AND HERE WE GO AGAIN

Yesterday I heard back from my lawyer. I was hoping this whole process would take at most six months and that after half a year I would be flying to Europe to go to Ireland to see the Cliffs of Mohr and the land of Oscar Wilde, or England to visit Platform 9 ¾ or Hawaii to see the sunrise on top of a dormant volcano, or hell Indiana to see my in-laws but as things stand I can’t even legally drive to buy some chimichangas at the Don Ramon Restaurant down the street.

Yours truly has to wait for at least six months for a judge to decide to reopen my case, six months for some overworked middle age man/woman with too much on his plate to care about me, to look at the black and white “facts” and decide if they reopen my case and let me prove to them that DH and I are REALLY married, six months for some stranger who doesn’t know me at all to decide if I am worthy of staying here. I guess in paper I sound good, I have paid my taxes, and I haven’t committed any felonies or misdemeanors or broken ANY law. I speak the language, I have gone native. But until everything is finally done I will not feel at ease. My future rests in (on) the desk of someone stranger who doesn’t know anything about me, or what I’ve been through, or what I have brought and could still bring to this country, my future lays in the hand of someone who doesn’t know my awesomeness. It’s a scary thought to be just one more random, anonymous spic.

Since I refuse to remain quiet about all the hullaballoo that’s going on in the U.S. ever since I stopped writing here I am, back to this beautiful place where I can be myself and express my idea and have total strangers tell me what they think. I’m sorry but the U.S. is going nuts! And it all seemed to explode the moment I said I was going to shut up! Cruel, simply cruel to have such juicy crazies to bite on and find myself with no teeth.

I hope I haven’t lost some of you, those precious few who take some moments out of your lives to listen (read) my drivel and who are not by blood or law, related to me. If I haven't completely lost you, then please stick around because some of my not so smart, sometimes funny rhetoric is back.

Oh if only they (IRS, ICE, UCIS, etc, same entity different acronyms) knew just how native I have gone I think they would let me stay. I am a woman without land, an immigrant without a country. I belong nowhere. I know I have a flare for dramatics but people when I tell you I have no land I mean I have NO LAND. I am an effing pariah!

It’s kind of sad to find oneself at Bruzz Room, they whitest place you could go to, to see the Rays lose like little bitches to the Rangers and find yourself surrounded by Colombians watching a friendly game of football (soccer for those of you who think Football means pigskin and shoulder pads) and have them call you a race traitor because you are not watching the football game but are watching baseball. Baseball? How dare I? Not even Hispanic baseball like the Caribbean Series but American “World” Series Baseball. The offspring of my offspring will feel the shame this ancestor brought upon them.

Never mind that I grew up in Venezuela and baseball is the national pass time. Never mind that in Colombia, Football not Baseball is the national pass time. Are you following my conundrum here? No matter who I root for, no matter who I follow it will be the wrong choice. You were raised in Venezuela, you should follow baseball. Your family and you are all from Colombia: Viva el Pibe y la seleccion. I am living in the U.S. I am supposed to embrace the culture: Bring on the cheese hats, the foam fingers, the expensive cheap beer and all the sports that come with it.

Next year in April I will celebrate my ninth year in the U.S. Six more years than I ever lived in Colombia, more than half the time I spent in Venezuela. How can I have ANY identity at all? I am forgetting some of my Spanish. I no longer read books in my first language. I have almost forgotten who I was back then... I was so young and so damn stupid when I came into this country. I was nineteen but in reality I was younger. I was pampered and silly and spoiled and I did all my growing up here. I became a woman here. Let’s enjoy this Lifefime moment.

This is home. I love Colombia. I love Venezuela. I will never, ever forget that I am a part that, that I came from spicy looks, cumbia smelling heat, coffee smelling sounds and tall those discombobulated senses that make one a Latino. I, however, am becoming something else.

I am not sure if I am happy about it. I am not sure I can belong here. I want to stick seventeen people in a small car before I go to a party (that stereotype is so true) I want to teach my kids (If I have any) to dance as soon as they can walk. I want to eat pig blood and rice and not find it icky (I so do) I want to drink aguardiente and dance gaitas in December. I want to be everything that my race, breed, culture, background demands of me but I can’t. I am a hybrid. I am a mutt within a mutt.

Not to sound all existentialist, but where the fuck do I belong?

