Funny Strange is Lori Culwell's blog

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?

Are you following this O.J. Simpson thing?  They've let him out on bail, but they've added "kidnapping with a deadly weapon" to his list of charges, and they're saying that he might have to do 35 years for this sports memorabilia robbery thing in Vegas.

The only logical conclusion to be drawn from this bizarre chain of events is that O.J. Simpson is our modern-day version of Macbeth, only without the Lady Macbeth behind him spurring him on (because, um, he killed her)>

Go with me on this-- here's a man so ambitious and talented that he crushes everything in his path.  He succeeds at a sport where the odds are so astronomical, it's not even funny.  He breaks into tv and film.  He's a world famous celebrity.  He gets to the top of his game, then kills his wife and gets away with it, thus ensuring that he has his money, his kids, and his Heisman trophy.   The Brown and Goldman families win the civil case against him, so he's found LIABLE for the murders, but ingeniously moves to Florida so the families can never collect on the $ 35 million dollar verdict.  He's 60 years old, which means all he has to do is sit back, chip golf balls until his arthritis won't allow it, sign autographs, AND KEEP HIS MOUTH SHUT.   It's this last part that's giving him the trouble, see?  That's what makes him like Macbeth.  He's home free, only he is clearly unable to live with the burden of his conscience.

This is when it really starts to resemble Shakespeare.  For you see, Simpson is crushed by the weight of his actions.  It doesn't matter what the jury says-- he knows what happened that night, and his continued and eternal silence is too high a price to pay for his life.  His subconscious mind (or his conscience, if you'd prefer) begins to creack under the pressure.  He is desperate for punishment.

First, he teams with Judith Regan to write a semi-fictional, thinly veiled confessional book called "If I Did It."  He knows he can't collect any money from the proceeds of the book because of that law which orders the proceeds go to the victims families, so why even get involved in a project like this? 

Because he needs to confess, that's why.  In one portion of an interview to promote the book, taped before the project was canceled, Regan says to Simpson, "You wrote, 'I have never seen so much blood in my life.'" Simpson responds, "I don't think any two people could be murdered without everybody being covered in blood."

I mean, JUST LOOK AT THE BOOK COVER, dude.  The "if" is so small, it's barely even there.  O.J. Simpson WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT HE DID IT, OK?  Getting out of his forced prison of silence will finally set him free.

The book is stifled, though.  Protest groups are in an uproar, the book is pulled, Judith Regan is fired and disgraced.  Again the psychic burden shifts back to Simpson, and he finds that he cannot live with it, so he takes a GUN to LAS VEGAS, a city more saturated with video cameras and other recording devices then any other in the nation.  He commits SEVEN felonies in the span of five minutes, including ARMED KIDNAPPING.

So, this pretty much speaks for itself.  He can't live with himself, and somehow, he's going to make sure he pays for those crimes.  He knows he's guilty and he's cheated the system, and so he has, either deliberately or unconsciously, ended up exactly where he feels he deserves to be-- serving 35 years in prison. 

Also, I'm guessing that for the first time since 1995, he's getting a good night's sleep.    Crazy! 

Costumes: The Perfect Gift for Children

I got a new camera as an anniversary present, and you know what that means--- even more photo funny!  I carry it everywhere with me now, which I'm sure does wonders for my ability to live in the moment and enjoy life.  Actually, I have to say that searching for the funny for this blog DOES make life alot more entertaining.

First stop:  freaky costume store.  There is this weird store by where we used to live in Santa Monica....they sell costumes, which is all fine and dandy, but I'm not sure this is an industry that warrants a year-long storefront which continually has this sign in the window:

Every time I walk by there, I go "Hmmm....really?  What children are they talking about?"  Are these children from Olde Tymes, when it was just good fun to put on the outfit of your favorite rapscallion and run around the yard? Because I have to say, I know some kids, and none of them are wearing costumes on a regular basis.  One year, we got our friend's son a fireman outfit, and I think he's worn it twice (if I'm not mistaken, once was on HALLOWEEN).

They also have this tiny mannequin in the window, which makes me wonder-- who dresses their kid up like Vampire Kelly Osborne, Halloween or not?  I thought little girls dressed up like fairy princesses for Halloween, right?

Continuing on the theme of "weird costumes," this next photo comes to you from the BABY STORE next door to the costume place, where Stephan looked into the window and screamed at this display. 

