Days 2-4?

I'm already losing count of the days, and it hasn't even been a week! And classes start tomorrow. Lame. Actually, I take that back. A gag reflex usually ensues after someone mentions school or classes, but under these circumstances (me being in Italy and all) I'm really excited to begin classes. I'm taking Italian (duh); Travel Writing; The Jewish-Italian Community through Culinary Tradition (a cooking class, for short); and Literature and Immigration. My Italian class is really intensive, but hopefully I'll learn to be somewhat conversational. It seems like a really tough language to learn. French comes easily to me because it seems to flow so seamlessly. Like one beautiful sentence after another. But I'm sure that's what Italian will seem like once I get the hang of it (if that ever happens).

I really can't get over how beautiful Europe is. The 4th of July is fun and all, but Europeans must think we're so dumb for celebrating like 200 years, when they're countries have been around for centuries. One of the many reasons Americans are looked down upon I guess. I went to the Duomo the other day and all I have to say is, "Wow." It's one of the most beautiful pieces of architectural phenomena I've ever seen. Not to mention it is enormous! Walking along the perimeter while looking up simultaneously is definitely a skill. But the ceiling of the dome is the real draw. The mosaic is magnificent, and it seems to continue for miles. I was standing underneath it in the center, just staring. I couldn't take my eyes away. The thought of something taking so long to built, with so much thought and time invested, and the level of detail..it's overwhelming. It's so refreshing to be somewhere where things are appreciated. Back home no one stops for anything. Either that or we're too busy to even notice something worthy of appreciation. That's not to say I'm becoming anti-American, trust me, I like McDonald's as much as the next fat kid looking to file a lawsuit, but it would be nice if people slowed down once in a while..even if that only means avoiding the left lane for a few exits.

But what I don't appreciate, regardless of where I am, is a hangover. Like the one I had the other night. Everyone went to this club called Space Club. It was interesting to say the least. It's a huge space, but the interior is just bizarre. Everything is in neon lights. There's a aquarium against the bar, metal floor, dancing pods..enough said? I think so. But it was still fun! They even had karaoke. And even though I'm beyond tone-deaf, I belted it out to Livin' on a Prayer (arguably one of the best songs ever). Three beers later, me and two of my roommates meandered the streets of Florence and wound up at the restaurant we've been frequenting. At night it turns into a fun bar with drink specials like 3 for 10. I'll take it! But that night I couldn't...I had three vodka redbulls, and Fabio, our friendly waiter kept pouring me shots of limoncello. Needless to say, I got shitfaced, and don't remember how I got back to the apartment.

When I woke up in the morning I couldn't see straight and the room was spinning. I asked Paula and Kelly (my roommates who were out with me) what happened. Here's the breakdown of the night once we got to the restaurant:

-free shots

-bought 3 drinks

-started one drink one and talked to Fabio

-started on drink 2 and talked to other kids in the bar

-started on drink 3 and talked to EVERYONE in the bar

-was saved from being hit on

-took the wrong jacket home (which I didn't figure out til the next day)

-threw up pure alcohol

-refused to drink water

-vowed to never drink again

-asked for a drink

-was tranquilized and put in bed

Forward to the next day when I see a black coat that isn't mine. "This isn't mine," I said to Paula and Kelly.

"Well that's what you wore home last night," said Paula. I was holding the coat over my arm, dumbfounded. I reached inside one of the pockets and pulled out a wallet and keys. "Shit," I thought, as I proceeded to open the wallet, searching for identification. When I found a Massachusetts license I couldn't help but laugh. Of course the owner of the jacket is also from Boston. Just my luck. I was just hoping my coat was still at the restaurant, so I popped a few Advil and headed over. As soon as I walked in, Fabio rushed toward me, laughing as he said my name.

"Oh Sasha you were so drunk last night! But so cute!" he said. I wish I found it as funny as he did.

"Come. I will make you a cappuccino. You like cappuccino?" I nodded my head yes and took a seat at the bar. When I looked to the left, I saw my coat resting on the same seat I left it on the night before.

"P.J. was so sad when he couldn't find his coat!" Fabio said. "But I said don't worry, I think a drunk girl took it. But it's okay, I told him. She is very cute American girl." Because that makes the situation so much better?

"I feel so badly!" I said. "Can we call him to come get it?"

"Leave your number here so when he calls, I give it to him. And that way I can get your number," he laughed. I sat at the bar for a long time, sipping slowly on my cappuccino and chatting with Fabio. Before I left, he asked if he could take me to lunch or dinner. Why not, right? Going out with a local is a great way to get to know the language and culture.

Later that day, I got a call from P.J. the coat boy. I met him at a pizzeria on my street, and apologized for being such a drunken idiot. He gave me a little bit of a hard time, but in a joking way. And then he said I needed to make it up to him by buying him a drink. (I guess stealing random coats is a good way to pick up guys). Anyways, I said I needed a little more time before my next drink, but I'd let him know. He retorted with, "You can't back out if it. Now I know what your coat looks like." Ha Ha Ha.