COLOMBIAN CONSULATE AND BEING GERMAN

I once took one of those silly facebook quizes and found out my nationality was meant to be German. Apparently my personality it’s at odds with my nationality, race or whatever you may call it. I thought the quiz was stupid since I didn’t feel I had any of the stereotypical traits that German people are supposed to have. Organization, punctuality, coldness, reserve, nerves of steel and an aversion to casual touching. (I am cursed with all of those)

I have discovered, however, that I would probably thrive in Germany. We went to the Colombian Consulate to finish the paperwork for Alfonso so his body could go to his family in Barranquilla and in the middle of my Friday, when I was already threatened at work for missing two days over this ordeal, we found each other in a madhouse also known as the Colombian Consulate in Miami and with no other choice but to wait there until everything was done.

After miraculously surviving the Miami drivers we made it to the consulate. It looked pretty from outside with the flag waving proudly on the top and the place a nice terracotta building that look like a hacienda of yesteryears. Pandemonium awaited us inside. There were screaming, running children, people talking loudly, plastic and fold-over chairs in rows, fans and an oppressing feeling of…poorness. That more than anything bothered me. Call me a snob I don’t care, but is it too much to ask for our governmental employees, the ones that represent Colombia in a foreign country to dress as if they are Colombian representatives and not like a college student after a weekend of partying? Casual Fridays took a new definition that day.

Not only was the place depressing but it was a palace made to the God of Formica. There is little I dislike as much as Formica. I was willing to ignore all that, I was, truly! I am perfectly aware that the brat that came to this country 8 years ago still kicks in now and then but I could not ignore the disorganization, the yelling of names of people who were waiting instead of having a number system or even a microphone so the people waiting could hear their names been called out.

I am not sure what was worse, the line of people who were there to pick up their ID and had to sign they had received it in a piece of paper that was 1”x3” and then folded over as if it was a name for Secret Santa and then thrown in a box, or the fact that they were using type writers, or the fact that there were no clearly delineated lines, or the fact that the employees didn’t have all the paperwork close by and one of them had to actually leave his place to go pick up the paperwork in another floor. Talk about efficiency!

No, let me rephrase that. I do know what was worse, it was the fact that the Consul of my Country didn’t have an office, a space of his own where he could sit and direct, manage and make Consul-like decisions. No, he was seating behind the main counter, on a Formica desk, in a bright yellow and blue polo t-shirt that was way too small for his generous girth while he ate empanadas. Oh the humanity!

I was so pissed off and embarrassed. Pissed off because I was incredibly overwhelmed by all the paperwork that had been done already in the moving of Alfonso and here, yet somehow we had managed to get him ready to go in less than seven days but there in the place where everything should be easier since we are all Colombian and they are there to help us, they were slow and bureaucratic (redundant much?) and the one place in the process where everything didn’t go smoothly. And I was embarrassed because I always am sure to tell Dear Husband how civilized we are and how everything works there the same way there as it works here and he was suddenly smack in the middle of a perfect example of Hispanic governmental incompetence.

Now I should not be so harsh with them since my uncle’s contact in the embassy was the one who helped with the entire process of sending Alfonso home to be with his family. The lady found us the funerary home, the shipping company and also gave us an insane discount courtesy of the Consulate. It truly isn’t the Consulate’s fault I guess. Since they have no resources to be at par with the way things are run nowadays. They are truly doing the best they can with what they have. But we aren’t an incredibly poor country. The Colombian Consulate in Venezuela is nothing like that, then why should the Miami one look like a grocery store where they call your name when your two pounds of chorizo are ready?

That said, I must admit I have been here way too long. I have lost my ability to stand in line for 8 hours to get my passport done. I had forgotten how damn long and slow all those processes take at home. I have lost my Hispanic patience. Even with my family! On the way to the Consulate we had to turn around twice because they had left something behind and all I could do was sit there seething wondering why in the fucking world wouldn’t they just prepare everything the night before and be ready to go when we had to. Dear Husband turned the car around TWICE without a word, blessed as he is with never ending patience while I could feel my right eyelid twitching as it does when I am passing furious and heading into volcanic rage. I guess my temper is the only thing that saves me from being German since they are stereotyped as controlled individuals and my temper is the one thing I cannot get a hold of.

I feel horrible saying it but I cannot wait to be an American Citizen and never again have to go to a Consulate.

Vielen dank und gute tage!

HERE WE GO!

Well everybody here’s a new year before us, what to do with the time that has been given? I am determined to stay true to my resolutions and so far this four days have been meatless, none of God’s creatures have died to feed me (aside from the salmon on my rainbow rolls) but I did spend them in bed reading instead of being more active. Tomorrow after work I should be meeting BT for some very, very, very needed exercise and we will start a regime, regiment? (I am never sure of those two words) and we should be working out three to four times a week.

Continuing with my resolutions I realized this morning that we are at the moment incredibly behind with all the paperwork that should have already been filed in order to get my status as Dear Husband’s wife in order. Dear Husband had to see a loquero (shrink) for our petition and I am hoping that before the end of the month we are finally in our way to having all our stuff together.

