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Posts Tagged ‘dial-up’

My boyfriend calls me Bones.

I call her Jim.

(…and frequently I find I must inform her that I am not certain pertinent things, and am in fact something very specific. Her tag here is dammit jim; mine, when I talking about myself, is is dr. bones.)

(And yes. All the tags do start with D.)

He calls me Bones after – who else – Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy, who he has a special spot in his heart for. I call him Jim for James Tiberius Kirk. This all started when I mentioned a family tendency towards drinking gin&tonics and mint juleps (but only on Derby Day), and he began yelping about how I was totally Bones. I was a combination of delighted and utterly horrified – one of the many hilarious text messages I recieved on this theme reads:

I MEAN YES I LIKE GIVING YOU NECKRUBS

BUT JESUS CHRIST

YOUR SHOULDERS FEEL LIKE PART OF THE SHIP, BONES

TAKE A DAY OFF

The only recourse I had was to give in and call her Jim.

The nickname works on two levels for me – the obvious jaded-grumpy-charming-doctor level, and the I-collect-bones level. (I have a badger skull, horse teeth, an unidentifiable rodent skull, some mystery leg bones, a unknown vertebrae, a rabbit skin, a fox tail, an Australian possum tail, and some feathers.) (Jim thinks this is weird, but he totally collects them too.)

Jim is genderqueer, and I’m just plain queer. I consider her to be something between girlfriend and boyfriend; I use the former with my parents, and the latter with my friends. I switch pronouns regularly and call her my Gentleman; he calls me his Lady, although admittedly somewhat less often and perhaps without the capital letter. And yes, for those of you wondering, I’m a girl – and for those of you who are nosy, Jim is not a girl. Or a boy. Not precisely. Not right now.

…Jim’s just Jim. And I’m just Bones. Nice to meet you.

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