Sure, the idea of escaping to the nice warm climate of California after your marriage dissolves sounds good, but really, the paperwork is hell. For once you settle in, the State of California wants you to chip in and pay your fair share (especially since they have major fault lines in their budget). So today, I braved the air-conditioning and went to the DMV to get my California driver's license and register the truck. Now, back in the Midwest, a birth certificate was all you needed for a driver's license. Here, they get personal. "We need a chain of names," the man behind the counter said. Maiden, Married, Post-Divorce. I panicked. I distinctly remembered putting the marriage certificate, with all its fancy filigree and calligraphy, through the shredder. If my husband couldn't be faithful and didn't even want to rescue the marriage, why keep the piece of paper? "Well," I said " I don't have my marriage certificate any more, I didn't think I'd need it so I shredded it." So the nice young man launched into another explanation of the chain of names and how I'd have to contact the state of Illinois to get my marriage license (I would rather drop the whole idea and keep my Wisconsin driver's license until it expired in 2014). I could feel my heart rate speed up to about 120, my face flush and my head pound. Fuck. This is getting way too complicated. All I wanted was a stupid driver's license. Why does everything in my life have to be so hard? So, I search desperately through my folder. Birth certificate, check. Name change Wuellner to McSweeny, check. Oh-My-God, there it IS, the administrative photocopy of my Godforsaken marriage certificate. Proof that 23 years of my life may have been spent in vain in the frozen tundra of Wisconsin. I have now completed step one of Lord knows how many to earning my California Driver's License. To be continued...