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 It's big and kind of empty, with various pieces of outdated furniture scattered throughout the rooms.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.