Life has a lot of life in it.

Okay, I need to try and post regularly, I can't believe it's been nearly a week since I have, time has spun my head around a bit.

This past week has been one giant learning experience, for many reasons. Though, being a nouveau-Brit, realizing that there are crisps here that are Chicken or Prawn flavoured is a learning experience in itself. So you can imagine the warp speed at which my brain is processing useless and useful information.

My patience has been tested in a lot of ways, and my stubbornness is probably the cause of it. I'm always open to new experiences, new cultures, and, having lived in Italy and Oxford when I was younger, I thought pompously "okay, London. I'll figure you out in a day and a half.". And so far, London has pretty much laughed its arse off, and has challenged me every step of the way. And I respect that it's an aloof country to get to know, and makes me want to step up to the challenge. here's some of what I've observed so far:

Food: Typical ingredients listed on the side of a box of cereal in America: Sugar, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Salt, Maltodextrose, Tiny bit of wheat, Sugar, Ultra Industrial Strength Government Engineered Corn Syrup, Sugar, Some random vitamins in smaller doses than you would give a hamster, Sugar, Yellow 5, Orange 52, Red 7, Riboflavin, Niacin (we have no idea what those are, but we'll throw them in to make us look good), Flavouring (why not), Calcium (not really, but if you add milk, then technically there'll be calcium in there). Okay, I exaggerate a bit. But I never checked ingredients, as I was brought up in a very "just eat what you like in moderation" home, and I'm lucky to be very slim and athletic, so I don't watch calories and fat really. When the mister and I got married and then set up home in New York a couple of years ago, he and I went grocery shopping one day and in the bread aisle I heard him gasp very loudly. "What?!" I yelled and ran over. "Look at this," he said, "there's corn syrup or sugar in all of these loaves of bread. What the hell is sugar doing in bread for that matter, let alone something called corn syrup?" I scanned the shelves to prove him wrong, but he was right. It was everywhere. Sugar and corn syrup was even present in things like plain Cheerios, bacon, "healthy" yogurt, ice cream, peanut butter, jams. It became a perverse game for us, living there, to find things without sugar or corn syrup in them. Eventually, we just had to break down and buy expensive groceries at the local open market, or the Whole Foods. Here, the food is blissfully free of anything like syrups or dyes, and TV advertising is not allowed to air kids' snack/sweets commercials. I am so happy to be living in a country that doesn't brainwash its people into thinking Yellow 2 is good for them. It's like the government is telling them "come on- you'll like it, and you'll want more of it, because it's cheap and has pretty colors and it tastes sooo niiiicceee." The mister and I are resolved that when we have the little ones, they will not grow up in a house that's filled to the brim with lollies and cakes to keep them on a sugar low and get them to be quiet. My mum gave me carrots to chew on when I was teething, and so help me, I am obsessed with them and any vegetable that tastes like that, like ochra or sugar snap peas or radishes. There's something to be said for shoving a carrot in your child's face to get them to be quiet, instead of the thing that will rot their teeth. Maybe someday there'll be corn syrup popsicles! Mmmmm!

Pubs: You don't tip the barman. Ever. That was my very first mistake. I ordered a pint, And he gave me change, but I told him to keep a quid. He looked at me like I had just asked him to jump on top of the bar and bark like a dog. I felt my face flush immediately afterwards, and I asked someone "I wasn't supposed to do that, was I." And they looked at me in sympathy (and I detected a hint of glee), and whispered "no. and next time, when all else fails, reach for the pint in the middle. You near had a fight on your hands when you took that guy's pint by mistake." Great. The last thing I want is to come home and explain to the mister that I lovingly befriended some East End cabbie's fist.

Pubs are also the common places to enhance your social or work-related relationships. Buying someone a pint is the equivalent of a handshake, a smile, a "good to know you". People meet here, spend time, talk about life and work, and then bugger off home. It's a bookend to a day. In New York, it's a different kettle of fish. Or, I should use the term "barrell of monkeys", because that's what everyone ends up acting like after they start compulsively hitting the bottle of Absinthe at 5:05pm, as soon as they bolt from the office. New York is a strange one- people go to bars mostly to try on a character, escape from themselves, and pick up men/women (though I'm sure London has its fair share of that as well). Doesn't matter who you are, how old you are, whether you're married or single, everyone wanders down to the bar (the best ones for these events have neon signs. Real classy joints.) and tries to let go, get drunk, and end up doing something stupid. I have to say that I'm very impressed how people handle the social/networking/having fun issue over here. Very rarely have I seen people totally lose it (well, not yet anyway). I witness very lucid conversations and behaviour even after 10 pints of beer (I say other people, because I would probably have a lucid and thought-provoking conversation with just myself after 10 pints of beer). People have a certain level of respect for eachother, whether it be friends or colleagues, to not be disrespectful and inappropriate, and if they want to get totally pissed, someone usually manages to pour them into a cab and make sure that they're still breathing. Though I am annoyed by how often it happens (and how often girls spill out into the sreet and fall off chairs in their state), I am fascinated by that psychology- the New Yorkers keep to their own games and expect someone to buy them a sparkly pink drink because they want to hook up, and the British manage to welcome you in and buy you a frothy pint. In New York, it was too much to ask to take a girlfriend down to the local bar for a pint without having to put on 4-inch stilletos, a 3-inch layer of makeup and a shirt that should be called a napkin. Sorry, that's not my scene. I want conversations, not pickup lines.

