Keeping Y'All in Da Immigration Loop-Da-Loop

It's been a couple of weeks, and I haven't really said anything in a while.  Mostly, I'm avoiding blogging it because I'll Blommit all over the keyboard, blooking up chunks of emotional ranting that will spiral into non-cohesive bullspunk and end up as angry gibberish dancing across the screen.  It'd be like I was typing out the works of Ms. Shakespeare, using the Widget Font. 

So, there is a culmination going on this weekend.  It's a big deal, but after a long time of fretting and basically going through the death grief cycle of anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance and so on, I've rebounded. We are more focused and positive.  We aren't looking right at our noses.  We're looking forward.  While details aren't going to be out to the masses yet on what's up this weekend, just know it's another step toward the ultimate goal, and we will make this one, just like we've made the rest.  Those of you who do know what's we're up to - ALL the positive vibes you can muster are happily and greedily accepted. 

In related news, all of this is not amounting to nothing.  Confused?  You should be.  What I mean is, all of this fighting the good fight, standing up for what's right, arguing for Equality for EVERYONE, within no one religion, race, sex, or choice being allowed to squelch any others - that will continue WITH A VENGEANCE.  

HOW?


We Will Fight With Our Kitten Armies!

Look for progress on the newly updated site for http://www.uafawatch.com/.  Look for us to be in the fray at political events.  Look for us to be championing the cause for those who just cannot do so for themselves.  Look for us to use sensible arguments, proof, and logic to counter bias, hatred and ill will.  Help us in this.

 I hate broaching this, or beating the poor, mange-ridden decomposing horse, but I'm going to remind everyone that on this site above this post is a Donation button through Paypal that is labeled "Dept of Defense". If anyone can, or knows anyone who can spare a couple of dollars using this to help with this cause, it's appreciated.  We know it's rough out there right now.  We're living it right next to you.  We want to continue to be here to fight. 

Pity, Not So Much of a Party.

Forgive the whimper, but better that than wine....  Oh!  The puns!

Seriously though, this has been my frame of mind for a while now, and I'm wondering if I've reached a breaking point.  Thinking back - some of you know from my earlier stuff that I started addictions early.

Me Grocery Shopping circa 1976

I've been a quietly sober adult for somewhere around 17+ years now.  I did it the hard way, and I did it many times in the beginning, but it's been a solid run for about 16 years.  A lot of folks will tell you that 'you ain't done it right if you only done it once...' heh - I digress.

Now I'm having a horrible crisis of staying power.  I'm up to my neck in troubling issues - but who isn't in this crazy world?  I'm reaching the point where it's frustrating me that so many people can turn off the bright fractured light that scorches my eye sockets daily.  I feel pain, sadness, fear beyond belief every day for the last few months.  I do all I can to control it, and deal with it.  At the end of most days, I'm talking myself down from a panic attack just to get to sleep for a few hours.  So, I'm fretting hard because in my mind, I'm convincing myself that I've been soooooooo gooooooood for sooooooo loooooong that I should be fine if I just grab a quick drink or two.  And I know where that thought process leads, but I'm seriously not feeling all that compassionate towards myself in this predicament.  I see close friends and family who obliterate themselves in the name of self pity, and I think "Why can't I take a little pity on the rocks for myself as well?"  I'm very confident that I wouldn't escalate from a Jack 'n Coke to a needle.  I really think that I can control myself, but the tiny bit of doubt has me sweating.  What if I'm wrong?  What if I undo all those years of work?  Sometimes I get selfishly grumpy that no one has to know my suffering about NOT being able to drink until I no longer have to think about shit.  I get to hear about how others had a bad day, so they are off to forget about it.  I can't forget.  I am not allowed to use the shut off valve any more, and it really really fucking sucks.  So, for now, I'll post stupid demotivational pics on here and convince myself that I'm just being a whiny bitch and go drink some fucking tea.  Yeah me.  Woo.

HS Graduation?

I've seen so many toilets, and loved them all!

Yeah.  I had those friends too. 

Maintaining Ties

In a time of ancient gods...or perhaps just ancient customers, it is in my best interests to maintain links to the UK. The US doesn't fully want me yet, or at least they don't know they do. They panic when I get a little too close, and demand "space."

Not to fret; I can be...persuasive *pops on little black number and a tango mix-tape*.

So I maintain these ties, through keeping a house over there, bank accounts, and of course a driving license. Said driving license expires on the 24th of this month. I don't have to do anything special to renew it, just mail back a form and a pretty picture of yours truly. No retaking test, or fancy jumping through hoops or anything like that, right. Right?

Wrong.

