Rewarding Bad Behavior

General Life and Feelings.

2008-03-30T13:54:00.000-07:00

Ok, some of my favorite stuff right now. Really, nothing exciting.

1. Davide. Who finally asked me to OFFICIALLY be his girlfriend last night. And OF COURSE I said yes. There have been so many times when I thought that he would, and then he would do something else. But it was really important to me not to pressure him into a relationship if he didn't want to. So I have stayed flexible and patient. But, I always wanted this.

You know, it's strange. I don't feel as totally elated and ecstatic as I thought I would...instead I just feel very calm and secure. I mean, really, nothing has changed about the everyday interactions that we have...but the title has been really significant to him (and not at all to me). And, so, I just feel really good that he has come naturally, on his own, without pressure from me, to this point. I don't know what I did right, but I just hope I don't mess it up.

I think about him sometimes, and I understand that I have somebody sooooo special. We get along so well, it's almost too easy. I can talk to him about everything. He's my best friend here. And I love him deeply. I want nothing but the best things for him. And I can't bear the idea of him hurting. And I have this urge to feed him. I've been cooking all week.

I wrote to my auntie Sal about him here:

I'm dating the effervescent and always clairvoyant Davide (say Dah-vee-day)...who is a MUCH better match for me than the Roman guy. He's always sunny, sociable, sensitive, a straight-shooter, and eerily perceptive. My mood changes the slightest bit and he's all over it and, GASP, wants to TALK about it. It freaks me out a little bit. I'm like: um, I don't understand. What do you mean by "talk" Like, about my feelings and stuff???? YEP.

He LOVES children, his whole face lights up and he plays with them like he is one. It's darling. I'm terrified of his mother, and I have an invitation to dinner at their house soon. I'm thinking about asking Silvia's parents to be proctor parents and come with me. He plays the guitar like a dream and sings English songs to me with a thick Italian accents. And he loves my chocolate-chip cookies (which he had never eaten before), and makes me pasta with tuna and mint. It's delicious. And he says I am becoming a Sicilian woman because I insist that he eat.

Good grief.

Have to mention that he has the most beautiful mouth and smile of any human being on earth...and a tongue like Mick Jaggars. What more could a girl want? [But the kicker is that he has hands like sculptures. And I have a terrible weakness for hands like his, they're just beautiful.]

And last night he told me that he was feeling very secure in his strong feelings for me. When was the last time you heard an American man talk about feeling secure with his feelings?

We watched MY FAVORITE MOVIE Under the Tuscan Sun last week together and laughed hysterically at the part when Frances and the beautiful Italian actor (that you LOVE so much I remember the pictures) are on the beach and he says, "Frances, your eyes are so beautiful, I could swim in them." And she laughs and says, "That's exactly what we American women think Italian men say." And then she essentially says, "I haven't had sex with someone in a long time, and I was wondering if you would like to sleep with me?" And he laughs and says, "That's exactly what we Italian men think American women say."

Doesn't seem to be a problem for either side though really :)

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So, yeah, things with Davide are moving along, and I just feel very relaxed with this. And I hope he feels the same....

But it has been my experience with him that he won't do anything he doesn't want to under any circumstances. So, he must really want this....hmmm. :)

Cute picture of us from the other day (he joked it looked like our wedding picture):

2. Weekend Players. My new favorite group. I always get happy when I listen to them. The song "Jericho" is just plain sexy, but this one "Walking into the Sun" reminds me of Davide. And it makes me happy.

See Lyrics:
Will you always keep me warm?
Hold me safe and away from harm?
Keep day from night and as the day fades?
Burn a candle bright for me?........

Will you always keep me warm
Hold me safe and away from harm
Keep day from night and as the day fades
Burn a candle bright for me

Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun

Will you always keep me warm
Give me shelter from the wildest storm
When I'm glowing
Will you tend evergreen love without end

Will you always keep me warm
Hold me safe and away from harm
Keep day from nightand as the day fades
Burn a candle bright for me

Will you always keep me warm
Hold me safe and away from harm
Keep day from nightand as the day fades
Burn a candle bright for me

Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun

Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun
Walking into the sun

They go right up there with Massive Attack, Sneaker Pimps, Everything But the Girl, Morcheeba, Faithless, Sia, and Dido. Good stuff.

3. The fact I can feel the weather changing.

I am SOOOOO ready for the summer. I am ready to go to the beach with friends, get a tan, swim in the Mediterranean, go windsurfing, BBQ, stay out late, visit friends in different parts (have plans to go to Rome and Reggio, and hopefully London).

4. Mozzarella and Ricotta cheese, Sicilian oranges, and Oatmeal.

First, with Oatmeal thing. I liked oatmeal in the USA, but it wasn't a priority. Now, since I can't find it here, I can't get enough of it. My mother spent a fortune on sending me some last month and I am almost out...luckily Silvia is on her way back from California with a shipment of it.

I have another addiction...the mozzarella here, which is totally different from the crap we get. What we eat isn't mozzarella, it's just plain white tasteless cheese. I could live on caprese (mozzarella, tomatos, basil with olive oil).

But the thing to trump all is the ricotta. OMG. OMG. OMG. Silvia's mom took me to a home where they have huge vats of hot, steaming, fresh ricotta made the same way it has been done for two thousand years. And I got to have a spoonful from the pot. Oh my goddess it was one of the best things I have ever eaten. And so she bought a batch the size of my head and sent me home with it. I eat it by the spoonful, and it's absolutely divine.

Ok, that's about it for now. :)

See, told you nothing that interesting. Just general stuff.

Dancing Naked at Goddess Temples....

2008-03-30T11:51:00.000-07:00

Ha ha. Tempting title, eh?

Well, I can't give you all the sacred details of what I did on the equinox that happened to coincide with a full moon and Good Friday...but what I can tell you is that I wasn't in Palermo.

So, I needed to get away from Palermo for a few days. Needed some space. Needed some time to think. Needed some distance so I could miss Davide. Needed some alone time. Needed a change of scenery. Needed to meet some new people.

This 4 day excursion was just what I needed.

OK, before we get started with the story, it's orientation time.

MAP OF SICILY:
Palermo, northwest corner.
Catania, east side.
Sicacusa, southeast corner.

SIRACUSA has a mainland, and an island just off its coast called Ortigia. Siracusa is the main city, but all the good tourist stuff happens on Ortigia.

View Larger Map

On Thusday in Palermo at my house, Davide made me a wonderful pasta and then we watched Under the Tuscan Sun together...without the subtitles for the parts in Italian. It's the first time I watched that after learning Italian and I was like: holy crap, I can speak Italian!!! I understood what the Italians were saying! Yippeeeee.

So then (being the wonderful man that he is) helped take me and my luggage to the station. I took a late-afternoon bus from Palermo to Catania (because it's waaaay faster than the train) and met up with my host Gio and his good friend Iacapo. I instantly liked both of them. We headed to the house where I was introduced to other friends and the cats (Sfinfino and Anya). We went out that night to a restaurant that served copious amounts of horse meat (I declined) and then later to a bar that was essentially an anti-american, anti-capitalist watering hole with a load of fascist/communist propaganda and an equal amount of political comics. I liked the menu in particular. [Background for those not in the know...the Italian political system is a mess. It's corrupt and ridiculous and is always falling apart. There are many examples. The last two presidents were Berlusconi and Prodi] Sooo. the menu. It says: Prodi has left, and Berlusconi won't return...so, let's enjoy this magic moment together.

That night I had a serious argument. With a mosquito. I swear to Goddess, never in my life have I been bitten on the eye by a mosquito until I came to Sicily, and the was the second time. So, I didn't sleep at all and when I finally resolved to give up the idea of sleep I went to the bathroom to discover my eye was swelling shut. Mosquito: 1. Laurel:0.

Bastard. See picture for proof.

Ok, so I took my hormonal, one-eyed self to the train station to catch the train to Siracusa where the Goddess temples are, and there is something wrong with the trains. So I do the sensible thing and go get a cappuccino and croissant and hang out for a while. I make back to the station just as an impromtu train arrives...and I think: oh my good luck, I can catch this one and not wait longer. Right. Well, we traveled for about ten minutes and then the train stops. For an hour. We just sat. The conductor came by to tell us that there was something wrong with the lines and we just had to be patient. Then the train starts to move. All 100 feet (30m). And it stops again.

Ok, so three hours later (for a trip that should have been just over and hour) I arrive in Siracusa. But not where I was expecting to be, exactly. I don't know how to explain, but the Google map was wrong. Wait, I forgot the address and phone number of my hotel. Oooooh no!!! Totally screwed. Ok, it's cold, getting dark, and I have nowhere to stay. Not good not good.

Well, I figured I would find someplace so I started to walk. And, suddenly, I look up, and there is a sign for my hotel.

What are the odds? So, using the map I checked into the Sorella Luna (Sister Moon) hotel, and headed out to find something more substantiative to eat after the long day. And what do I discover to eat? A place called Coccodrillo Burgers. This means Crocodile Burgers. Now what is so amusing about this is that for about two months now I have renamed a classic Sicilian dish called Pane Con Croquette (essentially bread with tater tots) to Pane Con Coccodrillo. So, I found a place that really was bread with crocodile. I was sad that it was closed. So I ate somewhere else instead, but took a picture as proof to show Davide (who was with me when I made the original joke).

Slightly more full, but significantly colder, I headed back to my hotel and I sent a text message to this guy named Vincento (who Gio had recommended) who lived in Siracusa and agreed to show me around. I got dolled up and we met at six-thirty and went for an aperitivo (again so much food there wasn't really any need for dinner later). We chatted about art, history, politics, feminism, religion, traveling, love, the works. We spoke almost entirely in Italian for the first three hours, and almost entirely in English the second couple. I determined after he used the words "Mankind's quest to the moon" that he spoke the best English of any Italian I have met so far.

We ate one of the best dinner's ever:

Appetizers with different cheeses and veggies, etc.
Fresh ricotta with ground pistachio.
Orange and onion salad (something new, and I cannot explain how delicious this is).
Lamb and potatoes
Candied ginger and sesame cookies
An almond liqueur
Canolli

I was so full and sleepy that I declined the invitation to go with Vince for some more drinks, and decided to head home instead. And after all that food, I was grateful for the 1/2 hour walk back to my hotel. I called Davide who was out with my roommate, and I went to sleep.

The next morning I got up early to meet Vince. He had told me that there was an original Caravaggio painting at one of the local churches and since I have a major Caravaggio fetish I jumped at the opportunity to go. So, I had my lovely complimentary breakfast, and met up with Vince to go art hawking. We went to the church, where I have to admit, I was feeling mutinous for the fact you had to A) pay to see the painting in a public church...and B) that the view was blocked by one of those hideous tacky ceramic Jesus statues clutching his heard and looking pathetic. I do have to say I felt smug because I looked at the painting and there was something about it that didn't fit with the understanding I have of most of Caravaggio's works. There was something just not polished about it. And, sure enough, when we read the history it turns out that he was actually terribly rushed in this particular painting and never got to finish it to his satisfaction. Va bene cosi.

So, we stopped at one more place--an unconsecrated church--took some pictures of me and headed back to the island of Ortigia.

We parted ways as friends, and I went to explore and find some links to the Goddess. I had a great day.

I wandered and found little nooks and crannies that I loved. It was windy and cold, but very beautiful. I felt like I knew deep in my cells this place. It is one of those places that resonates and you feel like you lived there a long time ago. I took a million pictures and drained my battery. I met a family with a bar and had a great lunch. And they sent me off with a jar of tart orange jam that was just delicious. I found the ancient places of the goddess, and new places of new goddesses. I found an art gallery that I loved, and a place to get a massage (read the community property entry). I fell in love with an island and I can't wait to go back. I have decided that this will be my place when I need to escape.

I caught an early-evening train back to Catania and met up with Gio again. We ate a pizza at home and then went out. Let me first say that the nightlife in Catania is awesome and there are about a hundred billion youngsters running around the center with an equal amount of bars. We met up with two American girls I have met earlier in the week in Palermo, and we all headed to a bar that has a secret cave underneath with a stream. There is a special table for one small group to sit about the water. I found the place I want to be proposed to. Never gave it much thought before...but now I know. When my to-be husband asks me to marry him, I want it to be there. Couldn't take a picture without ruining the dinner of the people there, so no pic. Sorry.

But, me with the friends.....(and the elephant symbol of catania)

We hung out and had a couple drinks and then trudged the long way back to the car and went back to the house. This time, however, Gio was ready for the mosquito (which I could hear but didn't see) and we plugged in an electronic citronella candle and some bug spray. I slept like a baby. Take THAT, stupid mosquito!!!

The next morning (EASTER) Gio and I went to a place where they make beautiful pastries and we walked around the city for a while and enjoyed the market and the sun. He left around noon to go to a lunch and I took a long, hot shower and packed my things. When he returned around three we took off on a cruise around this city on a 1982 vespa. It was a perfect day because the streets were empty...everybody was with family eating, apparently. The weather was so gorgeous that we went to the water for a little while, where people were hanging out in their bathing suits!

Since I had a Pasqueta (Easter with friends) to go to the next day, I needed to head back to Palermo, so I grabbed my things, caught the bus back to Palermo and Davide and my roommates picked me up at the station. All-in-all, a really great little trip, and I plan on going back again soon.

Ciao tutti!

FOR COMPLETE PHOTOS OF CATANIA/SIRACUSA TRIP, SEE:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/laurelfedor/sets/72157604249574131/

There are 4 donkeys in the kitchen...and other translation mistakes.

2008-03-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

OK, recent things I made funny mistakes with (my roommates and friends are keeping a list):

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

But I thought you wanted to eat a croissant (cornetto) with your coffee.

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID :

But I thought you wanted to eat a fool (cornutto) with your coffee.

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

Can you give me the peach juice (succo di pesca)? I want to make a Bellini with champagne.

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID

Can you give me the fish juice (succo di pesce)? I want to make a Bellini….

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

The name of those trees? I think they are called Ficus trees.

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID:

The name of those trees? I think they are called Fica trees (the rudest word for female anatomy in Italian) trees.

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

Excuse me waiter, but which sandwich (calzone) is the tastiest?

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID:

Excuse me waiter, but which cazzone (rudest word for male anatomy) is the tastiest?

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

The stupid mosquito is on the wall (mura) in the kitchen.

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID:

The stupid mosquito is on the donkey (mula) in the kitchen.

[I should add my roommate then exclaimed: there's a donkey in the kitchen? And I replied (thinking she meant walls and using the incorrect word again): no, in fact there are 4 donkeys in the kitchen.

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

Excuse me, but you are wrong (hai torto).

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID:

Excuse me, but you have a tortoise (hai tortugo).

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

My roommate Giova is a very generous person (magnanimo)

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID:

My roommate Giova is a very good pimp (magnaccio).

WHAT I WANTED TO SAY:

Put yourself in my clothes [shoes] (panni).

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID:

Put yourself in my sandwiches (panini).

And things I didn't understand...the name of the political party in Italy is Forza Italia (meaning Powerful Italy). I thought people were saying Forse Italia (meaning Maybe or Perhaps Italy). And I just couldn't understand what kind of stupid slogan that was for a political party. Good grief.

Community Property.....Erotic Massages and Drag Queen Makeup.

2008-03-30T09:14:00.001-07:00

My body is community property. The Italians have a very different concept of privacy, and while it's strange to me, it makes for a good story....

