Should’ve Called Him Whiskey

Not many people know this about me (and if you do, you’ve probably heard me sing and for that, I most sincerely apologize right now), but I’m a sucker for country music.  Give me the twangs of the 90s or the modern country-with-a-rap-twist that you hear on the radio, I like it all.  My appearance wouldn’t suggest it, but I know the words to almost any song you can pull up on shuffle.  I was listening to Pandora today and Jana Kremer came up singing “Should’ve Called Him Whiskey.”  It’s a typical country break-up song — you know the kind, he left me and I guess I’ll have to drink my sorrows away and I hate seeing his truck in town sort of deal.  It’s a good song, not unique in any way, but good enough to make me sing along and maybe dance to if I’m feel rather adventurous.

What struck me most about it was the fact that the singer realizes that her ex-lover came by a different name.  The whole song is about finding his name based on the characteristics that he demonstrates and the reaction that she has towards him.  With the burn and the sting and the high and the heat and the left-me-wanting-more feeling, it dawns upon her that the Joe Schmoe who left her was really something else entirely.  He was her whiskey.

This concept intrigues me.  If I was only defined by how I acted and the impression that other people had of me, what would my “name” be?  I give off so many impressions (not all of them accurate).  At home, I’m the big older sister who can cook dinner and be homework help at the same time, who braids hair Sunday night before school, who pitches at the neighborhood whiffleball game.  What kind of name do these actions inspire?  At church, I’m the Bible quizzer who can rattle off Bible trivia off like it’s her job, the one who adjusts the knobs in the sound booth for the worship band and is always first to sign up for community projects.  What name would result from those characteristics?  At college, I’m the quiet one who might open her mouth sometimes if she thinks the words that come out are smart enough to say and won’t reap too much judgment, the one who really loves late-night sushi runs and blooming tea at the local Japanese place downtown, the one who falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.  How do these inclinations affect the name that people give me?

Who am I?  Well, my last post would imply that this blog is one path of discovery — to be honest, that’s the nice way of saying that I have no idea.  Who am I in the eyes of the people that I interact with?  Well, this post would insinuate that this blog is also attempting to lift the veil of that mystery — and that is the polite way of saying that I’m just as clueless on this point as I am on the first.

If you ever figure out my name, let me know.  I only have one request: please don’t call me whiskey.


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