Hello 
I'm Siobhan Curran/Kisa Naumova, and this is my weblog. I tend to write about stuff like crossdressing, Macs, code, cats, wine and Second Life, but in general it's just an ongoing conversation about all sorts of stuff. If you'd like to know a little bit more about what this all is, I recommend starting on this page which has a little bit of info on who I am, and what I'm trying to do — or you could dive into my five years worth of archives if you like.
Otherwise, feel free to close this box and explore...
Finickity
Ever applied for a driving license from the DVLA? Those guys are so fussy about how you fill in the form. You've got to get absolutely everything spot-on, or they send it back to you with big red circles on the things you got wrong.
Like some kind of exam or something 
The signature bit is the worst IMHO. You've got to make sure that you sign the form without going over the edge of the little white box, otherwise it'll come straight back to you with the red-pen equivalent of a school-m'arm wagging her finger.
Fortunately, they give you some spaces to practice first on the accompanying leaflet, which I duly did before having a proper go...
...which went perfectly — until I managed to smudge it 
I've going to have to go back up the hill and queue for another form now 
...
"Hold on a minute", come the collective curiousness of Siobhan's tens-of-readers. "You already have a driving license don't you?"
I do. At least, I thought I did.
When I first came over from Belfast to Lancaster, I had my trusty photo-license — the one I'd handed over countless times to strapping army-type blokes with Big Guns With No Safety Catches™ when I used to get stopped at checkpoints. I dithered for years before I actually managed to get off my arse and apply for a replacement — because technically, I suppose, not doing so was a Bad Thing™
Back in March 2002, then, I got my new license, and it's done me rather well ever since. I popped the plastic photocard into my wallet, and I put the corresponding paper part into a Safe Place™
...
Ah, Safe Places™. We all have them I suspect — places dotted around our houses that we can be sure to find all sorts of useful documents. Car tax stuff, home insurance stuff, P60s...
But I, being the shambolic fool that I am, have several safe places — none of which are actually safe.
Tomorrow I was supposed to be going down to Preston to do my CBT so that I could restart my life-long ambition to be a Cool Chick On A Bike™, and so — seeing as having both parts of your license is a pre-requisite for taking the test — I thought I'd be a very well-prepared Princess and hunt for it today rather than tomorrow morning at 6am.
But could I find it?
I've looked everywhere — in all my old files of letters and certificates, in every folder and box in the attic, in all the wallets and personal organisers that I used to use, in every briefcase and handbag I've ever had.
Nowhere.
I found several useful things in the process — all the documentation for the car, my old CBT certificate (which I'd presumed must have been in the same place as my Driver's License), the original 1905 deeds for my house, my Birth Certificate, my MOT Certificate (and, bizarrely, Kath's MOT Certificate which I guess I'd better send to her somehow).
But no license
CBT is duly cancelled, and so, tomorrow, we're going to look at motorbikes instead — just to keep the momentum going.
...
My complete lack of organisation annoys the pants off me. Sometimes I think it's just a part of my personality — an eccentric absent-mindedness that's harmless and slightly charming.
You know: "Oh that Siobhan, she's always losing things "
But it pisses me off. I want to be all organised and ordered.
Think I might go out and buy some box-files this afternoon. Or maybe a filing cabinet...
...
Speaking of losing things, new phone arrived today 
Flickring will resume shortly.
But look on the bright side — you can look forward to some of this — being a Cool Chick On A Bike is, indeed, cool! Even though my bike isn't really terribly cool. Cooler than no bike, though...
The bad news is, it can't help you find your missing paper license
Know what's really weird though — had I lost both parts of my license, all I'd have to do is call them up and I could get a new one sent using my credit card. But because I still have the plastic part, I have to fill in the bloody form...
...I am, of course, wondering whether I should just pretend to have lost both bits
How much do you have to pay to get just the paper part? If it's less than £10 more. lose the plastic part as well.
Beki
"If it's less than £10 more. lose the plastic part as well."
