Names don't just tell you about the people who own them, but also about the people who use them. For example, if you call me:
Georgina Veronica, you're probably my mom, and I've royally pissed you off over something, and even though I'm 31 years old and have a daughter of my own, it still sends a shiver down my spine like I'm gonna get grounded or something. Sad but true.
Jawjna Belnka, you're a Hong Kong government official, and you probably still have my resident's ID because I couldn't for the life of me understand the mangled onomatopoeia you made of my name when you were calling me over to the receiving window to get it.
Georgina, you're from the uber-rich branch of my family tree, the members of whom I see only when someone gets married or dies, but we all pretend like we're incredibly close despite the fact that you don't even know my nickname. Or you're a classmate from early grade school, in which case I apologize, because there are people who remember their seatmates all the way from kindergarten, but I am not one of them.
Veronica, you're most likely a bank teller or customs official, who will have to peer at me suspiciously because I've changed my hair about umpteen times since I had my passport photo taken. You may also be someone who is writing me a check, in which case, may I remind you to please include the 'Georgina', which is part of my name, and which will save me from having to argue with the aforementioned bank teller.
Nikki or Nik, you could be anyone from a new acquaintance to my best girl friend Jen. Whichever you are, you are a very astute and considerate person who calls me by the names I most prefer, so thanks tons, really. You might also be Sage, who occasionally gets the urge to address me on equal terms.
Mommy, you're Sage. Although you are prone to deciding that you're Mommy and I'm Sage. Or that you're Nemo and I'm Dory. Or Peter Pan and Wendy. Names are fluid where you're concerned.
Ma'am Nikki, you're Sage's nanny, or you're one of the flight attendants who used to work under me at the airlines. I tried to make you drop the 'ma'am' habit then, but it's been years and you still do it every time I run into one of you. You might once have been Julz or Jonette, but you have since stopped, under threat of physical violence.
Ate Nikki, you're my brother- or sister-in-law (one of Dean's sibs); and thank you again for compromising on 'ate' (which means 'big sister') instead of 'manang' (which has the connotation 'dowdy big sister').
Nikita, Nikette, or Nikki-cat, you're a friend from college or my magazine days, and I love you for making me sound like either a Russian spy or a French sex kitten.
Gig, you're Dean, and though you started calling me by this childhood name to annoy me, you have now gotten so used to it that you think it's (ugh) 'cute'. You might also be my stepdad, my mom in a good mood, one of my brothers, or a very close friend--so close you know that even though I dislike the name, I will still like you. Or you're a poseur who's overheard someone else call me 'Gig', and you think that doing so yourself will endear you to me. Which it will not.
Jigs, you're my mother-in-law, and you still haven't figured out how to pronounce 'Gig' in almost nine years of being family. On the other hand, in all that time, we've never clashed or fought--unless you count your apparent ongoing efforts to drown me in jewelry--so it's not like I'm complaining.
Ginge, you're Noel, and I suspect that you believe my full name is Ginger. It isn't, but I don't complain because 'Ginge' is easier to say than the other thing you call me, which is 'Fertility Goddess'.
Cheech, you're my big brother Richard, and if you do it again in public, I swear I'm going to break your other arm.
Ellis, you're Kate or Alex, and we're trying to save the world, quite possibly from ourselves.
Bee-yatch, you're someone who is writing or has written under me as your editor. You're also probably right, so I won't hold it against you. Or you're Richard, and you just called me 'Cheech'.