OK, fine, I've been blogging on that very subject since 2002ish. But it's now a question with more practical implications.
Back in the day, when a cashmere twinset was the height of style, I was a married lady who went by Shannon Johnson. While this name was legally 86'ed almost four years ago, it still crops up in the most unlikely and annoying of places, like a many-headed retro-traditionalist hydra:
1. My screechiest nightmares.
2. My cellphone bill.
3. Some of my checks.
4. My passport.
None of those mattered until today, in fact, they were all kind of funny. Like routine hauntings from the Ghosts of Bad Ideas Past. However, now I'm going to Mexico. Next month. And apparently, you need a valid passport for that (how Brenda and Dylan snuck into Baja to go surfing without even a driver's license is either a big ol' plot hole, or just further proof that the imaginary rich really are different).
My passport's completely valid, well, in that it has a datestamp on it for sometime in the future. But it's got the wrong name on it, creating the current crisis. Especially as every attempt to call the State Department's helpline involves me pressing the number "0" and barking the word, "Operator!", which just sends me back to the main menu.
So, folks, tell me what to do.