yankeebean
It’s happened twice in the last week, and I wonder if it’s only the beginning.
Two of my friends posted properly mean stuff about Americans – two separate but equal mini rants (via Facebook status updates). The first rant ended with ‘Bloody Americans…’ and the second ended with ‘Stupid Americans…’
Now, I don’t have a stick my arse or anything, I can take a joke. But these two rants really weren’t very nice and I was a little bit offended. In both instances I rallied for the cause and defended my nation! Using myself as a (hopefully) good example of a real, 3D American that isn’t stupid.
Both of my friends’ reactions were the same, too. They both said, ‘Oh, I forgot that you’re American!’ Then they both said something like, ‘I’ll make an exception in your case’.
That really got my hackles up… my complaint is two-fold.
- They FORGOT that I’m American?? Is seven years all it takes for people to forget your nationality and start verbally crapping all over your country right in front of you?
- They’ll make an exception??? Oh… *bow*… *scrape*… how GENEROUS of you to make an exception and allow me out of the American slum and onto the golden streets of the UK
What a coupla noobs. I hope everyone I know hasn’t been keeping a tight lip about their real feelings about Americans for the past seven years. If so, things are going to do downhill fast.
And what will I do about it? Cup of tea, of course…
yankeebean
I’m sure I’m not the only one who had heard the INSANE rumors flying around about the NHS…
As I write this post, I’m sitting in a waiting room waiting for my free every-three-years lady-screening. Not exactly my favorite past time, but at least I don’t have to pay for the stirrups.
As I’m waiting here, I was reminded how annoying (and sometimes impossible) it was to pay fort this kind of preventative medical stuff in the States.
After almost 7 years of living in the uk, I’m still nowhere near taking the NHS for granted. I freaking love the NHS…
But my main reason for this post is not to spark debate on if the NHS is pants or awesomeness. It’s to you ask all you lovlies what kind of ridiculous questions you’ve been asked about socialized medicine.
Last week I got an email from a dear dear cousin of mine. It was short and to the point…
I wondered I’d you could tell me a little bit about your experiences with the UK health care system. Do they really let people die waiting in line to get treatment? Do they really practice euthanasia on old people? I’d really appreciate your views since you live there.
I was (needless to say) GOB-SMACKED to get an email like that – and I replied with my honest experience of the NHS and what I know to be true.
Has anyone else had any back-home-ers ask whoopty stuff like this??
————-
Curious to know more? Why PeacefulYorkshire revels in free contraception on the NHS–Click here for another experience as an American lady in Britain.
I don’t normally do this – but this is easiest way to make a website I’ve ever seen in my life.
yankeebean
I don’t normally do shameless plugs, but I’ve found this website-maker called Weebly and I’m in love with it. I actually build websites part time for a living, so I know about these things. But the sites I work on are big complicated beasts that require bespoke development – so I’m not competing with Weebly, that’s why I can recommend it 
Making a website is as easy as re-arranging furniture
Weebly is basically a drag and drop website builder that anyone can use – no pesky html or special knowledge required. I’ve already built 4 websites using Weebly and I’m proud to say they’re all thriving (I’m afraid I can’t give links because of our attempts at being anonymous here at SNFY). It makes building a website kind of like re-arranging furniture. Drag a drop stuff around until it looks GEE-OR-GEOUS.
Snazzy pro-looking designs with all the trimmings
Seriously, it is flippin’ the shiz-nizzle. You can choose from a bunch of pro-designs to get started. Then you can add text and pics (which seems pretty obvious), but you can also add a blog, videos, an online shop, music players, pictures galleries that look snazzy, contact forms and other stuff like that.
They’ll set you up with your own domain name, too and you can have matching email addresses if you like.
What kind of websites will it work for?
Well, so far I’VE built two business websites, one craft website/blog, and one blog for one of bands that I’m in. Apologies for the shameless plug – but I couldn’t resist because I love it so much. If there’s anyone out there that’s:
- Starting a business
- Organising an event
- Getting married
- Promoting something
- Or just generally feeling webby – then you’ve GOT to check Weebly out. And you can thank me later
How much?
