the moon rises. the sun also rises.

>_<  (oh, but it gets better)

After a night well spent watching PBS' America's Ballroom Challenge, which takes place in what looks like a high school gym and is attended by droves of over-dressed latino stereotypes who catcall to the (obviously russian, but supposedly "Canadian") dancers as each pair comes onto the stage; and Discovery's Shark Week, which pretty much speaks for itself, I dreamed about zombies (which makes complete sense) and woke up in the morning feeling calm and refreshed/like my soul had been eaten.  

Okay, if you managed to get through that incredibly long run-on, I am impressed.  Here's a brownie: 

*Insert Deep Breath Here*

Hhokay, so check-out and everything goes fine, we tip the valet and climb into our car (sounds familiar...) 

HOWEVER, we are preempted by four men in blue button-downs, all sporting sport jackets thrown sportingly over their shoulders, who toss their luggage in the bed of their silver Silverado (I kid you not) in a very "I'm on a commercial" way.  They proceed to pull a 56-point turn in order to get out of our way and off to what I'm sure was a business meeting in a conference room with an oval table, rolly chairs, and a good view of the Atlanta skyline.  

Meanwhile, Mom and I finally get on our way, and, without further distraction, make it to the consulate.  We pull into the parking deck of an elegant blue-glass 20-story building, walk through the black marble vault-ceilinged lobby, and stare at our shiny reflections in the elevator doors as we wait for the little arrow to light up.  Eventually, we get an elevator, and wait nervously inside for the small compartment to come to a stop.  The doors open onto a dingy, taupe-carpeted hall area, and my eyes go directly to a small table in front of a pair of glass double doors clouded with smudges.  A man too large for his folding chair and (very) obviously American looks at the pair of us with amusement and asks if I have an appointment.  Yes I have an appointment, I got here 30 minutes early, so you better not send me away.  The man in the folding chair sends my mom back to the dramatic lobby and me around the corner to a small waiting area in front of a what looks like a window from a movie theater - complete with bullet-proof plexiglass, microphone, and very small space to slide papers and money under.  I wait.  10 minutes later a girl shows up.  She sits down next to me and immediately pulls out her cell phone and begins chatting.  I wait.  Folding chair man is making jokes to a friend about how little french he speaks.  Cell phone girl gets called to the window.  I keep waiting.  Finally, the girl (who apparently was a flight attendant for Delta, which I will be boycotting for a while...) gathers her stuff and leaves, and I get called to the window.  They ask for my documents, which I provide, tell me I'm missing two things that were not listed on the site, keep everything (including my passport), and send me on my way. ten minutes later.  

...It's late again - More to come tomorrow about how I fell in love in Atlanta.  Congrats on getting through that.  You deserve another brownie.