Oops, should have been a comma there instead of a full stop! 
Beki
00004
(via flickr.com/people/si08han) 
Not a happy bunny tonight.
Partly because that's a shit photo. Partly because it took 4 attempts to take something to post. Partly because even though I've used exactly the same settings as my old one, its email seems a little flakey.
But mostly because the little joystick doesn't work properly. I can only go 'down' and 'left'
I'm not having a good day, frankly.
Red Tape
That thing about replaceing licenses by phone or by post, that's nothing compared to the pure pig-minded jobsworthiness I encountered earlier in the Post Office...
Me: "Can I have a D1 Form please, and £19 of Postal Orders please?
Lady Behind Screen: "That'll be £22 please"
I start to put my card in the little machine...
LBS: "Oh, you have to pay for Postal Orders with cash"
M: "Um, I haven't got enough on me"
LBS: "That's OK, you can withdraw it here. Just pop your card in the little machine"
Is the absurdity of that coming across? I couldn't pay for the Postal Orders with my card at the counter, but I could use my card to symbolically withdraw cash at the counter to pay for the Postal Orders. The cash didn't even leave the till and pass through my hands — she just ran the transaction through as "Cash".
Why? Why is the world like this?! Why are things so hard?! Why did she even have to tell me that?! Why couldn't she have spared me the horrible moment of looking back at the fifty-million-people-long queue behind me, thinking "I'm going to have to go to the machine outside and queue again"?!
FFS
On A Similar Note...
Why, please God tell me, did the woman in front of me in the "10 Items Or Less" queue at Sainsburys think that 17 items (I counted) <= 10?
And why did I stand there internally seething, without actually saying anything?
And when they graduate from the DVLA, they get to transfer over to US Immigration where they get to look you in the eye while circling everything you filled in incorrectly on the form.
And they get guns too. Clerks with guns? Only in America.
Of course some might observe that bright pink hi-lighter pens do tend to undermine the strived for "I'm going to make this as unpleasant as possible" macho image. But I would never suggest that. I might want to go back there one day.
Have I ever told the story of what happened to me at Immigration once Karol? (I probably have — I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that I have indeed told every single story of note, and this weblog will — for the rest of time — just get itself caught in a loop)
I'm stood there talking to Joe McSurly, who's asking me why I'm visiting the States...
"I'm here for a conference", I said, chipperly.
"What kind of conference?"
"A transgender conference"
"A what?"
"You know — blokes in frocks. That sort of thing"
-- scowls of disapproval --
"Have you ever been to our state before?", he asked, slightly masked by an announcement on the Tannoy.
"Yes, last year"
"What were you arrested for?"
See, I'd misheard him because of the Tannoy And thus began a rather embarassing series of questions in which he insisted I was lying to him, and I kept trying to explain that I'd misheard.
Never think that those guys have anything approaching a sense of humour.
Dear Fairly-Odd
I fu**ing love the Internet...
Fairly-Odd
Curling Up In A Little Ball
I don't know if anyone's picked up on this or not yet, but I've not really had a good day.
Sometimes (and I know this is crap compared to the shit that some people have to deal with), I just feel like I get to a certain point in the evening, and all I want to do is pull a duvet over my head and shut the whole world out.
Of course, I'm not going to do that literally, because I'm not tired.
This then, is when I open a bottle of wine. It's my synonym for duvet.
Perhaps.
A friend texted me earlier, to tell me that his band are playing in The Bobbin tonight, but I'm really not in a sociable mood. THat said, if you live in Lancaster, there are a lot worse things you could do this evening than go along and see them.
Tell the drummer that Siobhan said they were good
Me? Personally? I'm going to resort to my three four vices:
Drinking
Smoking
Writing meaningless crap in my weblog...
...whilst dressed as a schoolgirl
Puts a whole new slant on things, doesn't it?
I have to say that, while I'm sorry you've had a crap day, this is the most amusing stuff you've written in a few days Siobhan!
