I know you love Amanda Foreman like I do.
From her role as Meghan Rotundi (Felicity’s goth roommate) on Felicity to her numerous roles on Alias, Six Feet Under and What About Brian? — you’ve embraced her as a spectator with your open arms (like I have) and welcomed her into your home on a weekly basis. You might have even caught yourself saying something like, “Boy, I sure do like the look of that Amanda Foreman actress” or “Without Amanda Foreman my life would simply be a shell of what it is with Amanda Foreman in my life…”
At least, you might have, until you found out that Amanda Foreman wants to be called “Mandy” instead.
While visiting one of my favorite local eateries (Hugo’s, that is) I noticed the glorious Ms. Foreman hiding with a male suitor (or friend) in the back corner of the establishment, waiting to get seated. See, while I may know Amanda Foreman because of her role as Carrie Bowman (Marshall Flinkman’s wife) or due to the amazing job she did handling Marshall and his OCD ways on that show — the people at Hugo’s don’t. If they did, they’d give her a seat before everyone else and let the boring, real people wait for their table like they should. I mean, if you haven’t contributed a character like What About Brian?‘s Ivy to the public consciousness and all you do is like, um, paint lines on the highway — you should be waiting for your table while the celebrities shuffle past you.
But I digress, because things took a turn for the worse.
See, like it happens at all restaurants that are busy — Ms. Amanda Foreman, actress extraordinaire, needed to put her name on a list so she could be called when she was ready to be seated. And see, when the time came for Amanda’s name to be called, the hostess didn’t call her by her God-given name (the one she uses in all her professional credits) but instead used the horrific nickname that Amanda gave herself no doubt while on some kind of drunken restaurant waiting list name-naming crusade.
That name? Mandy.
Mandy. Just say it with me a few times. Mandy. Mandy. Mandy. Mandy. Mandy. If you read it aloud five times fast you probably have no idea what it means anymore. In fact, it sounds like a chant of an oft-ignored tree-dwelling native that lives in the Amazon jungle. But besides that fact and the fact that Barry Manilow wrote a song with the same name in the title — this is not the name that Amanda Foreman should be using in public restaurants.
Amanda Foreman should not be going by the name Mandy. At least, that’s the phrase that kept going through my skull as she got up with her friend, passed us by, and sat at a table next to the window. Mandy? Amanda Foreman wants to be known as Mandy? The girl who annoyed Felicity, who tamed Marshall and who popped up in a slew of other entertainment projects and slayed the acting-gods with her spot-on portrayals of strong women being stronger in not-so-strong situations?
She’s going with Mandy. Really?
Darling Amanda? If you’re reading this I’d like to suggest you stop using ‘Mandy’ as your public restaurant waiting list name. There are far better ways to mix-up your name when you’re waiting for a table in a busy place than Mandy. How about Mandisimo? At least that has a Spanish flair to it. Or Ms. Foreman, to harken back to the whole Ms. Jackson (Janet) of it all? Why not make up a name that has no connection to your real name at all — like Stephanie or Connie or Jameson…or Genghis, Khaley or Sullivan?
Just not Mandy.
I just think it’s a really really bad idea and it makes people think of you in a way you probably don’t want people thinking of you. I’m sorry if I’m offending any “real” Mandies (the plural form of the name) out there — but I knew a Mandy in high school and she got her fist caught in a glass bottle and they had to call the fire department to come get her fist out, so I know you that I’m not just picking on the name Mandy for zero reasons whatsoever. But beyond the stupid Mandy from my past — the name just doesn’t fit for Amanda Foreman. If you’re a Mandy you may very well be a real Mandy. But Amanda Foreman? That’s a big no-vote on the Mandy restaurant waiting list scenario.
Even Carl would be better.
So, yes — with such stunning developments on the day in question, my attentions and hunger pangs dissipated as I concerned myself with whether or not Amanda Foreman would need to hear my thoughts on the Mandy-subject. And alas, while I didn’t step up and give her the 411, I chose to offer my suggestions here in digital print.
Amanda, if you can hear me — stop the inMANDity now.
You’ll be glad you did.