I am not the same person today as I was yesterday. For half of my natural born life I've had this headache over names and signatures that refused to be resolved until this morning.

I walked into court with one name and walked out with another. My mother is only slightly horrified, but at least she agrees that changing my name is for the best. Now a new headache has begun: informing everyone who needs to know that I changed my name, no I was not married, no my surname is the same, and no I am not getting a sex change.

It started when I was nine. I decided I didn't like being called Karen anymore. At the time, everyone I knew with the name was middle-aged, divorced, and quite unpleasant. So at the beginning of fourth grade, in a spur of the moment decision, I informed my teacher that I would like to be called Wren, as in the bird.

Thus commenced nine years of people asking where Stimpy was.

Then there was the issue of my middle name. The one I was born to sounded like a hideous cacophony following Wren, nor did I particularly like that name either. So I decided to tell everyone my middle name was my favorite name in the whole world. Unfortunately, this confused a great deal of people because that name happens to be a very common name for little boys. Unless you are familiar with a certain popular anime, I wouldn't expect you to know that it also makes quite a lovely name for little girls.

That is the part my mother takes issue with. I have flirted with androgyny my entire life; it only seems like a natural progression to me. My mother is a afraid of what the neighbors will think. Getting a brand new name isn't common in small town America. More than a few strange looks and glares have been shot in my general direction since I announced my intentions, but I'm glad. They remember who I am now.