Do I make you randy baby, do I?

By now, most of you realize that while Cruisin' Mom is quite a spiffy name, it's not my "real" name. My real name is Randi (although, this may not be my real name either, but for the sake of this post, let's just say it is).

Which brings me to the next question. What the hell were my parents thinking when they gave me this name?

It was 1955, and I guarantee you my parents hadn't a clue what the English version of randy (horny) meant. In fact, the story behind the acquisition of my name is really quite sweet and innocent.

My mother was dealt a first name that, while I can't reveal specifics, brought her years of teasing by her classmates. In junior high, she took it upon herself to reinvent her name, and may I say, that she did this in a most clever way. She crossed out a few letters, and the ones that remained, backwards, gave her a new name. Ingenious!

So when the time came to bestow a name on her long-awaited precious daughter, a lot of thought was poured into this decision. She did not want to see me suffer the slings and arrows of her childhood.

When my mother was a child, there was little girl living down the street whose name was, you guessed it...Randi. She never forgot the name. To her it was the antithesis of her name...it was cute and full of spunk.

She thought this would be the perfect name for her daughter...one that would never provoke teasing...one that would signify a spark and a sort of casualness. She would give me a more feminine middle name, which I could choose to use, had I not liked the first name.

How sweet...so much thought...so much care taken to make sure I would have a name that would not bring the hell she had encountered with hers.

As a little girl, I thought it would be cool to spell it RANDEE. I tried it for a week until I got it out of my system.

I had only met two other "Randi's" and one "Randy" as a young girl. I shared a classroom with "Randy". My only memory of "Randy", is when he ran up to me in the reading circle of 2nd grade and burped in my face. Ahhhh...the sex-play of early childhood.

I have since met only a handful of other female Randi's throughout my 50 years, so my name, to this day, remains quite unique.

Upon graduating from high school, I was forunate to do what many were doing in the '70's...the obligatory "trapsing" around Europe.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived in London. Everytime I introduced myself to a man, I received quite the look of admiration. They seemed to take a liking to me immediately. Being only 17, I just assumed that the men of England were finding me irresistable, cute, and spunky, just as my mother had hoped I would be.

Little did I know, that everytime I introduced myself, I was relaying my sexual urges. Everytime I shook someone's hand and revealed my name...I was letting them know I was ready and raring to go.

This nice, sweet, spunky girl had become a roaring tigress, with one plane ride.

To top things off, people were coming up to me in the street, asking if I had fags (cigarettes)...
Why on earth would I bring gay people to England with me?

By the time I was clued in, the damage was done. Thoughts of grandeur filled my head. At the tender age of 17, I thought I was a woman of the world. Afterall, I seemed to know how to bring a smile to the faces of men and women alike...all over the United Kingdom!

What power, what panache, what influence I seemed to have. Or so I thought. When I was finally brought to my senses upon learning the "English" meaning of my name, I was quite embarrassed. I couldn't flee the country fast enough.

What's in a name, you may ask?

Sometimes more than your "well-intentioned" parents bargained for.

Afterall, how could they predict that someday, that spunky little name would have all of London...

excited to meet me ;)