After the coat fiasco things calmed down. I staved off drinking for a good several hours before getting ready to go back to Space Club with one of my other roommates, Meghan. She's from Long Island and has a really heavy accent. It's funny because it doesn't suit her at all. It's always funny to me when people don't match their voices. But she is really nice and we get along really great. I feel so fortunate to have wonderful roommates after my nightmarish roommate who I lived with in Jerusalem.

Saturday night, one of other roommates who has been hooking up with a different guy every night, told us how she was messing around with a guy on the upper level of Space Club, and seemed proud of it which bugged me. She's also fat. I'm not a fatist, but slutty fat girls are almost as bad as Guidos. They might be like one pyramid level above. But if she's proud of getting with grabby Italian men, good for her. I'm only a slutty American girl on one spooky day of the year: Halloween-the one night a year where a girl can dress like a slut, and no one can say anything about it. American culture at its finest.

While dancing with friends I ward off aggressive Italian men with evil eyes. Hopefully this won't always be the case. But even if it is, I guess I'll get a good workout from pushing guys off of me. Despite taking it easy with one drink, I slept until 4 p.m. today. I am still screwed up from being jet-lagged and everything, but classes start tomorrow and I'll need a good night's sleep. I have Italian at 9 a.m. tomorrow..until 2:30 in the afternoon. Then the same schedule on Tuesday. That's a pretty long day of one class, but then I get to have some fun on Wednesday during my cooking class. My mom is probably most excited about that so I'll be able to contribute in the kitchen. As of right now I can't cook anything that isn't microwavable. By the end of the semester I'm hoping to have mastered the art of pasta. Wish me luck. That's almost as tough of an endeavor as a paraplegic climbing Mount Everest. Seriously, I'm that inept. When my parents tell me I'm "special," I know they really mean that I'm domestically challenged. At least they love me anyways.

Day One

The wine finally wore off and now I'm wide awake at five in the morning. (I am taking this as a sign to up my intake). And because my roommate still hasn't returned, I am using her computer charger. Note to self: never trust anyone at Radio Shack to know what he's talking about. Of course I was given the wrong converter. Typical. But I think I should be more concerned with the fact that my roommate is still out. Granted she is 25 years old and can take care of herself, she is still a woman roaming the dark streets of Italy. But I knew she was a wild child when I met her. She is an art school graduate from California who came out here to try something new. Her name is Jessie and she says things like "that's gnarly," and "let's go cruise around," and everything is "super" something or other. It makes me want to pack up and move into a Malibu beach house. Barbie, eat your heart out.

But she seems really nice, down to earth, and spontaneous. And of course, a raging partier...meaning that we should get along just fine. The other girls in the apartment seem a little more reserved. More stick to the guided trail than off the beaten path if you will. There are six of us altogether, two per room. After doing a little unpacking and settling in, we went out to dinner, landing on a restaurant where a flirty, friendly waiter ushered us in. We split two bottles of the house wine and two fabulous thin-crust pizzas whilst going through the preliminary "where are you from," and "what's your major," questions.

After dinner we said "Ciao" to Fabio (of course that would be his name), and headed to an Irish pub for more drinks. Embarrassingly enough, I was already feeling the two glasses of wine I had at dinner. It must have been a mix of exhaustion, too much traveling, and only eating Swiss chocolate on the flight. So I could only stomach one shot, a brief conversation with a guy from London, and then called it a night at 11 p.m. I assumed I'd sleep uninterrupted for the next eight hours, which brings me back to being wide awake in the middle of the Florentine night. Everyone else is sleeping and I'm still alone in the room which is quaint, but creepy in the dark.

That describes my whole apartment actually. It's big and kind of empty, with various pieces of outdated furniture scattered throughout the rooms. But the building in its entirety will take some getting used to. I was so confused when my cab driver who wanted to marry me pulled onto the sidewalk in front of a brown wooden door that fit discreetly into the surrounding mortar. I thought I was stepping into Narnia as he pushed back the door, revealing a cold, dark interior with a tall black gate standing before a spiral staircase. I fumbled with my keys to unlock the brass beast when an American-looking boy around my age said, "Need some help?" and effortlessly pushed open the gate. I'm such an idiot. I could have breathed and it would have swung open. The guy, who lives a floor above me with roommates from NYU, helped load my luggage into the miniscule elevator that I surely thought would drop and send me to my death. I didn't catch his name, but with an apartment of 6 girls and an apartment of 6 guys, I'm sure we'll get to know more than each other's names. Like where we're from and background stuff like that, obviously.

I was the second roommate to arrive. The first girl was sleeping, so I rolled my luggage along to the next room and set up camp. I unpacked everything except clothes I won't need for another couple of months and called my parents to let them know I was safe. That movie "Taken" really freaked them out. But I was alone for a good couple of hours, too tired to wander the streets, knowing I would inevitably lose my bearings. Once a couple more girls came, I felt a lot more relieved. The apartment had been completely silent, except for the occasional Vespa that I heard hum along outside my window-- similar to how it is right now.

