THE SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK NOOS » green card lottery

The alien has landed

7 04 2003

Flight Attendant: “Would you like another wine?”
Noodle: “Oh, buy cialis patient god, sovaldi yes.”

5 minutes later
What the hell am I doing?

I’m sitting here watching the wing of this 747-400 Megatop moving wildly up and down as I bounce about in my seat. I like turbulence. Usually. But this time, as I watch the wing, it’s so bad that it seems to me the wings must surely be flapping steadily, as though they were attached to an actual bird. That in reality, there are no mega-engines on this stomach-heavy piece of tin. Just oversized, metal, flapping wings. It’s very unnerving to watch a massive engine moving around like that. Is this plane made of Mechano? Oh, and of course there’s the whole wing shimmy factor. Don’t get me started on that.

Noodle, pay it no mind. Just because I’m sitting at a window behind the wing, doesn’t mean I have to look out the window at the wing. And now that I think about it, it’s not the lurching around, the spilling of wine, or the combobulation of my stomach contents that’s causing me grief anyway. It’s the thoughts. Damn you brain! How dare you think!

We’re 50 minutes out of New York and suddenly it hits me. Some of you will be thinking, “Well, it’s about time, Janeen. Really, we thought you’d crack long before this.” But honestly, it’s taken this long to sink in. I’m doing something incredibly stupid. Oh, hang on farm girl. You’re 50 minutes out of New York—you’ve already done it.

Here I am, friendless, jobless and not quite penniless, about to land in very strange topography. These foreigners are bound to have a completely different mindset. I’m used to maybe 50 percent of my pals getting my jokes…now I have no pals (in the immediate vicinity I mean). I have excised the pals like troublesome boils. THE PALS ARE GONE! The joke-getting odds are about to drop to one percent. Read the rest of this entry »



Immigration interview

1 11 2002

Man at Embassy: Do you have any relatives in the United States?
Noodle: No.
Man at Embassy: Do you know anyone in the United States?
Noodle: No.
Man at Embassy: Do you have anywhere to stay in the United States?
Noodle (sheepishly): Ah, viagra sales search no. Not yet.
Man at Embassy: Have you arranged employment in the United States?
Noodle: No. No, discount I haven’t.

Suddenly, help I’m aware. As this part is actually verbalized, I’m aware of how silly and mad it all sounds. Noodle living in the US. Stupid teenage dream. Might as well go back to reading romance novels with windswept Fabios and quivering girlie bosoms on the cover.

I’ve already shed the US$435 to be asked these questions, but the cash outlay doesn’t really bother me. It is a lottery after all. I’ve opened my life for inspection. I’ve shown my bank account, been jabbed with multiple vaccinations—three for good luck—and had radiation shot through my chest to see if my heart is bigger than Phar Lap’s. Just between you, me, and the x-ray machine, I reckon it is. But now, standing in front of this guy, I don’t feel too confident about the application. Realise I sound like a dreamer. But, I think to myself, at least I took some happy snaps of some Benjamin Franklins while I had them.

US Green Card. It was a nice dream. Better than that one about my teeth falling out and the black blood in my mouth.

Read the rest of this entry »



We have a winner

23 05 2002

“Give me your tired, best viagra ampoule your poor, cialis generic cialis sale Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free… Scrap that, click just give me Noodle.”

It seems to me that if you’ve just inked somebody’s fingers to hell and back for the purpose of obtaining fingerprints, giving them something large and wet-ish to clean their inky hands with would be kind of a nice thing to do. Not something that’s, say, roughly the size of a gnat’s nappy. In the interest of globalisation, I’ll repeat that for my US punters—not something that’s, say, roughly the size of a dragonfly’s diaper.

But you don’t get a decent-sized thing at all. You get a moist towelette. Like the ones you get from KFC. A Colonel Sanders moist towelette. One. It’s the size of a postage stamp. And I got inked twice. Once to get a ‘Certificate of No Criminal Conviction’ in Singapore, and the second time to get a set of prints to send back to Australia. To be fed through the criminal system just so at the end, there will be confirmation that I am a good, wholesome, cherub-cheeked person. A clean skin. A very model citizen of a very model society.

It has all been rather dramatic lately. If I’ve neglected to speak to you, I’ll speak to you now—I won the Green Card lottery last week. All you actually win, if you care to know, is the chance to apply for your Immigration Visa without going through the whole pain-in-the-butt drama of convincing some US company to hire you, or even more difficult, some poor US gentleman friend to kneel before you and say ‘Let’s marry our fortunes together, stranger’. Oh well. No more marriage of convenience for me! Oh, and before anyone gets too, too excited, there’s still a chance I might not get my green card. But let’s wait for the interview to roll the dice, shall we? Read the rest of this entry »






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