EXAMPLE #1:

At about 3pm on a Saturday in January, the telltale odor and strange feeling after going pee told me that I was about an hour away from a very nasty and painful experience of a UTI. I've had these since I hit puberty, and they usually come when I am upset or stressed out. I will point out now that this one eventually lasted for two weeks and would get better and ten worse...and on a Monday night I was brushing my teeth and I looked at myself in the mirror and I thought: I can quit my job. And the thought of not having to work for the crazy Frenchman lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. And, the next morning when I was supposed to go back to the doctor, I felt completely fine. And the UTI disappeared. Like my mother says: I was quite literally pissed off. Psychosomatic, hmph.

Anyways, on that Saturday afternoon, I went to my roommate Silvia's room to tell her that I needed to get to a doctor ASAP. She had several of her classmates with her, and once we got the translation worked out...in Italian it's Cistitis...all three of them sprang into action. They were delighted it seemed to have an excuse not to study anymore, and within ten minutes we were in the car on the way to the hospital. However, this is where I should point out the difference in the approach. While we were in the house, in the elevator, and the entire way in the car to the hospital, the three of them were calling virtually everybody they knew to explain that the Americana has cistitis, and to discuss my symptoms in graphic detail, and to remember the time when their sister's best-friend's boyfriend's niece's mom had a UTI...and maybe you should call her to ask, yadda yadda yadda.

So, by the time we reached the hospital, approximately 1/3 of Sicily had heard the Americana was sick with a UTI.

Then, when we actually got to the hospital, it was then announced it to everyone at the hospital (and those people explained their relatives sicknesses at length and lamented over when their great-nephew's best-friend's sister-in-law's daughter had a UTI this one time.....) So, by the time we left the hospital, and went to the pharmacy, another 1/3 of Sicily had heard about the Americana with the UTI.

Over the next couple of weeks as the weak medicine that they use (they don't use the powerful-like-clorox antibiotics we use) helped a little bit, (but basically I was on my own with my own immune system to fight the infection), the girls would check in, and then inform me they had a conversation with so-and-so they met at the espresso bar on Monday and THAT person knew about this woman who was a distant relative of....

You get the point. By the end of the ordeal, the entire Island knew, and it had been on the 10pm news. But, the upside is that I had a LOT of people checking in on me, and concerned and offering to help. I learned that the concept of shame about sickness and weakness that we Americans have doesn't exist here in the same way.

EXAMPLE #2:

Last week I got a massage, Italian style. When I got home I called Davide to tell him that I had a semi-erotic lesbian massage in Siracusa. I think he thought he wasn't translating what I was saying correctly, but I assured him that he was. I was as surprised as he was....

Ok, in the USA a massage consists of one person, a warm room, and a sheet to cover all your private areas (like butt, breast, and genital region). The masseuses are very careful not to touch any of these areas so as to not cause discomfort or embarrassment. It's a little different here....

First of all, you are TOTALLY naked, and NOT covered by the modesty sheet. So, there I was in all my glory. Originally, I was lying on my stomach, because I could deal with the masseuse seeing my butt. I was thinking that she had just forgotten the modesty sheet. Ummmm...no.

The first thing she did was make me turn over. So, now I am laying on the bed, bare side up, like a corpse on the autopsy sheet. She started on my feet and legs, but didn't stop at the midthigh like they do at home. Oh no, she aggressively went after my entire legs, inside and out...they masseuse doesn't tiptoe around your private areas. They may accidentally get touched in the process and it's not a big deal. Ok, so I am keeping my composure as best as I can. Then she goes for my stomach (which was also new, but rather nice). But the killer was when she got to my chest region....You can imaging my surprise when the masseuse started oiling up my nipples. I had to bite my lip from totally cracking up.

Ok, so I guess they don't call it a full-body massage for nothing. Oh, but wait, there's more...I forgot to mention that during the process THE ASSISTANT IS THERE WATCHING, and taking obvious mental notes. Ok, so I am trying not to squirm with one person who is a total stranger knowing every inch of my body...but now I have somebody else in the room doing the same thing. Oh, but wait...we're not done... because occasionally the chain-smoking-old Sicilian woman owner pops her head in and out as well to make comments. Again, community property.

OK, my first erotic massage. In traditional, conservative Sicily. Go figure.

EXAMPLE #3

And yesterday, I went to the hair salon to get myself dolled up, and I wrote this to my mother:

we are now a strawberry blonde with curls. oh so cute. and silvia's mom had a talk with the fabulous gay federico the hairdresser who said the palermo water was ruining my color and i needed better shampoo........ so she bought me really good shampoo and conditioner.S which is perfect because i just ran out. and i would like to point out that a weave here is 1/2 the cost. And again, it's community property. Basically the entire hen house at the salon comes and clucks and pecks and argues over what would be better. By the time i was done i had been in the hands of at least 7 people. one to initially inspect. one to consult with me. one to put the first color on. one to shampoo. one to do the cutting. two to blowdry. and one more to curl. And all 7 to argue constantly until a consensus was made (and offer me espresso).

But then Federico decided that i needed makeup (and I didn't have a choice or say in the matter since the other 7 had already agreed upon this next step). And so he took his stuff to me. Let me just put it this way....do you remember the movie To Wong Foo... with Patrick Swayze and crew as drag queens? I looked a lot like that. Federico has a Marilyn Monroe fetish and this was his drag queen ode to her. But, when he was done he clasped his hands together and exclaimed "fantastica! Sei una bambola (you're a dolly)". Can't argue with that, eh?

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Community Property. Good grief.

Ways of the Wind....Venice

2008-03-30T06:48:00.000-07:00

Went to Venice from the 4th-7th of March.

Love Venice.

Hate pigeons.

Love Murano (small island off of Venice).

Hate the weather in early March.

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What can I say about this trip? We had been planning it for two months and it finally arrived. There had been several times when I didn't think I was going to go...and, in the end, sticking through the rough spots paid off.

It was everything that I had hoped for. Romantic, poignant, loads of fun, and not that expensive. And it really reaffirmed to me how easy it is to get along with Davide. But, again, like everything between us...it feels bittersweet. Because I know some day that will come sooner than I want, I will leave. And I'll be heartbroken.

So, Davide and I got up at 4am to catch a train to the airport for our 7am flight. We rode the train, and checked in at the airport. I have to say, it felt like the most normal, natural thing in the world to be traveling with him. In my little heart I felt like us traveling together as a couple, being able to fuss over each other, made so much sense. Something small like that seems so RIGHT.

We arrived in Venice on time, where the baggage trolley was like a roulette wheel. Davide was so interested in this that he forgot we were actually supposed to be getting our baggage...and so I ended up having to drag luggage around while he called his parents to tell them we had arrived the how cool the trolley was. Good grief. :)

Our host, Tomasso, who I had been speaking to on a regular basic via IM, came and met us. We drove through the mainland, and arrived at the house. Since Davide and I had only gotten a couple hours of sleep the night before, we crashed out and took a nap. In the afternoon, we decided to head to the island but the weather was so terrible--cold to the bone, howling wind, and sideways sleet rain--that it was basically too much just to get to the island, walk the 50 meters to the grocery market and hurry back to the bus. So...first day was spent inside. See me freezing and miserable outside in Venice:

We had a relaxed evening at home and managed to get to bed early. The next morning we headed out mid-morning to explore the island of Venice with some sunshine. What a great place. We wandered, and found little corners, unexpected places, saw a wedding, ate sandwiches, found Saint Mark's Piazza, went inside the cathedral, and generally did the tourist thing. Although I have to say I was really grossed out by the pigeons, which Davide thought they were pretty great.

I say a Sicilian word in this video for the Pigeons: Fa schifo. This means: totally disgusting (in this sense).

I think really, the pictures are more valuable here than anything else.

So, as the sun set and the cold came back, we headed back towards the mainland. I'm lucky to have inherited a great sense of direction from my father, and so I managed to navigate us back through the maze that is the group of islands of Venice and only stopping to look at the map once (which I didn't need to do, but wanted to be sure).

We met up with Tomasso and friends for an aperitivo at a place where you buy a drink, they ring a bell, and enough free food comes out to serve as dinner. We made it back to the house and I did something that I will never forget after walking around all day in the FREEZING cold....I took a very hot, very long bubble bath. Ohhhh, heaven. Simple pleasures.

The next day we went to Murano, a small island off of the main part of Venice, which is where they make the famous Murano glass. I bought a few things for friends and family. I just loved this little island. It was very quaint, and intimate, and it felt like somewhere I could live. Old men played cards in one of the bars, and the pace of life was slower than on Venice. The canals were straighter, and legend has it that the wives of fisherman would paint their houses a different color so their husbands could find their way home after a long trip, or a long night of drinking. Works for me!

Despite the horrific wind, I thought this day with Davide was one of the best in memory. We cuddled, and laughed, and explored. We managed to not freeze to death, and we rode the boat back, stopping randomly for an espresso and some chocolate.

THIS VIDEO IS ON MURANO....you can hear how LOUD the wind is! And Davide thought it was a great idea to stand on the wet rocks, in the wind, while carrying the delicate glass things we had. Silly men.... :)

That night we went to the Casino.

We watched a performance by a guy called Pupo. He is a famous Italian comic/singer who does a melee of a show...with a crazy demonic dwarf inner voice, a sappy romantic, an arrogant bastard, and a gambling addict. It was, uh, different. Honestly, I didn't understand a lot of it though. It went to fast and was too strange for me to follow completely. I mostly hung out in a lounge while the boys played. Tomasso came and found me, while Davide lost 50 Euro quickly. We had a Bellini downstairs, and on a whim on the way out (because I HATE gambling), I decided to just try one of the video machines which has sparked that little voice inside that I have learned to listen to. So, Tomasso provided 5 Euro, (even though I only wanted to play 1)...and I just started pushing random buttons. The entire time I was saying things like: this is the stupidest thing in the entire world, why does anybody enjoy this dumb gambling thins...and BING BING BING BING!!!!!!!! Congratulations, you just won the maximum amount!!!!!

I won 53 Euro. Gave Tomasso 1/2 plus his 5, which he then gave to Davide so everybody walked away a winner.

We were leaving but I decided I needed to use the restroom...and so I made us miss one boat. As we were getting the next boat to go back to the mainland, a group of older, very elegantly dressed Italians got on the same private boat as us. Turns out, it was the owner of the Casino, his wife, and their associates. I was completely fascinated with the wife, because her face and bone structure was so similar to mine--but she was in her 50's or 60's. She had the most beautiful fur coat...and I was having a moment where I realized that how she looked and her social status is something that I can have in 40 years. It just WORKS.

So, the boys decided that I officially have the best luck--winning the money and then getting us in the same boat as the owner of the Casino (who is jolly and fat like Santa Clause). Good fun.

Unfortunately, that was my last night in Venice. The next morning, Davide took me to the airport to return to Palermo. He would go on to Slovenia for his birthday. When we had originally booked the trip, I had to work, so I couldn't continue the trip there with him. So, I lived for the next five days with heartache, and then Davide came home (I surprised him by meeting him at the airport).

And that, my friends, basically concludes the Venice trip. So, wind, romance, luck, and so on. That's just how the breezes of life blow.....

The Virgin and Sleeping With Others: Valentine's Day,

2008-03-29T07:24:00.000-07:00

I think I need to write about this just to get over it.

I'm still mad about Valentine's Day. And it's March. The 29th of March.

So, at one pm on Valentine's Day Davide called me to tell me he couldn't make our date, and he needed to study. While I tried to be understanding, my heart was sinking, and I was running through the dialog in my head of: why am I doing this?

OUCH #1.

So, while I was on the phone with him, the doorbell rings. Carmelo went to answer it, and I was still talking to Davide, when his phone cut out. I was trying to say: Pronto??? PRONTO???? (basically, hey are you there?). And Davide walks into my kitchen and starts to laugh because he had tricked me. While I was happy that he hadn't canceled our date, I started the day with terribly hurt feelings....and I should have known then that it would be indicative of the way it would end.

So, we ate some lunch, I got dressed (I wasn't expecting to go out until 4pm), and we headed off to Mondello...a beautiful beach town not too far from Palermo. It's a lot like a southern california town--except there are 500-year-old villas. :) We walked along the waterfront, kissed on the beach, took pictures, and then ate a fantastic gelato. So far, so good. See pictures.

We then headed to Montepelligrino, which is a huge mountain with a castle that looks over all of Palermo. I hadn't gone there yet, but I wanted to. We drove up an impossibly steep road that twisted and turned and ended up at the Church of the Patron Saintess of Palermo, who supposedly saved the people and city from the black plague a 800 years ago. What is so cool about this church is that it is built into the mountain, so essentially you are in a cave (the one where the famously reclusive Saint supposedly lived and died). And there is the sarcophagus thingy for this wonderful Virgin Saint. Meanwhile, the Goddess in me was feeling defiant as I basically always do when I am in a church. Utter contempt. But, I couldn't ignore how cool the setting was. Way creepier and more interesting than a normal church.

Davide also has a fair amount of contempt for Catholicism, so this works well for both of us. Ok, so happy beach, and creepy church. We'd laughed and talked and kissed and generally had a good time. And so then he pulls out the big guns...the VIEW from the top of the mountain. Mamma mia.

He took me to what would be the Sicilian Lookout Point. My favorite graffiti ever was there, and the view over the Bay and the city was amazing. He did his favorite Leondardo DiCaprio impression and the Top of the World thing over the railing that keeps idiots from falling down the sheer cliffs to their deaths. We modeled on the patron saint requium, and felt very romantic. Well, at least I did. More cute pictures.

Graffiti says: "It's incredible that in a world full of people it can seem so empty when you miss somebody." Ahhh, the Italians. Who else would graffiti poetry???

It was dark and cold at this point so we went back to Palermo to go get a pizza. But, on the way down the hill he says: oh, by the way, after dinner I am going out with Guido and these two girls from the Hospitality Club. (And you're not invited).

OUCH #2.

This was the one and only time that I ever asked if I could go along. And as soon as the words came out of my mouth I regretted it. But, honestly, I was pissed. Basically, he would rather hang out with perfect strangers than his "best friend" on Valentine's Day evening. Cool. Whatever.

So, as I digested that and decided not to care (because I'm stubborn), I chatted with my Mom, who I missed terribly at that moment.

After some searching and walking we ended up at the same restaurant where he had originally asked me if I thought something had changed between the two of us and I said there certainly was something. We cuddled in a back corner, and were all cute. We shared french-fries, and waited for pizza. As we were finishing our pizza he says: can I ask you something? Of course, my dear....what?

And he says: Do you consider me to be your boyfriend?
And I say: well, almost. I mean, you basically are. [Meanwhile thinking, YAY!!! He's going to ask me to be his girlfriend!!!! About damn time].
And he says: well, I don't consider you to be my girlfriend, and I just want you to know that I want you to be happy and have your freedom, and if you want to say, see or sleep with somebody else, it's ok.

Ummmmm, EXCUSE ME????? So, basically, you're saying I can be a slut and sleep with other people and you don't care enough about me to be bothered by this. And, moreover, essentially what you're saying is that YOU want to be able to sleep with other people and have me be ok with that. Hahaha, yeah right. Bastard.

OUCH #3 (but multiply times 1000 on hurt factor).

I lost my appetite and my ability to speak I was so upset and so so so hurt. For the month before we had been having such a sweet, romantic time, and everything was beautiful, and I was falling in love, and this was just such a slap in the face. And something that an American man would pull...I didn't see it coming from an Italian.

So, at this point I am having a Valentine's Day Dinner with somebody I am supposed to be in love with, but who wants to go out with other people after dinner, and is ok with me sleeping with others.

He knew I was upset, and I didn't want to talk about it. So, he took me home and by the time he had talked to me and determined basically that I was profoundly unhappy with him at that moment the two girls had gone to bed and his friend had lost the motivation to go out. But, I went to bed sad.

