She's Not From Yorkshire

A Guide to Getting Your Man into America

yankeebean — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 06:00:23 +0000

Welcome to guest blogger – Wandering Seattleite!

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

I can’t recommend this highly enough. Honestly, my husband’s detail orientation came into it’s own here as I watched him fill out the overwhelming and tedious paperwork I’d have placed in my “to do” pile(s) for months. Don’t worry if your spouse is less than organized though – set aside a few evenings and force yourselves to fill out the boring papers/ locate documents, etc. It feels like a lot of work, but it’s not that hard, so just get on with it. Then reward yourself with a bottle of wine and dreams of Mexican food and Trader Joes shopping sprees.

2 – Do your taxes & get your police checks

It’s easy to forget about your US taxes while in the UK. Very easy. But proof of filing those bad boys is one of the things the immigration office is going to want from you in order to let your sweetheart in. If you’re a bit behind, this guide will sort your out – http://britishexpats.com/wiki/Taxes_filing_with_the_US_IRS_in_Londo n. Another potential hold-up could be waiting for the police checks from every country your alien spouse has lived for a year since age 16. It took about 6 weeks to get the Japanese police check through, so if your spouse is at all nomadic I’d get on it straightaway.

3 – Keep calm and carry on, damn it!

When we were going through the process, waiting for dates, biting our nails, trying to plan our lives, etc., those red WWII posters were everywhere. They were my daily reminders not to freak out, to channel my inner Brit and just keep calm and carry on. This mantra honestly helped. Thousands of people apply for Green Cards and are accepted every year, often without a high school education or grasp of the English language. If they can do it, so can you. It feels overwhelming, but keep it in perspective and stop worrying. You will get there.

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.

This list isn’t comprehensive, but it includes some of the things I found helpful going through the joys of getting a Green Card for my alien spouse. Have you gone through the same thing or are you planning to? I’d love to swap immigration stories.

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Oh no, I’m that bitchy American: Fresh off the boat syndrome

yankeebean — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 06:00:23 +0000

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…

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SPACE. Where no one can hear you scream… that you wish you had more of it

yankeebean — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 06:00:22 +0000

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.”

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Shite buggery knob bollocks… England are out of the World Cup

yankeebean — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 16:25:24 +0000

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!

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Here I was thinking I was all English… until the USA played the UK in the World Cup.

yankeebean — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 06:00:38 +0000

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?

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When your American-self lives in England and the World Cup is here: The true test of loyalty?

peacefulyorkshire — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 20:47:17 +0000

peacefulyorkshire

I have never seen England so erm, patriotic. England flags on cars? Puhleeeeeze folks, this is England, one does not normally display such obvious enthusiasm. You might think that it was the 1950′s Queen’s Coronation. Or the English equivalent of the Fourth of July. But you would be mistaken– because those England flags only come out for one thing in my experience. Dum dum dum dum…………….The World Cup*.

As I write this I am sitting on my Brown Ikea couch (the same one where Mr. Chill proposed) in my own personal World Cup oblivion. The England vs. Algeria game is on and Mr. Chill is in foetal position on the floor and shouting at the TV:

‘JesusChristweshouldhaveabsolutelyWHACKEthisteam’.

He doesn’t know that I am watching him writhe in agony over Cappello because he is locked into a dance with the TV screen. (He also just kicked the air (!!!) just in case you needed to visualise body gestures). All I can say is at least my ears are safe because he didn’t manage to buy a zubuzaleh. Wait ….I had to Google that spelling. Whoops, sorry its Vuvuzela.

Thank god America and England were tied because I would have never heard the end of it from all my English mates. One of our lovely readers wrote in today:

So ladies, who did you cheer for during the USA v. England match?

While I outwardly sported a patriotic red white and blue outfit, I secretly hoped that England would win. I would love to see the celebrations on the street. It is a dilemma as an Expat, isn’t it? One starts to question their loyalties.

Ok Algeria vs. England Game is over now. Poor England not doing so hot with a draw! Even Time magazine writes ‘Is England the most boring team in the world cup?

———–

* Not in Wales, Scotland or N. Ireland will you see such a plethora of the England flag, obviously. I get the feeling that some Scottish citizens were a bit upset (bitter? under-doggish? jealous?) about England’s participation when I was in Glasgow and saw a popular shirt that read ‘Anybody but England’. Awwww.

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English behaviour / behavior during the World Cup is a little confusing

yankeebean — Fri, 18 Jun 2010 19:00:47 +0000

yankeebean

Ok, I’m trying to wrap my head around this. And no doubt certain wordy commentors will set me straight These are the facts I’m working with:

English people favour realism over optimism.
English people don’t like to brag – but are masters of the understatement when communicating successes. It’s like a code they all speak.
English people are not inherently patriotic.
English people root for the underdog.

But just before the World Cup starts:

English people think they will probably win the World Cup
English people (well some of them) VERY LOUDLY boast of how amazing their team is
English people plaster every surface of every item they own with an English flag
English people want to winwinwinwinwinwinwinwinwinwin

Now we’re smack dab in the middle of the World Cup. I’m writing this the day after the most dull and depressing game of football of ALL TIME when the UK drew nil-nil against Albania. (Made slightly worse by the fact that it was shortly after the 2-2 USA v Slovenia game that was AMAZING.)

