I've recently been following my good friend, old roomie's blog -The Daily Orgasm ...and I thought to myself - self, you had a blog, what the hell happened to it?
And so, I'm back. Here I am.
Naturally, I think it's fitting to talk about my time at the French Prefecture last Wednesday. I've applied for French nationality (double peeps, double!) and turned in my HUGE ASS application last May. I got a letter saying they were working on it about two months later and then just a few weeks ago, another letter saying that I had to come in for an interview with a bunch of papers they deemed "missing." Well let me just clear that up by telling you that the French are notorious for "losing" things and then blaming you for never having turned them in. I almost went ape shit on the lady, but in my sweetest, syrupiest voice managed to explain that I would be happy to order another FBI record for Madame but would it be at all possible to NOT pay the 100 extra euros that it takes to translate it?? I'm getting good at this kissing French ass stuff. seriously.
I had massive anxiety waiting for the interview - like stomach pains and night sweats - the works people. Got dressed in my "dont you want to give me French nationality" outfit and headed off to the Prefecture bright and early for my 10am meeting. I was PREPARED - 10 cent pieces to make random photocopies of other "missing papers," snacks, water, cell phone charger, two cell phones, bus money, magazine for waiting, girl scout badge. I got there an HOUR early.
Then I sat and waited and tried to avoid smelling people who sat next to me. (I dont know what it is about the Prefecture but peeps just STINK there). I always wear a scarf when I go for nose coverage purposes - it's always very necessary.
Finally, I got called in by my interviewer - Giselle. She immediately became infatuated by my Americaness - the woman asked me about my thoughts on 9/11! She told me that my file would be put on priority! She sneekily put that I only visit home once a year instead of twice to "help my request." And while I used to yell at Copain for insinuating that my being American got me ahead in the French system - I can yell no longer. He was totally right. It doesn't help my case that the accountant at work - a Vietnamese refugie who arrived in France at age 7 only received nationality last year! He is in his late twenties and had to wait five years from the day he put in a formal request. The man could not leave the country his entire life until now. Almost makes me want to buy him a flight on Easy Jet just because he could use it!
On the one hand, I'm not complaining. I've had a hell of a time staying here legally and dealing with the red tape of France. But on the other hand - it's crap. I don't deserve to be French any more than the accountant does - in fact he deserves it more. He's way more French than I am...he's lived here since age 7!
Last night I got a letter in the mail from Giselle - turns out there is something wrong with my birth certificate - it is missing the "official sticker." Guess I'll have to call and sweetly explain that it is embossed.
The fun never ends.