Evidently, my car got some action over Valentine's day! I saw my car today for the first time since last week, and as I began driving down the road, I saw a little purple something flap under my windshield wipers. I turned them on their highest speed, watching the wipers furiously swish back and forth across the windshield, hoping I could dislodge this little whatever-it-was. That's when I saw the lettering on this tiny square piece of paper as it peeked out a little from under the hood. "Life Choices," it said.

"Car," I said. "WHY do you have a condom wrapper on your hood?!?!"

He responded, "Hey, I don't have to tell you everything I do. I have a life outside being your chauffeur, you know!"

I just sighed, and we rode in silence the rest of the way to the DMV. (I suppose I should be happy he's practicing safe sex?)

Ah, yes. The DMV. Where I spent two whole hours mostly just standing around. Why are visits to the DMV always so long and tedious? I tried to remain patient, too, but some people made that extremely difficult. First, there was the very impatient older man in line behind me with either his daughter or granddaughter. She appeared to be about eighteen, all calm and smiles. This guy, on the other hand, was a pain in the ass. He kept counting clerks and wondering out loud why some people weren't working. "And where's that lady going? Hey! Where are you going? You aren't going to work?!" Clearly, the man has never heard of breaks before. Then every time an employee became available, before they had a chance to press the button that would make the screen read, "Station 14," or whatever, he'd yell to whoever was at the front of the line, "Hey! Amigo! NEXT!" I could not wait for my turn to come up so that I could get away from this man. It came not a moment too soon, and then I had the pleasure of meeting the most confusing woman on earth.

"Fill out these forms," she told me. "Then bring your car around to this side of the building. Pop the hood and stay with your car. Then come inside and go to the front of the line."

I stared at her for a second. "Wait, so do I stay with my car or..."

"Stay with your car," she said.

I walked away to fill out the forms, but I still didn't understand when or if I was supposed to get back in line.

Forms filled, I moved my car and waited next to it. Except that it was raining, so I stood under the awning with the driving test kids and their moms. Weird. One lady asked me if I needed to take a driving test. Then an employee asked me the same thing. I guess I look sixteen today!

Finally, I was told to move my car under the awning in the lane for the driving test folks. I did, and eventually someone inspected my car. This guy was really cool. He showed me how to pop my hood (how lame am I that I had no idea how to do that?), and answered all of my questions. Then he told me I was all set, and to go back to the lady who had helped me before.

I tried that, but after about ten minutes of waiting by her window, she still hadn't returned from the Bermuda Triangle section of the DMV. The little screen said, "Station 8," so I walked on over and told that lady the whole story all over again. She said she could help me, and I had a good feeling about her. That faded somewhat as I waited, and waited, and waited, while she typed god knows what into her computer and walked off to ask other people questions. Five million years later, she handed me a form telling me all the stuff I still need to do before my car can be California-registered.

One of those things involves having the CHP inspect my car and give me a special certificate for my "revived total loss vehicle." That sounds so cool. My car was revived. Brought back from the dead, man! And now I need a special form allowing me to drive my zombie car on the streets of California. That makes sense. We need to be careful. After all, he could have a case of serious blood-lust. More than likely, though, he just has lust. Lock up your girl cars, California! Or at the very least, equip them with condoms. Apparently, my Altima knows what to do with them.