And, for the next three weeks things went from bad to worse. His exam was really messing with him, he was grumpy. And then he had this dumb girl from Estonia here for a few days, and I was so pissed I left Palermo for three days and wouldn't talk to him. I was really close to not going to Venice and telling him basically to buzz off. But after the Estonian girl left, we had a long talk and I pretty much told him he had been a complete jerk and I was really disappointed in his behavior.

And then we were ok. We started being cute again and I felt happy again. Things got better and better and then we went to Venice. And it was lovely...............

UPDATE: as of March 30... Davide has now asked me to be his girlfriend. And he didn't know I was so upset about this. And, he's basically totally wonderful and I completely forgive him and don't care about this day anymore. :)

Community Property.....Erotic Massages and Drag Queen Makeup.

2008-02-13T10:49:00.000-08:00

How To Quit Your Job....

2008-02-13T10:47:00.000-08:00

I said I just might have an update...I think this pretty much sums it up:

Dear Liays,

There are many things that I want and need to say to you, but I will start with this: I quit.

I have received a much better offer and I am no longer willing to work for you. I have discussed this with my parents, and they agree: I should take my gap year and be a tourist… learn Italian, paint, travel to other parts in Europe, and enjoy my life. I have told them how terribly unhappy I am in my work situation, and they are happy to support my wishes.

So, I may be willing to finish out the contracts for the month with Claudio and the advanced conversation class (given fair compensation), but the rest I will not teach. I sincerely hope that the American woman from New York will be able to cover.

And since you have made it clear again and again that I am a poor teacher, a boring teacher, a lazy teacher, and a teacher who male students like but you doubt that female students do, then I think this probably won’t be such a loss. You have shown absolutely zero faith in my ability to teach. You have said almost nothing nice about me as a teacher. So, since I am so bad, you will be much better off without me.

Additionally, since you make it painfully obvious that it begrudges you to pay me—your hostility in paying me is as obvious as neon—then I must not be a good investment. In the same breath of saying (happily) “I have many new clients” you say (angrily) “I will pay you 500 euros per month.” You once asked me what it would take me to stay…I said 1000 euros at least. And while I understand that the business is getting started and you cannot pay me this much, an attitude that is, perhaps, more humble and says: I’m sorry I can’t pay you this much yet, I really want to, you have been very patient, thank you, I hope soon.

But, instead, you actually argued with me over 100 Euro. You basically made it clear that you don’t think you should have to pay me at all, really. I am not worth even 400 Euro. So, I am maybe worth 300. And since this month you have promised 500, and this is 200 more than you think I am worth, then I am liberating you from a bad investment. You have already lost two secretaries and now a teacher based on your philosophy of worth. I hope that you find people who ARE worth the money.

Lastly, I want to say this about work: people will work like slaves for three reasons. 1) because they are being paid extremely well. 2) because they are working for a cause they really believe in. 3) because they have a profound respect and admiration for their boss.

When I worked in sales, I didn’t care for the clients, I hated the actual sales, but I looooved the money. I made so much money that nothing else mattered. I worked 12-14 hours per day, 7-days a week, for 16 weeks during the summer because the money was so good.

When I worked for an organization that helped poor women start their own businesses, I worked an incredible schedule, on top of it being my last semester of university, when I was writing a thesis. I worked, FOR FREE, because I believed so much in what the organization did. But I was also regularly thanked by my bosses, and made to feel like I was an important part of the team, and that what I thought and did and said actually mattered and was valuable.

Lastly, when I worked for the Congresswoman, I worked the same insane schedule as sales (100 hours a week all summer) and WITHOUT being paid AT ALL because I was so inspired by her, and my direct boss above me. Both of them worked incredibly hard, but made it clear that they couldn’t do anything without the staff. When things went wrong, they blamed themselves. When things went right, they gave everyone under them credit. I, in turn, did the same with my interns. My job was to translate the Big Picture of getting the message out and fundraising with micro-management of interns. And when we hit goals, I gave my interns the full credit. And when we didn’t reach goals, I took the responsibility and apologized for letting people down. And, to this day, my interns email me, ask me how I am doing, and have promised to follow me anywhere I go, and to any campaign. I was loyal to my bosses because they treated me with a profound respect, and I treated my interns with a profound respect, and they are still loyal to me.

When I told you I am a work-aholic, I wasn’t lying. Based on my past experience, I LOVE to work. I like being too busy. But I learned something about this. I need motivation: from the pay, the cause, or my boss.

I don’t have any of that now, and so I am not willing to work.

But, there is still this issue of friendship. I have said again and again that because I am here as your friend, I am willing to overlook these other things and to help you. But, as I have learned lately, you have done almost nothing that would help a friendship.

In the last few days, some interesting things have come to light about your opinion of me. My roommates have told me what you said. My friends have told me what you said. It is now obvious to me that you have spread incredible rumors about me behind my back. You have told anybody who will listen that I am lazy, dirty, selfish, rude, ungrateful, and generally detestable. You told my roommates before I came these things. You attempted to sabotage my relationship with everybody around me. You couldn’t just talk to me, and let other people make up their own minds. People aren’t stupid, Liays, they can decide for themselves. And my roommates and my friends have made up their own minds. They have decided that you are wrong. Absolutely wrong.

You told me Carmello would probably hate me if I didn’t change. Well, I am the same person that I was at your house. But, in fact, the opposite had proven true. I see him everyday. And he has taken a great liking to me, because he actually pays attention. He sees that I try sooooo hard to be nice to everybody. That I try to be generous with my time, affection, food, and money. He actually notices that I DO clean. And that I don’t say bad things about people.

In fact, even though you were so cruel to me, even though you made me cry, and feel terrible about myself, and even though I hated you, I NEVER said anything bad about you. I didn’t talk about you to my roommates. I didn’t go to couchsurfing parties and talk about what a bastard you were. I kept my mouth shut, because I believe it is incredibly rude, immature, and immoral to talk about someone when they can’t be there to defend themselves. This is what teenagers do—adults should know better. I believe that if you have nothing nice to say, then don’t say anything at all.

And so, I have said NOTHING. And I will continue to extend this courtesy to you. I will not speak badly about you to my roommates, friends, students, or anyone else. I believe people should be free to decide how they feel about someone. And as much as I would hope you would learn to not say terrible things about people, I do not expect it. I don’t think you have the strength to resist the temptation to tell anybody who will listen all the bad things you think about me. But I don’t care. When people realize you are wrong, it makes YOU look bad, not me.

You have hurt me terribly. You have betrayed my trust. You have broken promises. You have acted treacherous. You have been unfair, biased, and sometimes cruel. You have seen only what you wanted to see. You have made it clear that everything you do is right, and everything I do is wrong. You have made it clear that you are the victim, and I am the perpetrator. You have said horrible things about me to other people. You have basically made it clear that I am a disappointment to you. You have made it clear that I represent everything that is not good enough.

I did not… turn down 5 very lucrative job offers and graduate school; give away 90% of my things (clothes, books, furniture, etc.); leave my cat, boyfriend, friends, and family; and move away from the safety and security of my home country….to be insulted, underpaid, and treated like an enemy instead of a friend.

And, so, I have to thank you for all of this. Because I have learned some very valuable lessons. I have learned that I am brave enough to leave everything I know to move half-way around the world to uncertainty, and then not fly home as soon as things go wrong. I have learned that I have enough self-respect to not tolerate someone who behaves arrogantly, chauvinistically, and mean-spirited who belittles me at every opportunity. I have learned that I have the ability to stand up for myself, speak my mind, and then be done. But, most of all, I have learned that I have the ability to forgive.

So I forgive you for all the hurt, the tears, the approximately $5,300 I have spent in coming and staying here to help you, the sleepless nights, and the time spent trying to make you happy for nothing. I forgive you for being you.

I hope you have the same generosity of spirit. Because being magnanimous is one of the best characteristics a person can have.

See you around,
Laurel

Time For Everything: Introduction

2008-02-09T09:58:00.002-08:00

1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2 a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3 a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Now for those of you who know me, you will understand that quoting the Bible is not something I do often. But I can't think of anything more appropriate to headline this blog than Ecclesiastes 3. Because, really, this wisdom is really about things in and outside of us. It is about the necessities of change...and I find that there is change going on within me...just as much as my exterior situation is in transition.

Now, I am sorry for being so delayed in keeping up with my blog. But the last couple months have been profound ones. My living place has changed, my body has changed, my work has changed, my vacation plans changed, and my love life has changed. I have changed.

Time For Everything: MY HOUSE (casa mia)

2008-02-09T09:58:00.001-08:00

When last I left you, I was living in my small apartment and getting ready to move into the new apartment with 5 Italians. So, on December 12 I stood outside in the rain and flagged down my roommate Silvia (her parents own the house) and we gathered my belongings in her small Italian car and drove the five minutes to where the other roommates—Carmello, Angelo, Giovantonio, and Emmie were waiting for me with open arms. They helped me get moved in, and then made me a big Italian dinner. Emmie would move out a week later, and we have now replaced her with a guy named Martin from the Czech Repubic, .and a French student named Xavier.

I spent the first two weeks alternately baffled and overjoyed as I discovered the secrets and eccentricities of the house. It’s the entire top story of a large building on one of the main avenues, five minutes from the train station, with 5 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a huge hall, common room, 3 balconies, and an additional split-level apartment for Giovantonio. The ceilings are VERY high…maybe 20 feet. The floors are tile. The windows are huge, with dark green shutters. The clunky elevator scares me to death—and I was stuck in it once for ½ hour. There are exactly 100 steps from the bottom to our front door. My key to the outside door has a sky-blue cover (called Celeste in Italian)…and the key to the apartment door is Royal Purple for the Royal Residence. That color I think is called Viola. The water is always too hot or too cold, and sometimes stops working altogether. The washing machine sounds like the boogey man, and if you don’t overload it then during the spin cycle it shimmies off the wooden slates and slams into the shower. It takes 3 days for clothes to dry on the racks. The light switches are illogical. The walls are paper-thin. It’s glorious.

I cannot get enough of this house. It’s sporadically noisy, quiet, busy, placid, freezing, and too hot. But there remains a permeating feeling of love and happiness.

MY ROOM (la mia camera letto): I wake up smiling every morning as the sun pours in through my large French doors that lead out to a small balcony, 5 vertigo-inducing stories above a classic narrow cobblestone Sicilian street. From my balcony I can gaze out over the rooftops—past my favorite place in Palermo (the ancient, open-air church Lo Spasimo) and to the Mediterranean Sea. Since Jake (the other American in town) lived in it before me, and Silvia was broken-hearted when he left, I rearranged everything in it so it looks and feels like an entirely new room. My clothes are in a wardrobe that fell apart one night and my male roommates put back together while the girls and I sat on the bed and drank wine and giggled at their display of machismo. My desk is not level, and things routinely slide off it. I found out that my desk is crooked because Jake had a vendetta against a particularly pugnacious mosquito and slammed his hand down and broke the desk; the mosquito survived to bite him another day. My bed is tiny, and feels like the one from my dorm room. I have a nightstand that is always covered in miscellany. And the floors are SOOOO cold. When I have money, I will buy an area rug in green and pink. And in the corner is my easel, where a painting that I am working on greets me every time I walk in. I loooove my room, my space, my solace.

COMMON ROOM (il salone/la cucina): Everybody hangs out in the large common room with a couch fit for Animal House, a dining table big enough for 20 (and is regularly filled with friends), and the 12 foot semi-nude woman poster suggesting dirty things (in Sicilian) to a former roommate. There is a huge fruit basket that is a take-a-penny-leave-a-penny ordeal, and bags of pasta on every surface. The fridge looks like Germany after WW2. The guys argue over the stove about ingredients, and how long to cook the pasta. There is espresso made every three or four hours. There is a balcony with an incredible view of the large avenue below to the train station and mountains in one direction, and towards the very center of Palermo in the other. If we’re ever bored, we stand out there and see if we can hit pedestrians with cooked noodles. Doesn’t hurt them, but provides endless entertainment for us. Can you imagine walking along and then having a wet, sticky noodle land on your face? Hee hee hee…

MY ROOMMATES (i miei coinquilini): Silvia (20), Xavier (22—Mar ‘85) Martin (22— Apr ‘85), Me (25—Dec ‘82), Angelo (25—Nov ‘82), Carmello (31), Giovantonio (32).

Before I moved in, I had spent some time with Silvia and Angelo…but almost none with Carmello or Emmie (and Martin and Xavier hadn’t arrived yet). While Liays had warned me that Carmello probably wouldn’t like me because of several reasons…the exact opposite has proven to be true. While I didn’t have much time to spend with the strange but pleasant, small stoner-girl Emmie…because of my work schedule I see Carmello everyday.

CARMELLO looks like a ski-bum. He has a full beard and longer hair. He’s intense, passionate, self-deprecating, a fantastic cook, and hates when women use bad words. And he is now (other than Silvia) my closest friend in the house. A self-proclaimed and proud Communist…he enjoys taking shots at my true American capitalist foundation, but also never steps over the line. He’s getting a PhD in engineering and I find him to be extraordinarily generous, patient, good-humored, and brilliant. I admire his brain and his wit. And, in turn I think he is alternately amused and bewildered by me. I’m the first American he has taken a liking to…in fact in a semi-inebriated state he admitted: ti volgio bene (I really like you). So, I feel good about winning over the potentially most cantankerous person in the house.

ANGELO is small, wiry, and intellectual…with a beautiful face, a nervous disposition, and moves with precision. He frequently adjusts his glasses, and seems uneasy most of the time…but then will find something funny and laughs easily showing a gorgeous smile. He’s hard to get to know, and mostly keeps to himself, even while in the same space. But I like him.

GIOVANNIANTONIO lives by himself in the split-level apartment with his two cats…although his gf Ornella is here almost all the time. He works in politics, is right-wing, and will probably be the president of Italy someday. He’s the consummate politician. Good-looking, extremely disciplined, and has an island-full of charm and wit. He’s magnanimous, intriguing, hospitable, welcoming, and razor-sharp. He’s like Bill Clinton…and I think has the same effect on women.

SILVIA is gorgeous with long, thick, dark, curly hair; freckles on her olive skin; bright and sparkly eyes, and a friendly mouth. She’s a dancer with lovely curves, and is studying languages. She’s the kind of woman that men fall for easily because she is gentle, feminine, mature, calm, smart, fun, and modest. I absolutely adore her. She and I get along really well—which is very important considering we’re the only women in the house. We talk about boys, love, family, school, traveling, language, friends, and so on. She and Jake are staying together, and I help her understand the American male mindset as much as I can.

MARTIN just moved in a few days ago. He is an Erasmus student…and since Davide is the R/A of the Erasmus program here, his job is to help get the new students dialed in. Since we had the open room, and Davide really liked and trusted Martin, we got a new roommate. He’s tall and Aryan. He plays the guitar and sings, and is very laid-back. I look forward to getting to know him more.

XAVIER is Martin’s roommate. He’s also on the Erasmus program. He speaks Italian and French but no English. And since Martin speaks English, Czech, and Slavic (but no Italian!)…it’s still a bit of a mystery to me how they communicate. But they sure seam to like each other. Xavier is the small, blonde French equivalent to Angelo. He is the newest addition to our big, happy, international family. We figured out the languages spoken here are: Italian, Sicilian, English, Spanish, French, Czech, Slavic, and Arabic. Mamma mia!!!

I am elated here with these people.

Time For Everything: MY BODY (il mio corpo)

2008-02-09T09:57:00.002-08:00

For years now I have battled with my weight. I went on my first diet at age 10 after I was teased at school in a particularly cruel episode that I still remember vividly. Since I hit puberty early, my hips and breasts arrived while I was still playing with dolls and climbing trees. In addition, because I was so tall (5’8” at age 12, 5’11” now) the entire package was psychologically traumatizing.

