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La Migra

written by M.E. Evans March 29, 2013
This is M.E. before having a nervous breakdown from immigration services.

This is M.E. before having a nervous breakdown from immigration services.

These past few weeks have been crazy because my family is one giant pile of immigration shit right now. Francesco has his appointment on this coming tuesday for his interview at the embassy in Naples. My father also decided to import my aunt from Iran to Italy for our May 4th wedding which has required us to spend a freakish amount of time preparing her visa forms. My family is one big melting pot of immigrants. You should hear us all trying to communicate, it’s like those old ladies (or me) who try to communicate with their dogs, but their dogs are just super confused and stare back like, “you dumb shit I can’t understand you”. You’re a dick Oliver.

Now, let me tell you, dealing with immigration is not easy and dealing with the US immigration service is like trying to run a marathon with a tiger shark eating both of your legs. Also you’re blind. And deaf. And someone keeps randomly bitch slapping you. It’s actually kind of funny because I was given residency for five years in Italy in uhm, two days more or less. I had to supply a marriage certificate, smile, wave, and say “grazie.” Francesco basically has to promise to give the US government his first born, cure cancer, and personally raise the economy out of the deficit. Seriously, they make you work. Also, they make you pay. In fact, you have to pay 15 euros every time you call the embassy with a question. You cannot talk with a representative without giving your credit card number. Yes, seriously, this is capitalism my friends.

What EXACTLY had to be done?

Well, first we had to file a I-130 form. Along with it we had to provide wedding photos, a translated marriage certificate, birth certificate, letters from friends saying we are really married and that he isn’t paying me to marry him. Also, I would never marry him for money. He’s way too annoying for that. We also had to give passport photos, and something showing we share a residence, finances, or whatever. This cost us 300 euro.


We had to wait. We passed round one! Hooray! They gave us an interview date at the United States Embassy in Naples and now we are preparing:

Medical records to show that he’s not diseased.

Police records to show he’s not a pedophile, murderer, or otherwise criminally insane persons. Oh, it also asks if he’s a drug mule. Because, you know, if he were he would honestly check, “yes.”

Marriage records to show we really did spend 10,000 bucks on not one but TWO weddings. Your welcome economy of America and Italy.

A form of support with the past three years of tax information showing that you make over 125% of the poverty line. I do not because I am a writer. So my dad, who was also once an immigrant and is sympathetic to how much it sucks, had to step up and co-sponsor Francesco. Hooray.

Then I had to show proof that I am domiciled in the US. Don’t know what that means? Neither did I. Apparently it’s a fancy way of saying, “I am still American even if I live in Italy.” So I had to supply bank information showing I still use an American bank. AMERICA!

Cost-So far about 300 euros again. Plus 2, 15 euro each phone calls. You win this round, stati uniti.

Tanti cosi, guys.

So, if you’re wondering why I haven’t really posted, this is why. I’m stuck in immigration hell. Although, I can say this: American’s are fucking organized. It’s fairly easy to figure out what needs to be done as long as you read every single sentence of the documents they give you. Mostly.

Cross your fingers for us! Our appointment is Tuesday!

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