Those of you who thought this was going to be the story of my conception; I'm sorry to disappoint you. This is the story all about how I came to be known as Ypsy.
When I was still young, before the years turned my heart bitter and cold, before my life force had been stripped by stress and responsibility, I ran around in this "clan" of sorts. We went on long long long camping trips and bummed around, went to Evolution together. We were like family. I was homeless at the time, and roamed around the state a bit reading tarot and jamming on my guitar.
I always referred to myself as a gypsy because I loved the homeless life. (I know. I'm a bit crazy.) My friends were all taller than me, and they used to always make comments about how I was so tiny.
One night, one of them basically said, "you're such an itty-bitty gypsy. We should call you Ypsy."
Personally, I hate my name. It's so generic and boring. I would love it if everyone called me Ypsy.
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