1. "Thunder, Lightning, and Italians singing YMCA???"
Last night the Gods had an argument. They opened up a flood of wrath, rain, thunder and lightning. I don't think I've ever seen such a storm--not even on the Pacific. The rain came down hitting like the UC Berkeley marching band's drum section, and every couple of minutes the sky would light up and it would be as bright as day for a flash, and I would count 1...2...KABBOOOOOOMMMM!!!! Sometimes I wouldn't even make it to 2. The storm was so close and the thunder so powerful it shook the entire apartment, rattling the windows close to the breaking point, and making the cat scream and hiss. But somewhere through the noise of the rain and thunder another sound came closer and closer: "it's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A!!! Oh, yeah, it's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A!!! YMCA, YMCA, yeah yeah, YMCA!!!" At first I thought I had lost my mind, but instead I came to realize the Sicilians had lost theirs. There was a group of about 30 people walking through the streets singing YMCA at full volume, and horribly mispronouncing everything and forgetting most of the words anyways. They seemed oblivious that the flood gates of storm hell had opened up, and anyone with some sense would be repenting on any bad behavior. I know I was. But, no. What irony...they were singing the most notorious Castro District-happy song on earth (in the most Catholic country on Earth) in the middle of a nightmarish storm. What a strange, strange place I live.
2. "Trying to understand why the Italian post-office doesn't send letters after noon."
Continuing onto other head-scratch-worthy things...I went to the central post office a couple of days ago. It's a MASSIVE Mussolini-era austere marble building with enormous columns and no Baroque fluff. It was 2pm on a Tuesday. I had my post-cards in hand (which I've already procrastinated on for two weeks), and was feeling smug about being so thoughtful and remembering to get them sent. So, I went to the line which indicated ability to send mail. I waited for ten minutes in line, and then the post-office guy said in perfect English, "Oh, sorry. We don't accept mail after 12." What?!?!? This is a post-office! What the heck is the point of not sending mail out? What is the point of having the biggest building in the world, if it only does what it's supposed to do from 9am-12pm?!?!? 3 hours!!! My jaw actually, literally dropped. I think for the first time in my life, I was speechless. I just turned and walked out, defeated.
3. "Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting.....tick tock tick tock."
Ok, I'm continuing the gainFULLY-employed thing. Which doesn't work the way it does at home. At home, you have an appointment/interview at a certain time, you meet at that time, then you are given further instructions and a timeline for the rest of the process. Here has been my experience:
Wed 12:30pm ...appointment at "School B"
I arrive at 12:00 to be responsible and early. Am wearing fashionable Italian dress so as to fit-in.
Am told person to talk to won't be available until 1. Agree to come back then. Take self and fashionable dress around corner for a drink. Spill drink on dress.
12:50 pm, come back. Use scarf to strategically hide unfashionable stain.
1:35 Still waiting. Wonder if I'm on candid camera.
1:45 Meet with above mentioned person. He breezes in, un-apologetically for being 1:15 late. Then he tells me he only has 15 minutes, can I come back tomorrow at 11am? Uh huh.
Thurs 10:50 ....I arrive for second appointment.
11:30 above mentioned person shows up. Doesn't act like anything is amiss.
1:30 pm, meeting is over. Half the time spent being questioned about California and the Beach Boys (latter of which I know almost nothing about). Half the time being taught method. Ok. Asked to come back the next day at 11 to give sample lesson.
Friday 11:30 ....I show up 1/2 hour late. Nobody notices.
Actually give 11am sample lesson at 12:15pm-1pm. Asked to come back after lunch to go through textbook of school. Also asked to come back on Monday at 11 to give another lesson for a different level.
Take 2 hour lunch. Come back and secretary is perplexed why I took such a short lunch. Apparently, it's usually 3 hours. Speechless again.
Stay for 1/2 hour and then leave. Nobody notices.
Monday 11:00 I arrive "on time" for lesson.
At 11:30 I go out to ask secretary when I'm suppose to start.
Told that the meeting has been postponed until 2:30pm. Nobody called me. And nobody is sorry or seems the slightest bit surprised by this delay.
Take proper 3 hour lunch. Flirt with old smelly waiter, and read La Repubblica (in Italian) cover-to-cover.
3:15pm-4pm give second lesson.
Told I will have a contract within the next two days.
Wednesday 1:16pm. Get phone call saying the owner of school won't be back until next week on tuesday. Must wait until then.
Time actually doing anything: 4.25 hours.
Time spent waiting: 7.75 hours + 1 week for contract.
Unbelievable.
4. Learning what "Che bordello!!! Tuoi piedi sono distrutto. Che cazzo fato?" means in Italian when getting a desperately-needed pedicure. Translation? "What a whorehouse!* Your feet are destroyed. What the f*** did you do?"
I think this is fairly self-explanatory...especially if you read my prior blog on what happens when you combine an hour walk with stilettos and cobblestones.
*Oh, and "what a whore-house" is an Italian idiom for "what a mess!"
5. "Hugh Grant on Hot-or-Not???."
