peacefulyorkshire

One of our long time blog readers (who calls herself ‘I love this blog)’ wrote us last week. She asks us a question which I am hoping our smart-as -a-whip readers, (like you, my lovely!) will help answer:

I’ve just clicked through a friend’s photo album where she attended a wedding in the Welsh countryside… What’s the deal with women and hats? They look fantastic!

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pacificyorkshirebird

I thought I’d heard it all. Every single perception lovingly held by British folks about America had been brought to my attention for critical assessment.

Why is it called the the World Series when it is only American teams?

Why are there so many fat people in America? How come you’re not fat?

Why do you say “bay-zil” instead of “baah-zil”

What on earth is a fraternity or sorority and why do they use Greek letters for their names?

Is your fridge the size of my flat?

Why do you talk about distances in minutes instead of miles?

Yes, I had heard it all. Until today.

Red plastic dixie cups have been called an icon of American culture. Who knew? Not a single British person has ever asked me about red dixie cups. Suddenly they show up in the comments of this blog post from The Guardian about looking for American tv cliches in real life America.

Yes, I have had many a drink from a red dixie cup. We use them at picnics. We used too many in college, usually paired with some scary form of jungle juice or a keg. Of course, the cups also make an appearance in the occasional game of beer pong. I wouldn’t be surprised if some American families even use them on a daily basis in their homes. We even used them at the outdoor rehearsal dinner for our wedding. Oh yeah, rehearsal dinners – another topic that puzzled my British in-laws.

But, it had never occurred to me that these cups were absent from my life in Britain. Nor had I considered that anyone outside of America may have picked up on their presence by watching American tv shows.

I can think of plenty of American icons: Barbie, Coca Cola, Elvis, pick up trucks, McDonald’s, Michael Jackson etc… But red dixie cups? I can’t believe that is the item causing me to rethink whether I fully immersed myself in British culture during my time there. There must still be hundreds of other things about America boggling the minds of our transatlantic friends.  Perhaps I will ponder these while I sip my Cherry Coke Zero from a shiny red plastic dixie cup FULL of ice.

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peacefulyorkshire

It happened. (YET AGAIN!)

Today. I . became. that. annoying. American.

I didn’t mean to be. I didn’t walk in the mizzle with my cheery Cath Kidston bag on my arm armed  to go ’cause a scene’. It just came out of me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like giving birth–over time (erm, like every nine months or so)  it just has to come out.

My ‘ugly American’ moment happened by stating to the Sainsbury’s cashier:

‘is the price on the computer screen for those maxipads wrong? Weren’t they on sale? They were under the sale shelf. And were clearly marked with a promotional sign.

No, she said.

I don’t mind paying the extra pound, it is the principal of it, I would have chosen something else if I had known.

Sorry, those ones are not included in the offer.

Ok….can I speak to your store manager about making the sign more clear so other women aren’t confused too?

Glares all around from 16 people behind me wanting to buy their lunch. No other noise except my American-self filling the store. A few nervous shuffles behind me. I had caused a scene! And over maxipads! What was I thinking?

If I didn’t have my American twang (no matter how ‘Britified’ it may sound to my American family let’s face it, a twang is a TWANG) would I have gotten all those dirty looks at the till? Probably.

My American-ness just added to everyone’s annoyance. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it if I were in the USA.

Nothing was resolved, I didn’t get the maxipads at the sale price. And I felt really stupid walking out with the British stare at my back. Sigh.

Even if I am about to marry a Brit, I am afraid I just can’t give up my customer rights, nor my strong opinions.

A thought dawned on me. Maybe I am the one that the annoying American stereotype is based on…. and I even live here permanently!! hehe

—————

Customer neglect in the UK?

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peacefulyorkshire

” Peaceful Yorkshire, will you marry me? ” said Mr. Chill, my British darling from the Northern lands of Cumbria on his sweet little knees, his hands on mine.

Time froze as on our brown corduroy Ikea couch, his blue eyes waiting. I was sitting very unglamorously in my pink fuzzy robe after consuming a pancake birthday breakfast. Possibilities raced through my mind:

Shocker! Wow- what a surprise – on my 29th- and on our Ikea couch who would’ve thought- I didn’t come to this country to get a British man- I came for my career  -you are actually going to be marrying a Brit if you say yes- I didn’t expect him to ask me-oh, then you shall learn to master the art of a fine Cottage Pie recipe -and he in turn will learn the art of the beauty of a Krispy Kreme-gosh I miss those-

his refined ‘mum’, with all those blue plates of the Queen on her wall, yikes, she’d then be my mothah-in-law, in fact I will now be eating her Coronation Chicken Sandwiches for the rest my dual nationality life- I feel more official -I now won’t  feel so transient- if only we could afford to  have two completely different weddings in two different locales- gal you’re neveh going home-

wait till I tell Yankeebean and Pacificbird- wait until I tell my collegues- they will say ‘lucky you get to stay in the UK for good’ -and what kinds of visa forms we be should be looking at- marrying Mr. Chill means our future kids will be dual citizens- but not until after my PhD is done-

this feels right -this is how it should be-a good feeling -telling the family over the phone just isn’t the same wish they were here – I love him so much -oh my god he’s for real -this is not a joke- he is really asking -wow didn’t think this would happen like this on our Ikea couch- this feels so right- so say yes- say yes….