I'm not sure what they were going for with this-- are they trying to get you to dress your kids up like Hannibal Lecter?  Maybe to put them in a straight-jacket to feed them?  I'm not saying I disagree with this concept-- I'm just surprised that they've gone so far as to actually implement this  in the window of a baby store.  Also, what's with the little wig?   Did they mean for the baby mannequin to look like Shirley Maclaine after a bad trip to the other side?  Why give a mannequin baby a bad combover?  Help a mannequin baby out! 


This one should really be a candidate for Oddee's "Misplaced Signs" category.  Simply outstanding. See.... you didn't even know Barry Manlilow had gone into a new genre, did you?

Moldy Mold Mold.

So, I'm sure you remember how I'm afraid of food, since that's the thing that people find absolutely HILARIOUS about me, as if they have no fears or compulsions of their own that they're hiding, like they LOVE clowns, and can easily get into a packed elevator and not want to scream.  Listen, I'm not Monk-- I mean, I can kill a spider with my bare hands, then take the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building and look over, but if I find spoiled leftovers in the fridge, I'm screaming and crying like a little girl, ok?  Because I could have eaten that, and that would be....just unthinkable.  I'm just saying, everyone has their thing, and rotten food is mine.  It just grosses me out, and I own that.

Anyway, I was cleaning out the refrigerator last week (a task which I usually don't do, because I will throw out absolutely EVERYTHING), and came across the bane of my very existence-- a Tupperware container full of some grapes that had started to mold. 

I will say that this time I managed to actually open up the Tupperware and throw the moldy grapes out into the trashcan, which I thought was a big step for me, because before I would have just thrown away the whole container, even if the moldy grapes were contained in a piece of expensive, one-of-a-kind heirloom china.   In my mind, once something's had mold in it, no matter how hot the water is when you wash it, the mold is still there.   I think Stephan might have gotten tired of us never having anything to put leftovers in, though, because I started noticing them all rinsed out in the dishwasher before I could make the argument about how rotten food is virulent and will kill you. 

This time, I actually went so far as to fill up the container with hot water and soap, though I could not bring myself to wash it out with a sponge because that would have been a little too close to me touching the mold.  Also, while touching the moldy Tupperware, I will admit that I was holding my breath the whole time lest I accidentally inhale some of the spores, which would assuredly have given me tuberculosis.   I did start to freak a little bit when a drop of water from INSIDE the moldy Tupperware got on my foot.  Because you know why?  I don't like it when mold touches me, or when condensation that was once touching mold touches me.  I must have screamed a little louder than I meant to, though, because Stephan came into the kitchen and said calmly: "You know, I hate to tell you this, but lots of things are MADE out of mold.  You could even EAT mold, and you'd be fine.  Penicillin is made from mold.  BLUE CHEESE is mold.  In fact, CHEESE is essentially mold.  Things you like have mold in them!"

I think he was trying to be comforting, but the horrified look on my face may have let him know that this pep talk backfired, and that this had just made the crazy worse.   I also wonder if he noticed that I never let out the breath I was holding until AFTER I backed out of the kitchen very slowly.

Mold can kill you, you know.  Not many people know that.

He Does Voices

I can't believe I left out the most crucial moment of my story about the TV writer at the dog park last week-- I think I got so focused on the true absurdity of the "you take twelve homeless guys" pitch that I forgot to stay with the real reason of why I actually left the park.  Because really, this particular thing happens so much, and is absolutely the kind of thing you would want to see on my blog-- humorous, a little tragic-- you know:  Funny Strange.

So, the real reason I left the park was because when I told bitter TV writer guy that my husband is a professional voiceover actor and had even been on Family Guy (I don't know why I volunteered this information), he did the thing that some people do when they hear about a person who has a cool job-- in this case, HE STARTED DOING CARTOON VOICES FOR ME, and he would.  Not.  Stop.  In this particular case, he had a character he liked to call "Potty Mouth Baby" (I only wish I were making this up), and he kept saying cutsie stuff in this character's voice, even after I told him that the cartoon world is REALLY hard to break into (my code for "I don't like you, my husband is not going to like you, and it doesn't matter anyway because you're never going to meet him to ask him how to launch your cartoon career), and offered him absolutely no indication that I would be helping him.   If I am more inclined and less busy in the future, I might actually record a demo of what the guy sounded like, but for now, please just imagine a grown man, in a high voice that sounds like a baby, going "This is my baby voice....the baby says F%^* you!  Why do you say that, baby?  Bad baby!"

