I accidentally ignored them because I'd never heard that word come out of his mouth before and I didn't recognize it as relating to me. Throughout college one or the other would introduce me to people with my initial-nickname, and those people would later politely whisper, "What kind of a name is that?"

So, "A" names. Amanda is funny, because of my naughty last name. For the same reason, so is Arantxa, pronounced "A-raunch-a." Or, Jessica's suggestion works: "A Mouthful Of."

Heather Alphahydroxy. If I like the "Ann" sound, I could be "Heather Aneurysm." Or I could sell sponsorships and be "American Airlines." Jessica preferred "Heather Antidisestablishmentarianism," in honor of the longest word in Webster's.

So, with all her really good ideas for my new middle name -- when indeed I decide that I have to stop living this "Ann" lie and realize my dream of living as "Heather Auto-Erotic-Asphyxiation" -- I decided to make some equally useful suggestions for her. Because I am a really good friend. So good. Good.

HEATHER:
Jessica Xanadu Morgan You can market yourself as a Pleasure Dome. A stately Pleasure Dome, no less.

JESSICA:
How do I feel about being named after an Olivia Newton-John vehicle involving roller skates and Gene Kelly, though?

HEATHER:
You say that like it's a bad thing. But we can change it. Oh, I know! You need to be J.E.M. That way, you can run into rooms with punky pink hair, pointing at the heavens and sing-screaming, "JEM IS MY NAME!" At which point we all jump off the couch and strike a pose with spirit fingers and whisper, "Jem!"

JESSICA:
Ohhhh, Jem. Well played, old man. Well played.

HEATHER:
Thanks, old chap.

JESSICA:
Jessica Erotic Morgan.

HEATHER & JESSICA:
Jessica Erotic M-Organ!

JESSICA:
Great minds!

HEATHER:
We are the same. And you once thought you didn't have a dirty last name. Poor, innocent M-Organ.

JESSICA:
We remain, as ever, twelve.

HEATHER:
Jessica Electric M-Organ.

JESSICA:
Jessica Ergonomic M-Organ.

HEATHER:
Jessica Elastic M-Organ.

JESSICA:
Jessica Erect M-Organ.

HEATHER:
Jessica Engorged M-Organ.

JESSICA:
Welcome to Wacky Wordplay, with Jessica and Heather.

HEATHER:
"Whack"y. Because of the "organ" jokes.

JESSICA:
Yes.

HEATHER:
Because "whack" means "to rub one's penis until such time as it explodes with semen," if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

JESSICA:
Remember that time we were choosing my middle name and you made that masturbation joke?

HEATHER:
Vaguely.

JESSICA:
We were so young then.

HEATHER:
So na�ve.

JESSICA:
But so beautiful.

HEATHER:
Captains of The Good Ship Hot Mama.

There was a headline today on the AP that made me giggle so hard. It read, "McCartney Calls For Ban On Cluster Bombs." The lede helpfully explained that this is because such bombs are actually harmful to civilians.

As if there's this horrible misinformation campaign being waged to delude us into thinking bombs are "da bomb," rather than deadly.

Okay, the article was actually fine -- he's involved with anti-land mine campaigns as it relates to children, who might see a cluster bomb and think it's a toy or something and then pick it up and turn Red Rover into a game of Red Rum. His arguments made sense. But the headline� It just felt so much like, "Hey, look, General Franks, bombs are bad. And I wrote 'The Man,' my duet with Michael Jackson, so I should know," to which the good General would delightedly reply, "Dude, 'All You Need Is Love' fucking rules, so sure, I'll do whatever you want, Beatle man," and pass him a fresh bowl.

Uncharitable of me, I know. I applaud him for his work; it was just a case where the content of the article was interesting but the headline bordered on the nonsensical -- like Paul McCartney is somehow trying to involve himself in the Iraq battle plan, when really he's just like, "Hey, I like kids, and you like kids, and so if you're going to use bombs, make them large and scary so that they don't look like Fisher Price's 'My First Explosive Device.'"

I don�t know. The whole thing gave me the giggles. Please don't hold it against me. It might have been the cinnamon-sugar on my graham crackers. I don't think bombings are funny. Sugar, though, makes things funn� know what, I'm going to stop.

Someone got here by searching for: "superficial fling" and "stain pants creative" -- wonder if they were in any way related Watching: Rudy last night, while on the phone with my friend Liz for three hours Three hours? She lives six blocks away. Yeah, well, there's something in my apartment called a "couch," and it's a very powerful thing.


Obligatory link to the site host.