If I had known how insane it is to change the name you’ve had for 32 years, I may not have changed it. I was going to hyphenate, and while researching the proper way to go about that I learned that it is somewhat difficult, causing issues with forms and credit cards and whatever. I also considered making my maiden name my middle name, but my dad gave me my middle name (it’s Amelia, my dad’s a pilot), so I asked him which of his names he thought was more important. He said that he was traditional and also that he thought having the same name made a relationship stronger — and although my new husband said “it’s up to you,” through constant questioning I finally got him to admit he rather liked the idea, so as I do with most big decisions in life, I said “fuck it” and went all in. Pardon my language, but this is my method for making big decisions. I HATE change. I mean, I REALLY hate it. I second guess everything after it’s done, so I’ve learned that the only way I can do things out of my comfort zone are to say “fuck it.” You know when the light turns yellow, and you’re right at the point where you have to decide immediately whether or not you have to slam on the brakes or gun it? I make my decisions this way. I mull over the options and then if I am not totally sure which way to go, I make a decisive decision and do it.
I have had comments from married people, both male and female, how impressed they were with how quickly I got it all done. This is ONLY because I had to preempt my natural laziness. I knew that if I let some slide, I’d never get around to it.
I was NOT, however, prepared for the identity crisis that the name change incurred. Not that I regret changing it, despite my aversion to tradition, I think my dad was correct. It makes you more of a family. But again with the aversion to change…I feel slightly lost. I am currently trying to convince people to call me by my maiden name as a nickname. Oddly enough, I have very little ties to my first name other than that my mom picked it out. But there are SO many of me. We have like, 4 Sarahs at my work alone.
I also feel like it is a LOT of BS that the woman has to give up HER last name and get CHARGED for it. New license. New registration. And my bank TRIED to charge me for my new card until I called them and ripped them a new asshole.
So I’m mostly changed everywhere, except for my bazillion online accounts. And I know this probably doesn’t matter in the least, but the cats are under my maiden name at the vet…do I have to change that too? Will THEY have an identity crisis? Probably not, since neither started life with the names that we gave them and for that matter, as I’ve written about in a previous post, they could be called any abomination of their name at any given time.
I swear, I’m not going to make this blog into a “blah blah married life” thing, because really, not much has changed. Except for my name. And various legal things.
As a mother of any species can tell you, you know when something’s a little off with your children. And despite the fact that my brats are never really what I’d call “all there,” they’re acting weirder than usual. I don’t know if it’s the fact that they had their parents home for a whole 5 days or the weather or if they’re just feeling their age as a result of their recent birthdays, but even the boyfriend’s noticed. It’s not anything I can put my finger on. Just some weird crap here and there.
Moosh will stop in a part of the room he usually won’t (yeah, I notice this crap) and stare at me. Usually he just waits by his food bowl and stares. He’s also being really needy. Following us around and looking at us pitifully for attention.
Taco can’t sit still. He’s in my face 24/7, and when he’s not, he’s in weird places, like my closet (this is Moosh’s usual haunt) and in Moosh’s basket (also, as you might have gathered by the title of the resting place, Moosh’s). Taco’s also started kneading me when he lays on me in bed. Yes, I know this is a NORMAL cat activity, but he’s never really been much of a kneader (Jackson Galaxy calls this “smurgling” but never explained if that’s some sort of scientific term — it seems like an odd choice for a serious scientist to choose, but whatever) and he does it ON me. I’m fairly certain that my skin isn’t as rewarding to smurgle on as, say, a cushy blanket. I don’t mind it so much. It’s more like a change-up pitch in baseball. Throwin’ a fast ball at me forever and now you’re going to throw a slider? You know what? That’s a horrible analogy. I’m assuming you get the point.
I don’t know what this all means, but it throws me off. And I hate change.