In that moment, at least, there was nothing sadder or more annoying than hearing a grown man swear in a baby voice, so now I've dubbed him "Human Nails on Chalkboard Bitter TV Writer," so when I see him at the park again, I can steer clear of him.  He kept up the horrible baby voice until I excused myself and left the park, which I did because killing him probably would have gotten me sentenced to jail time, and my cellmate probably would have been an angry lesbian inmate who really wanted to get into cartoons.

Let's say this is not even close to the first time I've had this experience.  It seems like half the new people you meet have always wanted to be on cartoons, which has never been my dream, but I totally understand.  It IS a cool job.  The thing is, people who are actually ON cartoons don't really sit around in restaurants doing the voices all the time, because they have an outlet for it.    With a few (very annoying) exceptions, it's always the people who WANT to be on cartoons are the ones who can't stop doing the voices.  Recently we were at a block party, and when a random guy from the neighborhood heard what Stephan did for a living, he followed him around for almost an hour doing his whole cartoon repertoire, perhaps as an audition.  When Stephan told his voiceover friends about Potty Mouth Baby guy, they all laughed, then shared similar stories of their own, including one who said a guy gave him a demo reel of himself going (in the appropriate voices, of course):  "This is my tough guy voice!"  "This is my gay guy voice!"  "This is my baby voice!"  Now, you kind of have to commend the guy for putting something together, but still....  "This is my tough guy voice!" is just undeniably funny, don't you think?  So, these are the types of people and situations I'm talking about.

My point with this is-- if you meet someone who says they "do voices," or have "always wanted to get into cartoons,"  DO NOT encourage them.  And please, for the LOVE OF GOD, do not tell them you know someone whose husband does voiceover for a living.   I'm telling you this because I like you, and I don't want you to get an earful of somebody's best Bullwinkle impression (or an original character they call "Foul Mouthed Baby") for an hour over dinner.   

See, my blog is now a public service, in addition to being your distraction from your workday.   Also, in case you haven't noticed it, I finally got one of those "subscribe via email" tools, so if (for some reason, and I can't for the life of me imagine what that would be) you don't have the TIME or inclination to check my blog on a daily basis, just sign up and have it sent right to you, you lazy hooligan.

The Search for The Bourne Identity

So, ok, I don't know why, but I am like, the last person left on earth who hasn't seen any of the Bourne Identity movies.  Not on cable, not on the airplane, not in the theater-- just never had the opportunity or the inclination, I guess.   But then Steph got a job as one of the voices in the Bourne Identity video game, so we decided that we should probably see it.  Also, someone at William Morris mentioned to him that hey, those movies are actually really good, and were we going to go see the third one?    After which we were like, "we'd rather see the first two, THEN go see the third one."  Because you know, we both have obsessive compulsive disorder, and when we agree on something like this, it gets really out of control.  So, now we don't want to talk about the movie, don't want to hear about it, have to see the first two.

Lo and behold, every single person in the greater Los Angeles area seems to have had the EXACT same idea at the same time, because now there is not a SINGLE copy of The Bourne Identity to be had in, seriously, a 50 mile radius.  I've called FOUR Blockbusters, including one way over by where we used to live when we first moved into town, and the guy (who we call "Crazy Michael" because he so obviously has bipolar disorder that is barely being kept in check by medication) actually said "No-- and you're not the only one who's called to ask," like I was daring to call for U2 tickets during The Joshua Tree era, if you know what I mean.    Then we called Vidiots, and they were like "Um.....no" in that way that only those guys at Vidiots can, when with one word they can make you regret not majoring in some totally obscure film subject and not knowing anything about Bergman films, whatever.

Then we went to Barnes & Noble.  Nope.  "Sold out," said the saleswoman, not even bothering to hide a smirk.  "I can order it for you-- be here in a couple of weeks," she says. 

A couple of WEEKS?  Oh no no.  Now we have to see this movie.  Next, Borders.  Three copies supposedly in stock, ZERO copies on the shelf.  The guy thinks someone STOLE them, which frankly, I would have done if I'd thought of it.   Do you not know that I'm a petty thief?  Well, here's more on that.

