The Trouble With Secret Identities? Names Names Names.

Coming up with Secret Identity Names for my friends on this blog is harder than you would think, and it requires some nimble footing. I’ve been trying to rename my girlfriends. The first idea was to ask folks on Twitter. They had lots of suggestions including: Limber Lucy, Cornelia, Gertrude, and Sasparilla. Honestly. That sounds like a naked version of the Golden Girls! No. No! I can’t do that to my friends. My girlfriends are smart and sophisticated and sexy, and if they’re limber, I don’t want to know about it.

I’ve dubbed one friend Katie and my sister Suki. The rest shall be named as needed.

Of course, when I dated Biff, I came up with that name. Biff Turlington. Odd, that choice, as he ended up having certain similarities to the character in “Death of a Salesman”.

Now I’ve been trying to think about how I should refer to this new person I’m dating. I don’t mean to play the pronoun game. I’m not dating a woman. I’m dating a man. A manly man whom I wanted to call Manny. He tweeted me and said, “Have you seen "Modern Family"? Manny is a pudgy, Metrosexual Columbian boy!” Oh. See? Naming people is hard. I lucked out with my kiddos and only had two names in mind. But naming adults? Sheesh.

I told the not-named-Manny that I’d come up with another name. A name that bespoke of his masculine sensitivity. A name that conjured up feelings of a…teddy bear, only with more sex appeal. (Side note: I got in trouble when I was seven for humping my Care Bear. My parents asked why I’d do such a thing. I looked at them like they were crazy and said “Uh…because it feels good.”)

I thought of the perfect name. Petunia! What’s more masculine than that?

Hmm. Probably everything.

Over breakfast this morning I asked him again. “So, what if you started wiggling into my blog. Would that be okay?” I’d asked him when his mouth was full thinking then he could only nod. Instead, he waited until he’d finished chewing and said, “Call me the Big Kahuna.”

I said, “No.”

“Why? Why won’t you call me the Big Kahuna?”

Really? Did I need to explain it? Call a man anything “big” and it has penis-size connotations. It just does. And usually when you call a guy “big” you actually mean he’s tiny, and tiny guys get called “big”. Irony for the masses I guess.

I came home and did some research. I wanted to call him something Hawaiian island-y. It just feels right. So I found a Hawaiian baby-naming site and found some great names. “Alemana” means great man, but that sorta reminds me of the Muppet song “manamana”. And if I’m kissing a man, I don’t really want to envision Muppets.

That’s not entirely true. Some Muppets are hot. Wait. What am I saying? Oh God! I think I have a secret attraction to stuffed animals. OH GOD NOOOOOO!

Breathing.

Okay.

“Hannaaloha” means “Love Magic” but that sounds like some kind of sensual oil. I liked “Haumakapu'u” but there are two problems with it. 1) It means “Lord with the Bulging Eyes” and that’s just freaky. And 2) If I’m ever in the throes of passion with this man (possibility in the future) I just think shouting out “Oh, Haumakapu’u” would take an awful lot of focus.

No. I’ll just keep it simple. I’ll call him “Kealoha”. I’ll tell you later what it means.