How I tried to enhance my life and failed

My latest suminagashi (Japanese paper marbling) practice--or how the word serpentine can also describe my day

Today was the day! I would get my Minnesota driver's license. Make this move official!--and why not get the enhanced driver's license while I as at it? I'm a day's drive from the Canadian border. I'm in love with Oaxaca, Mexico --wouldn't it be great to take off in either direction with just my enhanced driver's license and not worry about my passport?

I filled out the form online--guaranteed to shave 15 minutes off the venture. (This is particularly humorous if you've ever waited in line at an L.A. area DMV. Fifteen minutes is nothing.) I printed out my confirmation for the pre-filled form and gathered my documents. Or tried to.

This gathering of papers had its own drama. I got locked out of my Xcell Energy account trying to remember my password and had to call for assistance because one has to have a utility bill to prove that you reside at your address. And I had to have a 2nd proof of residence as well ( that seemed easy, but, in the end, was not.) I also needed my passport (cannot be expired) and my current driver's license from my previous state (also cannot be expired.) I needed my Social Security card (cannot be laminated or a mere photo copy.) Oh--and had I ever changed my name? Good god. I needed to show proof of that weary trail.

Moving creates this bizarre effect. When you go to find something, you can remember where it was in your previous abode, but you have no idea where it is now. Here. In this place. Where the fuck is this thing I'm hunting for? I had to find what I call the marriage box. I found it in the storage cage inside another box, and inside the marriage box I found my certificate of marriage (cannot be a photocopy) The marriage document, along with my certified decree of divorce (must be an official government agency document, not a photocopy) I thought would show my transition from the name I was born with to my married name to the made-up new name I decided to call myself post-marriage (it was a weird idea, but at least I chose my maternal grandmother's maiden name as my new surname and did not become Paris France or Bimbo Dumas, which were also in the running.)

Did I mention I spent the morning reading the 90-some page Minnesota driver's license manual? Recipe for anxiety attack. All the terrible things that can go wrong and how you can be fined and imprisoned for the worst of them-- if you somehow manage not to die.

So I stood in a very short line, went to another line where I was the only person in it, took the test, passed, got sent back to the first very short line where I thought my sheaf of documents would be stamped with approval. Turns out I needed my birth certificate which I have not seen since my pre-divorce life. And my 2nd proof of residence, a property tax payment stub with my full address, was not good enough. One must bring the whole page. (All of the information is the same--just larger.)

So I came home and ordered my birth certificate. Honest to god, who changes their middle name in addition to their last name? (which is itself a name just pulled out of the hat of family names?) The online form almost glitched. But it didn't. The new me ordered the birth certificate for the original me. It should be here in 5 days.

But I wonder how do people born in little villages in war torn countries who emigrate ever jump through these hoops? What if you change your name(s) and your gender? 

Not to mention that I do have a valid U.S. passport...why isn't that good enough? I also have my irises and my fingerprints on file with Clear.

Turning Californian

"I am who I say I am, goddamnit." My mother made her proclamation when we were back in the car, thankfully. The clerk at the DMV had rejected her application for a California I.D. Turns out you can't just hand over your driver's license from another state and expect to be turned into a Californian--even if you have no intention of operating a motor vehicle. "I have a Medicare Card," she said. "If I can get one of those, I ought to be able to get a plastic I.D.  card."
Nope.

A California I.D. Card requires a birth certificate----and if you've changed your name since the day you made your grand entrance in your birthday suit, a second document is required to reflect your new legal name.

We had my cousin mail us some of her important papers that still reside in the basement apartment in his house, where my mom once lived with his mom. That stack yielded her decree of divorce from her second husband which restored her previous married name. I wasn't sure that would do the trick, and she still needed her birth certificate anyway, so I ordered her marriage certificate, too-- which reflects her current legal name-- from her first marriage--her marriage to my father. Two state bureaucracies later, we were ready to do battle with California.

Today, exactly a month since our first attempt, the clerk at the window poured over my mother's birth certificate and her marriage certificate and then took them to a supervisor sitting at a big wooden desk at the back of the room. They conferred, and then the two of them walked to yet another person at a desk where the threesome hovered over these ancient midwestern records. I have to admit I was praying a little because my mom's sore toe was killing her, and I didn't want the the DMV to be the place where her last nerve gave out. But two thumb prints and a photograph later, my mom is now a pending Californian. And it was free. That's right. If you're over 62 and you want a California state I.D., you pay nothing.
California: the gold rush, stardom, a plastic surgeon on every corner, and free--I tell you--freeeeee I.D.s here in the Golden State.

And the bonus? Her birth certificate says that she was the first of the twins to be born. The birth order question has been unanswered for years. Now we know. But if I'd had to place a bet on it, I would have gone with my mom, for sure. Looking at the photo at the top of the post, which twin would you bet made it out first? (see answer below)


ʇsɹıɟ uɹoq sɐʍ (ʞɔɐlq uı ǝuo ǝɥʇ) ʇɥƃıɹ ǝɥʇ uo uıʍʇ ǝɥʇ

And, incidentally, the picture is from 1988--some months before that Medicare card kicked in.

Changing Your Name after Divorce

"I'm on my third name," I explained to the attorney. "The form says I have never been known by any other name." He laughed and told me to add a hand-written a note. That I shouldn't worry. Forms contain vestiges of old concerns. "They're not after you," he said.

