My life has ceased to be fabulous. Hello, America.

Hhhhhhh.

Ah, America. Land of toilet seat covers and foofy coffees and fat people. How I missed you. It is good to be home, in a way. I’ve decided that America is the only country where you can actually get anything done. Sure, in Europe you can savor the texture and richness of a gourmet lunch over your leisurely two-hour lunch break and have a drinkable coffee and appreciate Culture and Art and History—but there’s no place like America for getting shit accomplished. I bought auto insurance for Arizona in a twenty-minute phone conversation today, while in Minnesota. In France I would have to physically be at the auto insurance office before twelve or after two (but not earlier than nine or later than five), in the state where I was purchasing insurance, and not before January 20^th (when Christmas vacation is over). On the other hand, wouldn’t it be nice to work in a country that doesn’t plunk out vacation time like a constipated camel? Tradeoffs, tradeoffs.

Not to say that I’m home, exactly. Now that I’ve mastered French (ha. ha.), I’m moving on to Russian. It’s really true what they say about learning my repetition. These are the things I’ve learned from being around my boyfriend’s family:

• Yaz NAI-oo, mama! (“I know, mom!”)

• SHTOAH? (“WHAT?”)

This conversation typically takes place when the interlocutors are at least two rooms apart, if not two levels. Actually, it turns out that everything I used to think was a personality flaw in my boyfriend I realized is actually just his culture. (Oops.) The yelling from three rooms away instead of walking into the same room where I am? Standard. The always winning the argument and never being wrong? Russian. The always pointing out that I paid three times too much and knowing where I could have got a better deal with Sasha’s cousin? All adorably, adorably Russian. ADORABLY.

As a result, I now yell across the house, am always right, can find a better deal than your better deal, and never shut the door when I pee.

Oh wait, that wasn’t Russian. But I did learn that from the Bee Eff. Is that an accomplishment?