"So apparently, 'cougarette' is a word in this country." "Um... you mean courgette? Like a zucchini?"

Some of the famous London telephone booths on Russell Square, a park near my new home.

AAS* has recently been running rampant around our flat. Between confusing squashes (courgettes) with college girls chasing preteens (cougarettes) and the rest of a new and often misleading British vocabulary, our flat was in need of some pints last night.

So we set out with one task ahead of us: To find the perfect local pub that we could call our own for the next year.

We walked around for twenty minutes or so, passing several pubs that didn't quite fit our very high standards. One was too small, too big, too bright, too expensive, was still serving dinner, etc. Eventually we found ourselves in a new part of town with which we were unfamiliar. And no pubs in sight.

We were getting desperate when we passed by a dark pub with two men and what appeared to be a bouncer sitting outside. We could feel the vibrations of Euro techno beats from the other side of the wall. After a brief conversation amongst ourselves, the group decided that we would just try it for a drink and then continue on if it was seedy. I was elected to lead the group inside. Here's the conversation that followed between the bouncer and myself:

Bouncer: Can I help you?

M: [Thinking it an odd statement, as most bouncers typically ask for identification.] Yes, is this the Griffin pub? [Movement forwards, hand on the door]

Bouncer: This is a strip bar. You must be looking for the other Griffin pub, around the corner.

Oh, right. Of course. A strip bar. Why hadn't I expected that?

Two men intently listening to the conversation transpiring between the Bouncer and me: HAHAHA! I guess that was a bit of a shock for ye, huh? There are more pubs up the street, thar.

After that embarrassing episode, we found a lovely neighborhood pub and settled in to have a couple of pints. We also met our first bartender friend- essential for being a poor student and living, well, anywhere, really. His name is Paolo and moved from Rome to London about a year ago. He found my name fascinating and succeeded in working it into every sentence that he spoke with our table. (I'm starting to think that perhaps it has a different meaning in Italian... if anybody can help me out with this!) After a while, he wanted to know where UCL was, since we were all students there.

Tanya: "It's over on Gower Street. Do you know where that is?"

P: "No, no. What else is near it?"

M: "It is just on the other side of the British Museum. Do you know the British Museum?"

P: "Ah, yes. There are plenty of old things there!"

Paolo speaks the truth. And may, possibly, be more confused than us.

*Awkward American Syndrome. However, this disease may have spread to our foreign, non-British friends, creating a pandemic of confusion.