Question of the day-

Outside of your place of employment, does anyone ever address you by your actual name?

I lost my name somewhere.

I’m trying to figure out the last time I heard my first name spoken aloud, and I think it was a nurse coming to a waiting room to collect me for an appointment.

At home I’m “Mommy” or “Honey,” but I’m never Julie. Even my mother calls me Honey on the phone. Coyote calls me “Summerkins,” and my old roommate calls me “Choke.”

It seems like more and more people that I encounter over my life begin referring to me simply as some form of “Jules.”

That used to go right up my nose. I was named after my father, and people insisted upon calling him Jules. I suppose that’s not as bad as when his nieces and nephews called him Uncle Junior, but his name was Julian, he was called Jule, and it bugged the ever living shit out of my mother to hear people call him Jules.

They named me Julie Ann instead of Julianne because they figured it would get shortened to Julie anyway. When people began calling me Jules I thought my mother would become a basket case. Out of allegiance to her I despised Jules. I also hated it because one of my cousins (of the Uncle Junior sect) called me Jules constantly, and to be polite she’s not one of my favorite people. I heard someone say Jules, and I would twitch. Over the years it’s trickled into conversations with people, and rather than correct them I just let it go. It’s not that big a deal, right? It’s just a name.

So one day in 2003 I was getting ready for bed, and my ManCat peed on the dog bed right in front of me. Having been his mom for 12 years, I ran him to the emergency vet and sat for hours. Eventually the vet came out and told me his blood sugar was in the 580 range, which is capital B bad, and that they had given him insulin and I could pick him up in the morning (bear with me, this story has a point).

I did what any normal 21st Century person would do, and in tears I googled “Feline Diabetes.” I was led to a fabulous message board with all sorts of support. Through that message board I met a fantastic group of women that I know for a fact will have my back In Case of Zombies. That cat passed away four years ago next month, but I still have those friends.

They call me Jooles.

For some reason it never bothered me. I actually liked it. Several of these ladies attended my wedding, because I invited them, and that’s how they roll. On my wedding day one of them referred to me as Jooles, and my mother had a conniption. “Her name. Is JULIE.”

The littlest one, the cutest and most fierce one, the one I would NEVER want to fuck with, raised herself up straight and said, “We call her Jooles. J-O-O-L-E-S.”

My mom backed down, and I smiled.

I’ve been out of the cat lady loop for several months, and the other night I got online to update these women about what’s going on around here. It was “Jooles this” and “Jooles that” all over the place, and I realized how much I had missed it.

Jooles is different. Jooles isn’t a standard shortening of my name for the sake of convenience. Jooles was created out of love like all good nicknames should be.

So as I approach my fifth decade on the world I have an announcement. I answer to seven names right now. I will respond to Julie, Mommy, Honey, Baby, Choke, Summerkins, and Jooles. The only one most of you get to call me is Julie. The rest are reserved. If you’d like to call me something else be creative. I’ll even answer to, “Hey, ass!” if I’m in a good enough mood.

I’m taking Jules off the table though. It’s no longer an option.

I’ll answer to it if it’s uttered by someone who doesn’t read this here bloggery, but everyone else, nuh-uh.

You could stick with Julie. Although I haven’t heard it regularly in so long it might take me a moment to answer.