They're like that about licenses in the States too. You sit in the little office for hours waiting to be helped and when you get to the counter they say "Oh. You need this form or this ID or this or that before I can actually help you." So you go home and get said items only to queue again upon returning to the DMV.
this is the most amusing stuff you've written in a few days Siobhan!
I aim to please
On other days though, I've just been propositioned by a married guy (I mean, he just left a comment there now on that page)
Something at the back of my head says "Don't email back"
(Although, increasingly, I'm getting more and more tempted)
Didn't someone once say that "bureaucracy is the curse of the civilised society"? Looking (very quickly) on google didn't provide an answer but if no-one has, someone should say it.
I think you're confusing it with "Mass is the opiate of the religious" there Clarissa. Or something
Straying From The Path
So I was looking (narcicistially) through my comments on Flickr, when I decided to go and check out someone who'd left a random comment. And then I checked out what groups they belonged to.
Whoah. Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore.
Oh, wait, we are in Kansas
I dunno, two thoughts: (1) I'm finding myself caring less and less about people who add me to their contacts just so they can show me pictures of their knob. I like to think I have an open mind about things — and if someone has gone to the trouble of taking pictures of their personal posessions, then so be it. The thing that's getting to me slightly is that none of the pictures are any good.
It's a fixation on the object rather than an objective appreciation of what's sexy or not.
That's a discussion for another day...
(2) I never thought I was such a prude. I thought I was doing something positive in pushing forward some kind of idiom of "transvestite" that doesn't just post headless shots of them weaing panties. But I see that for every well-conceptualised photograph, there's a million and one images to reinforce the stereotype.
Dunno what my point is really. Call it a 'knee-jerk reaction' if you like. I've basically spent a good twenty minutes flicking through various pictures of erect penises in silk underwear, and I can't help but think to myself "Ack, c'mon guys. We're worth more than that aren't we?"
Obviously not.
Is it just me or am I the only one thinking, "how do they get the stains out of the undies"?
Silk is an unforgiving mistress you know.
You wrote "I found several useful things in the process — all the documentation for the car, my old CBT certificate (which I'd presumed must have been in the same place as my Driver's License), the original 1905 deeds for my house, my Birth Certificate, my MOT Certificate (and, bizarrely, Kath's MOT Certificate which I guess I'd better send to her somehow)."
Is there some new law that I missed that people have to have an MOT certificate. Crikey — I need to pop out and get a few!
(And how long is it since the MOT was the MOT — surely it has some new 21st Century name by now).
An anonymous coward
Silk is an unforgiving mistress you know.
Try getting silicone glue stains out of it Jane
Is there some new law that I missed that people have to have an MOT certificate.
I kinda meant my car's MOT certificate
"On other days though, I've just been propositioned by a married guy (I mean, he just left a comment there now on that page)"
That's one to remember if you start to feel down! It's always good to keep comments like that for if you need an ego boost
Beki
10 Items Or Less
I saw someone pushing a trolley stacked to the gunwales through a '10 item' till the other day. I would have said something but she was an effin' big, rough looking, bruiser; so I thought better of it. I think I'll mash-up some 'business cards' carrying advertisements for adult literacy courses and hand one out next time. Let's face it; by the time the dumb oafs catch on, I'll be well away. (These shite-hawks piss me off, in case you hadn't noticed; second only to the utter gob-shites who park their merc's in the disabled bays at the same establishment. Then again, maybe I'm wrong; maybe the disabled are all fantastically well-off these days?)
Alli' Cat'
Ha! You want to try applying for a replacement photocard driving license when you've a) changed your name, b) changed your photograph, and c) want them to change the gender designation (because you're transitioning), all at the same time, and without posting them your new passport (which shows those new details, and which you don't propose to entrust to the vagaries of the Royal Mail and the DVLA's internal post system).
The good news is, it can be done. The bad news is, it can't help you find your missing paper license. But then, I guess you already knew that!