The DMV

There are few things in this world that will force me to go to a government owned facility. Most of the reasons would involve legal implications and most likely handcuffs. But for me to willingly go to any version of these locations would require wild horses, and me being dragged. Much to my chagrin however, I ended up in one of these blessed buildings today: the DMV.

Now, the reason I had to go to the DMV was that it was high time I got my name changed back. After months of explaining that "yes, I have a different name than is on my driver's license because I am, in fact, a secret agent" or "well, I WAS in the Witness Protection Program, but looks like THAT'S shot, thanks for pointing it out!", I got in my car this morning, determined to be Ainsley Cartwright again. As we all know, it's well worth a 45 minute drive to go to a metro-Atlanta DMV versus one inside the perimeter. Given I do not want to buy drugs, turn to prostitution, or join a gang, the Marietta DMV was going to be my best, safest bet.

As I walked in, I was given a slip of paper with "C207" printed on it. This is when I notice that, in the spirit of government run facilities, we're going to make this literally as complicated as possible. The goal of these institutions is to confuse you into compliance. Should you at any point catch on to what's going on, you better keep it to yourself. They are NOT scared to lose paperwork, set file cabinets on fire, or start shooting should you get out of line.The goal of this little numbering system is to keep you forever guessing if you're next.

As soon as I sit down, I see what can only be described as a large toddler finishing up the drivers test and waiting to get his picture taken, and it dawns on me. This large child is 15, and getting his permit. Queue the quarter life crisis music. John Mayer has a box set of compilations with this theme in mind I believe. And if he does, my mom can get it for you at Costco.

As time passed on, I realized that the letter on my slip of paper corresponded to the purpose of your visit. So I kept my eyes peeled for my team: Team Name Change "C". I then started to notice that certain windows always got the letter C. So certain window workers spent their whole day on an emotional roller coaster, saying either "congrats on the marriage!" or "I'm sure he deserved the divorce", or "Hello Chad Ochocinco, good game this weekend". The woman with C206 was pregnant. There's no explanation for this that would make her encounter with "Walter W, Team C window worker" not unbelievably awkward.

Then comes my turn. Walter was MADE for this job. He couldn't have been more pumped about the dramatic stories that he got at his window, and was really ready for me to lay down a doozie, as if everyone in the name change game is DYING to vent in a public area. I didn't deliver, and could tell this disappointment was going to be taken out on me in the form of my picture.


I was told to stand against a wall, look at a blue dot, not into the camera, and smile for 5 solid seconds. Following this to a "T", I received my license and my punishment for lack of interesting story: By "looking at the blue dot" I appeared in my picture to be legally blind. You know how when you're talking to a blind person they're always "looking at you" but their eyes are a solid 5 degrees off of where they should be? That's my picture. Also, Georgia has decided to make the picture zoomed in enough to almost make it to the scale of my actual head. Regardless, I was free to leave, with the promise that my license would be in the mail in a month. DMV in cahoots with the post office. What could ever go wrong there?

As I left the DMV, I felt lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky it wasn't 5 pm, lucky I had my name back. It was a team effort today by Team Name Change C. And I was privileged to be a part of it.

Let's Get Started... Encyclopedias

Ohhh, a blog. I guess this is where I'm going to have to start on my pathway to replacing Chelsea Handler once she decides to run away with that hunky, knight in shining armor she's been dating lately: 50 Cent.

So instead of making this a "pilot post" and therefore forcing it to be equally as boring as every pilot TV show on the planet, I'm just going to jump right in. My goal is to one day have a reality show. And I have to tell you, if Lindsey Lohan's sister and mom got one, it's just a matter of time. Reality shows can lead to book deals. Book deals can lead to becoming a writer. And being a writer leads to sleeping in and practically becoming Carrie Bradshaw from Sex In The City. Bingo. Ultimate goal in life.

If I were to chronicle my life, I'd call it "Ainsley Britannica". It doesn't make a lot of sense, but I really want to translate my life into an encyclopedia format, and we all know that Encyclopedia Britannica was the best brand. Which is why when we were poor, my family had "World Book". 

My mom now decorates with the encyclopedias. She'll stack a few underneath a lamp to make it look as if we read them cover to cover. Like "what's your favorite book Margaret" and she's going to be like "oh, I'm really getting into 'N' right now. From 1993".

I have absolutely zero idea why we still have those books. Given I'm the youngest in the family at 25, no one's writing a research paper ever again in this family. And if you think I'm going to take the time to reference a 15 year old book versus Wikipedia, you've got another think coming. I don't know if you recall the amount of work it takes to MLA cite an encyclopedia, but I will tell you, you're going to be using the "hanging paragraph" format overtime.

My absolute favorite part of the encyclopedia trap is that you had to buy the “Update Book” every year. This came with all the updates from the year before. So if you needed to look up info on someone still living, you’d have to look at the original book, and then find your way through the cryptogram that is the update book. Every one of them. 

And I still, to this day, cannot find my way around the update book. When I say "to this day” I mean “to the day that I was in 5^th grade” because get real, I haven’t cracked them open since Al Gore invented the internet and we got a pipe of it at my house. AOL dial up style.

But the sad part of the death of the era of Encyclopedias is the elimination of the door to door creeper salesperson. Forever gone the days of letting a perfect stranger into your home, calling your husband on the phone to convince him that "$2000 for a lifetime of learning" is a sound investment. Forcing your children to write research papers they aren't required to write "to get your money's worth". Like the era of the South before the Civil War, the era of the encyclopedias is now, too, Gone With the Wind.