So, I remember in 6th grade starting to eat a bagel and tea for breakfast, skipping lunch, and then picking at dinner. As my weight dropped, people began to positively reinforce what I was doing. I remember going to Hawaii with my family and there was a buffet, and I barely touched anything. My grandmother looked at my plate, and approvingly commented: you eat like a bird. I remember being able to fit into a pair of small jeans and a bodysuit and looking in the school bathroom mirror as I realized that I was finally thin. I stayed this way for the next couple of years.

Then, I was accepted into the advanced honors program at a private high school, moved to live with my mother in a new city, surrounded by uber-rich pretty girls and preppy boys and within weeks I got a headache that didn’t go away. For the next two months I lay on the couch in pain, mentally and emotionally numb from watching TV and just eating. By the time the doctors had determined there was nothing physically wrong with me, and everybody had decided that perhaps it was stress (which it was), I had gained all the weight back and then some. I returned to my old school, feeling defeated, fat, and like a failure. I remember looking at my freshman year school photo and seeing how chubby my face was. And that was when I stopped eating all together. I remember the spring of my freshman year limiting myself to 400 calories per day, and working out at the gym for two or three hours everyday. My boyfriend at the time desperately tried to get me to eat, but I refused. By the beginning of my sophomore year of high school, I was down to 135lbs (60kg) on my broad, powerful frame, and stayed that way for the next two years. I remember walking late into my Spanish class my junior year and my teacher was talking about vocabulary to describe the body. She smiled at me and said: Laurel es alta e flaca (tall and thin). I remember thinking: Wow. It’s about time.

Shortly thereafter my best friend Shayna had a frank conversation with me and said: Laurel, you look TOO thin. You look sick, you’re arms are sooo skinny. So, I started to eat a little bit more, gained about 10lbs, and then decided to play basketball again. I put on about 15lbs of muscle weight that year as I played basketball, and as I look at photos of myself from that period, I looked fantastic. So, me at an athletic 160lbs (72kg) is best. I finished high school a little heavier than during basketball season, but still slender.

Well, needless to say…I gained all the weight back and then some during the college years. I wasn’t playing sports anymore, had my car, and didn’t have parents around to monitor my food. Additionally, being at women’s college means that there is an entirely supportive environment for looking anyway that you want…and an extremely negative environment towards doing anything damaging to your body to fit in with the skinny-model culture. At women’s college, it’s easy to be fat. You are judged on your character, and never your body.

After I graduated, as you know, I spent the summer in Italy. Walking everywhere and eating the Italian way (smaller portions, little sugar, etc.) resulted in an easy 20lb weight loss. I didn’t even notice that it had happened. And since I have been back here, I’ve probably lost another 20. I tried on a pair of jeans today, and I fit perfectly into a size 48…which is an American 10. At my heaviest, before I left for Italy, I was a size 18. At 5’11, being a size 10 is still curvy, but not overly-so. I look at photos of myself now, and think: Ok, this is more like it. I’d like to loose another 15-20 lbs, and then I’ll be at fighting weight. All in good time.

So, how am I doing it? It’s small, simple things. My roommates and I always eat dinner together…and we talk and take our time, so we aren’t shoveling food down before our body has time to react. And the foods are so simple but always delicious. A salad with Besaola (a type of lean prosciutto), some fresh ricotta from the outdoor market Ballaro, and a side of pasta. I eat a lot of soup that I make myself with meat and veggies. I drink a lot of espresso, water, and a glass of wine or two every few days. I DON’T drink diet soda, because I honestly believe it messes with your metabolism and your body’s proper reaction to caloric intake.

Contrary to our popular American thinking that carbohydrates make you fat—I eat pasta almost every day and I am dropping weight, and quickly. It’s not the pasta itself…it’s the heavy sauce and the sheer portion size that is the problem in the States. Here, you eat a light pasta with FRESH sauce, and you only eat enough to make you feel satiated. And oranges or fruit to finish. I eat a lot of fruit here…and the outdoor markets are great fun to buy that stuff there.

But, most of all, I walk EVERYWHERE. I probably walk an hour or more everyday just getting around. I find that my body is still really strong like when I went to the gym because in my daily life I am a lot more physical. And when I am teaching, I’m on my feet for hours at a time.

It’s, admittedly, very difficult for me not to fall back into the same pattern of starving myself. It’s difficult being around these lithe Italian women all the time, and knowing that my size 10 is the largest the clothes stores carry...and so the temptation to not eat so I can be thin quickly is powerful. I intellectually know this isn’t healthy. My friends have gotten on me about this a couple of times when they don’t think I’m eating enough. Silvia has promised to keep an eye on me—and if she sees me getting too thin, then she will tell me. Once a week, I make sure that I eat everything I want, and then some…so this week I had a heavy pasta for lunch, snacked throughout the day, then ate an entire pizza (real Italian-style) for dinner, and two pieces of chocolate cake. At the end of it, I felt icky, and that took care of my desire to over-indulge again for a while. But it also gave my metabolism a good shake-up. And I think that eating the Italian way is something that I can maintain for the rest of my life. I much, much prefer it. And THAT, my friends, is what is most important. I don’t want to fight with my body anymore. I want to declare peace, and be at it and with it.

Time For Everything: MY WORK (il mio lavoro)

2008-02-09T09:57:00.001-08:00

Not much to say here, other than the fact that things have picked up, I’m getting paid, and there are ups and downs of teaching. UPS –Last week, two of my favorite students (who couldn’t say ANYTHING in English when they began a month ago) had a conversation between THEMSELVES in perfect English using mixed tenses and balanced-arguments, without realizing it. I thought I was translating from Italian, and then realized that they were actually speaking English. Made my week. DOWNS—lesson planning sucks. Spending hours putting together power-points and dialogues and finding images is really a lot less fun than I thought it would be. No worries about wanting to be a teacher for the rest of my life.

Although I need to add that they just might be a new blog entry soon about some major changes in work soon. I’ll keep you posted……..

Time For Everything: MY VACATION (la mia vacanza)

2008-02-09T09:56:00.001-08:00

I had two options. Option number 1 was to stay in a freezing house for Christmas, my 25th birthday, and New Year’s ALONE because all of my roommates were home for the holidays. Option number 2 was to take off for a couple of weeks to London to visit a couple of my best friends and kill the visa-requirement-to-leave-Italy-every-90-days Bird with the same stone. Can you guess which option I chose?

If you guessed my happy self got on that plane and flew to London, you’d be correct.

I HAD SOOOOOOOOOO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!!

I arrived late on Saturday, December 22st in London at my friend Steven’s house. He lives with one British girl, a Kiwi (who is seriously one of my soul-mates), and two Australian guys—who were all REALLY lovely to me. I was terribly sad to leave them.

I met Steve last summer in Budapest, and we became fast friends. He’s originally from Chicago, now living in London (taking advantage of his British passport courtesy of mom). He had been traveling for about a year…and after Budapest, we met up in Vienna one day and ran around the city having a jolly good time (see Flickr for photos). Physically, he’s All-American…but his spirit is free and far more interesting. He’s bold, independent, chill, smart, mischievous, and the epitome of a cool dog. I really love him.

I arrived dead-tired but damn excited to see him again after a 6-month hiatus. A couple of hours later his gf, Milica from Serbia, showed up. She was sooooo not what I was expecting. She was WAY FRIGGIN BETTER/MORE INTERESTING/UNIQUE/SPECIAL. I was thinking she would be petite, cute, and probably bubbly…but I was not prepared for the POWER that walked through the door. Within 10 minutes I was crazy about her. The first thing you notice (other than her beautiful sharp-angled Slavic face) is her fantastic, baritone deep, raspy voice. It’s like it comes from somebody else. I was enamored. I’m actually at a loss to describe Mili, because her strength, integrity, wicked humor, ancient soul, intelligence, courtesy, and love just blew my mind. Good Steven!!! I also want to point out that the second week her little sister came to visit…and this little girl (19) is on her way to being just as astonishing as Mili. I’ve never met anyone like them, and I can’t anticipate to.

So, I hung out with them for a couple of days…and then on Christmas Eve I went to meet up with my darling friend James, from New Zealand. I met James in Bucharest, Romania. We stayed at the same hostel together, but got to know each other well on a long overnight train ride from Bucharest to Budapest. Even though he’s almost a year younger than me, I feel like he is my older, wiser brother. I always ask him for men-advice. I find him to be incredible wise, level-headed, and open-minded. He has a beautiful impish face and sparkly blue eyes, and an easy smile.

We went to St James’ Cathedral to listen to the Christmas Eve service. The service began at four and we got there at 3:15There was a line around the block (which is like 10 normal-sized ones)…so I thought I could take off and find some coffee. I left James with the bags, and went off to find coffee. Turns out that finding an open coffee shop on Christmas Eve is not so easy. So I retuned half-hour later to discover that the line had disappeared. Damn! Tried to use cell phone to find him. Cell phone wasn’t working. Went to front of Cathedral where Jame’s best friends were with him, waiting for me…letting other people in the line pass by them. Ugh. Bad way to make a first impression. I join them in line, we are almost to the entrance, and the guards stop the line. OMG OMG OMG…if we aren’t allowed in to watch the service because I was late, everybody is going to hate me!!! Ten minutes go by, and people are sneaking dirty glances at me. I’m wondering if I can somehow charm my way out of their hatred. Stupid Americana. And then the guards count people in line, and bring the last group of us in. We are taken inside, lead past all the other people in the main seating area…taken past the stage (oh, hell, we’re going to be sitting in the dressing rooms…oh, hell, I just thought “hell” in a church)…and then led around the back and ONTO the “stage” to sit right next to the choir. Wait, what? Me making us late means we GET THE BEST SEATS IN THE ENTIRE HOUSE? Ha ha! You people in the front row who got here at 12pm to wait in line for 4 hours. We get the special seats. Neener neener neener!!!! So, indeed, we sat across from the Arch-Bishop, in the seats reserved during Mass for the clergy, and right next to where the choir sang. HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAA!

It was beautiful, and nobody hated me after that. James joked that leave it to a woman being late that we would end up in the best place in the entire HUGE cathedral.

So, after the service we took off to Hannah and Leah’s house for the EPIC CO-ED SLUMBERPARTY, where we played games, drank merrily (me not so much), and just relaxed. On Christmas, we made food, lit a kitchen towel on fire, did a naughty secret Santa, watched the Queen give her first high-definition TV address to her loyal subjects, ate pounds of chocolate, then ate pounds of Christmas food, drank some more, played some more games, called friends/family to wish them Merry Christmas, and did night two of Epic Co-Ed Slumber party.

On Boxing Day, I kissed everyone goodbye, and headed back to Steve’s house. Spent the day totally useless.

On the 27th of December, it was my 25th BIRTHDAY! Hooray. My father called to tease me that I was now ½ way to fifty. Not funny, Dad. Thanks. What did Laurel Ann do? If you guessed took myself to Chelsea to go shopping, you’d be correct. After all, it was my birthday…and the Post-Christmas sales galore. I bought three things. I bought a beeeeaaauuuttiful pair of knee-high, simple, black-leather boots with a low heel. I wear these shoes basically everyday. I LOVE them. Then I went to the store that had the black long-sleeved-turtle-neck dress in the window. Turned out this store was an organic cotton fair-trade only store. So, I got the dress, which I probably wear once per week. And then I saw, in the corner of my eye the most beautiful smokey-french-blue sweater. Oh, divine. I live in this sweater.

I still hadn’t eaten any fish-and-chips, so I organized a little get-together for my London friends, and we went to a pub and ate the fish-and-chips. I was a happy, happy girl. Went out for a couple of drinks at a bar, where I was feeling rather saucy. Then called it a night…

Three hours later I had a fierce stomach-ache and spent all night fighting off food-poisoning. Stupid fish-and-chips. Never eating British food again.

Did the tourist thing for the next couple of days, nothing too exciting…except I went to James’s house to house-sit for the next week.

But New Year’s….omg New Year’s!!! Met up with people in Picadilly. There was a couch-surfing meeting of like 30-people at a nearby pub. I hung out with Steve, the Savy Serbian girls, Marta from Poland, Marianna from Slovakia, and Ara from Australia. See photo.

At about eleven we headed off to join the other 2 million people who had converged in the center of London to celebrate. I wasn’t totally sure where we were going until we rounded the corner and there was Westminster lit up like a Thomas Moore painting. We passed that and stood in front of Big Ben. Fifteen minutes later 2 million voices echoed out in synch 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!! And the fireworks exploded over the Thames, The London Eye, and Big Ben. The champagne flowed and I just remember kissing people and thinking how incredible it was to be 25, and in London for New Years, watching the fireworks and just feeling like the year to come is going to be the best of my life. It was a moment that I hope I never forget.

For the next few days, I went back and forth between Steve’s house and James’s house, meeting up with other friends, and doing the tourist thing alone. I saw everything I wanted to see, cooked to my heart’s content for my friends, and left feeling like I had solidified some friendships that will last for the rest of my life. I have every intention to go back and visit before I leave for my next adventure. It was, quite possibly, the best little vacation I have ever taken. I was very sad to leave….

But, if you are going to leave from a vacation in London, it really isn’t so bad to get back on a plane and fly home to Italy. I mean, really.

Time For Everything: MY LOVE (amore mio)

2008-02-09T09:55:00.000-08:00

As a fire warms a cold room so has Davide warmed my heart. There are visual, obvious clues to warmth before you FEEL. You wonder if your eyes deceive you. You don’t believe it will ever get warm…and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, you realize it is no longer bone cold. Now the fire has had more time to build, and the heat rages inside me.

I wrote about him when I first arrived. I wrote that I wasn’t interested, but he was. I think, in a way, I needed to say this as a way to be defiant towards my own feelings. Because I WANTED him to want me…and while he behaved interested, he was also completely aloof. He alternated between being white-chocolate sweet and a total bastard. He was a master of mixed-messages, and I was both contemptuous and deeply intrigued. And, yeah, there were many things about him that were attractive—physically he’s stunning (and becomes more so to me everyday), he’s EXTREMELY bright, adventurous, charming, creative, fun, etc., etc. But, so what? There are plenty of men in this world with such qualifications…And I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him all these good things about him as long as he treated me with something slightly better than disdain.

Additionally, I thought he was just a classic Italian skirt chaser going from one woman to the next before he was finished with the previous. His words and his distance told me as much. He liked to verbally emphasize these kinds of things to me…maybe to impress me, maybe to intimidate me, maybe just because he thought it was what he should say. But, for me, it just forced me to put up a big wall around my heart because I REFUSED to get played by some 22-year-old Sicilian, who knew how pretty he was. And, so, I decided that I was going to show this baby what a real player looks like…and so I decided that the ball was in my court, and not his. And I started to toy with him. I sent him equally mixed messages—not available, but interested in him only for a serious relationship. I alternated between being needy and too busy with my so-called independence—sending both messages that made him feel like a rescuer and also not required at all. He has since confessed that it was a game for him as well—because he pulled similar stunts—acting attached and then turning around and saying he didn’t care. Essentially, we decided to play each other. And we ended up on the same team.

So, WHAT happened? I think at some point we may both have realized that we wouldn’t have bothered trying to play the other person unless there was something there, the proverbial elephant in the room so-to-speak. As to WHEN…I can’t actually pinpoint it, really. I remember starting to think about him more and more before I left for London. And we saw each other two nights in a row, and I think that was when it occurred to both of us that there was some real chemistry. But, I still wasn’t ready to put my heart on my sleeve, even if I couldn’t keep my hands off.

