At Least My Car is a Californian

So ... we get up way earlier than we wanted to this morning to keep our appointment with the DMV. I'm supposed to take my written driver's test and get the car its local plates. David drove, bless his heart, because I was all kinds of nervous. I've been studying for the test most of the past week (go here to take the incredibly cute online tutorial: http://www.dmv.ca.gov/pubs/interactive/tdrive/flash/flash_intro.htm) and I think I've got it cold now, between the tutorial and the sample written tests, but I was still nervous -- I mean, what if I fail the eye chart?

One never knows.

So we get there, we get the plates, they misspell my first name on the registration, we get that fixed. We go to the line for the license. They ask for my birth certificate. Perhaps I do not appear to be a legal resident, or perhaps I do not appear to be old enough to drive. Perhaps I appear to be a terrorist, with my bushy grey ponytail and my Oregon Shakespeare Festival t-shirt. I dunno. I say I don't think I know where it is after all these years and they say run home and look. We go home. Mal is sleeping on the couch, waiting for the Comcast install guy to come hook up my tv's, since of course they gave me an appointment that conflicted with my DMV appointment, and we kept it because employee installs are few and far between. I run up to the attic and start digging for the right box -- we have less than an hour til they close.

I find half of it. Don't ask.

I dig more, I find the other half, a stapler appears in my hand as if by magic, I staple the loose piece back where it belongs, we run back to the DMV. It's now too late to take the test, but they say I can still pay my fee and get my picture taken and then I can just run back in later (weeks later, because they're only open on Saturdays once a month) and take my test. I go to have my papers checked -- and they look at my birth certificate and they look at my application and they notice that the last name doesn't match.

I point out that this is because I wasn't married when I was born.

They say they understand that, but I will need to bring a marriage license or official court paper explaining my name change.

Could the woman who sent me home for my birth certificate have mentioned that, I wonder? I don't think I have my marriage license, actually. I mean, I was married in 1972 and I've been divorced since 1995. I offer them my Colorado license, which shows a photo quite obviously of me. They say this is not a legal document. They suggest a passport. As it happens, I have a passport and I even know where it is, but it expired about 10 years ago. They say that's fine, go get it.

And bring it next time.

The Comcast guy came while we were gone the second time and we now have platinum cable service for three tv's (one on each level of the house) as well as the wireless network for the four computers. (Free free free for as long as I can be okay with the hour+ commute and the general requirements of the job. So far, it seems do-able.) And Sweet Mama, my beloved car, has her California plates, with YFP in the number. David suggested we remember that by thinking of Yarrow Furry Purry. Works for me.