It’s free forever – you only have to pay if you ‘go pro’ for extra features, or if you want a domain name. You can have ‘yourwebsitename.weebly.com’ for free forever if you don’t need a domain name. I won’t lie, I do have an affiliate system set up, but I wouldn’t dream of recommending it if I didn’t absolutely love using it. Take it from a web-developer… Weebly is the bee’s pyjamas. :D
yankeebean
Hello expat-ladies! The She’s Not From Yorkshire shamericans are looking for guest bloggers. We want to hear about your experiences about living in another country
What to send? Read on, dear expats…
- Your hilarious thoughts and / experiences – anything expat-related is fair game
- A link to your blog or website if you have one (so we can link to you)
- An avatar that we can use with your post (http://uk.avatars.yahoo.com/)
- Send it all to yankeebean@shesnotfromyorkshire.com
And that’s it! Spread the word! It’s an awesome opportunity to have a rant or a laugh – and a good way for our 10,000 readers to possibly become YOUR 10,000 readers
When an American in Britain moves to South America (with a British man): a countryless situation.
peacefulyorkshire
We plan on returning to Yorkshire , my British man (Mr. Chill) and I, but for the next three months are living in South America. My Ph.D. requires field work study that cannot be done on the fair island. Not that I am unhappy about a new adventure! We have packed all of our stuff into an overpriced storage unit in Yorkshire (that shockingly costs as much as our rent in South America) and have made the move.
This is Mr. Chill’s first time living in another place besides England. I can relate wholeheartedly when he misses British things I find true to his nationality (well how can I talk? I missed Swiss Miss cocoa, Fruity Pebbles and Mac and Cheese for goodness sake. Bleh!). Mr, Chill misses the lack of British organisation to keep things running ‘smoothly’. He misses British Leicestershire, Cheshire and Gloucestershire cheeses that are nowhere to be found here and ‘rule following’ people. He misses quality single malt scotch, dark pubs, mega-stores like Tesco and cinemas in English. As for me, after two weeks the Latin-ness in my blood is rejoicing. England? As far away as a dream.
I won’t lie and say I miss being in England. I don’t. It is refreshing to be away from rules of class and feeling like I am insulting people all the time by just being myself. For the first time in a long time my awkwardness in social settings is gone. I don’t miss the dreary grey skies (Mr. Chill does…). I love being able to be out at the weekends and not see drunk people puking and wreaking havoc on the streets. God, I now live in one of the most dangerous South American countries and I feel safer here than I do in Yorkshire on a Saturday night. I like that on average there are 2 protests here a day in the city. I like that because it means people here aren’t complacent and are wanting to be heard. Many care what happens in their often-corrupt government and will not be silent. Having suffered a military coup and then an economic crisis. People don’t seem to have the barriers of polite self-consciousness that I find in England. Directness is always my cuppa anyway so I love this.
But hey, I know that the things I find to be shackles of ‘British living’ come with the package of choosing England. Everything has a price and that is the cost I pay to have the wonderful things there like the great man I have met, a career I have built from nothing , the many friends and lovely family of Mr. Chill’s I have become close to. The clean quiet order of the life I found there.
By contrast, our South American life is not ordered, nor quiet. Where we live now is ripe with poverty on our doorstep while chaotic traffic zooms past. We can’t ignore the hungry. People sleep on our doorstep at night and rummage through our trash at night looking for things to eat or reuse. Packs of dogs roam the streets with no owners to claim them.
When a local asks Where are you from? I answer I am American. But I am not a clear cut woman identified by habits from my birth nation. As if living in England has cleansed me from claiming any nationality outright– and I wouldn’t have realised that until we arrived here. The hardest thing I did not expect is the inability to find a ‘country’ to claim as my cultural identity. Living in Britain I was always ‘the American’. Here, I am not.
And and I certainly don’t feel in anyway British– although the social mores I have learned there stick to me like a rash. Like the unrecognisable reserved nature that has become me when meeting new people, my ability to have patience in lines, my allegiance to the BBC and the way I can just about master the fork in my left hand. I said to myself just this morning, who is this countryless lady that is now me?
But, for now I enjoy my confusion and soak in the rich Latin American culture of my heritage. I will continue to blog as an ex-pat from my new temporary place and —well, just enjoy being myself, countryless lay-deh and all.
Welcome to guest blogger – Wandering Seattleite! Visit her blog seattleiteimagery
Wandering Seattleite
Two weeks ago my British husband and I flew into LAX. He handed the immigration officer his sealed manilla envelope, waited in a sterile lounge for an hour, and came out a legal resident of the United States of America.
