began years ago when I was at dinner with a producer from a dinner theater
where I worked for eleven years. (It's what I refer to as My Dazzling Dinner Theater Days)I was riled
up about something and this producer said, "You should have a radio show where people call and get you fired up and you
just go off." As I had a reputation for going on a tirade the likes of Dixie Carter on Designing Women (remember this
was years ago) and as I was constantly starting my sentences with the phrase above; when I started blogging I decided that
this might be a way to get my rants out to the public at large.
I
hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them.
Here it is, trust me when I say, it is not
retouched other than to remove my personal information. This is the license I walked around using for 6 years!!
I'm Not A Woman, Hear Me Roar - Don't Get Me
Started!
Much the opposite of the Helen Reddy tune, I am not a woman however
as many of you have read in my earlier post, the Nevada DMV was convinced otherwise. If you haven't read that entry you may
want to before you continue this saga with me and the others reading... http://dontstartscott.blogspot.com/2005/04/dmv-is-convinced-im-woman-dont-get-me.html And so it came to pass that over the course of a year and a half, I
HAD lost some weight (more toning than actual weight loss) and I had a haircut good enough to go on the dreaded driver's license.
And so I went to the DMV, waited in line and then proudly proclaimed, "I am not a woman, here me roar!" - Don't Get Me Started!
There I was with my birth certificate in hand and a smirk on my face knowing that
this could either go down easily or might need a spoon full of sugar for all parties involved. First up, the information counter
where they figure out who you need to see, how long you need to wait and what number you get. Unlike waiting with a number
at a bakery, there is no sweet treat in store for you at the end of this adventure. "Next" was the cry I heard accompanied
by a less than enthusiastic gesture as I moved to the counter to be assisted by a large black man in his seventies. I thought,
"This is probably not going to go so well." I had already decided on my approach, it was going to be one of those, already
laughing as I explained it kind of things so as to disarm any negative thoughts on the issue itself. I figured if I sounded
amused by it, he might be too. He fell right into it, saying, "Wow, I guess that was our mistake there, fella." First of all
I don't know that I've ever been called, "fella" (kind of liked that) and here was John Amos' third cousin on his mother's
side saying it to me. I loved it even more when he told me there would be no charge and that he was going to give me a number
that would expedite the whole thing. Once again, everything your mother told you is true - don't judge a book by it's cover.
And so I waited and stared down at this license I had kept for six years saying that
I was a woman. Wow, what would it be like to be a man again in the eyes of the DMV? Well that thought didn't last long because
I was like, "What the fuck does the DMV know anyway?" And soon thereafter my number was called and I was headed for cubicle
19.
At cubicle 19 sat a large Hispanic woman who looked as though she was
having less than a great day. "Perfect" I thought to myself, the big black man was cool and this woman no doubt is going to
be where the fiasco begins (or continues in this case). And so I worked up my self-deprecating laugh as I sat down, doing
the, "You are not going to believe this one." Now granted, I don't think everyone has to be enamored by the whole story but
all this woman asked was if I had filled out a form for the new license. I mean, not a flinch, not a blink, hardly a glance
at the scarlet "F" under "sex" on the license just, "Well, fill out this form and let me know if anything has changed since
this one" as she's holding the old license. Of course my mind began racing a mile a minute...changes you say? Hmmmm....how
about I've never been nor intend to be a woman?? But I just remained calm and let her know the only thing that had changed
was my weight. (Yes, I was going to make the number larger because I had lied on the first one anyway but figured with my
current appearance, unless I told people I had to get on some Predisone and ballooned up, no one was going to understand the
135 pounds on the license when in person I was pushing the 150 mark. Oh make no mistake, I wasn't going to list 150 but I
was willing to go as high as say 145 which coincidentally is all that you should pay at an auction for someone's license that
has the wrong sex listed on it!) Much to my surprise she said, "Dat's okay, we no need to changes that. Heres you go...now
take this over dere to get your pictures."
She opened the right hand drawer
of her desk and put the license in it, closing it and the story of me being a woman in the DMV's eyes. I did wonder if Maria
Conquita was going to take it home and pass it around the table because I would think it would need to be destroyed or stapled
to something but instead, she put it in the drawer without any expression. Maybe she was being polite and waiting for me to
leave before she showed it to all the other DMV staff or maybe it was going to become February in the DMV calendar for next
year. We'll never know because Maria had a poker face the likes of which you rarely see. Oh she was good, she could give Clint
Eastwood a run for his money.
So within a matter of half an hour, I was a
man. Now that doesn't mean that when I pick up the phone people don't still call me, "Miss" or when I'm in a store with a
female friend the clerk doesn't say, "Are you ladies finding everything you need?" But in the eyes of the law, the state of
Nevada, I had become a man and as I began my triumphant walk to the door I held up my new license to John Amos' third cousin
on his mother's side and gave a knowing wink. He gave me the thumbs up sign and I began to really believe I was someone that
could be called, "fella". The strains of the electronic music from the 70's began to play and I did my best Helen Reddy, singing
to the music in my head - "I'm not a woman, here me roar. In numbers too big too ignore. And I know too much to go on pretending."
Don't Get Me Started!
At the request of Some Like It Scott reader, Grayson (though I'm sure
some others agree) you can now read or listen or read and listen when on the "Don't Get Me Started" page. Click
below to turn the music on and scroll to the bottom to find out what you're listening to!
This is a fabulous blog (The Andrews Salzburg Report) written
by an equally fabulous man - Dann Dulin. He's a real live journalist so read all his interviews and get the skinny on
all your fave celebs and oh, so much more.
When the California Supreme Court ruled that denying
same-sex couples the right to marry is unconstitutional, we came one step closer to achieving true marriage equality for gay,
lesbian, bisexual, and transgender Americans. But we need your help to defend this progress—anti-GLBT groups, emboldened
by the decision, are now working to deny benefits to GLBT couples on both state and federal levels.
Please, sign the Million For Marriage petition
below, and be a part of this historic civil rights battle. Gay, straight, married, single...we need everyone who believes
in marriage equality to stand up NOW—before it's too late!
Be The First To Know... Sign up below and get your notice each week on the prior week's "Don't Get
Me Started!" blogs and the latest Vblog with links directly to the blogs you want to see and read. You'll get a weekly
update and be the first to know!
That's right, Don't Get Me Started! I have no idea what I was thinking. Well, not true, I thought it looked
fabulous. The hair was sufficiently “palmed” out to give it height and that’s not a shadow you see behind
my head, it’s the true bi-level cut of the 80’s going on, not a mullet, my friends, an honest to goodness Duran
Duran inspired bi-level! I had purchased this Gulden's mustard colored all silk suit at Bloomingdale's with the collarless
purple silk shirt and just knew I looked fabulous. (What a difference a decade or so makes, huh?)
Anyway, I was
simply overwhelmed by how many people wrote in telling me about their hair and fashion disasters, everything from a "Super
Freak" outfit to get into a Rick James concert to a swell guy who wrote about his perm that gave him that “greatest
star” Streisand “Star Is Born” look, or so he thought until he reflected back on it “with one more
look at you.”
What's your fashion disaster that was caught on film?
Thank you!