It’s incredible the amount of shit the Federal Governments asks for when an immigrant marries a citizen, according to a friend of mine who married her fiancé who is a citizen during the interview the agent was horrible to her and told my friend’s husband he was there to defend his rights as a citizen of the U.S. and that if she was just after his papers he would do him the favor of deporting her. Nothing sends a shiver of fear up and down my back like the D-Word…and of course roaches. I am truly hoping that when our interview time comes I will get someone who is nicer because I don’t think I’ll be able to stay quiet while someone trashes me as if I wasn’t there. We have so far collected, pictures, wedding cards, wedding presents, wedding pictures, proof of travels we have taken together, bank statements, emails, phone records, lease or deeds to both our names, certified letters from families, friends and co-worker attesting to the true nature of our marriage and so on and on.

So here we are seven months after meeting with our lawyer and $5,000 poorer still just in the beginning stages of our process. I was hoping to be able to travel out of the country by 2010 to celebrate our Honey Moon in Ireland but it seems we are going to have to honey moon in the U.S. so our plan so far is to fly to Seattle and drive down the PCH and stop everywhere our little hearts want.

I am determined to get this stuff done. “Determined” is what I am going to be all this year. Determined is going to be my fucking middle name.

I have been in this country seven years and have spent all these years doing one thing or another, interview after interview, trying to solve my issue with my paperwork, I have been covered by process and in the way I have gotten my SS# (which felt incredible) and my work permit (which allowed me to stop cleaning kitchens and toilets) but it hasn’t been a complete solutions, they all have been simply patching up the big problem is putting a band aid on a bullet hole.

I have in the 7 years in this country gotten my fingerprints taken at least five times (us Aliens have ever changing fingerprints apparently), gotten interviewed, accused, being looked over, asked to say “yes” instead of “yeah” in front of a judge, asked why I don’t have an accent when I speak in English, asked if I am a democrat or a republican, asked if I loved my country, asked why I am here, why do I want to stay and if I love this country.

I am ready to end this everlasting phase in my life where I am drifting around like a castaway neither here nor gone, just floating around in a sea of bureaucracy and paperwork. I will have you know United States of America that you could do a lot worse than having me added to the name of those many lucky immigrants that become part of this country. Damn it I am smart and hard working, haven’t broken any laws (haven’t even jay walked in my life!) I pay my taxes, I donate to charity, I don’t litter and more importantly I am healthy and speak the language. I would be a freaking awesome addition not a burden.

No matter, I am as I said before, nothing but determined. And you guys haven’t seen me when I am determined! It won’t be easy to get rid of me! I am staying here. This is my home now and I ain’t leaving without a fight.

THANKSGIVING AND MY NEW BEST FRIEND, XANAX

I apologize to those of you who kindly take the time to read my blog for the long days of not posting. I was hit with a thing I call writer's block (and other folks just call sheer lazyness) and couldn't find a thing to say. If you have nothing interesting to say better stay quiet right?. I didn't want to bore you guys with blathering nonesense just for the sake of posting something.

Anywho, Oh the holiday season is here! Tra-la-la-la-la-la and all that! I am so excited that December starts tomorrow and that finally I can go all Christmas-crazy with a reason. I woke up this morning feeling completely blah and ech and icky (a combination of spicy chicken wings for dinner, a fight with Dear Husband and the start of my monthly cycle) and then I remembered November is over today, I get paid and Christmas for me starts tomorrow woot woot, yay, holla and all those!

I had an amazing time from Wednesday on when Dear Husband and I left to go to Indiana to see the family for thanksgiving. As I have shared before, I have of late developed this paralizing tiny fear of flying and a dear friend of mine was sweet enough to share some of her Xanax with me so I could relax on the way there (bless your heart AL). I rode the flight to Atlanta on nothing but a rum&coke and experienced THE worst flight I’ve ever taken. We were delayed for an hour and thirty minutes because of bad weather and the entire way there was so rocky we couldn’t even get drinks because it wasn’t safe to pull the cart. I spent the flight shaking, watching Cash Cab and pretending I wasn’t praying for whichever God above to let me see another day.

We landed safely in Atlanta with plenty of time to catch our flight to Indy and I sat at the TGI Fridays in the airport downing martinis and trying to get my heart rate back to normal. Twenty minutes before take-off I chugged the last of my third dirty martini with the Xanax I should’ve taken on the first flight and let me tell you I completely understand why people get addicted to prescription medication because I haven’t been that relaxed since I stopped sucking thumb and drinking chocolate Nesquik from a baby bottle. I was laughing in the face of death the entire flight to Indianapolis and every time the plane shook I contemplated my mortality with a cheery thought and prepared with eagerness for my next life (I am a firm believer in reincarnation). I am never flying any other way but with Xanax and Grey Goose running freely through my system.