I think the behaviour and reaction I’ve grown to expect is starting to return after that heinous game. The whole ‘I knew this was going to happen’, attitude started to show by half time.

I still find it confusing, though. The same thing happened the last time around by I was fresh off the boat so I don’t think I noticed so much. Give me another couple of years and I’ll have it figured out…

———————–

Note: I had this scheduled to go out a day after England got knocked out of the World Cup – thought I’d better publish it earlier after the England v Germany trouncing

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Sorry we vanished! We’re not gone or dead, just busy :)

yankeebean — Thu, 17 Jun 2010 13:48:08 +0000

yankeebean

Just a quick post to say sorry for dropping off the face of the earth!

Peacefulyorkshire and I have both been tearing-our-hair-out busy with the game of life. Peacfulyorkshire is moving away for 3 months, while moving UK-house, too, while planning a wedding, while doing a PhD. I’m working two jobs which have both exploded with activity, meetings, rehearsals, recording sessions, website launches, gigs and the occasional trip to the zoo (yes, for work – long story).

But we ARE here! We just took a little post hiatus because we have strict SNFY blogging standards which include:

No hazy posts that aren’t really about anything
No writing about personal anecdotes that have nothing to do with being an expat
No pressuring ourselves to write when there’s too much going on because one of us will just end up calling the other one and crying.

As you can see, we run a pretty tight ship around here But we’ve both have a string of posts that we’re planning to write now and they’ve already started to peek out into the web-daylight.

Sorry again for vanishing – we’ve missed you guys!

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Move to England and become a sun zombie…

yankeebean — Thu, 27 May 2010 06:00:51 +0000

yankeebean

When I moved here in 2004 I used to laugh when the sun would come out. English people across the nation would drop everything and wander, like zombies, to the nearest sun-soaked surface…

Free will was abandoned, the work day crawled to a halt, grown men walked through town centres without shirts on (*shudder*). People scrambled madly at the sound of the ice-cream-van-twinkle; praying they had the essential £1.10 so they could afford the king of all ice creams – the Magnum… (freakin’ YUM!)

But the part that always stumped me the most was the reckless abandon when it came to skin care. It happened every time! Half-naked Brits stumbled into midday the sun, where they would stay until they were burnt to a bright red crisp… And it wasn’t accidental, either. I’ve spoken to plenty of British people that set out to burn at the first opportunity so that it will fade to a tan.

Why oh why oh why would the pastiest nation set out to burn themselves?? Why?? (BTW, I’m allowed to call people pasty because nobody’s is pastier than I am. I always said that if there was a concealer colour called ‘pasty cadaver’, that would be the colour I would need)…

The thing is, all skin care worries aside – I’ve DEFINITELY turned into a sun zombie. I wear a layer of sun screen a foot thick, but I will drop everything and stumble into the sun, squinting and confused, at the first opportunity. And there I’ll stay, until I’m literally drunk with vitamin D – until even the thought of sun hurts my brain. But even as I limp back inside, I’m thinking in the back of mind, “This might be my last chance… my last chance to see the sun until next year”.

Especially with Mount Supercalifragilisticexpatalidocious erupting in Iceland… that ash-y bastard…

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American Women’s Clubs in Britain: Do they just eat cake?

peacefulyorkshire — Mon, 24 May 2010 23:00:31 +0000

peacefulyorkshire

Ok so the blog post title is unfair. I’ve seen pictures of women’s clubs in ‘American in Britain Magazine’* also wearing some pretty adorable fashionable feather-infused hats. Oh, and also daintily drinking tea. You can see what I mean here,where there are some stylin’ laydehs.

Have you ever been tempted to join one as a newcomer, my fellow Americans in Britain?

Have you ever considered shelling out your dough for some ‘instant’ Expat American friends?

I set out to do a little mission to see what it would cost to join. I counted 21 American Women’s clubs listed on this fair island, and two examples:

1)The Chilterns American Women’s Club- “CAWC is a network of friendly faces, all of whom were ready to help with my adjustment to the expatriate lifestyle.” (This will cost you £50 a year).

Newcomer Coffees
Holiday Charity Bazaar
Trunk or Treat
Winter Luncheon
Spring English Morning Tea
Charity Cheque Presentation
Summer Luncheon Cruise on the Thames

2) For a whopping £105 a year you can join the American Women’s Club of London whose previous programs include:

Bridging the cultural gap- two lands separated by a common language
Christie’s Auction House – Famous women and their jewellery collections
Flower arranging ideas for the Fall and Holiday season
Chocolate tasting with the official chocolate taster of Fortnum & Mason

But cost aside, and if you can afford this type of thing in these Aldi-lovin’ Credit Crunch times, does being an Expat automatically make you bond foreveh with other Americans? I can honestly say from experience that it is NO for me personally. I mean, although it is nice to chit chat about how damn annoying American tourists can be when they talk loudly and wear fanny packs, and how the weather can suck, and of course raising money for charity is thoughtful. But after that….well, there needs to be some kind of other connection, right?

* One of the benefits of running SNFY with PacificBird and Yankeebean are the perks, like this magazine we get complimentary, thank you very much.

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