Well, half wrong. I don't have to retake the test. Which is a good thing, because I'm certain I'd get all confuzzled and forget which side of the road to drive on. I had a panic tonight as I realized I'd forgotten the British way of writing the date. Bah.

As it turns out, the Brits and Americans are once more two countries divided by a common language when it comes to passport photos. British dimensions are not quite as simple as their old 2 by 2 American counterpart. Not one, not two, but four stores I went to on my lunch hour today refused to accommodate such an unruly request. Finally, I sweet-talked my way into a JC Penney clerk's knickers. I mean, photography studio. *cough* I think I have a date on Friday.

Knowing that I don't have much time in which to organize all this (as a typical Greening, I have known the license was expiring for months, but am as usual late to the party), I race home and start filling out the forms. Second panic of the day: The D1 or the D798? Which one am I supposed to complete? Bah! Typical British, you wait months for a form, and two come along at once. So I narrow it down to the D1 (mostly because I had previously started to complete the D798 in blue ink, and that simply won't do), and start scribbling furiously. Finished, I read the checklist of items.

Check for £20
Green counterpart license
Photocard licence

Panic number three. £20? What's that in dollars? Does it matter anyway? The DVLA won't take an American check. Crap. Do I still have a British checkbook? By this point, Alice has flown into the bedroom and is hiding under the bed from her crazy Mum who is ransacking the study. Victory! Oh me oh my, I still have the good old HSBC checkbook. Can I remember how to complete an English check? Sod it, I'll fudge it.

Green counterpart license. OK, I've seen that somewhere. Recently. Ish. Like, within the last...four years? Balls. *ransack ransack* Huzzah! There it is in the filing cabinet, neatly filed under "Stuff." How accurate and quaint.

Photocard license. I've got this, no problem. Wait. Oh, that's just bloody marvelous. I simply had to go and get myself a new wallet a couple of months ago. A slimmer model. One that doesn't contain all the unnecessary "STUFF" that I don't use on a daily basis. Like my UK photocard license. Now...if you were an insane, famished British gal, where would you have put your old wallet? In a flash of godknowswhat, I remember that I think I heard it fall down the back of the dresser about a month ago. Why yes, there it is!

OK, it's 6:30pm. Into the car I run, off to locate the only post office within a fifty mile radius to stay open past 5pm on a weekday. Small aside: What the hell, USPS? People don't work? C'mon already. I arrive at the wee place, and...c'mon, if you had to guess people. You've been following this story. You know how it ends.

Ha, they weren't closed. Those who guessed 'closed,' go directly to jail and do not collect £200. Or $200. Or anything. Sorry, not feeling particularly generous today. BUT, they did have a new system in place.

"Damned computers," the woman behind the register mutters. "Don't know why we need them in the first place. So much simpler without." Right, yes dear, you're 100% correct, now hand over the keyboard and mouse and nobody gets hurt. What? Not supposed to utter those words in a federal building? Whoops.

Together, we fuddle our way through the new system, trying to figure out how to express mail something internationally, when she reaches the Province question. "Which province is it, dear?"

Wales, I think. What? Wales isn't in there? OK...try South Glamorgan. Now look for Swansea. It's not there? Hmmmm...that's strange. OK, maybe it's Mid Glamorgan. Not there either? Hmmm... *pulls out Blackberry and starts typing furiously* West Glamorgan. Well now, that doesn't seem familiar at all, but whatever, it works. Did I mention I lived in Swansea for 2 years? Finally, my package is in the mail, my wallet is $27.95 lighter, and it will arrive on Wednesday. The day before the deadline.

And now, I'm off to stare at the ceiling for many hours. Because my life cannot handle this much excitement. DO YOU HEAR ME UNIVERSE? STOP IT!

In Which I Ramble and Discuss Immigration

Well now.

My sweetie has thrown down the gauntlet, and started up with the blog again, and if I am to feel equal then I must do the same. Actually, I’ve been missing it greatly, but I simply haven’t had the time to update between work, and hitting my pillow face first.

So…I am here. I am 2 and a half weeks into my new job and I am loving it. I get to play with code. All day. It’s great.

The one part of my job that has been weighing on me has been this horrific necessity to get myself properly legal. I have explained this time and time again to people who think that now I have a job here, I’m a citizen, but the truth of the matter is it’s just too confusing for words. Now, instead of having to explain, I can just point them here.

I am currently on an F1-OPT visa. This means that I am still, technically, under a student visa, but undergoing training with a firm in my field of study. That is, technically, what the job is.
This F1-OPT visa expires in a year. February 27th, 2010. If I’m not sorely mistaken, it is on that date that I will be given 60 days to leave the country.