“YES!”, I said

And that, my dear readers, is the crazy jumble of emotions that went through my head for about 5.5 seconds–while I pondered being a newly engaged American laydeh to an amazing British man– it feels fantastic. I would highly recommend it.

p.s better go update our ‘about page!’

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yankeebean

Well, I’ve done it.  I’ve reached another milestone in the living-in-England process.

Yesterday I said something so dryly sarcastic that my English man thought I was serious.

I did it!  I truly accomplished dry sarcasm!  WOOHOOOOO!! *bow*  *bow*

I know it’s only a glitch in the Matrix, really, and I’ll go back to my hammy ways faster than a you can say ‘yank’, but I DID feel like I’d really accomplished something, y’know?

I can’t even remember what I said now… BUMMER because I wanted to cross-stitch it onto a mini-pillow and hang it on the wall (kidding… kinda…).

I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say that sarcasm is a beautiful thing.  I’m totally pro-sarcasm, whether it be American-large or English-dry.

I like ‘em both, but the two really don’t mix well.  I’ve found that if I go for yankee-sarcasm in the UK, I tend to get blank looks (sometimes almost looks of pity).  But if I’m too dry in America, I actually OFFEND people (I feel COMPLETELY horrified whenever this happens - racked with guilt… “deport me now”)

Actually, it’s one of the challenges about flitting back and forth between these two fine lands – one that I think about a lot.  The humour is SO flippin’ different and I don’t know how to switch from one to the other.  I wish there was some kind of sleep hypnosis tape that I could listen to for a week before I went back home – one that would help me change gears so the difference wasn’t so shocking.  It could include the latest slang and news, bouts of American humo(u?)r, the latest movie updates (since we get them 100 years late) and accent-therapy to bring back your full twang.

Hey, there could be something in this.  Are there any hypnosis gurus out there?  This could be your money maker!  You’ve got your first customer right here…

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yankeebean

Mr. Nice Guy just told me that Kraft are closing the Cadbury plant near Bristol – poutpoutpout.  You can read a full article about it on the BBC website – ‘Cadbury’s Bristol plant to close by 2011‘.

The article makes it perfectly clear that the plant was due for closure anyway, but it still sucks.  That’s 400 UK jobs gone like dust in the wind… AND less UK-made chocolate.  A double-whammy if ever there was one.

Soon our lovely Cadbury goodness will come from Poland – ahh, the *sweet* taste of a sagging UK ecomony and an increased carbon footprint.  Mmmmmmmm…

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yankeebean

No matter how English I think I’m getting, that ol’ American-ness always manages to seep through the cracks…

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it, but a sometimes it results in severe foot-in-mouth syndrome.  Not the one where you eat dodgy beef and get loopy – the one where you open your yap and offend someone without meaning to.  I’m a freakin’ expert - I should be the case study to see if it’s curable.

Anyway, this is all leading up to the root of most of my red-faced-foot-chewing moments lately.  I keep bringing up money as a knee-jerk reaction.  I do it because it GENUINELY doesn’t bother me, talking about money doesn’t seem like such a big deal in the good ol’ US of A.

But I’m learning very quickly that it bothers everyone else and I should keep my mouth shut.

I usually know I’ve done it because there’s a brief beat of silence and some kind of shuffling ensues.  The dance of discomfort – I quickly join in a split second after everyone else, once I realise that I’ve done it again.  (again!?!  GAHH!!)

But then what should I do??  It’s too late to take it back, I haven’t learned Hiro’s trick of bending space and time, no spare Doloreans nearby to go 1.21 jigawatts.  My current method is to start talking really fast in an obviously over-excited tone trying to fillfillfill.  Subtle?  No… it doesn’t take a genius to spot the vaudeville-worthy performance that I launch in to.

I think the only way to recover is to have a fail-proof subject change, so I’m fishing for ideas… anyone?  Anyone?  Just something to get me by until I get the clue and stop bloody bringing it up like some kind of noob.  Sigh…

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pacificyorkshirebird

It wouldn’t be an authentic experience of living in Britain without the inevitable friendly jabs about the way Americans seem to have made up our own version of the English language. Once I had someone tell me ‘I love how Americans just seem to make up words and still claim they speak English’. One of the most embarrassing terms was ‘bachelorette party’. Although I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘hen do’ either. Even now when I hear that term I imagine drunk chickens dressed up in matching outfits and tiaras clucking through the streets of some city in Spain or maybe Newcastle or York.

