The Name Change Express

Yesterday turned out to be a complete bust. I could barely walk thanks to a military-style Jackie Warner workout and after spending two hours perfecting and applying the address labels for our wedding thank-yous, I realized I had royally screwed them up and needed to purchase an entirely new set of envelopes. Then, finally, during a trip to the kid's department of one of my favorite stores I launched into a mini-panic attack thanks to the sight of those teeny-tiny clothes. After standing there, frozen for five minutes due to the fear that now that I'm married I HAVE to have a child asap, I dropped the pair of superhero undies I was holding and sprinted home to the safety of my couch. With thoughts like, "will I ever be fit to procreate?" spinning through my head, I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up, wearing a house dress and a scrunchie, feeling unemployed and sorry for myself in the company of a bad movie and a dwindling block of cheese.

Thanks to my husband's understanding, the realization that I'm allowed to have 1 unemployed breakdown in three months and the Tasti-d-Lite delivery man's quick service, by the time I went to bed I knew I would awaken to the prospect of a better day.

Not one to take even the smallest revelation or motivation lightly, I decided that today was the beginning of the rest of my life and with my new life, comes my new name. After much discussion and almost convincing my husband T that we should both change our last names to Awesome (pronounced Ow - ah - soh - me), hence making us "The Awesomes", he finally put his size 14 foot down and gently urged me to take his name. Since I'd been spending every day since meeting him five years ago scribbling my first and middle names next to his last name, dotting the "I"s with hearts, I agreed and today I was going to begin the process of making it legal.

This morning, just as I did and chronicled three months ago here, I got myself dressed and headed over to the Social Security office. Knowing that I wasn't in store for the sort of bureaucratic nightmare one encounters during a trip to the Time Warner Cable store (it's easier to obtain a passport than a new DVR cable box) I carried only a book and my Blackberry, not a suitcase full of entertainment like I brought with me last time. When I got upstairs, I pulled my number and sat down amongst the 15 or so other people waiting their turn. Pretending to read, I checked out my compadres and saw the usual suspects. A few business people with lovely London accents, a handful of Russian Mail-Order-Wifies and about four other newly-married, uppity bitches like myself. I honed in on these four making eye contact with each and silently exchanged that only-in-New-York Congratulations/Let-me-see-your-ring-to-see-if-mine-is-bigger/I'm-the-most-special-bride-bitch smile.

One after the other the woman behind the glass called our numbers and we marched up, holding our marriage certificates and newly-stamped-from-the-honeymoon passports. When it was my turn I tried to make a few jokes and exchange pleasantries with the woman processing the papers that will give me my new and just-as-unpronounceable-as-the-old-one last name. Unfortunately, it seems that all government workers are trained not to smile under any circumstances, so I switched off the charm and demanded to know why I never received the Social Security card I applied for three months ago. She responded by rolling her eyes, fiercely tapping away at her keyboard then said, "Girl, you better check with your mailman because it was mailed."

"Thanks" I blandly responded, "I guess I better check my credit report."

She stared at me blankly, handed me my passport and a receipt, then sent me on my merry with a shaky confidence that my new Social Security card, reflecting that I am now "Mrs. T" would arrive in my mailbox in 7 to 14 business days. Now all I can do is wait, check the mailbox every day and hope that none of my unfriendly postal worker's illegitimate children are running around with my soon-to-be-former identity.

Next stop on the Name Change Express: The DMV. This should be interesting

Red Tape

While I wish all of my time off could be spent at parties, museums, shopping and cool happenings around town, my rational and responsible side refuses to let me waste away the days.  No matter how hard I try to beat down that errand-doing half of my personality, it just won't let me crack that bottle of wine at 3 in the afternoon, even though the UnPlain side of Jane knows full well that it's five o'clock somewhere. 

Since I can't get rid of this responsible former corporate citizen-self, I might as well embrace her, which is exactly what I did yesterday morning.  God only knows how many wallets ago I lost that important little document called a Social Security card.  It's probably in the hands of some bartender in Florida, a left over remnant from my college days.  Or maybe that woman who found my wallet and charged $1000 of clothes on my credit card at Sears in the Boca Raton mall is hanging onto it in case one day she gets the urge to steal my identity too.  (I know what you are thinking, but I don't even have the time or the energy to comment on the fact that she had her hands on a platnium AmEx and chose to go clothes shopping at Sears.)

The point is, wherever my social security card may be, it's not in my hands, thus I decided to use this free time of mine to go get a new one, so I can finally change my license to New York, just before I have to do it all over again when I change my last name after the wedding.  Having made one too many trips to the DMV for a replacement Driver's License after one of these wallet-losing incidents, I fully prepared myself to spend hours in line, amongst most of New York's non-English speaking population, with forms in hand only to be told after two hours of waiting that I filled out the wrong form.  

With this knowledge in hand, I packed up a book, my to do list, my Crackberry and a big bottle of water and headed off to the Social Security office, which happens to be just two blocks up the road.  The dingy elevator to the third floor office filled my head with dread at what odors and sights I was about to be exposed to for the next few hours.  Only to my surprise, I entered a room with about only 25 people in it, a pleasant security guard and an automated teller machine that after a few touch screen button pushes spit out my number in line, A199.  "Oh jeez," I thought, "I don't even want to know what number they are on."  As I took of my coat, pulled out my book and got ready to get comfortable, the half-friendly woman behind the window called out, "Number 196."  I thought I had misheard her, but she said it again.  I pulled out my ticket to double check that I wasn't holding 299, instead of 199.  But no, there it was, in plain sight, here I was at the Social Security office, an hour and a half after they opened, holding #199 and they were on #196.  The times they are a changing.

My spirits were soaring and I was looking around desperately for someone to share my excitement with when in walked who I would later learn is Steve.  He sat down next to me, pulled out his paperwork and asked me what number I was.  I nearly jumped out of my chair when I told him that I was 199, by now they were on 197.  "Wow, you must've been here a while," he said.  Nope!  Not me.  Got here 5 minutes ago!  Can you believe it!  

Steve and I carried on, he asked me for help with his forms, begged me to come clean his room later and started pulling out his best banter.  Just before they called my number, the conversation rolled around to the fact that I am getting married in two months and Steve quickly turned quiet.  It didn't matter, I had already gotten my ego boost for the day and only had to spend 10 minutes in a half-comfortable chair before I was able to set off for yesterday's shopping experiment.

Now on election day, thanks to the lack of red tape at the Social Security office, I have some restored faith in our government and am crossing my fingers for even more change to come.  I wouldn't be doing my socially-responsible self justice if I didn't urge you to get out there and vote (for change).  I also wouldn't be doing UnPlain Jane justice if I didn't tell you to get out there after you vote, grab a drink (or 10) and politic with the rest of us who hopefully made a difference today.  T and I will be doing it up at SideBar - where if you wear Red or, even better, Blue, they'll hook you up with a free beer between 7pm and 8pm.  Hope to see you there (after you hit the polls of course).