Unless…unless!

There is this wonderful entity – a beautiful beastie – called an H-1B visa. This is, to the common man, a working visa. Guess what? I’m working! Wheee! I’m eligible to apply for this delight.

That said, here’s a few details about the H-1B, for those of you following along at home:

• There is a limited quota of these available each year.


• Because of this, they ‘sell out’ quickly.


• The start date for the H-1B visa is October.


• The first day on which immigration workers start considering applications is April 1st.


• For the last 3 years, the quotas has been filled on April 1st.


• It is now March 18th.

And strictly speaking, *I* am not eligible to apply. My company is eligible to apply, and BossMan made it clear from the offset that he did NOT want to be involved in any of these legalities. So…his signature is the only part in this plot that he will play. But the attorneys won’t accept money or documents from the worker themselves. Me. So. I gather all the information, fill in all the forms, write the checks, and get BossMan to sign. The majority of my paperwork is now in the mail, although there are still a few odds and ends that need tying.

If I am not accepted, it is not the end of the world. My F1-OPT is still current. I am still allowed to stay here, and work legally for another year. At which point, I may certainly apply for another H-1B, with next year’s applicants. If I am successful next year, I will be eligible to begin work next October, 2010. Until that time, I have to leave the country.

This visa can last up to 6 years, and counts as a ‘dual intent’ visa, meaning I am allowed to own property, and appliances, and of course the biggie, apply for permanent residency. That is my big hurdle; that is the accomplishment I desire.

Math. Obviously.

So I'm a somewhat superstitious individual, which is why I didn't mention here that I had an interview on Friday. It's for a nice small little company that my professor works for. She recommended me for a nice little web development position, so I went in to meet the boss. The interview went really well, and they are 'cautiously optimistic'. Basically the deal is that, if I can write the three programs he gave me as homework, he'll hire me on an internship, so we can see how it works out, and then once I graduate, if it's all going well, we'll start doing the paperwork that will switch me from an F1 visa to an H-1B.

When I came home from the interview on Friday, I started freaking out, as I am wont to do. I lost all faith in myself that I could write the programs, and essentially built up a huge barrier for myself. My philosophy appeared to be:

I can't do it, so I'm going to give up.
I look better on paper than I really am in person.
I can't apply the knowledge I have to the real world.

Huge wall. So I ignored the programs all weekend, and yesterday, while Barbara was at work, I ran out of excuses and had to dedicate some time to it. I started on the first program, wrote up the basics in Java, and then got completely rear-ended by the math. I gave up. When Barbara got home, we chatted, ate dinner, and played some Castle Crashers. Finally, as we lay in bed about to go to sleep, I opened up to her and explained my fears. A couple of tears later, and I felt composed enough to actually describe the problem to her.

My sweetie is brilliant, but math is not her strong suit, as science is not mine. We have our fortes, and our areas in which we are lacking, and together we work well. Essentially what I was trying to explain to her was the equivalent of her trying to explain the EndoMuscle System to me, which for those of you just joining us is practically quantum physics. Anyway, as I'm oh-so-calmly explaining the problem, using my examples, Barbara pipes up:

"So for 4 weeks, and a goal of 16, that's 4 a week."

Nice, simple math, right? 4 x 4 = 16. Obviously. Yet, I'd been focusing on small, 0.something numbers so much that I'd fried my brain. This was exactly what I needed. The light in my brain switched on, and I ran to the computer. Huzzah!

So, the program is not complete, but it's a darn sight closer than it was this time yesterday, all because of my girl. So I wanted to say thanks to her, in a nice public forum, for calming me down, and helping me get to the bottom of E= MC².

On Stress

money work health issues money new refrigerator money sleepless nights money people at work who make me want to go ballistic and shove a makeshift shank made out of a credit card and some scotch tape into their eyeball just deep enough to puncture without entering the skull and killing them money money heart monitor that most likely will not show what it needs to because it will happen right before it's put on and right after it's taken off and my doctors will begin to wonder if i even have a heart but i know i do because it stutters every so often to remind me it's there and taunt me with the knowledge that it thinks it's better than i am and doesn't need me money damned car drives funny with a thumping on the right side but nothing apparent causing it and we already sunk close to 1000 into it in the last 3 months money almost had a part time job money didn't get that part time job money still looking for a part time job that doesn't include gyrating on a sweat soaked stage and tipping over on huge clear plastic stiletto hooker boots with a cigarette hanging from my lips while wearing an old mu mu fashioned into a g-string because I can't afford to buy one money worrying about family money balancing work with school with house and family and finding more work and money and coffee. i need more coffee.