When I married Dan almost five years ago I had some idea how big a role immigration officers would play in our relational logistics, but this past year it hit home. Every day for 6 months the Green Card was on our minds: How long’s it going to take? What if Dan doesn’t get in?! Moving across the world is stressful enough without all the legalities.
Now that my alien spouse has finally made it into the country, the whole immigration process seems far away. But I’ve had lots of people back in England ask me for tips for getting their aliens into the States. So, whether you’re in the throes of the Green Card application process, or just thinking about what it will look like in the future, here are a few helpful tips.
1 – Have a meticulous husband
2 – Do your taxes & get your police checks
3 – Keep calm and carry on, damn it!
4 – Don’t be afraid of Plan Q
Before we applied we had it all figured out. We’d get the Green Card within three months, find jobs from the UK and move seamlessly to Los Angeles to start our lives. Well, Plan A became Plan B became Plan Q. The Green Card took 6 months, we spent the winter in New Zealand with my in-laws (highly recommended) and now we’re living at my parents house on an inflatable mattress in Seattle looking for jobs. Not Plan A, but not the end of the world either. My advice is to reassess where you’re at every week or so with the process and create a variety of plans depending on how long things take. Flexibility is very helpful!
5 – Interview prep
When Dan went for his interview he got all suited and booted and said no one else in the waiting room made an effort. I’m not saying my man’s appearance got him in, but I don’t think it hurts to dress like you’re taking this whole thing seriously either. The interview took just over an hour and was basically a final check of all the paperwork he’d so diligently rustled up. The one odd thing was when he handed the officer a letter proving my London employment, the lady said I needed proof of American employment! This seemed like a Catch-22 – how could I get a job in America until I knew we could both move over legally? Anyway, for some reason they let him in despite my lack of dual employment (because he was so well dressed?), and we didn’t need to worry about it. I’m not sure how other people have got around this though.
yankeebean
When I first moved to the UK back in 2004, I was living in York – aka, beautiful tourist-central. I waitressed and worked retail until I knew what was going on with the visa situation. Because York is so touristy, I met a LOT of Americans, which I thought was entirely fantastic. At the first hint of someone’s twang, I would launch in the standard enthusiastic schpeal, ‘HELLOyoumustbeAmerican-METOO-whereareyoufrom-Whatbroughtyouoverhere-Howlongwillyoustay-Doyoulikeithere’ palaver that we’ve all been through.
I remember a few times, when I’d begin my standard interview, the American person I was talking to would heave a big sigh. And they’d reluctantly answers my questions with the same enthusiasm that they must reserve for emptying their bins. ‘Oh, well I’ve been here for 35 years now’ or ‘This is my home now’, or ‘I don’t really feel very American any more’.
I also remember MY reaction at the time. It was always something along the lines of ‘Man, what a jag-hole. I was just trying to be nice. Sorry if talking to me was like getting your teeth cleaned…” (This was all inner monologue, I’m too chicken-shizzle to say any of that out loud)
But OOOHHHHHH how the tables have turned. The other day I was grabbing a coffee and, sure enough, there was an extremely enthusiastic American barista behind the counter. At the first hint of my hard-R’s, she launched into that oh-so-familiar speech that I gave so many times when I was fresh off the boat.
And my DEFAULT REACTION was to heave a huge sigh. It was like I had an out of body experience and I watch myself do it. I couldn’t control it. I was already half way through the sigh before I even realised what was happening.
I HAD BECOME THAT BITCHY AMERICAN. GAH! The one who doesn’t want to talk about how long she’s been here, or how she got here, or if she likes it here. The one who doesn’t instantly become uber-friends with Americans just because they’re American. The one who doesn’t think England is worse that America, or that America is worse that England.
My out-of-body-yankeebean lowered her head in shame, hovering above me, pointing and judging. It’s not barista lady’s fault that she just got here (she’s been here for 6 months, I learned). I tried to U-turn out of bitch-ville and be enthusiastic with the barista – but I knew the damage was done. I saw the surprise that crossed her face when I heaved my stupid sigh – I know all too well what her inner monologue was.
Has any one else run into this? I kinda felt like I kicked a puppy, I think it’s something I have to work on…
During this post, I want you to imagine the soundtrack from 2001 A Space Odyssey in your mind. Here, this should help (music starts around the :20 mark).
yankeebean
As the music starts to build, I’m walking up the stairs in our self-catering holiday home in Canada…
As it continues to swell, I’m opening the door to our bedroom…
As it reaches it’s climax, I’m OPENING THE DOOR TO OUR WALK IN CLOSET!
