Some good news for once.
People are always telling me things I don't want to hear. Like:
Yeah, my whole family died in a house fire a year ago. This dog is the only friend I have left. [cries for ten minutes]
Or
This tastes really good, but every time I chew my mouth sore REALLY HURTS.
And
That stupid fucking dog ate my anal beads.
Yeah. I think that last one is the best, too. Even though I washed my hands for about three days straight after she said that to me.
The worst thing that anyone has EVER said to me [EVER!] was when Tony and I were on our way home after the three days we'd spent at his parents house in Toronto. I'd never met them before, and my mom had surprised us with the plane tickets the previous week. Going through customs, we were stopped by a sour, soulless man with a thick French accent who told us that while I was free to go home, Tony had no business in the United States. We didn't have the proper paperwork. But we're married! I said and held out our brand-new marriage certificate. He took it from me. This? People get married all the time. THIS HAS NO MEANING AT ALL. IT'S NOTHING! In my confused and tearful panic, I was suddenly sure that he was going to pull out a giant VOID stamp and declare us Not Married.
So. Three hours in the customs office, a year and a half in my in-laws' basement in Toronto, countless nightmares about Gestapo-like immigration officers grilling us under hot lights, thousands of dollars, at least thirty passport photos with the three-quarter frontal view showing the ENTIRE EAR - NO SMILES, seventeen TRILLION pages of paperwork, and approximately twenty-four refills of lexapro later, WE ARE DONE.
No more fucking paperwork. No waiting. No sweating at the border [are they going to let us through this time?] No carrying around temporary visas and calling service centers so robotic voices can tell us that they are sixteen months behind processing paperwork. DONE. Tony is a PERMANENT permanent resident. Soon, he will get his greencard that will NEVER EXPIRE.
We're done.
And it only took four years.
And roughly one-third of my sanity.
Yeah, my whole family died in a house fire a year ago. This dog is the only friend I have left. [cries for ten minutes]
Or
This tastes really good, but every time I chew my mouth sore REALLY HURTS.
And
That stupid fucking dog ate my anal beads.
Yeah. I think that last one is the best, too. Even though I washed my hands for about three days straight after she said that to me.
The worst thing that anyone has EVER said to me [EVER!] was when Tony and I were on our way home after the three days we'd spent at his parents house in Toronto. I'd never met them before, and my mom had surprised us with the plane tickets the previous week. Going through customs, we were stopped by a sour, soulless man with a thick French accent who told us that while I was free to go home, Tony had no business in the United States. We didn't have the proper paperwork. But we're married! I said and held out our brand-new marriage certificate. He took it from me. This? People get married all the time. THIS HAS NO MEANING AT ALL. IT'S NOTHING! In my confused and tearful panic, I was suddenly sure that he was going to pull out a giant VOID stamp and declare us Not Married.
So. Three hours in the customs office, a year and a half in my in-laws' basement in Toronto, countless nightmares about Gestapo-like immigration officers grilling us under hot lights, thousands of dollars, at least thirty passport photos with the three-quarter frontal view showing the ENTIRE EAR - NO SMILES, seventeen TRILLION pages of paperwork, and approximately twenty-four refills of lexapro later, WE ARE DONE.
No more fucking paperwork. No waiting. No sweating at the border [are they going to let us through this time?] No carrying around temporary visas and calling service centers so robotic voices can tell us that they are sixteen months behind processing paperwork. DONE. Tony is a PERMANENT permanent resident. Soon, he will get his greencard that will NEVER EXPIRE.
We're done.
And it only took four years.
And roughly one-third of my sanity.
posted by inveil | 6:34 PM
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