Oh - you part Cherokee too, huh?

I really don’t have many readers. I’ve tried to peruse the blogs of various LGBT bloggers and have commented there, but I think my blog has freaked them out. They’ve visited, commented once or twice and then disappeared. I think I use the word ‘nigga’ too damn much for them. But, it’s really quite like me to be in this ethereal class all of my own, where I’m Puerto Rican but don’t associate much with Puerto Ricans because I’m Black by Injection, where I’m gay but don’t associate with too many other gays because I don’t whip out rainbow scarf each Fall, where I’m from the projects but now own a home in surburbia. Whatever – so here I am a gay, Puerto Rican blogger with mainly Black, straight readers. I love me – I love ya’ – I love US.

And so as appreciation to my readers, I’ve decided to assign each of you your very own Native American Indian names. Why? Because it’s ME and I’m NOT native American and if you didn’t read the last paragraph to understand what the hell I’m doing here, then I don’t even know what to tell you. Besides, it’s funny – and you know how much I like a good laugh. At the very least, I hope I make you smile. I will start with the one, the ONLY, Jadednyer

JADEDNYER: Side-eye lioness

You know I love the shit out you, right? This name is so befitting on many levels and for many reasons, chief among them being that you are the Queen Bee of the side-eye. Honey, you OWN the side eye. In fact, from now on and unto forever, no one else is allowed to give the side eye. Only you.

Stealthily navigating the brush of life, poised like the backbone of the proverbial king of the forest should be and ready to pounce on any mother fucker that wanna play stupid with your babies … lioness fits you well. That and because I originally wanted to call you Rabid Rabbit, but was afraid to list here the reasons why. *besos*

IRENE: Scattered Fox

I can’t believe I’ve know you for *cough*fifteen*cough* years. You’re like the most stubborn case of scabies I’ve ever known – I just can’t seem to shake your ass. Everywhere I turn, there’s IRENE. And we weren’t even close friends in high school – but somehow, your hyper ass turns up every-fucking-where. On myspace, on blogger, in my convos with the side-eye lioness … but you’ve never fit any mold. You ever seen a fox run with get-the-hell-out-of-dodge intent? That’s Irene – always there, yet always gone too.

SuperDaveVanBuren: Napping Clydesdale

I have no idea who you are – so my perception may not exactly be precise. But you know how horses are always in a stable, bridled and tamed? That’s not the kind I’m referring to – your name connotes the wild kind. And the thing about wild horses is that we’re so socially programmed to assume that horses are cute, tame, polite animal that shit in convenient leather satchels that we don’t realize that they will fuck some shit up in about zero point three seconds. And I get the impression that you’re the same way. Nice, calm, unassuming, approachable … but if someone presses the right buttons, you can shift all of your weight to your front quarters and kick the life out some mother fucker. That’s my explanation, but the reality is that I want you to keep commenting on my blog and it never hurts to call a man a horse.

Don: Deep Canyon

You don’t comment on my blog. I don’t know why. But I know that you visit and I know that you read my incessant ramblings. I’ve been at your place, and from what I gather, this name is befitting. There’s nothing you do shallowly. You don’t think shallow, you don’t feel shallow, you don’t speak shallow and you don’t express yourself shallow. Like the expanse of a deep, deep river – you flow smoothly, gently … quietly possessing enough energy to drown entire cities. That’s you – and if you don’t start commenting on my blog, I’m changing your name to Lost Compass … and we both know that name could go a LONG way.

Mrs. MR: Wise Owl

You strike me as sensible, mature and well put together. I love how you blog about your husband and tout your relationship as being just divine. It seems you figured it out right and I bet tons of folk flock to you in search of advice.

Kieya: Jumping Bunny

Cute, cuddly and hyper as hell. Don’t know you very well, but that’s the impression I get. For some strange reason, there’re tons of wild rabbits in Indianapolis. They’ll hop around the lawns in search of food and no one ever really knows where they nest. You see them only when they want to be seen, but only then as a blur as they whisk away into the day with whatever prize they’ve found to bring home to the babies. All the while, just cute as hell – you don’t even notice that they’re just as dusty and wild as that squirrel that just climbed up the tree with it’s bushy tail. Somehow, the rodents are nasty – but the bunnies are just so adorable.

Clnmike: Patchwork Quilt

Almost an anomaly, but not quite, you seem to be made up of many differing components. What stands out the most to me is your being a straight black male, with swagger I suspect, and being so uncharacteristically open-minded about the right of others to be not so straight or not to possess nearly as much swagger. You have a patch for caring too much and on the other corner of this tapestry you have a patch for not giving a fuck. You simultaneously love and hate, I suspect – love life, but hate the injustices … love your siblings, but can’t stand how they are … love yourself, but get frustrated with yourself too. Either JACK is astute and right on target, or I’m a complete Quack and need to instead call you Loaded Canon because you about to put me on blast. (But be careful, “Loaded Canon” has many connotations and I might be just fine with it)

F$%K IT: Mighty Willow

The thing about willow trees is that they grow so fucking big, reaching almost limitlessly into the sky … yet they touch the ground too. You’re smart as hell, can see pretty far ahead, but you’re also well grounded. Someone can drive a truck right into you and you’re unscathed … and someone can take a small pair of scissors and make you feel like you need to stretch to touch the floor. But don’t tell anyone – there’s a rough, barky exterior to you to camouflage your weaknesses. I mean, not that you have any – cuz you don’t. SMH. Nope.

So, there we have it – if I missed you, it’s because I’m tired of trying to be creative and I’ll get you next time. And if you do have a name above, you’ve probably noticed that I am working on making my blog interactive beyond your ability to comment. It’s your turn. What’s MY Indian name? hmmmmmm?

*waits, tapping finger on table with eyebrows furled*