New Team Hansen Blog
Now we're getting really fancy here. Pete and I started a new blog for our families and friends to keep in touch. This one will be more, um, sane?
It has real videos of Pete being smug and eating ghetto pretzels.
Here's my version of how things went yesterday:
We were supposed to leave the house at 1 p.m. I arrive home at 12:50. He's running around like a madman, saying he can't find some of the papers, which he assured me he had together when I called at like 11. He's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, I'm in a dress and nice coat. I'm like, um, are you going to change? He's like I can't talk right now. At 1:08 p.m. he gets in the shower. I am not kidding. I'm trying not to freak out, and I managed to not yell at him, which was a major accomplishment for me. :) I'm starting to get the hang of this married thing.
So we get there in plenty of time. But I ask him on the way down, did you eat today? He answers No. Of course. So we have time for him to get a little snack, and he chooses what is likely the most unsatisfying snack on the cart: Rold Gold pretzels, which I call ghetto pretzels because I think they're the lowest denominator in the pretzel food chain and it strikes me as hilarious that someone with so much European sophistication would LOVE friggin Rold Gold's. Anyway, we can't eat in the building, so we have to trek back to the car. Oh and no electronics of any type allowed in the building, so I have to take my briefcase with my 2 phones and camera back to the car. Damn. I was hoping to get some good pictures in there.
So he eats (check out the videos at the Team Hansen blog, they're hilarious), and we head in. We have to stand in a line with little partitions like at the airport BEFORE we can stand in line! Right! One line to stand in line. Then the guy checks our appointment notice and verifies that we're in the right place, then we stand in the line to go through the metal detector, which is also partitioned off. Mind you, it's cold outside (for California -- like 50 degrees), and I'm wearing a dress with tights. I'm cold. And we are in behind The. Slowest. Woman. Ever.
But we finally get through. Then we go to another guy and he verifies our appointment again, and we head to the room to wait. The place basically looks like the DMV, but it's completely empty. I'll bet that pre-9/11 it was just like the DMV.
So we sit down next to an Indian couple, who has brought their insanely huge and colorful and fancy wedding album, and I'm immediately jealous of the album and kicking myself for forgetting our pictures. I swear, I thought we were going to have to answer questions like: Name something your spouse does in his sleep. Answer: itches the back of his throat with his tongue, which produces the most annoying chewing sound, which we have named Mr. Chompers. He has given me permission to wake him up when he launches into Mr. Chompers and make him roll over.
But that's besides the point. Indian couple goes in. The door opens, and Roland, our guy, calls Peter's name (but not mine, but I go with him anyway). I mean, according to INS, I'm the petitioner -- I'm sponsoring him. Roland looks like he's from Jersey; a little Italian-Polish goin on, and he's really nice. He asks us a few questions about the weather and are we ready for Christmas (answer: no) and we get started. There's a video camera in his office, which I presume was on, but really was effective in scaring the crap out of me. We raise our right hands and swear that we're about to tell the truth. Roland verifies basic things on the application, but directs all of the questions to Pete: you live at x, you work at x -- I had to throw in there that he's doing a free internship, I didn't want INS to think we were tax-dodging -- your last entry into this country was x, you had an x visa and x... Just basic stuff. I volunteer all kinds of things, where we met, when we got married, etc. etc. just to make conversation and because I was super nervous and everyone knows my default setting is blabbermouth.
Roland doesn't seem to mind me blathering on; he's talking about how he was married to the daughter of IBM -- I'm sure he meant the daughter of the founder of IBM, but I thought his wording was interesting -- and how he's done something to his back and re-aggravated an old snowboarding injury -- showing us how his hip looked higher on one side and everything. I'm trying to tow the line of gracious/so concerned/really in love with my husband all of which are legit but I wanted to make sure Roland was feelin me.
And just like that, he writes APPROVED in the little box on the papers. He gets out a stamp, and places it into Peter's visa and says he can now legally leave the country (which means our trip to Norway is ON), and that he wishes us much happiness.
That's it. I got all misty afterwards. What a relief.