Next stop:  Odyssey video.  Same story.  Two copies, zero on the shelf-- it seems that some clever imp has HIDDEN the Bourne Identity DVDs so they can, oh I don't know, come back later and squirrel them away?  Why is this movie so elusive?

Next stop:  Movies on Demand through our cable, where we discover that while you CAN see "Big Momma's House" 24 hours a day, you definitely, definitively CANNOT see The Bourne Identity.  We watch Boogie Nights instead, and temporarily forget about our Bourne Identity jones.  Meanwhile, I go to add The Bourne Identity to my Blockbuster queue, and it has the incredible GALL to list the movie as "TEMPORARY WAIT."

Next stop:  Blockbuster again, last night. 

Me:  "Any copies of the Bourne Identity come in?"   
Blockbuster guy:  "Nope."
Me:  "Other stores?"
Blockbuster guy (laughing):  "Probably not."

Then another, "used CD and DVD type store," no luck.  I'm about ready to go over to Matt Damon's house and borrow his screener copy, because this is freaking ridiculous.  It's just a MOVIE.  I'm a member of the Screen Actors Guild Nominating Committee for films, and I can't get my hands on a copy of a movie that came out five years ago?  Nice.

So-- still haven't seen the movie.  If anyone has a copy you'd like to lend, I'm all ears.

The Groovy Schwartzman, Part III

First off, if you haven't been following the ongoing coverage of the bizarre names list, please click here to go back and get re-acquainted with a list of the weirdest names of real people in the known universe.

I made a new friend last weekend, and she was kind enough to give me FOUR names to add to the list right off the top of her head, which makes her the coolest new person I've met in a long, long while.  Brace yourself for the latest additions to the Groovy Schwartzman list.

1.  Gathering Flowers.  Yep, real name of a real person.  In fact, real name of a real person who's probably going to email me and be all "Hey Lori, why am I on your blog?  Sincerely, Gathering Flowers."

2.  Rhythm Xander.  This one is harsh, because you know no one knows how to spell "rhythm" without spell check.

3.  Phoenix Eden Harmony.  Sweet, but this name might still put you at a disadvantage in a job-interview scenario, if we're to believe Malcolm Gladwell's Tipping Point theory on names pre-disposing the interviewer.  Also, Phoenix Eden Harmony probably smells like nag champa, my favorite new term of the week.

4.  Tidimdia.  Didn't catch the last name, but Tidimdia is a great onomonopeaic name, like the sound a drum makes when you're playing it...IN A DRUM CIRCLE AT THE GRATEFUL DEAD.  "Yo, Tidimdia...don't bogart that joint."  Yep, that works.

By the way, since the original post I have gotten alot of emails from people who claim to know Groovy Nipples Schwartzman and her groovy family, which apparently also contains a person named Strawberry Cheesecake.  I believe these are real people, but I don't actually know them, so you're not going to have any luck contacting them through me, even if you did go to high school with Groovy and haven't talked to her in a long time.  Sorry!

You Say Airtight! I Say Prenup! Airtight! Prenup!

Yeah, someone needs to tell Charlie Sheen that it's a bad idea for him to keep getting married.  It's not for everyone-- some people are just better off single, right?  Sheen obviously can't restrain himself in the face of tons of money, booze and pills, and women everywhere-- so why does he even try?   This is either his third or fourth marriage (depending on which source you believe), and he's just NOTORIOUS for being a jerk to his wives.   I suppose if you're the highest-paid sitcom actor on tv, you don't have to try that hard, but really, why is he trying at all?  You'd think he'd just go all "George Clooney I'm never getting married."  But nooooo --- Charlie has something to prove, especially with a half million dollar engagement ring.  Why would you do this willingly?  Has this girl never read US Weekly or People magazine?  Seriously.

I also think it's totally funny that he proposed to her with a $500,000 ring.  Because you know if you're going to put yourself through a marriage of any length with Charlie Sheen, you're not going to do it for a ring from Sears.  I'm guessing that Denise Richards is getting crazy paid from the 3 1/2 years of Sheen she had to take. 