"I'll have to strike out the 'M,'" the notary said. "Your California Driver's license doesn't have a middle initial."

"Right," I said. "I dropped the 'M' after my divorce. And before I had just an 'M,' my middle name was Mary. I dropped the Mary and went with 'M.' Now there's no M. either." I didn't mention the last names I've been through.

"These forms have an 'M'," he said, pausing with his notary stamp raised. I shrugged, feeling like I was trying to conceal a vestigial tail.

"How should I sign?" I asked.

"Sign with your current legal signature," he said. "It's your mark. Never change your mark."

Easy for him to say.
Marriage changed my mark. Divorce changed my mark.
Just call me "Mark."

The Real and the Unreal

Four years ago I was someone else.  I had a different name.  A different life. The grief over my divorce was a black sky that loomed over everything.
The new me felt like a fraud at first. A pretender. Now it seems like the married me, the wife, was the illusion--a cardboard cutout with a cardboard husband.  The new reality feels so much brighter.

"If you want to be me, be me. And if you want to be you, be you..."

I legally changed my name in July of '08. The name change came with the final decree of divorce. Then came implementing that change. An endless litany of dentist, doctors, hairdresser, chiropractor, credit card companies, friends, etc. etc. I never got around to Amazon. Mr. Ex & I used the same Amazon account when we were together, and even after the split when I changed the password and entered my new credit card numbers for one-click shopping, I let the masquerade continue. "Hello, Mr. Ex," it would say as soon as I went to the site. It annoyed me. "Hello Barnes & Noble" I'd mutter--or "Hi there, Borders." But I thought it would be complicated to change it & I didn't want to lose whatever might be stored in my history.
Until.....last night when I bought a Kindle. I've been dreaming of a Kindle since I first heard about them & I finally took the leap. This morning I got the confirmation email and went to my Kindle page on Amazon to see that my  Kindle was called "Mr. Ex's" Kindle. 
Not anymore.
It's easy. Go to the settings page and change your name. Anyone could do it. It seems to me that as far as Amazon cares, the name on the account could be Paris France or Bimbo Dumas--or Dante or Homer.  Indulge your fantasies.


Title from Cat Stevens' lyrics from his song "If You Want to Sing Out."

This Shit is Over

"You're going to use your married name as your middle name?" the clerk at window #1 asked me, somewhat incredulously. 

"Yes, I am," I said.  The old me would have gone on to explain exactly why I'd decided to do that, but the new me kept it short.  I'd already sat for two hours and fifteen minutes on one of those scooped out plastic chairs attached to its row of  clones that insures you are shoulder to shoulder with your neighbor.  The social security office was barely controlled mayhem today--maybe due to the fact that Southern California staged an earthquake drill earlier this morning or  it might have been the absurdity of the larger than life portraits of Bush and Cheney grinning at us from the wall.

"Somebody oughta take that shit down!" the woman behind me said and the woman next to her concurred.

"That shit is OVER," the second woman said.

 I didn't want to be there a minute longer than necessary.  

"Mmmmhmmm," the clerk said said, and I think I saw her squelch an urge to roll her eyes. I waited for her to ask me about my new last name, but she didn't.  She squinted hard at her computer screen and ran her fingers over my documents, but I wasn't required to explain myself.  Yup, this shit is over, I thought.

It took me all week to find my Decree of Divorce.  I had to sort through the box where I'd been tossing everything my attorneys have been  sending me since August of '07.  A couple of nights ago, I sat on the couch and put everything in chronological order and eventually came across it. I also was required to produce photo ID, my current social security card and a completed form that required my parents' social security numbers along with the usual particulars.  This is what it takes to become a new person.

Next week, I'll go to the DMV and get a new license and then set about changing the name on my bank account, etc.

When I finally possess my new identity, my new last name will be my maternal grandmother's maiden  name.  Back in the spring when I first began to toss this idea around, I ran it by a new friend I'd made at the VCCA.  He's a poet.  "Clemen," he said.  "That's wonderful--clement, clemency....it's a beautiful name."  My new moniker has been vetted by a poet.

So, my last name will be the same as my grandmother's when she was a girl.  My daughters have both taken that name as their unofficial middle name.  I still retain Mr. Ex's name as my middle name.  My son has no middle name--just an initial, and his last name is different from mine and  my daughters' since he has a different father.  But he doesn't carry that name either-- because he was adopted and has his adopted father's name.  

Well, you know what Shakespeare said.

But I'm thrilled to have a new name.  Because this shit is over.

Got Hope

I voted today!  Before I left California, I ordered an absentee ballot but I had no faith it would actually arrive.  I figured the days would inch by getting closer and closer to the election while my mailbox sat empty and then a  few days before the election, I'd have to call L.A. County Registrar and start over. The reason for my glum attitude was that I changed my registration address and requested the absentee ballot (which had to be sent to where I'm staying in Virginia) on the internet in pretty much one transaction. I thought the situation was far too complicated. But it worked.

Before the next election, I will have to change my name and that will be a process that involves several steps.  I'll be starting on that when I get back home. But meanwhile I've been living kind of a double life. It makes buying things on line very interesting. I send the stuff to the new me at my new address,  but the old me who has the charge card with the old billing address (where Mr. Ex still lives and pays the bills) does the buying.  But as of yesterday, that's changing too, since I finally got some spousal support and will now have my very own charge cards!