Of course, you know that my two weeks in London was fantastic and fun, but I should mention now that a few times throughout my trip I would get these sweet little text messages from him, which said he missed me and was thinking about me, etc. He remembered my birthday. And I will confess now that those texts made me (privately) rather giddy—although I would publicly pass them off as No Big Deal…. “Whatever, it’s another Italian guy who likes me. What’s new?”

But like a love zombie, I remember sitting in front of the phone with my calling card in one hand and his number in the other thinking, “Should one of the few phone calls I make on my Christmas vacation be to HIM???” And you better believe I was possessed by some supernatural force and I picked up that phone, dialed, and when I heard his voice (very happy to hear from me) I knew that I had crossed to the Dark Side.

And we arranged to meet when I got back on the 4th. We saw each other that night, and he told me he missed me and then invited me to go to Venice with him in March. A few days later he said that he didn’t have feelings for me, and that Venice was a mistake. While I tried to act like it didn’t bother me, I was crushed. And that was when I knew I had a choice to make.

And a couple days after he said he didn’t feel anything, something changed in him and his eyes. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but it came a couple days before I was ready to say I didn’t want to see him again…it was just too hard to keep a grip on my feelings while seeing him frequently. We had agreed to go to Venice together, but I was stalling on buying my ticket because I was still deciding whether to continue to see someone who couldn’t admit he cared.

But, over dinner one night, just the two of us, he looked at me and asked if I felt like anything had changed between us. And my response was: Yes. And then he admitted that I changed his heart. And so on…

I felt like he was finally letting go of whatever image he needed to maintain, whatever barriers he needed to have around his heart, and whatever pep-talk he was giving himself against falling for me. He let himself just BE.

And so I let go of whatever image I needed to maintain, whatever barriers I needed to have around my heart, and whatever pep-talk I was giving myself against falling for him. And I let myself just BE.

And, so, I bought my ticket to go to Venice, and it’s been rosy since. It’s been almost a month since I got back from London. We’ve seen each other practically every day since, and we’ve consistently communicated on the days we weren’t face-to-face. And while the more intimate things he says to me are said in confidence, and I am not going to post them here, what I can say is that this is not an unrequited love. And so, the two of us are players no more.

The other night really sealed it for me that this is actually happening. It’s not some strange epic dream, or a brief flirtation. We were sitting on a park bench in the middle of the city, enjoying a beautiful warmish Sicilian night (even in January!). We were facing each other, and just talking and flirting and probably making anyone single and bitter want to vomit. And he looked at me and said: I love when you look at me with those falling-in-love eyes. And I just blushed and turned away, but I remember having a rapid stream of thoughts like: Oh! Oh! Oh my Goddess, I AM falling in love with this man! Wow. How did this happen? And WHEN? Hmmm….So THIS is what it feels like. I guess I am. And it’s about time. OH MY GOD I AM FALLING IN LOVE. Holy [beeeeeep]!!!

LOL. Go figure. But it’s awesome.

And I can honestly say I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never had something grow. It’s always started hot and gone cold, usually quickly. I’ve never been with someone younger. I’ve never been with someone I wasn’t interested in at first. I’ve never had someone who made me laugh so much. I’ve never had someone who made me want to throw my arms around them and never let go. I’ve never had someone who amazes and surprises me every day. I’ve never had someone who I want to say, and feel, and think such intense things before. I’ve never been with someone who made me forget the people who came before. I’ve never been with someone who completely takes away my roving eye, or interest in greener pastures. I’ve never had someone that I look at and clearly understand: yep…you’re my equal. You’re my match, and there’s no little nagging feeling inside knowing there’s something wrong or off about it. I’ve never had someone who I can REALLY look into their eyes and find a place of warmth and comfort and familiarity. I’ve never been with someone who just made me feel so beautiful, fun, and sexy—without being put on a pedestal but because he’s looking at me from an equal footing. I’ve never felt so CALM and secure in being emotional, open, and vulnerable.

And for those of you who know what a vice-grip I have on my heart and what a Ice Queen I can be…being comfortable in vulnerability should say more than anything else. I’m ok having my heart in someone else’s hands. I hope this lasts….

So, now you know how I FEEL…but WHO is this man? Well, I will finish by including the reference I wrote for him on his public profile. I meant every word, and I now there are even stronger things I could profess.

When I first met my sweet Davide, he asked me if his English was good. My reply was, "We'll see, I won't really know until I've spent some time around you."

And so I have. Not only has his dedication to learning my mother tongue continued to impress and delight me, so has his very eloquent soul.

There is something so intriguing about this young man. He is mature way beyond his years. He possesses a calmness, complexity, and confidence that many will never have the capacity to attain. I don’t imagine I will ever tire of watching and learning about him. He is always surprising me.

I could write about his sense of humor. I could write about his clear creativity and skill. I could write about his pure Italian sensuality, wit, semblance, and internal clock. I could write about a lot of things that are purely superficial, and you can find out just by asking him questions. But what I really want to convey about Davide is the way I think he embraces the universe. He does it with an open mind, and an open heart.

I leave you with 1 Corinthians 13:4-7:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves."

Davide is love. Pure and simple.

I look forward to watching him grow, but hopefully not change. I hope he holds that love for everything (except cheese hee hee) forever.

It's absolutely sublime...

Time For Everything: Conclusion

2008-02-09T09:53:00.000-08:00

And so I leave you with the promises that this beautiful country, this beautiful life, this beautiful existence are all things I walk through every day full of wonder. I can’t believe this is MY LIFE! And it’s just getting started.

Thank you for going along the journey with me in whatever small way.

Ciao Ragazzi…

Quannu acchiani tu lu sule codda
Sicilian for “When you leave, the sun disappears.”

Lost in translation (some more).

2007-12-07T01:25:00.000-08:00

Cute Italian Guy: a me piacciono le donne morbida.

Me: Uh, you like morbid women?

Cute Italian Guy: Si, morbida...che bella!

Me: Um, are you like an undertaker or something?

Cute Italian Guy: Cosa? [Huh?]

Me: Non ti preoccupare. Ho bisogno uscire. [Don't worry about it. I gotta go dude.]

Cute Italian Guy: Aspetta, che cosa mi detto?!?! [Wait! What did I say?]

Me: Uh, neinte. [Uh, nothing].

Cute Italian Guy: Penso sei gustosa!

Me: Sooo, I'm morbid with a gusto. That's just great.

----

Right. Turns out that "morbida" is the only cognate in Italian/English that doesn't even closely match up. I looked it up later and discovered that morbida actually means "soft, pretty, lovely."

And gustosa translates to "delicious or tasty."

Oops. Boy did I mess that one up. Che bello.

---

And that's really all I have to say for now.

IDIOTSynCRAZIES....

2007-11-28T13:12:00.000-08:00

The continuous mysteries of living abroad...

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

2007-11-24T07:45:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a while since my last blog. Both a lot and nothing really has happened. As promised, I will be including the funny pics of me wearing a US Navy flight suit. Also, this week has been a tough week--workwise, and personally. It's harder than I thought to be so far from home, but I'll get to that. This is going to be a very long post, because I have a lot on my mind.

So: starting with the previous weekend.

I had a FANTASTIC time with Joseph. I was spoiled rotten with hotels, gifts, attention, food, and fun. He's a peach, and I'm bummed that he's headed back to the states and I probably won't ever get to see him again...but like the mental chessplayer that I am, I've calculated that he and I should be in California again at about the same time, and there was definitely a strong connection, so I hope we stay in touch. He's been good about it so far, despite his hectic flight schedule this week (his payment for getting last weekend off).

Friday night we agreed to meet at the central train station in Palermo. I figured it would take somewhere between 2-3 hours for them to come from Catania (where the base is)...so I planned on a 10pm at the earliest meeting point. At 10 pm I situated myself in front of the train station wearing my bright ginger colored coat, with my mp3 player and a cell phone to keep myself occupied. For the next hour every time a car stopped in front of me I would look to see if it was the boys, but instead it was inevitably some horrid sleazy Italian man who was convinced I wanted to get in the car with him.

This phrase really came in handy: "Mi dipiace, ma non vado con gli uomini stranieri nelle macchine." Which means, "I'm sorry, but I don't go in cars with strange (unknown) men." I feel like a child being approached by child molesters!!!!

I had one a**hole actually accuse me of lying, and called me Pinocchio because he was convinced I was a prostitute (despite being covered from head-to-toe in conservative clothing and an incredibly bored and non-sexual expression)...

...and which point this phrase comes in handy: "non sono una puttana e tu sei un cornuto. Lasciami stare." Which translates to: "I'm not a whore, but you're a fool [and this is THE worst insult you can say to an Italian man...it's the equivalent to calling an American woman the "C" word]. Leave me alone." And homeboy STILL didn't get the hint! So I just moved position. I was being propositioned (again) by another, and I was pretending not to understand Italian when the guys showed up. I just ran up to Joe and kissed him (at which point the Italians abandoned hope and left). He was so shocked. But I didn't care, I was sooooo happy to feel safe and respected again.

I NEVER thought I would appreciate a big, strong, red-blooded, REPUBLICAN (gasp, I know), American military man so much in my life. But suddenly I could breathe again. I could move again. I could just relax and not be afraid. Most of the Italian men are really sweet and wonderful and I have several friends who are incredibly chivalrous and respectful...but there is a minority of especially horrid and vocal Italian men that just ruin the reputation of the rest of them. I can never imagine my friends Ennio or Davide or Antonio EVER pulling BS like that...which is why I spend so much time around them...because I feel safe and cherished at ALL times. And they don't tolerate other Italian men treating me any other way when I'm with them. But when I'm alone, I feel like I've walked into the lion's den. Yikes.

Sooooo...the guys had arrived, and we set off to find the hotel. Turns out they had arrived in Palermo at 10:15, but had then gotten lost for the next 45 minutes, and having no cell phones or Italian language skills, it took a while. We thought that would be the end of it...but no such luck. My trusty Google map was totally, utterly WRONG. And the point on the map where the hotel was supposed to be didn't, well, actually even exist. Um, right. So, we walked around for 2 hours up on street, down another and nothing. I finally sent out an SOS message to 5 of my friends in Palermo, and bless their hearts, ALL of them had responded within minuted. Ennio actually drove to where we were and saved the day...he took us right to where the hotel was. Oh--did I mention that we had walked right past that address at least 4 or 5 times, and when I sent out the distress signal we were about 100 feet from the door (but just around the corner). Good grief.

As a side note, I got one of my favorite text messages ever from Ennio: Aspettami li che vengo...: ) x natale t regalo il gps. Which means: Wait there for me, I'm coming. For Christmas I'm giving you GPS.

lol. Classic. I probably need it.

Finally made it to bed around 3am, but I woke up at 6 FREEEEEEEZZZZZIIINNNNGGGGGG. The stupid hotel didn't have any heat, and this was the beginning of a bitter cold spell. There was no way I was getting back to sleep being that cold. So I woke the boys up to and we went and got breakfast.

We left after breakfast and went back to Catania. Bill had an early morning appointment on Sunday--at 4am. Yikes. I hadn't driven through the central part of Sicily before, but it was beautiful (well, the part that I was awake for because 1/3 of the way through I made like Sleeping Beauty and curled up in the back and slept soundly). See pic below:

We dropped Bill off at the base, at which point Joe found out he had a meeting the next morning which he had not known about. His sailor's mouth came out and I heard a string of curses that caught even me off guard. But, like he says, when you're in the military it's a 24/7 job. So his unhappy self knew he had a 5:30am wakeup call--on a Sunday. But we made the most of our day in Catania, and found the train station and got the logistics down for getting me back to Palermo the next day, and we had a great lunch at a little tratoria. Back at the hotel I did something that I don't think I will ever forget--I took a long, luxurious bubble bath while he napped away. It was bliss. After showering for the past few weeks in my apartment which has the world's smallest hot-water heater, and you only get HOT HOT for 3 minutes, lukewarm for another 5, and then cold after that...I can't even tell you what it was like to soak in a roasting hot bath with a good book (The Golden Compass III if you're interested).

That evening we headed to Catania to go to the Hard Rock Cafe because we were both in the mood for some good ol' American food. I was going to have the ribs and some COLD milk--not like the tepid shelf-stored crap they have here...NOTE: I LOVE and ADORE the Italian food, and prefer almost everything, but it's impossible to get a COLD glass of fresh milk unless you go to the Hard Rock. So...we follow the many signs which were posted on the street to get to the restaurant, and after a few wrong turns, we arrive at the restaurant, and ummmmm, can we say lights out and boarded up? Nobody had bothered to remove the tourist info and directions despite the abandoned premises. So that was 8:30pm. We talked about what to do, and decided to go to a town nearby to a restaurant he really liked and was familiar with. We arrived there at 9. We walked to the place, walked in, and were about to be seated when he stopped walking suddenly, turned heel and quickly led me out. WTF? Welll...he saw a bunch of his superiors having dinner (ahhh...those would be those 4 guys I saw with the short hair sitting in the corner) and TECHNICALLY he was supposed to be in Palermo WITH Bill...because they aren't ever supposed to go off base alone. And not only was he NOT in Palermo, he wasn't with Bill. So he would have been in big trouble. Ok, new plan. We drove around the little town for another 1/2 hour to no avail. So we headed BACK to Catania...and it took us another 40 minutes to get oriented and find someplace. By the time we parked, got in the stubborn door, and were seated it was 10:30. Sooo...two hours of being lost, refused, or narrowly escaping him being in trouble. But dinner was really good, and we had fun anyways. But you can see that only a few hours of sleep and a whole lot of time being lost had taken its toll. See photo:

And this would bring us to the part about the flight suit. Ok, ok, I know it sounds crazy, but I can't tell you how delighted I was to wear it. There's something that is just so sexy about a uniform, and also it's something that as a civilian I would NEVER get to do unless I hadn't come across this little stroke of luck found in a big sexy military guy.

Before putting it on, I rubbed an entire handful of my yummy vanilla spice lotion (most of you know EXACTLY what this smells like) all over, then got into it, and rubbed myself all around until the lotion wasn't on me and was instead on the inside of his flight suit--and a lot on the collar. Then we took pictures of me being the goofball that I am. See below:

Remember the meeting he had the next morning? He told me after that he was standing at attention and the guy standing behind him was like, "Dude, Joe, what did you shower with? You smell like a woman!" All he could say was, "Shut up." But he was smug when he recounted it, and I knew he secretly loved it. It made him smile, and it made me laugh.

Mission accomplished.

So, that was my weekend.

---

On Monday, I had a hard day. Things were mounting in my mind, and I had been off for a decadent weekend with a great guy, and it was back to reality. Things that were bumming me out:

1. I still hadn't heard anything from the schools and I was getting impatient about work and money, etc. I was getting pessimistic about my prospects, and starting to rearrange the possibilities and consider back-up plans, and I just didn't want to do that. I took no news as bad news.

2. And I missed Joe. I didn't think I would, but I did (and still do). I like him a lot, and I think he's just a really special person. I'm getting REALLY good at quickly recognizing men who are compatible with me, and it's hard to let them go. But, at the same time, it's good that we only had a little time together because I'm leaving for other parts of the world, and our schedules and lives are at very different points. Besides, it's one thing to have a delirious weekend, it's another thing to actually make a relationship work...because reality sets in and you see different sides of people. So, I am very grateful for the time because it was perfect for what it was. And this is all terribly presumptuous of me anyways, because this doesn't take into account his wants and needs. I'm just going off my own thoughts and calculations. Situation normal. Only child syndrome.

3. This week was Thanksgiving, and I realized that I really missed my family. This past summer was easy and I was never homesick because I new that I would be home in a relatively short amount of time. And I was on vacation, so really didn't have a care in the world. But when you live somewhere and are trying to make a life work, not having your most reliable and precious support-system is difficult. I don't have even the slightest regret about my decision to move overseas, and I consider this to be one of my greatest character tests for myself, but I can't help but wish it was easier to see/talk to them. And the Italians don't give a hoot about Turkey Day.