By the way,I know everyone likes Denise Richards again now that she broke up with Richie Sambora and she's with her kids all the time, but to me she just seems hairy, like she's about to spontaneously burst into hair at any moment, or like she's just been from the salon where she (probably) goes every other day to have her eyebrows and arms waxed.  Hairy, that's what I mean.  Like she requires alot of hair control.  Oh and also, and I mean this only in the most flattering sense because I loved the West Wing.  Has anyone noticed that Sam Sheen (daughter of Charlie and Denise) looks just like Martin Sheen?  She's like a girl Martin Sheen with ponytails and a dress.  I would've said "a shorter Martin Sheen," but honestly, Martin Sheen is pretty darn short.  This face is really funny, like "Put me down, I'm Martin Sheen from Apocalypse Now." That's how much she looks like him.

Speaking of Martin Sheen, you know he's like "Charlie-- enough with the weddings."  Because that's got to be quite a large expense for him, if he has to throw a lavish, Beverly Hills style wedding for his son every three or four years.  Emilio Estevez tried it a few times and now seems to have given up, but Charlie is still plugging along.

Is it possible that we could put a marriage embargo on the Sheen Brothers?  It's time.

I Guess She's Not Keeping Her "Promises"

Once she sobers up, Lindsay Lohan is going to be pissed that her mugshot isn't as good as Paris Hilton's, don't you think?  Does anyone else think that, the way this girl is headed, she's trying to end up dead before she's 30?   She needs someone to babysit her all the time, or no one's ever going to be able to get insurance to hire her on a film again.  I can only imagine what a totally sucky time it is right now to be one of Lindsay Lohan's spin-control people.  Like-- how do you spin this?   She's out of rehab what?  Six days, and even with the alcohol-monitoring device she can't keep it together?  Yikes.

Speaking of alcohol monitoring, did you see this picture of her out and about last weekend, before her big drunken car chase arrest today?  If you did, did you wonder-- what's with the ankle bracelet?  Is she on probation or something?  Apparently the ankle bracelet she's wearing was for alcohol monitoring, and it's called the SCRAM.  Here's a link to the website, where you can watch a little movie explaining how it works.  Apparently it measures the alcohol intake of your body by your perspiration, which is a relief, because at first I thought they had it directly connected to her bloodstream or something, and that just looks like it would hurt, as well as being a total buzz kill for the rest of the people at the party. 

So many questions with this-- why's she wearing it for alcohol?  Is this part of the Promises Rehab program?  Do they call you back in if you have a beer and start sweating?  Does a buzzer go off somewhere?  They obviously don't lock it on you, because she was already drunk when she was arrested this morning. (for chasing someone, with cocaine in her pocket-- so you know that last trip to rehab really stuck).  I mean, does she have a choice in the matter?  Where does the reading go?  Like, is there a guy, sitting in a room, receiving a ticker-tape printout of Lindsay Lohan's alcohol consumption?    Because you know THAT's got to be a fun job. Also, and this seems very important--- were they monitoring her cocaine intake?  Because that's what we're really interested in, right?  Do they have an ankle bracelet for that?

I'm just genuinely curious as to why she was wearing it-- I mean, was obviously for some purpose-- maybe to show the DUI judge that she's sober?  But, she can obviously take it off, so I can't see how this would do much good.  Also, regarding this photo from the website-- it's so amusing to me because it's so META-- monitoring the alcohol output of a stein of beer?  Too funny.

So clearly, I've finished packing, and have now turned my attention to Lindsay Lohan's problems and this strange alcohol-monitoring contraption in order to redirect my manic "move limbo" energy.  Also, my best friend Katie Holmes did not invite me to her welcome party for Posh and Becks, and I am very offended.

Yard Sale Day: Packed With Funny.

In preparation for our big move, we put some stuff aside to sell at a yard sale this morning.  We got the second shift at a big family yard sale up the street, which some people wouldn't want because they want to be out there right at 7:00 am when the early birds show up, to start the haggling game.  But, as we've already established, I don't have kids, so there's no way in HELL I'm going to get up that early on a Sunday, even if there's money involved.  Besides, I have a general distaste for yard sales and the people who go to them.  Like, one minute something's good enough to be in my house, and the next minute a woman who looks like she's homeless is seeing if she can get me down to $2.  Just...yikes.

We had a bunch of stuff, though, that we wanted to try to sell before we donated it, so we decided to do the 11 - 2 shift today.  Now's the part when I'm going to switch over to a time-stamped list, so you can see how the day just grew more and more hilarious.

