Tuesday, April 19, 2005

The DMV is convinced I'm a woman - Don't Get Me Started

I've always been effeminate, not by choosing, just who I am. I never aspired to wear high heels shoes and lip sync to Barbra Streisand records...well, I DID do that but I was six does it still count? However, I have always been called, "Miss" on the phone, been asked to verify all my information time and time again because the person on the other end of the phone is convinced that I'm a woman and when I've been out to lunch with my friend Betsy (unshaven even) too many times the server has come to the table and asked, "Have you ladies decided on what you'd like to order?" Sometimes they never even correct themselves and I'm a "Miss" for the entire meal. Michael (my guy) doesn't believe it happens but trust me, it happens however the DMV took it to a new level when they put an "F" above the word, "sex" on my drivers license and not an "M". I've been gender-fucked by the DMV - Don't get me started!!

No one likes to go to the DMV so when I noticed 2 years after getting the license that the gender was female on my driver's license I just laughed and shrugged it off. When renewal came, I did it online and didn't even think about going down to the DMV to correct the error. So when Michael had to go to the DMV, I saw opportunity knocking and after five years the time was now to get this corrected.

I mean, how simple can you get? This was going to be easy - stand in line, explain the situation and get the new license - thank God I was having a great hair day!! The information woman listened as I told my story and she was a bit shocked at what she saw on the license. She informed me that IF they found that the DMV was at fault, they would issue a new drivers license. Come on, who the hell else's fault would it be? She gave me an express ticket to get served faster and sent me on my way, explaining that they would have to look it up on the Microfilm system and see what the records had to say about my sex.

After waiting almost 35 minutes finally my number came up. I walked the length of the DMV to arrive at station number 8. Sitting at station number 8 was an older woman, very nordic looking but my Jewy sense (much like Spidey sense by Spiderman) told me this woman was pure German. There was the name, Helenka and then the thick accent. Yes, no doubt this woman's ancestors had put some of mine to death. I again explained the situation with a sense of humor, even encouraging her to laugh at the situation. She didn't laugh, she just kept looking at me from across the table...looking me up and down, trying to undress me with her eyes to see if she could sense a clitoris!! She wasn't hearing me, she just kept looking me up and down. "Oh, zees iss vary strange. Neffer have I seen such thing." I tell her what the other woman told me, explaining she needed to go look in the Microfilm library. She types in my numbers and then writes some numbers down and pointedly looks at me one more time before she leaves for the Microfilm room. "You will wait. I go see vhat is vhat."

At this point I'm still carefree and thinking how funny this is and how Helenka will have a hell of a story to tell her husband Adolph tonight over schnitzel. I don't see Helenka for at least a half hour. When she returns she is flustered and typing away at the computer but not looking at me except every once in a while stealing a glance to see if I'm like the old Skipper doll whose boobs would grow. A supervisor stops by half disgusted with Helenka and tells her to just print the screen that she most likely got the numbers wrong. Helenka does as she is told, looks at the license again and then to me. "Ve vill find record now."

Another 30 minutes and Helenka is coming back to me. "Ve haff no record. You bring birth certificate." So now I'm starting to get a little heated. I know how to handle these situations. I ask for a supervisor. Helenka says, "You vill follow me" with a look of great disdain.

The supervisor, all four feet of her, no doubt had every Holly Hobby item imaginable. Her hair was short and all fucked up (no doubt from having just taken off the signature Holly Hobby bonnet) and her matching denim skirt and vest had appliques all over it. She was so unhappy with her own gender, how could she help me with mine? She was curt and unamused by the whole situation, explaining that Helenka and DMV policy was firm, a birth certifcate must be produced before a new license could be issued. Helenka stood in triumph once again looking to see if I'd grown boobs in the last three minutes.

I'd had enough, I said, "Look Ms. Hobby, I'd be more than happy to go in the back room with a male officer and drop my pants if this would solve the problem!" Remember that I was having a good hair day and I wanted to have that photo taken that day at any cost. Her curt manner became disdain as she spit out the words, "we need a birth certificate." I stopped myself from issuing the stream of obscenities that were running in my mind from coming out of my mouth and began to walk away. At this point she said to Michael, "What do you want?" His response was, "I'm with him...shocking!"

So, me who never called my male friends, "Girlfriend" or said, "Get her" about one of them was gender fucked by the DMV - Don't Get Me Started.

And if you don't believe me see the photo!!

Note: It was brought to my attention that I never said whether or not I got the new license. At this point I have not. I now have my birth certificate and am waiting for a good hair day...it may stay this way until it expires in 2007...stay tuned!!!

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Sure, I'll be a hostage if it gets me a book and movie of the week deal - Don't Get Me Started

Okay, I admit, it might be uncomfortable to be held hostage, be it for 4 hours or 11 years but think of the benefits, a book deal, a movie deal, sitting on the couch next to Katie and Matt - come on, sign me up and don't get me started on this issue.

I'm sure it's stressful to be held hostage or stuck in a elevator for three days but look what you come out to - all the benefits of the famous Andy Warhol 15 minutes of fame cliche which comes with limos, money and lots of televison appearances.

Hey, I'm Amber, I got involved with a married man who killed his wife - quick, where's my agent, my stylist, my lawyer? Come on - for fucking a married man you get a movie of the week and a book deal. Where do I sign up?

Is the problem that I'm just not stupid enough. It's a bit like the aliens never landing at Harvard. The people who end up in these situations are, let's face it, as dumb as dumb can be. They'll spend all their money on a new Ford Taurus and buying their parents teeth. I'd at least give a token amount to charities!!

Now I understand that these people were put into situations not of their own design but how long do you think it will take before people will start designing their own crisis to riches stories?? As a relative of mine used to say about anything, "if they can put a man on the moon..."

I can just see it on the playgrounds of America, "NO, I want to be the boy in the shower and you be Michael Jackson this time. Because I think I can sign a bigger deal than you did with Random House and HBO if I agree to show my naked butt and curse!"

So, yes, I feel badly when I hear that someone was taken hostage or fondled but do I feel as-much-money-as-a-steroid-juiced-athlete-money-bad about it? NO! Earn your living like everyone else, if you want a bigger part of the pie and television appearances then you're just going to have to buy lottery tickets like everyone else. Don't get me started on the loons who win the lottery.