4. I realized how much I miss having my girlfriends around. I've gone from being at a women's college where I was constantly surrounded by my sisters who I could talk to, cry on, and generally just get stuff off my chest... to being in a country where female friendships are shaky at best. And trying to establish trusting female relationships while being an American girl is highly unlikely. They don't trust me at all--mostly see me as a threat. They know their beaus/husbands would cheat in a second if I offered--not because I'm especially perfect, but because I'm a)an American (i.e. independent and uninhibited) b) tall and fair (i.e. exotic), and c) friendly (i.e. not a cold bitchy Italian woman). They know it, and I know it, and they know I know it. And the men don't give a damn either way. So, while I have made a couple female friends here--one is a British woman, and the other has an American mother and Sicilian father but has the American mindset...finding true Sicilian female friends is going to be damn difficult because they would rather hate each other (and me), than anything else.

That's something that really bothers me here. Last night I went out with some friends and my boss's girlfriend, Viviana, saw him talking to a girl, and she immediately pulled me aside and started talking about how ugly the girl was. That seems to be a constant theme here. Women tear each other down, and compete with each other. It seems to me that a smarter philosophy is to view women as allies, not enemies. Divide and conquer...and that's what the men have done to the women here. In places where women create alliances and trust, they put up with WAAAAAY less crap from men, because they know men are secondary in importance to their self-esteem and happiness. I know that men will come and go, but my girlfriends are my heart and soul and will be with me forever. '

Besides, nothing shows pettiness and insecurity more than blatantly criticizing someone else's looks. True, the girl wasn't especially beautiful, but SO WHAT?!?!? It's not in the least bit important. I sent the girl a compassionate thought and thanked the goddess for my looks, and moved on. But Viviana wouldn't give it a rest. She talked about that girl for the rest of the night and more this morning. And it's like that with most of them...they size each other up and then spit poison. It's stupid and I've got better things to do.

So, I've been bummed because I don't have anyone to really talk to who will care and/or understand the nuances of my language. But my half-American, half-Sicilian friend is looking good, and she knows EXACTLY what I am saying, and has a more American mindset and agrees with me that the mindset of the Sicilian women is foolish. In general, of course.

5. The hardest thing has been the memory of Eli. This week marks 5 years since he was killed by a drunk driver. We were 19 at the time. It was Thanksgiving. I can't believe it's been this long, and while my memories have faded, the hurt hasn't. My heart still breaks when I think about him. I knew him longer than anyone other than my parents. I still remember getting the phone call that there had been a terrible accident and he was in the hospital dying. I remember walking into the intensive care unit and seeing Sal (his mom and my mom's best friend and basically another mother to me) sitting next to him, holding his hand. He was unconscious, and he looked like a doll because his head was swollen and totally still. His feet were bare, and very soft. I gave him a stuffed elephant that was very plush and had pink ears...he was later cremated with her. I bought 2--and the other one (a gray boy elephant) is on my bed in the next room right now, and I sleep with held closely. I remember getting the next phone call that he had been taken off life-support. I remember hitting the ground and just sobbing. I remember picking up his cousin (and my first love) Josh at the airport because he flew from Michigan for the memorial. Pics of Josh and me taken that week:

I remember the next night writing the eulogy I would give, and I remember at one point, putting my pen down, getting up, and then just starting to howl and scream. Josh came running, and had to hold me up because I couldn't even stand it hurt so much. I just beat against him and cried and cried. I remember seeing his other best friend Antonio (who would die two years later in a similar accident) at the memorial, and he couldn't even speak. They had gotten into an argument not too long before, and hadn't made amends. I know that ate at Antonio until his death. I remember watching Eli's father lie on the wet ground, and use his bare hands to scoop soil over his son's ashes in the small hole where the urn had been placed. I remember holding Sal with another of Eli's friends Sean on his knees, with Stevie (the redhead and an Auntie) and Debrin (another Auntie) clinging to us. See pic:

I remember all of that, but I find my memories of time we spent together slipping away, and that grieves me terribly. But I have some pics, which keep memories alive...

See us in the bath at age 4:

See us at a school dance at age 14:

(and now Im 24, another ten years later, and this blog is a replacement for a current photo).

And I'm not at home to go to his grave and talk to him. And that hurts a lot too. But I know he's keeping an eye out for me, and hanging out with Antonio somewhere, causing after-world mischief. But I miss him terribly. I miss them both terribly, and I just can't believe that they lost their lives in separate accidents, but eerily in the same way. I'm the last of the three of us alive. And that frightens me in a way. I wonder sometimes if I'm doomed to suffer the same fate, to make it tidy. But, I don't spend more than a passing thought on that because I feel like I have MAJOR things to do in life...and I can't dwell on things out of my control.

So, in the meantime, I am here typing away and putting my heart on my sleeve. Yep, miss alpha-female has some chinks in the armor. Who woulda thunk it? But, it's a new week, and I did eventually hear from the school and have semi-positive news about work and money, I'm keeping in touch with Joseph as much as is practical, I'm trying to cultivate friendships with women, and I'm holding good thoughts and love for Eli, where ever he is.

Again and again I marvel at the strangeness and wonderfulness of my life. It's a good life, and never ordinary. I maintain gratitude, and I ask for things I want, and those things usually arrive. But there are always surprises and tragedies. It's a journey.

But, it's the path that I have chosen, and I have no choice now but to keep walking down it.

Until later, I leave you with the poem by Robert Frost that my English teacher Mr Toone in 8th grade taugth me:

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

---Ciao Ragazzi.

2007-11-15T05:29:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning I woke up to hearing a helicopter, sirens, and yelling. I thought WW3 had broken out. Not exactly, it turns out. Between talking to my friend Linus who witnessed the whole ordeal, and talking to some of the people at the market, I've pieced this together: A mafioso had been caught stealing, and was on the run (on his vespa) from the police. He had almost managed to escape by driving into the market around the corner from my house which has a lot of overhead cover (to escape the police helicopter) and people (to blend in and escape the police on the ground). Unfortunately, he was driving so fast that he lost control of his bike and crashed into a market stall and an old woman. Then a brawl broke out. My friend Linus saw the whole thing and regained his wits in time to video-tape the subsequent events. So, while the fight was going on, the helicopter was circling MY roof. I saw it at first, but then it settled on a position above my roof and out of view. But it sure was LOUD. I managed to video-tape the sound of the helicopter, and the arrival of the police as they went flying down across a street at the end of my block. You can barely see them--they look just like little flashes of light they were going so fast. Check out the video that Linus and I combined from the two perspectives:

The police have been on a major mafia crack-down lately. The authorities are swarming in the city, and the police presence has doubled. It's all very exciting. They took down the top guys (and are on the hunt for the ones they didn't catch but have evidence against) and somebody ratted them out, and now everyone else is scrambling to get to the top. The business owners are all delighted because this means they don't have to pay pizzo (payment for protection from for and
against crime at their place of business). It's all anybody is talking about.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071105/ap_on_re_eu/italy_mafia_arrests

But, enough about the mafia. On to other criminal topics.

For the first time in my life, my justification for being in a country is being looked at. It's nothing serious, but one of the schools has to make sure I am not in the country "clandestinely" or on an expired visa. I'm not, but with the Italian gov't the way it is, who knows whether or not the paperwork dissapeared somewhere. It's a strange feeling and something I had never even thought of. We really take citizenship for granted. I'm not taking it for granted now.

Lastly: I was walking home the other day, looking darn cute in my dark turquoise dress and heels (no blisters this time), and I SWEAR this guy wearing a prison jumpsuit riding a vespa stops in the street and procedes to ride along side of my slowly, trying to get my attention and talk to me. I'm adding it to the book of "You know you're in Italy when...a guy in an orange suit with tatoos and missing teeth on the weeniest motorcycle in the WORLD tries to pick you up." Good grief.

A strange day with the Goddess...

2007-11-11T14:38:00.000-08:00

Italian religious zealots, Japanese guys who speak Italian (badly), and getting lost with two American Navy pilots...all with ancient Greek Goddess temples as the backdrop. Agrigento: home to the Valley of the Temples.

My day started after going to bed at 4am. I was out and about with friends...we didn't finish dinner last night until midnight and then we went out. Davide and I ended hanging out at the port and he played his guitar and sang American songs, and I explained the deeper meaning of them...especially Hotel California (can we say Hell?). So, trying to get up this morning at 9 to go to Agrigento to check out the temples was a task. But I'm glad I went.

Originally, I was supposed to go with these two American girls, but we just couldn't coordinate. So, I found myself on a packed regional train sitting next to a lovely couple from England here on a long weekend. Across from us was this old scummy looking Italian dude with about three teeth. Next to him was a young punk-rock Italian girl about my age. Twenty minutes into the trip he turns to her and says, "So, do you go to church?" She said, "No." And off he went. For the next two hours this guy didn't take a breath or a pause telling her this that and another thing about Christ and God and the Spirit, yadda yadda. She just sat, silent, looking at him as he ranted and raved. I knew it was safe for the Brits and I to have a conversation in English about what he was talking about. Mamma mia. He pulled out his cross, and some pamphlets that said "Vita di luce" or "life of light." I've never seen anything like it. Her station stop was before Agrigento and this guy actually got off the train and proceeded to follow her and continue to preach at her. The gall. Poor girl.

Arriving at Agrigento (sans map, food, coffee, or sleep) would prove to be an adventure. I mistranslated what the guy at the info desk said...not "you SHOULD take the bus to the temples, it is very far." I thought he said "you COULD take the bus, but it is NOT very far." heh heh heh. Riiiiiiiight. Five miles later on foot, I arrive at the temples. But not before getting followed by a creepy Italian dude, and chillin' with some Japanese guys who didn't speak English but did speak VERY bad Italian. THAT was interesting.

So, I FINALLY get to the temples, and I wander around taking pictures. I brought a flower as an offering to the goddess...and it starts to rain. I forgot my umbrella...which was by the door SPECIFICALLY so I wouldn't forget it. Go figure.

The wind picks up, blows my flower away, and I've had just about enough of this, and I turn the corner and see these two guys taking pictures. I heard English and thought, "what the hell...I'll go see if they'll snap some pix of me." Turns out, they're American Navy pilots stationed here in Sicily. Joe is from San Diego so we start talking about the fires, and so on. I sort of slipped my way into the "help me, damsel in distress...see how huge that hill is and I don't want to walk back to the train station, do you have a car by chance?" and off we go.

We had a blast. The Goddess sure has a sense of humor. Just last night I was remarking about how I don't really like American guys, and lo and behold, two of the nicest, funniest, coolest American guys I've met in a long time pop up just behind the goddess temple as she takes my offering. go figure. again.

I spent the next couple of hours with them, totally lost. We drove in circles about a hundred times because the Italian road engineering leaves a lot to be desired. And since it's Sunday, nothing is open and I hadn't eaten all day. my head was pounding but I was laughing hysterically with them at our directional predicament, so it didn't matter. We drove in circles. We walked up crazy stairs, and then down. Joe and I flirted (a lot) because he is just my cup of tea. The three of us have a date for next weekend...and the best part is they are bringing one of the flight suits, and I get to wear it and take pictures...including the helmet. I cannot tell you how excited I am.

We finally ended up at the same pizzeria we had found two hours earlier (but was closed because the Italians don't eat dinner at 5 or 6). We had a great dinner, and the boys took me to my train and got me on, safe and sound.

What a strange, strange day it's been. Missing American lesbian co-travellers...toothless Italian preachers...Italian-speaking Japanese tourists...a rainy, windy day at the temples...and two very funny American guys on my corner of the world.

Che bello.

More adventures await, I'm sure. And I will certainly be posting me myself and I in that flight suit.

Ciao ragazzi.

p.s. I highly recommend visiting my photo page for this one (to see all the amazing shots of the temples)...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/laurelfedor/sets/72157603097775547/

2007-11-10T06:27:00.000-08:00

Ciao Ragazzi,

it's Saturday afternoon here in Palermo and I am FREEEEEZINNGGGG!!! WOW, it's cold. Which is equally strange because there is cloud cover and that usually means a atmospheric blanket. The weather seems unpredictable here. There is a lot more thunder and lightning than in California. I had a conversation with my friend Jake (the American guy whose room I am taking over next month when he leaves), and he joked that his knee was aching so it's going to rain. He said he's used to the weather now and can feel what to expect. Last night it was soooooo windy. I went with some friends for a great dinner at one of the port towns about 1/2 hour away, and the wind was blowing so strong that great sprays of sea water were blown across the promenade and into the parking lot. My hair was cute when I left, but after being in that wind, it was a disaster. My friend Davide took pictures:

We had an incredible Italian seafood dinner. I had my first taste ever of sea urchin, and they were so awkward to pick up, my Italian friends just laughed and did it for me. You scoop the orange part out, put it on bread, and then eat. I didn't think it really tasted like anything other than a salty cream. But the mussels in tomato sauce was DIVINE. I love mussels anyway, but these may have been the best ever. They were cleaned really well so there was no sand to crunch on, and none of them were bitter. Mmmmmmm....

Later we went to this big couchsurfing party at a music bar that is actually about four blocks from my apartment. I have walked past this bar every day and thought about going in but didn't have an excuse until last night. There were sooooo many people. It was crazy. Something I think is strange is the color scheme here. The Italian girls all wear black. Nobody wears color at all. I fit in because I was wearing a black shirt and jeans (although if I had wanted to be ultra-chic I would have worn my black pants as well). I miss the colors that I see on people in the states. The Italian women wear lots and lots of accessories and their clothes are usually highly embellished. I like things that have eye-catching cuts and necklines, but that are essentially simple with maybe one strategic detail. And I love color. I knew about the dark neutral colors are more popular so I brought those, but I am getting bored with the monochromatic scheme. Oh well.

I had another one of those: OMG, I am in Italy moments. After dinner Davide was driving us back to Palermo, and I was sitting in the front seat, an Austrian girl named Brigite (say: Brig-ee-tay) was in the backseat, and we were speeding along a Sicilian highway. I saw the Wind Corporate offices (big cell phone company), and various billboards in Italian. I peered at the Sicilian houses lit up on the hills, and I remained quiet while Davide sang along to "You're beautiful" by James Blunt. James Blunt - You're Beautiful

My life is brilliant.

My life is brilliant
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

Yes, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
F-ing high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last 'till the end.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

La la la la la la la la la

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.

Davide has a great voice and can play the guitar (as well as draw and speak nearly perfect English). I knew he was partly singing to me because he has a major crush on me, and I don't feel that way about him. It was just a moment where I had to smile at what a miraculous existence I lead. To be speeding along a highway in Italy listening to someone sing to me, after having eaten a delicious and authentic dinner, on my way back to a strange city...how far I have come from my childhood in Mendocino. How far I have come from my shyness, my insecurity, my constant feeling of awkwardness, my frustration of being different. So I lead the life less traveled, and I am grateful.

Grammuur hell and Italian orthopedic shoes...

2007-11-09T02:26:00.000-08:00

OK, pop quiz...

Who knows the difference between a transitive and an intransitive verb?

Can you write a brief paragraph on the formation in English of the comparatives and superlatives of adjectives?

Ok, an easy one: What tense is this in: "By the time we move to Liverpool, we’ll have spent 3 years in Wigan."

Geez, everybody knows that it's future perfect progressive! Right?

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dying a slow grammatically correct death. I have to fill out 10 pages of this crap to get hired. I still haven't found index cards yet, and I need them for both learning Italian and English grammar rules. May just cut up a bunch of paper. Oh, easel finally showed up. Two paintbrushes are missing. Go figure.