Indianapolis was as always cold and grey (I’ve only been over there during the fall) and we had a great time on Thanksgiving eating turkey and spending time with Dear Husband side of the family I don’t get to see much. I talked to his charming grandpa who recently lost his wife and was touched by how much in love he still seemed to be with his deceased wife. We exchanged presents (we are not seeing them for Christmas) and spent a few hours playing Monopoly. Spending time with Dear Husband’s family (I haven’t been married enough time to start thinking of them as my family just yet) always makes me think how obviously different we are. Not just his family and mine but how different the interaction between him and his family is, the interaction between them and myself and my family and him. There is an air of… formality I am not used to and that I think is normal here but completely foreign to me. I am used to being irreverent and used to talking to my family members the same way I talk to my friends. With his family there seems to be a more delineated line between “adults” and “children” even though we are now ALL adults there is that deference to the uncles, aunts, parents etc that we don’t use in my family.

I know people that read this blog might think I get repetitive when I say that I get these moments when I realize how different we truly are, Dear Husband and I. But it seems as if I never run out of them. You know those moments when the light goes off and I am presented with yet another example. I try to convey to Dear Husband how I see the differences as interesting but I think sometimes the words come out a little critical as if I was comparing his family to mine (with his losing to mine) instead of just comparing notes.

As his family said goodbye, and his aunt and uncle and cousins left for the day to go back to their hometown which is several hours away from Indianapolis I couldn’t help but be surprised at how differently we express our love for each other. They obviously love one another since they drove hours to come to Indianapolis to spend an afternoon together; but as they left waving goodbye I found it so weird that they would wave goodbye instead of hugging each other or kissing each other. The whole departure was so sudden and efficient I was left reeling! One moment they are saying “we gotta go because we have a long drive” and the next they are all bundled up and waving goodbye at the door.

Do you have any idea how damn long it takes for my family to actually leave a freaking place?! We say goodbye like seventeen times and then there is always someone who has to go pee and another starts telling a story of something that happened twenty years ago and then we are all involved in the story and we say goodbye again and we start talking all over and by the time we are at the door we have hugged, kissed and hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed each other goodbye so many times it could last us a lifetime.

Friday we went to Chicago. I couldn’t help but be in utter awe at the sight of Lake Michigan. That thing looks like the freaking Ocean! The cold wasn’t that bad and I loved seeing my breath puff in front of me. We saw a PETA demonstration in front of a fur store and even though I really don’t like PETA I also really don’t like fur so I was just hoping for some fake-blood throwing scenario but nothing happened (sucks). We spend the night playing Sequence with mom in law’s family whom I adore because they are amazing and laughing at the stories they had to tell. My new grandma is one of those saucy women that haven’t let religiousness get in the way of their humor. She is tiny, white haired and full of spunk.

Saturday came too soon and it was already time to go, a grumpy Dear Husband was suffering from a horrible migraine that wouldn’t go away and concerned family members were getting on his frayed nerves. By the time we made it to the Atlanta Airport after an uneventful flight from Indiana we were exhausted, hungry, annoyed and ready to make it home. All of the sudden a simple conversation trying to compare Chicago to D.C. for our next home turned suddenly into a fight over Dear Husband selfishness and his marriage to his iPhone and my daddy issues. Believe me it was not a fun flight to Miami but again Lady Xanax came to my rescue and I was just too chilled to give a damn.

Oh the issues that come up when families get together and emotions are running high…

We made it home exhausted and emotionally beaten. I hate arguing with Dear Husband and I know he hates arguing with me because I am hard to beat in a verbal fight and if I am angry I get mean.

Today though I saw the calendar and the slate was wiped clean. There is no silly argument that Christmas cannot cure and all I can think of now is the pretty gifts I’ll give, the pretty tree we’ll get, the decorations, the Christmas music, having family over, and how lucky I am to have a husband who loves me, a family that I adore, a roof over my head, money in the bank, an evil cat who loves me in spite of his better judgment and a dog who peed on her bed last night after a doggie nightmare.

I might fight with Dear Husband. I might complain about my weight. I might have a homicidal hatred for Dear Husband’s cell phone and his obsession with it. We might be strapped for cash and my birthday this year might be celebrated less than gloriously. But our house will smell like pine and Max and Zoey will spend their first Christmas together and my sister will come down from NOLA and we’ll have a great time together and there isn't any need for Xanax for that.