Now, I know my name is weird. “Angel? wow, really?”
And yes, it’s real. Why the hell would I make that up? I’m not a male vampire from the 90s wannabe…
And as much as having it for 21 *cough* more or less.. mostly more* years has rendered me a bit exasperated when people are shocked by it. I try to keep things in perspective. Like when I met that American girl called Moon in Thailand WOW! – i get excited over weird names and then I punch myself in the throat (Metaphorically. Last time I actually did that in public it took A LOT of convincing to make them take the straight-jacket off, again. For the third time) Plus; I do like the attention, I mean. Duh. And some people are pretty creative and witty about it.
I also capitalise on it, I love things with angel wings on them and will buy anything that has ‘angel’ written on it. I even have douche-plates on my car that say ‘Angel’. I like that I can go by my first name only – like ‘Madonna’… and that people get nervous coz they think i’m probably a stripper. (Probably? AM! … in my own bedroom *highfive*)
My mother. (God bless her hippy-soul) will tell you, staring dead in the eyes and not blinking (it’s pretty weird in it’self, to be honest)
That she ASTRAL-TRAVELLED into “Soulworld” and picked my soul, in a field of buttercups – at the end of a rainbow. (I think the straightjacket brigade needs to hunt my mother down. last time i saw her she was hunting snails with a butterfly net, somewhere east of Narnia). But this is the story – from the Angel-birther’s mouth: In the field of buttercups was a blue eyed soul. She asked this soul to come to earth to be her “Sunshine child” to spread Joy and Happiness…. my soul replied… and I quote: “Sure, I could do with a holiday.”
Thus: Angel-Blythe was born. (Like Gwynnies new baby, that every one mocked: Apple-Blythe.) Blythe is Scottish for Happy. Angel-Happy. Angel of Happiness. I’m just a ray of fucking sunshine. *cheesy grin*
This brings me back to last night. I met new people. Boy people. Boy people especially like my name. It’s an instant friggen pick-up line. Talk about an ‘in’ to a conversation. (Thanks mom, no complaints about my skanky behaviour. YOU asked for it). But these boy people were comedians. You expect a little more wit than the average:
“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? ”
“..and ARE you an angel?”
“Do you work at Teazers?”
“Where are your wings?”
or the oldest one: “Hi Angel, I’m Devil” – Which is what one of them said to me.
Cue awkward monosyllabic laugh. “Ha.” – then he had the audacity to stare at me, unblinking (I think he knows my mom’s technique) waiting for me to ‘catch’ his joke. Just incase I’m THAT dumb, he added little devil horns to his forehead with a ‘rock’ style gesture.
I wanted to import crickets, in a little box – just so I could open the box at that moment, so we could all hear them.
Yes, yes. I got it.
That is all.