10:30 am-- While Stephan and our friend are unloading the stuff, I go to CVS to get water and change.  I'm standing in line at CVS when, no lie, a man RUNS in and goes "EXCUSE ME--EXCUSE ME! to the row of cashiers.  When someone finally acknowledges him, he shouts "WHERE ARE THE COMBS?"  in a tone so urgent, you'd think he needed someone to call 911 for him or to get him some nitroglycerin pills.  One of the cashiers goes "Um...Aisle 6, sir," and he RUNS away to go get his comb to address his hair emergency.  So, this really set the tone for the day.

11:17 am-- We have all the stuff out, some stuff gets sold right away, and of course there's one totally looney woman who's been there all morning, haggling everyone down on every knick knack.  She tries to get Stephan to sell her two steak knives out of a set.  He refuses. 

12:00 pm-- A sour-looking woman who says she owns a preschool shouts "are any of you offering a teacher's discount?"  At a yard sale.  On things that are a quarter to begin with.  Later, I will tell Stephan that she owns a preschool, and he will reply "Which one--McMartin?"

1:00 pm -- Comedic actor Dom DeLuise pulls up with a driver. He doesn't want to get out of the car, though, so we have to bring boxes of stuff over to him to he can look through it.  He buys my humidor, and some stuff from a woman who used to own a party store (including a bunch of ballerina costumes).   As soon as he leaves, my friend's neighbor, a lovely Japanese woman named Keiko, leans over to me and says "Why he need twelve tu-tus?"

1:15 pm-- I run into the house of JoAnn, the yard sale ringleader, and say "Dom DeLuise just left!  You missed him!"  With a straight face, she replies:  "He comes to all the yard sales....he never wants to get out of the car."

2:15 pm -- The sale is over.  We are hot and tired.   The things that we were previously calling stuff, Stephan is now calling "shit," because he's the one that has to take the excess to Goodwill.

2:30 -- I'm getting ready to leave, and some of the other yard salers start offering me their stuff that didn't sell.  I tell them I don't want to get a divorce, and that is what will happen if I come home with any NEW stuff from the yard sale.  One of them laughs, then tries to put a fifteen year old beige Knotts Berry Farm Candle shaped like a magical tree in a bag for me.  "Use it as a White Elephant Gift," she says.  I am extremely tempted to take the candle and give it to someone as a joke for Christmas, but again, I have my relationship to consider.  She also tries to tempt me with a two-foot high florescent green frog that she won at the Santa Monica Pier (I couldn't get her to tell me how much she actually PAID trying to win the frog.  Ouch).  She says "Don't you have any friends with kids?"  I want to say yes, but I want them to still be my friends, so there's no way I can show up with a two foot tall, three feet wide florescent frog. Because I want my friends to like me, you see.

3:00 pm -- The yard sale is over, we are $150 richer, and the rest of the stuff is at the Goodwill.   Stephan's neck is sunburned, and once again, we've had our fill of children for the weekend.

P.S.  I'm looking for a new agent, if anyone knows someone.  Preferably someone who can represent fiction as well as non-fiction.

Fantastically Weird Names

This is so great-- Talk of the Nation did an "unusual names" show today (maybe inspired by Barack Obama), and they totally added some names to my Groovy Nipples list.    They interviewed a writer named Strawberry Saroyan (fantastic), and a woman named Gayman Wong, and a woman emailed in whose step-grandmother's name was Arizona Killings.   Click here to listen to the show. 

My original list:

1.  Groovy Nipples Schwartzman
2.  Freakus Poleakus Schwartzman
3. Donald Duckles
4. Honey Darling
5. Sweetie Darling
6. River Hudson
7. Blueberry Pancake
8. Thankful Vander Star
9. Hopeful Vander Star
10. Browne Greene (father)
11. Blue Greene (daughter)
12. Violet Greene (daugher)
13. Guy Wilde
14. Jackson Fastaction
15. Gay Peoples
16. Dr. Deth
17. Dr. Cocksburn (a urologist)

New additions to the list:

18.  Gayman Wong
19.  Strawberry Saroyan (her sister's name is Cream, dude)
20.  Arizona Killings (she married INTO this name)

More to come...please, add your own!