I swear, I almost fall to my knees – the joy is so pure and true.
SPACE. LOTS of it. It’s everywhere.
Two living rooms, a dining room, a kitchen you could ball room dance in, three bedrooms, three bathrooms – FOUR DECKS. FOUR. Even I know that might be a bit excessive…
After living in England for almost 6 years, I forget how amazing it is to have space – until I have it again. To have places to put things, to have more than one closet, to have a shower cubicle that doesn’t keep cold-tile-goose-ing you because it’s too small.
Don’t get me wrong, I love England (which you must know by now). But when it comes to space, I only make do with what it has to offer. As soon as I set foot back in North America, I feel like flippin’ Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. I find myself flinging my arms out and spinning around in the middle of kitchen just because I can.
I can tell that Mr. Nice Guy is thinking it, too. Even though he’s the most English man I’ve ever met, I can tell he’s soaking up the wide-open spaces like a gold fish growing to fill his bowl. ”One day”, we beam to each other silently, “When we make our millions – we’ll have a house in America, too. A BIG ONE.”
yankeebean
I write this thirteen minutes after the whistle blew in the England v Germany game.
I’ve had thirteen minutes to recover with a consolation croissant and a consolation cup of coffee… Sigh.
America was knocked out yesterday 
and now the UK follow suit against their uber rivals, the Germans (4-1?!? 4-1?!?!?!?). Not the best 48 hours of sport I’ve ever experienced if I’m honest…
I watched the game with my Ma-and-Pa-in-laws and my guy, Mr Nice Guy. There was much effing and blinging (well, the conservative equivalent of effing and blinding) when England had their second goal disallowed. And as soon as that happened, the predictions of England’s demise started flying around the room. Optimism had left the building
“The Germans look so much more of a team”
“Yes, they’re all the same size and shape, too”
“England have style, but they’re not as technical”
(“Well, at least they have style”, I thought, grinning inwardly to myself)
“Look at the Germans… they seem… so… GERMAN. They execute every play like cold robots”
I burst out laughing at this one. Watching the English in the living room was just as entertaining as watching the football on TV.
All in all, I think we (they?) were completely trounced by the Germans. But, hey, at least we won the war!
yankeebean
A lot of my posts over the past year have been about how I’m starting to feel like like I’m half American and half English. In spite of my American genes, I don’t know what’s going on in the news there, I don’t know what movies are out there or what’s on TV there. My vocal volume has dropped by at least 30%, I never tip more than 10% and my love for English chocolate has increased by 100%.
I was really starting to settle in to the idea of being English.
Until…
THE WORLD CUP
That’s right… it’s shown me my true colours. Or maybe I should say ‘colo u rs’, given my recent behavio u r
There I was, thinking, “I’m going to enjoy watching the World Cup this year. I can root for America AND England and it will all be very inclusive and United Nations-y. Pip Pip, freakin’ awesome to combine the phrases of my people…”
But when they played the American national anthem at the opening of the USA v UK game, I shot to my feet like my Grandpa used to make me when I was a kid. When a friend of mine started to talk during it I said, “No Talking! This is important!” – I’m not kidding. I actually said that.
Prior to the game I’d printed out one American flag and one English flag so that Mr. Nice Guy and I could each root for our teams. (We had two Canadian friends over and they brought lots of Canadian paraphernalia, too. We made them promise to break up any fisty-cuffs that broke out between me and my guy.)
My additional patriotism, fashioned from any old name badge clip and a patch I keep hidden in my crochet bag for moral support
I printed out those flags as a bit of a fun and for a joke. But I quickly decided I didn’t have ENOUGH patriotic evidence and scrambled to find my American flag patch, which I fashioned into a badge and wore on my shirt. Along with my red, white and blue skirt and silver sparkly shoes…
I instantly became 100% American. I waved my flag. I cheered for my team. I kept saying like, “Our goalie is really good” and “We’re looking good out there!” and then realising, as I looked around the room, that there was no one else to be a part of my “our”s and “we”s.
But I didn’t mind. It felt good to be 100% American again
I’m looking forward to the rest of the World Cup! I’d LOVE it if America won, but I’d also be afraid to walk down the street by myself – only time will tell, eh?