Anyways, it is hard not to notice how many places in America and Canada copied British names. I’ve been known to wake up in the middle of the night panicked that perhaps I just bought a plane ticket to Manchester, New Hampshire or London, Ontario on accident.  There are many places all over North America named after British places which is no surprise given our history.

The really funny times though, are when we find things for which we copy a British name, but mean different things.  A classic example is the word ‘fanny’ of course. Last summer, I discovered another example  that left me feeling very unobservant having never noticed this difference in Britain:

British In-Law visiting PacificNW: ‘What are them birds called? The really big ones that look a bit like a robin?’

Me: ‘Hmm, really big birds?  I’m not sure. What did they look like?’

British In-Law: ‘Like a robbin, but really big. With bits of red on the fronts’.

Me: ‘I can’t think of anything bigger than a robbin that looks like a robin. How big do you mean, like a crow?’

British In-Law: ‘Smaller than a crow and smaller than magpie. But quite big.’

Me: ‘Are you sure it isn’t a robin?’

British In-Law: ‘How big are your robins then?’

Me: ‘Well, not that big. Smaller than a magpie for sure. I think you saw a robin.’

British In-Law #2: ‘Are you talking about them big robins we was looking at this morning? Your robins are massive. It is true that everything is bigger in America. I’ve never seen a robin that size before.’

In 4 years in Britain, how did I never notice that the European Robin was completely different than the North American Robin? They are not even related – we all looked it up on Wikipedia together. Who knew?

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yankeebean

Lordy!!  You’d think that I was the CEO of Kraft and that I’d just negotiated the take over of Cadbury.  I didn’t do it, I swear… Kraft didn’t even ask me first…

Here’s the news, in case you’ve been buried under a mountain of Cadbury Creme Eggs (you lucky lucky sod).  Today Cadbury (UK-all-the-way)  agreed to a takeover bid from Kraft (USA-a-ok).  This means, in a chocolate-covered nutshell, that the Americans have bought an English institution.  Cadbury is about to become Yankee-fied…

Does this worry me?  Yeah, a little… mostly because it will mean job-losses in the UK and that’s the last thing we need.

But the most recent development is that it’s causing people to tell me about how SHITE American chocolate is.  Sigh…

The thing is, I GET that Cadbury’s is probably technically better and I like Cadbury’s chocolate.  But then, I like most chocolate that I come across.  My favourite kind is the kind that’s about to be inserted into my face.

What I don’t like is people telling me the things they hate about America – let’s face it, it’s not exactly the friendliest conversation starter.  Hershey’s chocolate isn’t for everyone, I get it, I get it… but neither are Marmite, breakfast beans, or monarchies and I’m not going to bring up my strong opinions about them the first time I meet someone.  At least not unless they tell me their feelings about chocolate first

Here’s hoping Kraft don’t change the recipe for Cadbury’s chocolate or I’ll really be in for it…

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pacificyorkshirebird

Dreamer had a great question on her comment to Yankeebean’s post about the how to go about bringing up the fiance visa question. She writes:

Is it true that if you are an american citizen working in the UK you pay both UK and US taxes? and vice versa?

I went for three years kinda wondering that question and hoping it would just go away like when Hypercolor t-shirts just disappeared after 1992.

Of course, the minute I wanted to import my British guy through US immigration, my history as a taxpayer became very important. With my application, I had to submit tax returns from the last three years, two of which I had to go back and file late as I hadn’t been filing at all since I moved to the UK.  And as it turned out, I needed to be earning over $80,000 a year (or something) in order to have to pay Uncle Sam, so I was off the hook. But I needed help from a smartypants tax accountant. Never in gazillion years would I have known how to file my returns without their help.

Keep in mind that I was earning $0 income in the United States at that point, nor was I employed by a US company and transferred to the UK. And in the past, the hardest part about doing my taxes was subtracting the standard deduction and asking my parents whether I was still being claimed as a dependent.

Oh yeah, and I’m no tax expert so make sure you look into your own situation before you decide what to do. Here’s a link you might find helpful to the IRS FAQ’s.

To make it even more confusion, it turns out I may not have had to go through filing past returns anyways. Because the income part of my visa application was rejected because the income I claimed wasn’t earned in the US!

Anyways, compare that to the UK system where they actually PAID me tax back after leaving the UK because I happened to leave before I paid in the minimum amount for the tax year. HM Revenue & Customs has some helpful information on their website too. Check out the sections on Information on Double Taxation and Social Security Treaties and International Aspects of Personal Tax.

Readers – tell us your tax stories!

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