you stop to care about time. specifically, being late. everything is chronically late: the bus (45 minutes), mail (7-10 days), people who tell you to meet them at 8 am in the rain (35 minutes), my paycheck (5 months), my new yorker (3 weeks), my harper's (5 months and counting). well, you get it.
you start to become an even BIGGER food snob just to keep up with people and their major opinions. if you don't have an opinion on EVERYTHING you eat here, then you just won't make it.
you start to forget how to speak languages you grew up speaking, and yet you STILL haven't conquered the subjunctive.
salt becomes your new best friend (ok, salt was already my best friend).
somehow, the saltless tuscan bread becomes more palatable.
you stop pronouncing the K sound even when you speak english.
hideous fashion statements like exposed seam jackets start to look good to you.
to avoid looking like an american, instead of ordering a cappuccino in the afternoon, you ask for a latte macchiato.
you start to eat pasta multiple times a day.
offal starts to look appealing to you.
the fruit and vegetable vendors at the market start picking out your groceries without you having to say a word.
you start to crave salad all of the time, and realize how good you had it back home (green-goddess dressing! beets! any salad dressing! little gems!)
you start to tear up at the mention of mexico or korea in the news, ethnic cuisines seeming a far away, impossible dream.