Ok, so due to the fact I am waiting, waiting, waiting... I have been spending absurd amounts of time on the net...doing, well, nothing...I have come across several fun new websites. My favorite is:
http://www.videojug.com/
This is a fantastic website, the motto is "Life Explained. On Film." Very funny, and has everything from how to kiss passionately to how to cut an onion w/out crying.
But I can only watch so many videos.
So, I was bored enough to join Hot-or-Not. Yeah, I admit it. My photo has been rated overall by 300+ people as a 9.5/10.
That's fairly satisfying (too bad I don't look like this in real-life). I got a message that said, "Someone thinks you're HOT! He wants to meet you! Click here: http://www./hotornot/meet/??id=
And since I had nothing better to do, I clicked. In the few seconds that the page took to load, I was fantasizing about some beautiful man, who is witty and successful, and profound, and very Hugh Grant-ish.
Uh-huh.
For those of you able to see the link, I think you'll agree what a great fortune has been bestowed upon me. I don't think he could be any more mature, deep, or desirable.
For those of you unable, or unwilling to look at my future husband, then just know that I like his extreme mullet, his double-wide trailer in Kentucky, the fact he wants to meet "hot chicks" and his two daughters (who are my age) from his TWO previous wives. That's such a turn-on. And, really, the missing front tooth doesn't bother me that much. It's about what's inside, right?
So much for having a 9.5 rating count for anything. Ok, a response:
Dear Universe,
While I truly appreciate this grand gesture in sending such a fine male specimen via Hot-or-Not, I find that I am simply too intimidated to initiate further contact with BillyBob, age 43. And while I know that you would never make a joke at my expense (ha ha), I would be greatly relieved if you gave me something else to do. Like work. I'm loosing my mind here. I cannot continue to have the most exciting part of my day be "You've got mail!" And I really don't want to wait anymore for, well, anything. So, if we could speed it up, that would be great. Oh, and Universe, please send money. Because I am really, really scarily poor and it's not a lot of fun. Thanks! -Me.
I hope that works. It's appreciative and yet somehow maintains my dignity, don't ya think???
6. "Espresso and weight-loss." Size 12 and counting down...Also known as "The difference in food philosophy between the USA and Italy."
There are three main differences:
A) There isn't sugar, chemicals, or preservatives in EVERYTHING. Almost everything is fresh, and minimally processed (if at all). And people buy fresh food everyday from the little outdoor farmer's markets--there aren't supermarkets here.
B) The portions are WAAAAYYYY smaller. For example, if you order pasta, most likely you'll get a hand-full of pasta, and maybe 1/2 cup of sauce. Order the same thing at home, and you'll get a bowl of pasta the size of your head, drenched in sauce (with extra sugar, thank you). A large soda or coffee here would be an extra-small at home. A regular french-fries is meant to be shared by multiple people, and usually is. And while you order an entire pizza to yourself, it's extra-thin crust, and very light on the toppings.
C) People snack and drink espresso to curb hunger. My favorite is the aperitivo between 5-9pm. It's meant for after work, where you buy a glass of wine or something similar, and free munchies are brought out...usually bruscetta or little bites of cheese. This means you don't go crazy at dinner around 9. Oh, and after dinner, YOU WALK!!! It's called a Passagiatta, and it's tradition.
I have a few friends who have lived in Italy. ALL of them lost weight when they came here, and gained it back when they went home. It's easy to be thin here, and I'm loosing weight every day. I feel better, and I look better.
7. "The cigarette pant leg, and the first time I think the Italian fashion sucks."
The rage here is the cigarette-leg pant, aka the super-skinny jean. You cannot find a pair of jeans in a different style right now, and for the first time in my life, I think the Italian women are wearing hideous clothing. NOBODY LOOKS SEXY IN THESE!!!
If you're skinny, you look like a skinny stew chicken.
If you're fat, you look like a bloated stew chicken.
If you're in between, you look like an in-between stew chicken.
Seriously, ladies...don't kid yourselves. NOBODY (not even Kate Moss) looks good in these things.
I am putting up two pictures. One is of a slim-boot cut, the other is the skinny jean. Which looks better? The bootcut is ALWAYS going to balance out hips, thighs, and leaves a little to the imagination.
8. My always-entertaining chats with Caroline. For example-- "Caroline: 'lesbian drama makes men look like skittles' ...that is going to be my next poem's title. Me: send me a copy."
The conversation went something like this (of course edited to make us sound much wittier and punctually correct)--
Caroline: I wish I were a lesbian, it would be easier.
Me: No it wouldn't.
Caroline: Well, I'm sick of this man thing.
Me: You went to women's college with me.
Caroline: So?
Me: Cardinal rule of surviving women's college?
Caroline: Don't ever get involved in a lesbian lover's quarrel.
Me: Exactly. Lesbian drama makes men look like skittles.
Caroline: 'lesbian drama makes men look like skittles' ...that is going to be my next poem's title.
Me: Send me a copy.
9. "Cell phones, gas tanks, and explosions. Million-dollar bills. Dude, where's my pot?" And other news stories I read to keep in touch with home.
http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/ver/250.1/popup/index.php?cl=5135133
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071129/ap_on_fe_st/odd_million_dollar_bill
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071128/ap_on_fe_st/odd_highway_pot
God Bless America.
-Ciao Ragazzi
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