Cabs: Cabbies here are amazing. They know London as if a map was burned into their brain. Plus, they're really nice people (usually) and manage to make you feel safe. The cabs are clean and roomy. New York cabs seem to smell like old plastic, sweat, and curry. And the cab drivers want to fight you for a 25% tip if you only give them 20%. I can't tell you how many times I've given the guy $20 and he pretends that I only gave him $10. Here, the polite thing to do before you get into a cab is to tell the cabbie directions, then get in. And you can actually get out and then pay him. if I had done that in New York, the cabbie would've started swearing at me in some language with too many Qs and Zs, and threaten to have me killed, because he thought that I was ditching the fare.

Real Estate Agents: We started looking for a flat to either buy or rent, and before we started, I said to the mister "What percentage is their fee? How much will we have to pay them for finding a place for us?" He looked at me like I had 3 heads. "Sorry? What do you mean?" I explained to him that anytime I've found an apartment in New York, I had to pay the agent one and a half month's rent as a fee for him taking the time out to show me his "magic book" of listings. The mister laughed and said "oh, honey. it's ok, they find our place for free- it's the landlord that pays them to find good tenants." WOW!!! Why has this idea never caught on in New York?!? Now I look back and think it's a total scam for them to do that!! Well, as soon as I heard that, I was out the door on rollerskates trying to find a place. Luckily, after looking for 2 weeks, we finally found one today. It's amazing and I totally love it and we can move out of the in-laws place soon (not that I don't love living there, because I adore my in-laws, no joke- but we need our own space, really.), and we only had to pay deposit and security. First bread with no sugar in it and now this?!? Genius.

Words to use or not use: I was recently told by my mum-in-law that I shouldn't use the word "cute", as it makes me stand out as an American. And she's right. Here, people are very frugal and very precise with their language. In America, everyone is "awesome", "cute" and "cool", and the word "like" is used every 1.4 seconds. It's a very general language. Here, the word "cute" is reserved for tiny children and puppies, and no one really says "Ohh myyy gawwwd" (I've never used that either, but so help me, when I've heard it, I've felt like slapping people). "Lovely" is common, "nice", "brilliant" is a popular term, and most commonly used terms are "please", "sorry" and "cheers", or "thank you". Unbelievable how unconsciously people do it over here, and I've had to remind myself to do it so I don't look like a moron (read: stupid American). And I'll be honest and say that i adore the slang used sometimes: "div", "donkey", "boss", "minger", "lost the plot" (you can fgure out what they mean). I don't know why, but they just have a certain panache. It does help having the accent, though.

I don't want people to think I am totally anti-American (though, don't get me started on the politics or healthcare system of that country because I'll start ranting), but I have to say, I'm proud to be a Ukrainian. I'm born American, but a European in spirit, manner and attitude. My family is both Ukrainian and British, and I am fiercely aware of anyone who labels me anything other than that. It's a pride that, in my humble opinion, people should carry with them, wherever they come from. Pride in your country, your family. Pride has been misconstrued a bit over the years, sort of like "feminism" or "diet" or "religion". I am a feminist in that I am proud to be a girl, a woman, a wife, and if I'm lucky, a mum someday. I'm not a man-hater, bra-burner, nor do I believe that just because a man in the army can do 937 pushups a woman should be able to do the same. Pride is having a strength of conviction in who you are and where you come from. It may make me seem aloof or intimidating to people, but that's who I am. Get to know me first, then hate me if you like. I can't tell you how many women have refused to get to know me because the way I carry myself is threatening to them. I could go on and on. Anyway, the idea of this post was to say that I'm living a life in a country that I am happy with, that I love, that I am proud of so far. All of this may change, and I'm going to realise it's disadvantages in the future, but I have to freedom to say how I feel and for a long time, America's been letting me down very passively, and finally I feel like I found a home.

Well, at least until the next country we discover.