My favorite news story of the day:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071108/ap_on_fe_st/tallest_man

My second-favorite news story:

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071109/ap_on_re_eu/italy_mafia_s_commandments

Note the location (Palermo).

So the last couple of days have been a mad dash around the English teacher world. I am trying to get hired by a couple of the schools and it is a major effort. I've never had to do so much to get a job before. This is the first time where I wasn't recruited in some way, or simply offered a job for whatever reason. But, it's not really that bad...I am in Italy after all.

Firecrackers are still going off nonstop.

I'm going to a party tonight with my boss to mingle and sell the company to potential clients. So I must look extra cute. Will take lots of pictures.

Feet are still beat to hell, and I discovered a blood blister on the bottom of my foot yesterday that is the size of a quarter. Good lord. That reminds me, I LOVE this country for another reason: orthopedic shoes, Italian style. See picture below. After my 1/2 mile walk in Stillettos, I decided that I needed a pair of shoes that would be really cute with everything...because wearing tennis shoes with a skirt and nylons is not so sexy. Really. 80 Euros is well worth the price to save my feet and ankles from a catastophic injury. And they are patent leather. What more could a girl ask for?

Hmmmm, Sicilian men. An interesting bunch. I walk down the street and feel like those Hollywood actresses that are swarmed on the red carpet. I get revved at by guys on vespas, honked at by guys in cars, whistled at from guys in windows on upper floors or on balconies, followed and talked to by guys on the street, moaned at while clutching heart by the guys stuck at their store, and so on. It's like a big party that I didn't know I was invited to. I'm a regular celebrity...even in a sweatshirt. I need a brown paper bag and bad posture. Or a taser with an extra-long reach. Ok people, for Christmas or my birthday I want a taser.

I think I can finish with that.

Microwaving eggs and a lack of Midol...

2007-11-07T07:26:00.000-08:00

New lessons learned:

1. Wearing new stilettos to walk to work the 1/2 mile over cobblestones has the possibility of leaving a blister the size of Jupiter on your Achilles heel. See exhibit A:

2. A man and his cat is a beautiful thing. See exhibit B:

3. Cat doesn't give a damn about me. See exhibit C.

4. Putting a whole egg (still inside shell) in microwave thinking it would be an expedient way to warm egg up so as to feed to cat as bribery for affection is not a good idea. Note to self: poke hole in egg first so the pressure doesn't make egg explode violently all over microwave rendering it impossibly smelly and disgusting. Especially since cat still doesn't give a damn.

5. Don't forget the midol. Trying to explain cramps to a flustered Italian pharmacist is fairly humiliating.

6. There is no such thing as index cards in Sicily. Really need index cards for language learning. I have no idea how to conjugate "To Like". For example, to say "I like those books" is not that easy... because the literal translation is: "To me is pleasing those books." Mario likes that girl is "That girl is Mario pleasing." Christ.

7. The word for book is Libro. The word for free (as in yes, I am free tonight) is Libero. The two are often confused and it may sound like "Yes, I am book."

And now, I am tired and hormonal, and going to bed.

Ciao Ragazzi.

Making a life...

2007-11-06T14:38:00.000-08:00

So, it's about 10pm here. I am sitting on the couch blogging away and my boss, Liays, and next door neighbor, Stefano, are playing chess, smoking cigarettes, and insulting each other in a mix of Italian, French, German, and English. Stefano is a total genius and a little too enthusiastic about chess (called skukkhi in Italian SO STRANGE) so I think he will probably smoke Liays. He's in his late 20s, and kinda reminds me of Kramer, and is finishing his third bloody degree in something. I still don't have the translation. I adore him.

The cat is perched on the recliner, keeping watch over her humans. She is a constant delight and frustration. She's still in that insane and unpredictable kitten stage...so at about midnight she goes nuts and zooms around the place attacking anything she can sink her teeth and claws into. I have many, many battle wounds from that.

I'm listening to an artist by the name of Bonobo. He's British and does ambient trip-hop. Kinda like Morcheeba. I first heard him when I was in this little Tuscan town called Lucca. Lucca is one of the only remaining walled towns. I rented a bike and rode around the top of the wall...after falling over a couple of times. Turns out you CAN forget how to ride. Blasted thing.

I’m making a life here. Next month I move into an apartment with 6 other young people. I get my own room, but it’s going to be quite the adventure. I had dinner with them on Sunday and we all sat around the big kitchen table eating pizza (the real Italian kind) and they argued in Italian. It was great. I know my Italian will get REALLY good living there. I like everyone as well—especially the girl Sylvia whose parents own the place. It’s big and beautiful and takes up the entire top story of a great old building in downtown Palermo. In fact, we have the roof and can go up and see the harbor and the mountains and the whole city. I get the room because an American guy (from San Fran) named Jake who has lived in Italy for the past 3 years is finally returning to the states to finish a PhD. He’s totally a mellow Santa Cruz stoner type. Oh, and my rent is 160 Euros/month which is about $200…for the same place in the Bay Area is would be AT LEAST $800. And I probably wouldn’t like my roommates as much, or get to speak Italian. I’m imagining that the experience will be like my favorite movie L’auberge Espanole…The Spanish Apartment. Rent it!

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0283900/

Well, my resume has been translated into Italian…Jake and Sylvia did that. I sat looking at it for a long time having a weird moment. Never ever did I imagine that at some point in my life I would have my resume in…well, ITALIAN. Che cazzo? .....don’t translate that, it’s very rude. I have a lot of those moments where it occurs to me where I am and why. And I either get giddy or a little freaked out. But not much, because really…it’s not like I can’t wave a white flag and go back to the States. But I refuse to do that because this is proof to myself that if I can live around the world for a few years and make it work, there’s nothing I can’t do at home where the constant language and (more importantly) the culture barrier doesn’t exist. So, I’m going to be brave.

The song playing now is a remake of Chris Isaack’s “Wicked Games” by Hilton FM, and the chick singing just knocks it out of the ballpark. I want to tear at my body and explode into the song. I want to lick my headphones (which are state-of-the-art noise canceling German engineered DJ headphones). I want to quit everything and become a singer (though I can’t sing at all). It’s that good.

Ok, back to reality. Tomorrow morning I will call the other language schools and ask about jobs. Of course, I work for Liays, but I need some supplemental income as well. Wow, I sound like a damn adult. Hmph.

Note to self: realizing the inevitability of responsibility is a wee bit unnerving.

Also, very exciting is tomorrow I will have my first official Italian lesson. I’m already feeling fairly smug because a guy here told me that my Italian after 9 weeks of travel in Italy and no formal study is far better than most people he met in Sienna who were in a 3 month intensive 40-hours/week Italian language program. I really just kind “picked it up” by asking a lot of questions and consulting my handy dictionary, “e perche faccio atenzione” [and because I pay attention]. I was shocked. Then again, my 9 weeks was really a 24-hour-day Italian lesson. I’m just now being disciplined about going through my Italian verb workbook and doing a chapter per day. In approximately 5 weeks, I should be able to conjugate virtually everything and will also be living in an apartment with a bunch of crazy Italian speaking people…none of whom are shy about correcting errors. I anticipate by February that I will have the language down pat.

I’m on Italy time now. Goes as follows:
• church bells start at 4am
• the market noise starts at 7
• the firecrackers start at 7:15 (end at 2am)
• I get up at 9
• 9-1pm the day goes according to plan (or not)
• 1-4pm is the 3 hour lunch (1hour to eat, 2 hours to meet your lover)
• 6pm is Happy Hour (Italian style)
• 9ish is dinner
• Go to bed around 1am…read for an hour then dream in nonsensical mix of English and Italian.

DINNER at 9pm:

I’m sorry if this blog is really about nothing in particular. I’m kinda on cruise control, and still adjusting to being here. OMG, the cat just climbed up the guest mattress that is leaning against the wall vertically, and TIMBER down it and the cat went. Lol.

But the cat’s fine, the mattress is fine, and I am better than fine. I am contentissima.

Ciao ragazzi!

Stalkers, Italian Style...

2007-11-04T03:19:00.000-08:00

I decided to come back to Italy and enjoy my single-ness whole-heartedly. Ok, so I spent a few hours with my indelibly sexy Italian beau, Mirko...who I absolutely adore (see photo below). But, he's in Rome and I'm in Sicily 12 hours by train away. So, we chat on the phone and stuff, but I have clear head space.

Well, I did.

This past summer I made the acquaintance of a guy named Alessio. He had really pretty, sparkly eyes, a million-watt smile, was fun and crazy (in a good way at first). He was a ball of fire. So we went on some dates, had a romantic text-messaging love affair (because I was traveling a lot), and things were going well until...the dreaded phone call from his wife. OMG, the bastard's married with 2 young kids. I had NO idea.

I was furious that he would be such a jerk and a liar. I wasn't hurt for me, because my feelings really weren't wrapped up in him (I still REALLY liked Mirko, who was away for August vacation), but I was livid that he would betray his family in such a casual manner. I knew that affairs are very common in this country, mostly because people marry so young and because they can go to a priest and confess and everything is forgiven. But most of the married Italian men I met who hit on me were at least up-front about their marital status. They explained a mistress would never replace a wife, and that it was imperative the wife be kept in happy ignorance. I felt like this at least gave the mistress the opportunity to make a choice of whether this kind of relationship was one she would be willing to tolerate. But since I was never given this choice (which I would have turned down), and because he was so cavalier in pursuing me and not careful to protect her, I was put into a position that I really resented.

So, I told her the truth. To my surprise, she was actually really nice to me. She wasn't angry at me, and treated me with a tremendous amount of respect and sympathy. I sent her every text message he had sent me over the few weeks, because I rarely erase texts and because they were fun to re-read. I continued to forward the messages he was still sending me. I knew I was leaving in a week to return to the States, so I wasn't that preoccupied about finding ways to avoid him. But, nonetheless, I asked her to not confront him until I left. She ALMOST made it, but two days before I left I got an angry message from him. And that was when the real drama began.

When I got his message, I was on a train back to Rome from the far south in Reggio, Calabria. But he didn't know that, he thought I wouldn't be back for another day or two. I told him I was trying to enjoy my day at the beach and if he wanted my cooperation he needed to back off. That lasted until the evening when the texts resumed. I would have turned my phone off, but I was busy contacting all of my friends to say goodbye and I wasn't going to let some lame Italian liar ruin it for me. It was nice getting sweet texts from my friends reminding me that I was very special to them and that they would miss me and to keep in touch. His texts were, well, not-so-nice.

He called me a liar and a home wrecker, and all kinds of interesting Italian words I didn't care to look-up. My favorite though, was the one that said the only thing I was afraid of was the truth. I howled with laughter despite myself at this. I replied he was living in a teenage fantasy world. But, mostly, I just ignored his accusations.

This really suits the adage that when you point a finger at someone, the other three point right back at you. He told me that he was going to wait for me at my apartment the night I got back and I was going to "fix" the situation and tell his wife I had made the entire thing up...OR ELSE. So "crazy in a good way" quickly turned to crazy in a very bad and scary way. So, I booked a hotel room not terribly far from my apartment and hatched a plan to get my stuff early in the morning when I knew there would be a million tourist groups around (because I was a couple blocks from the Vatican) and I could blend in with the other tall and fair people, grab my stuff and get out without much exposure. I swear, I should be spy.

As much as I hated paying for a hotel room the last couple of nights, my mother told me before I left that if it ever came down to the money or my safety, I wasn't to hesitate to spend the money. And because it was August, all of my Roman friends were gone on vacation, otherwise I could have stayed with them. But for peace of mind, and not having to sneak in and out of my apartment and be constantly worried that he would be waiting outside, the money was sooooo worth it.

You can imagine the message I got when he realized I had tricked him and was not at my apartment as promised. I forwarded that message as well to the wife with one last sincere apology and best wishes for the future.

So, I left Rome with some terrific memories, a clear conscious because I knew I did the right thing, and a whole new host of friends, and an offer to come back in a month and help my friend get his language school up and running.

Fast forward to my second day back in Italy. Lo and behold my phone rings. Guess who??? Alessio. Damn, damn, damn. Double damn. I had been gone for 10 weeks and the bastard was still trying my phone. And this time, instead of it being off, it had had service resumed. Next morning at 6:45am my phone rings again and his number pops up. An hour later a number I didn't recognize calls twice, but I knew it was him. And then the anonymous calls start. Every hour for the entire day. I never answered, because I was trying to decide what to do.

So, I called Mirko and asked him what I should do. I told him the entire situation. Mirko was a cop for 10 years, and has total faith in the law system here. Now he works as secret service at the UN, and is a trained killer...but really just a big teddy bear. Truthfully, I feel safer with him than anyone other than my own father. And he adores me. So, who better to ask for help? He told me to wait another day and then answer the anonymous call, and then follow his instructions. An anonymous call came in this morning, and I answered, and the person (most certainly Alessio) hung up after a few seconds without saying anything.

So, I composed a text message (as per Mirko's instructions) that said the following:

Si. E vero, sono in Roma ancora. Basta. Non mi chiami ancora o chiamo 1. tua moglie 2. la polizia 3. l'ambasciata d'Americana 4. miei amici. Arrivederci.

TRANSLATION: Yes. It's true, I am in Rome again. Enough. Don't call me again or I will call 1. Your wife 2. The police 3. The American Embassy 4. My male friends. Goodbye.

I'm obviously not in Rome, so this should throw him off my scent just in case the threats of action don't persuade him to leave me the hell alone. But I got a return text about a half hour later (in Italian of course) that basically said, "I didn't call you. I have returned to my life. Bye." lol. Riiiighhht, he didn't call. That's why his number came up on my caller ID twice. But, whatever. I think this should be enough persuasion.

It was funny because when I explained the situation to Mirko, he couldn't believe I had told the wife. That is unheard of. But, I'm an American woman, so my rules and value system is different. He said that by telling the wife I ruin his family. But he instantly corrected himself and said, "no HE ruined his family. Not you." That was the reassurance I needed, because I really hated that I had broken what seemed to have been a happy family.

So, I am going to run my credit out on my current number, and then get a new number and let my friends and family have it. That should tie up any loose strings. But I have registered with the State Dept, so they know I'm here. And my friends all know there is a crazy man on the loose, so if anything happens, they'll know who to look for first. And, of course, Mirko has been really wonderful and said that when I am Rome he'll never be further than a few steps away from me and will be my own personal bodyguard. If he can keep a diplomat safe, he can do the same for me. : )

So much for clear head-space.

My only regret about all of this was that I didn't listen to my gut-instinct when I met him that kept telling me something was off. But I was really bummed Mirko had gone on vacation and I didn't know if I would ever see him again, so I just attributed it to me being emotional and went ahead and dated this jerk.

However, I have no regrets about my subsequent actions. I am proud of myself for telling the truth, and then holding my ground on it. I am also glad that I didn't let the current harassment continue and that I made a very firm threat (which I will follow-through with if need be). I'm glad I didn't hide for more than was long enough to get council and compose my thoughts. I wasn't meek or apologetic. I have been firm.

It's unacceptable that a man thinks he can bully a woman into submission. I REFUSE to allow some pathological liar and psychopath run my life or control my thoughts. So, I write this as a way to totally clear my head and hopefully put and end chapter on this drama. It's better than Shakespeare. Well, not really. And, actually, hopefully not. Because in the tragedies somebody always dies. But, in the comedies, vengeance is served with a lesson and a laugh. That's what I'm going for.

Ciao Ragazzi.

Rain, Rain, Go Away...

