This isn’t my first time living in London. I first moved here at 20 and my study abroad program had a residence hall in Chelsea, which, is the Poshest of the Posh. While I knew no one, programs come with a ready-made group of friends. I also had an incredible internship at the Royal Academy of Arts already set up, took classes in everything from London Architecture to British Women Writers and traveled to some fabulous European country once a month.

I (obviously) loved it here so much, that one semester abroad turned into two, which turned into a summer waiting tables at the Texas Embassy Cantina. Not the most glamorous of jobs, so I had to move to the London projects (called “council housing”) in the East End. I lived with two South African guys I never saw, but it was my first real apartment. I was madly in love with a Kiwi Man and all was pretty peachy. It was devastating to leave.

Three years later and I was obviously more than ready to come back. Come back to the place where I grew into myself. Where I fell in love, supported myself and came to know a city better than anywhere else on earth.

Except London is NOT the city I remember and I’m wanting to tear my hair out in frustration at 90% of the shit that happens in my day.

Granted, I hated New York. You couldn’t walk two feet without smelling a) urine, b) hot dogs or c) car exhaust. There was no in-between or nonsmelling part of the city. I lived on the Upper West Side y’all and it still smelled like ass. There is no escaping the scent of Manhattan.

London smells like… well… nothing. Thank God. There are no piles of trash littering the street – do Americans even consider picking up their shit? – or Metrocards scattered on the subway rails. It’s just cleaner here.

Oh, and the tube system. It’s freaking genius. You see, it goes in a circle. And there are lines that go up and down and lines that go left to right and – HOLY CRAP – lines that go diagonally! It’s amazing. There is nothing I love more than London transport. As much as Londoners like to complain, they should just check out those flimsy NYC Metrocards and try getting from East to West. Then they can bitch about getting around.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that Londoners are ahead of many music and fashion trends. Plaid shirts and indie bands? Yeah, London is already so over that. Brooklynites still think the farmer look is cool, but here in London you get that stuff at TK Maxx in the bin of useless junk no one wants. I dread the day jeggings (leggings designed to look like jeans that girls wear as actual pants – no one wants to see that much jiggle, ladies) start taking over America. I hope that hasn’t happened while I’ve been gone…. Lord save us all.

Besides fashion and music though, London is sorely behind. Not only are they just now jumping on the frozen yogurt bandwagon (for shame!), but social media hasn’t caught on as crazily as it has over in the States. London transport, while awesome, is not 24-hour. God forbid you miss the night-bus. And 24-hour grocery stores actually close at 10pm and pubs stop serving booze at 11. ELEVEN. As in… before midnight.

Londoners are also a strangely miserable bunch. None of them particularly likes the city, but ask they’d move anywhere else they’d swear up and down London is the only place for them.

Unless, of course, that place is New York. I’d like to see what happens if I start telling people I’m Canadian. Or from some podunk town in Iowa. What then? Because when Londoners inevitably ask, “Where’s that accent from?” and I say “New  York” there’s this holy pause. Then…. “NEW YORK! Ahhh, greatest city on earth. So cool!” “Oh really?” I ask, “Have you ever been?” Answer is usually “No, but I’ve always wanted to go.” Ha! You do that.

Granted, I can kind of understand the draw. While we’ve had some sunny days, I’m missing the seasons like nobody’s business. Everyone in the States is talking about “That bite in the air” or “Fall is coming!” Where’s MY fall? I want some pumpkins and changing leaves and caramel apple cider. London is just… gray. The change in seasons is marked by either more or less gray and a few degrees change in temperature. That and Londoners dressing like there actually has been a massive change. Summers never go above 75 degrees but ladies prance around in short-shorts and belly-shirts, but as soon as it goes below 60 it’s heavy coats and Uggs. Also? Number 1 topic of conversation = the horrible the weather. Always. That and health care. All I want to say is, “Try getting a prescription sans insurance in the Great US of A” I would live in the UK fo’ eva eva simply because I got medication the other day FOR FREE.

Though I would actually murder for some decent weather. Seasons where you can tell what the hell time of year it’s supposed to be. Hopefully there will still be a red leaf or two on the trees when I’m Stateside this November.

On an unrelated note, do you know what else I’d die for? Comedy that doesn’t involve men dressing up as women. Apparently this is the funniest thing on Earth and no TV show, stand-up comic or or advertisement is complete without some drag. I’d love some classic improv (care of the great Desi Domo) or a joke that doesn’t revolve around bathroom humor. Surprisingly, the British have no class.

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