Orientation is in five hours, so I hope I can fall asleep. Either that or I'll Google nearby restaurants with the tastiest house wine. I'm thinking the latter. I mean, I'm only in Italy for a few short months meaning that sleep is overrated and I'm allowed to carbo-load every day and drink up every night. This must be what they call the good life.

Procrastination at its finest

Of course after spending the day running all over town to do last minute errands, I come home to realize I got a bunch of stuff that I don't need. Instead of getting rain boots (which I know I need since I finally checked the weather), I bought slippers. My reasoning? They are cuter and more comfortable to walk around the apartment in than just plain socks. While I don't in good conscience think the slippers were a frivolous purchase, I really needed rain boots, and still don't have any. It's a good thing my flight doesn't leave until tomorrow evening. I think I'm going to do some more running around. And this time I'll only buy the bare essential. Girl scout's honor.

I should make a list so I don't let my mind go on any tangents-envisioning ridiculous scenarios where I'd need a scuba suit in case I decide to go on a diving excursion. Although now that I think about it...

Anyways, a list. I love lists. They are great for reducing things to the simplest form. Otherwise, even grocery shopping can seem chaotic and scattered in your mind. Pros and cons lists are the BEST type of list. I can't tell you (my beloved blog) how many guys I've weeded out just from making a simple list of pros and cons. It's turned into to kind of a bad habit actually. Every guy I become involved with eventually gets "listed." If the pros outweigh the cons, consider yourself lucky. But if there are more cons than pros..see ya lata. I don't do it to be cruel, I do it for the sake of my better judgment. *Sidenote: Few hearts have been broken in the process of list-making.

But back to the list at hand. This is one of my least favorite: the packing list. (cue shrieks of terror). For a packing list, you need to make notes about the location, climate condition, culture, lifestyle, nightlife..mama mia! (I figure I should try to start using Italian phrases as much as possible). I'll be in Italy, which is generally warmer than the arctic tundra that is Massachusetts, but it's still cold there right now, so I'd say I should bring UGG boots, a winter jacket, a peacoat? Hm...(and so it begins).

-UGG boots..even though they scream, "I'm an American"

-combat boots..because I am a quarter part hipster

-flats..I wouldn't be a girl if I didn't wear 'em

-flip flops for the shower

-flip flops for the beach

-heels..my classy pair, my 'goes with everything pair,' and of course my slutty pair

-equestrian riding boots..that I only ever walk in

-tan suede wedges with the shiny black tip..because they're awesome

-sneakers..even though I probably won't exercise

-moccasins..because I know I won't exercise

-and of course a pair I know I've forgetten

moving on...

-one million pairs of black leggings..because let's face it, that's all I ever wear

-sweatpants..because they're all that fits me right now

-black skinny jeans..they have the word skinny in them

-blue jeans

-light pink pants..so adorbs.

-tights

onto the next..

-12 tee-shirts

-11 tank tops

-10 pretty dresses

-9 blouses

-8 short shorts

-7 cardigans

-6 zip-up hoodies

-5 long shirts

-4 cute vests

-3 church outfits

-2 bathing suits

-and a partridge in a pear tree!

and if there's room..

-headbands..I have a lot. And yes, I want to be Blair from Gossip Girl

-jewelry..because I like to ice it up every now and then

-a lot of underwear..mainly because I have a copious amount already

-makeup

-makeup remover

-hairbrush

-toothbrush

-shampoo and conditioner

-feminine hygiene products..ahem ahem

-a rubber ducky..just kidding

the things I'm forgetting..

-backpack

-computer

-camera..say cheese!

-books

-handy dandy notebook

-a few towels

-and my passport? that might come in handy

And voila! My packing list is complete. Now I just have to physically do it. Ugh, manual labor is such a bitch.

Travel Fever

It's been a little over a year since I last left the country, and I'm starting to get the itch. It's always the same-that hunger that starts to grow in the pit of my stomach, when if left unfed begins to growl like a wild predatory beast.

I don't know why it's so difficult for me to stay in one place. I have no problem lying on the couch all day long watching trashy shows on TV. But when it comes to traveling, I might as well be Homer Simpson in a bar. The substances are different, but the addiction is the same. We both suffer from the same intoxicating effect-especially the part where you feel all bubbly inside(although in Homer's case that's probably when he's about to burp).

But I'm getting my fix in a mere five days, so I should be able to make it until then. That is, if I can finish (and consequently start) packing, obtain my visa, and find a decent plane read. And I have to do all of this while working twelve-hour shifts until the day before I leave. Gotta earn some green so I can live large in Italia, right? Oh yeah, that's where I'm headed by the way-to Italy. Florence, more specifically. Despite traveling to many European countries, I've never been to Italy. Until now, I guess. If it's anything like when I studied and lived in France, at the end of the three and a half months I'll be there for, I won't want to leave. But alas, life must go on. Not to mention I would probably die of gelato-overload if I extended my stay. Speaking of which, dinner anyone?