2007-11-03T06:44:00.000-07:00

It's 3 in the afternoon and it's raining. I am sitting in my apartment in Palermo on the old couch looking out the open french doors to the balcony and the windows in the apartment across the alley. All the non-main streets here I would classify as alleys. The cat is curled up sleeping. Which means I get a momentary respite from her still-kitten crazed behavior. I'm listening to Britney Spears, but will soon redeem myself by putting on some Massive Attack or other more worldly and intelligent music. But right now she's singing to me to get naked. I would, but it's too cold.

With the rain, I can't really get any work done. We're still in the mega-advertisement phase, and I wanted to go to the tourist offices to gather some info, but it's raining. Yeah, I have an umbrella and good shoes, but I'm cold and lazy. So, I'll hang here with the cat. I miss my own, but she's a good substitute. And she's hilarious.

Still haven't adjusted to the time. Yesterday I got up at about 9am, which was an excellent start, but then my 4pm nap lasted for 6 hours, and after strolling around at night I managed to wear myself down enough to get back to sleep at 3am. I set my alarm for 9, slept through it and woke up very groggy at noon. Determined not to take a nap today and instead go to bed early and get up at a normal time tomorrow. Yeah, you should all feel really sorry for me. Jet lag is such a drag. Practically the worst thing in the world. lol.

Last night on my stroll I ended up in this funny little area with a bar, an impromptu fire-pit with a BBQ, and about 100 punk-rock Sicilians. If they hadn't been speaking Italian they could have easily been the coffee-shop crowd in California. All in black, lots of piercings, skull patterns, patched punk bags, studded belts and bracelets, etc. The works. I guess there are some looks which are apparently universal. I ended up chatting with this feisty red-headed Sicilian girl about my age named Faviolla. The whole conversation was in Italian and I got about 80% of what she was saying. She complimented me on my speaking skills, and that totally made my day. It came back fairly naturally. There is still a lot that I am remembering, but bit-by-bit...

Ok, listening to Massive Attack now, as promised. Feeling instantly smarter.

I am still heavy with thoughts. There is so much to do, and I am feeling a little lost still. I'm stressed out about money because I'm not getting paid yet. I have this apartment for the rest of the month and then I need to make further arrangements. And it's not my space, it's somebody else's space, and I am just inhabiting it for a while. Luckily, I have found that there is LOTS and LOTS of apartments and rooms to rent for very cheap here. I am looking at several, and they average about 100-150 Euro/month. That's about $145-200/month in the city center. And food is ridiculously cheap as well. I can easily live on 5 Euros/day by going to the out-door market and making my own espresso.

I wonder, too, what I should write about in these posts. A part of me thinks that it should only be to chronicle my overseas adventures, but there is another part of me which desires very much to run some of my ideas across the screen that I would put in the book that my friends have been encouraging me to write. However, I don't feel like that is appropriate for the audience of family, friends, and colleagues. So, perhaps that will need to stay in the emails to those involved only, and this will remain the space to grow as a world citizen.

Strangest thing in the world: I am craving cereal. I don't crave cereal at home. I also woke up today wanting fish and chips. I'm a very bad adopted Italian. Shame.

Well, enough for now. Ciao Ragazzi.

5 Lessons In Italy

2007-11-03T05:56:00.000-07:00

SUBJECT: Ciao Ragazzi!

(That means "Hello Friends/Family"),

I love the Italians..what a strange and wonderful group of people. Aside from the obvious, today has been a lesson in five more reasons:
1. Serendipitous missing luggage.
2. Customs and passport control.
3. The trains sans Mussolini.
4. Taxi Theft 101.
5. Learning one's true value.

1. I have arrived in Palermo safe and sound although my shoulders are mighty tired after carrying all of my luggage. I had to check my artist's easel at the airport in Rome today because for some GRAND IRONIC reason, the Italians consider such a piece to be highly dangerous and forbidden on the flights. The Americans and the Germans were fine with it. So, with two huge suitcases (one of which was temporarily misplaced but is now here, whew), one garment bag, and one artist's easel...only one piece of luggage was lost...go figure, the artist's easel. I think they made me check it so that they could steal it.

2. I was all ready and prepared to explain to customs why I was carrying such a large amount of baggage for what ia be a purely vacational trip back with a one-way ticket. I had my China teaching contract ready to show them I won't be staying here forever, a signed document that says my family would be willing and able to rescue me should something happen, a copy of my transcripts that show I am a recent USA college grad (so travel visa good for one subsequent year in the EU), a recent bank statement showing I have funds to survive on and won't be a bum, and some emails from friends in London saying I am always welcome to go there. I was all ready to explain in Italian or English..and guess what? No customs. No passport check, no questions, nothing. I expected to come into Rome go through customs, get my passport stamped, and do it again in Palermo. But I got off the plane from Germany and walked right out of the airport. Then, because I was on a domestic flight this morning into Sicily, I didn't have to do anything. I am thoroughly perplexed. But as an American on the train to the city center explained, the Italians don't really give a damn just as long as you are spending money on trinkets and expensive tours. And as my boss explained, since I went through Germany I got an EU stamp, and I can go anywhere now without having to do the customs. Who am I to argue?

3. So, the train from the airport was supposed to leave at 10:40am, and take 25 minutes to get to the city center. That puts me in at 11:05. Riiiiggghhttt. We finally pulled in at 12:45pm. It took 2 hours to go what should have been a quick trip. So much for making the trains run on time. But, you know what, it really didn't matter because I got to gaze out at sheer cliffs and pass by one of Sicily's famous street markets, and listen to old Italian couples bicker. La dolce vita indeed.

4. So my boss meets me at the central train station. He thinks we should take a taxi to my apartment because I have so much luggage, even though it's walking distance. He approached a taxi driver, explains the directions and asks how much. The taxi driver doesn't bat an eye at saying 35 Euro. That's $50 to go about 10 blocks. That's $5 per block. My boss scoffs and says 5 Euro ($.75 per block). They settle on 10 Euro, and the taxi driver has to deal with the luggage. And I know that there are loads of tourists who don't know what wretched thief's the taxi drivers are in this country and they just pay it. I've heard of the taxi drivers in Rome taking people to their hotels from Termini Station and charging the 100 Euro when it turns out the hotel is like 3 blocks away, but because it's so disorienting when you first arrive, nobody knows that. But people have to make a living somehow. Luckily, I'm hip to that and I work for someone who is also.

5. I should make a "You Might Be A Redneck If.." into "You Know You're In Italy When..." the guy across the aisle on the airplane offers to pay the guy sitting next to you 50 Euro (about $73) to switch seats so he can hit on you. And the the guy next to you doubles the price. According to the exchange, I am worth approximately 85 Euro. So, Daddy, the next time you consider selling me to the Arabs, I'm afraid you won't get that much. Wow, I actually know how much I am worth for a conversation. I leave this example for last because it really hit me that I was was back in Italy at that exact moment because despite hearing people speak in a different language, the funny differences in food, the strange gestures, and polished clothing, it could really be any foreign country until you get bid on for a conversation. Then you know you're back in the only place on earth where that would happen: Italia. Che bello (that's just beautiful).

But, in all truth, I can't believe I'm back. It's surreal and intimidating because I'm not just a tourist anymore. My Italian is coming back bit by bit...and I expect sometime next week to wake up, walk outside, and have it all come spilling out again. But in the meantime, I am taking a day to get time-oriented and a few days to get settled and unpacked. And right THIS moment (subito), I am sitting in my friends' living room and he is making dinner (or lunch...I really have no idea what time or day it is) and it smells divine. One of the perks of my life is a French friend who knows French cooking, but uses the Italian ingredients that he bought at the outdoor market this morning. And outside noisy Italian teenagers are setting off an endless string of firecrackers...but it never sounds like gunfire which I (sort-of) got used to while at school in Oakland. And a crazed half-Italian, half-French cat with an entirely rude name is currently drinking out of my water cup. And it's all ok, and makes me smile.

What a strange existence I am living. And I wouldn't trade it for the world. Thanks to all of you for helping make my dreams a reality. I love you all and miss you already.

Bon Voyage...

2007-11-03T05:54:00.000-07:00

October 30, 2007

Well this is certainly the most surreal experience of my life.

The major hurtle of getting through the check-in and then security with my absurd amount of belongings is over. I paid the $50 for over-weight baggage, but that’s ½ as much as I was expecting. It’s a small price to pay for knowing I have everything I need. The cranky woman at the Lufthansa counter also didn’t like my garment bag because it weighed 6lbs more than it should have, so I took a bunch of stuff out and handed them to Kate and Caroline and we went on our way. Once we were out of range, we promptly put them back in again. I’m sorry, but if I am going to be in Siberia during the winter I am going to have my winter coats. But, enough about baggage.

I am now sitting at my gate in SFO. It’s gate 99 and my flight is first to Munich and then to Rome, where I spend the night, and then I go to Palermo the next day where my boss will be waiting for me. I’m in gray seat, wall, and carpet misery…but I suppose the trip will be colorful, but as in life, the waiting is drab. And, in a way, this grayness around me holds true to “One day, one perfect color.” Not because I am melancholy. On the contrary, I am highly serene. And I am in the bardo. Just waiting to be tossed back into a new body in a new world with other soul-mates. I’m on that brink…just a few more moments here.

The entire German Lufthansa crew just came down the escalator to our waiting area. They look sharp in their severe navy suits with yellow trim. Very German. I was behind them in security and they were all very nice. But I find the Germans to be very pleasant in general.

There is a man behind me who has stretched out and is snoring quietly. It’s 9:46pm right now and we depart in an hour. I can’t believe I am back in this airport for the second time in six months. That reminds me, I need to pay my first payment of my student loans in a few days. Note to self: email Chela Financial to arrange things.

I haven’t cried at all leaving, which surprised even me. I cried when I left this summer for three months. And at that time I had a return flight. No, this time I have a one-way ticket, 1/5 as much money, a couple of jobs lined up, and a tentative plan. But no return ticket as of yet after spending what will probably be 18 months abroad and maybe more. But, luckily I will be taking a job which will pay for my return ticket. Housing, health insurance, and a return ticket home. What could possibly be better?

So, Kate told me to be safe, have fun, don’t be bothered by too many boys, stop worrying about my weight, and to know that she will always be there for me. Amanda cried, a lot. Jax was fairly stoic. My mother surprised me the most and only teared up a little bit, but quickly regained her composure. It’s a Viking thing. Like my grandma Ruth says, “Just get on the boat.” And keep going.

I can’t believe I am sitting in this airport about to get on a flight to go live overseas independently. While I always fantasized about doing stuff like this, I never really considered the reality of it actually occurring. And here I am. In a grey waiting room with my huge garmet bag full of clothes to impress the Italians and keep me warm in a Mongolian winter, and my goddess tote with my art easel and far too much reading material. Damn, it’s heavy. Note to self: German men are kinda cute. German women, not so much. At least not from this sampling anyway. I guess Heidi Klum is the exception. Now THAT would be interesting…if she were here. I saw Tyra Banks at LAX one time on my way back from Fiji. She had cellulite which showed through her tight white pants. But I love the woman, I think she’s a beautiful soul.

Breathe, Laurel, breathe. Holy moly, I am moving across the world and it is happening NOW. The flight which has until now been a pixilated itinerary on my computer is now through a big set of double doors 50 feet away from me. I am firmly convinced in the power of imagination to set amazing paths in motion. It’s almost inevitable sometimes that what I dream will happen. It’s getting easier all the time.

On a side note, I think it’s total BS that I have to pay for wireless in the airport.

I’ll come back tougher, more worldly, braver, and more determined in what I want to do. At the time of this writing I want to live in 5 countries, and learn 6 languages, have two books published, get a perfect score on my grad school exams, and the go to either USC or Georgetown to get a dual degree in Business and Public Policy with an Itn’l office.

Ok, I have been called. Seat 48G here I come. World, here I come. Hear me roar, and get ready because it’s game-on from here.

Ciao Ragazzi (friends).

Note To Self.

2007-10-17T23:27:00.000-07:00

I'm in the Bardo at the moment...two weeks away from moving to Italy. For those of you not in The Know...the Bardo is the place where your soul hangs out in between physical lives, while you wait for your other soul mates to exit their current physical existence and join to so you can all be reincarnated again in new roles and bodies. I'm metaphorically there. In a place called Stockton. I'm waiting for the rest of my future encounters to line themselves up cosmically so that things will arrive right on time when I return to Italy. So, until then, I am just floating. Waiting. Meditating. Worrying. Being exasperating.

Hmmm...what else other than an impending international move? I think I'm in love with a guy who is both perfect and totally wrong for me. We'll call him Dr. Scotts. He's unbelievable in general, but really brusk. He can match wits intellectually, but often doesn't interpret what I am saying correctly. He's also impossible to predict (which is intriguing) or understand (which is maddening). He's really cute (think Eric Dane) but I don't think we are far enough distant in height because I really like to wear heels and it's my mother's fault I am so damn tall (5'10"). He takes great strides not to do anything to upset me, and yet I find myself with hurt feelings on a regular basis. And while it thrills me that he is so perceptive in person and knows the slightest nuance of my mood, it really bothers me that over the phone I feel like he is too quick to judge and dismiss what I am saying because he isn't patient enough to hear it. He's great because he's not intimidated by me, but I find myself a little intimidated by him and that's just not really ok with me. And I am beginning to feel undervalued. And did I mention that he is seeing somebody other than me? That's, er, rather problematic...but I am leaving so I tolerate it. Something I would normally NEVER EVER do.

Note to self: stick to guns about not rewarding bad behavior.

Further note to self: Auntie Sal says that if it has tires or testicles it is going to give you problems.

But he did totally spoil me this last weekend. And, like I said (and he never fails to remind me)...I'm leaving. And it's about damn time because I am really sick of thinking about him. I seriously need some space. I just don't know how I feel about the whole thing. A little nauseous to be honest. I'm soooo over it.

Ok, enough man stuff. Back to me.

Body is looking pretty darn good. Seeing personal trainer at 7am tomorrow so he can torture me, but improve my already fantastic arms and race-horse legs. Butt needs some serious help. It's totally lazy. Yes, I have a lazy ass. And the top of my thighs could stand to loose some more fat...but that will come with time. But I lost an inch off my waist in the last week alone. Good genes that way. I'll always have some major hips and broad shoulders, but my waist gets TEENY TINY. Thank you, Mom.

Hmmm...face also coming along. I'm still waiting to be 30 when my mother insists I will finally come into my own and will cause traffic accidents. Hoping people will have car insurance and nobody gets hurt. 5 years and 2.5 months more until we see if that prediction comes true.

Speaking of predictions...my mother also insists I will be married to someone other than myself in a couple more years. It's not in my plan, but neither was falling for Dr. Scotts before I left for Italy. It was also not my plan to miss not one, but TWO flights coming back from Italy in August and ending up stranded in Chicago...where I was NEVER supposed to be, at 1am, on the sidewalk where there was this really cute turquoise-eyed, broad-shouldered man just waiting for me...who also happened to live in California and wasn't supposed to be on that sidewalk either. The Goddess sure has a hell of a sense of humor.

Another note to self: Must be more wary of cute guys we meet at airports on the way home from vacations. They just might turn into something.

All of my ex beaus have been coming out of the woodwork because OF COURSE they know that a) I finally actually really, really like somebody...and b) because I am like totally unavailable and moving to another country. WTF? But it feels good and is a great reminder that there is something seriously irresistible about me, and that they all come back eventually. Because they do. And 5 of them popped back into my life on Monday alone.

Alright, I need to get up in 6 hours for my training session. I apologize for this entirely self-indulgent nonsense, but I have to get it out first. I promise more interesting things to come. I started this after having a 2-hour conversation with this guy I sat next to at a dinner party. He told me I should be a blogger because he would read it. So, Tom, wherever you are in the world, I hope you find this. Because this Blog's for you.

Ciao, Ragazzi.