When Dinner Means Dinner

Still buzzed from the incredible wine I had at dinner, I can't help but relish in my good mood. Kelly and I went out to eat with these two Italian men we met over the weekend, and despite my fear of being pressured into a post-dinner embrace, I was happily surprised to be let go after a simple European kiss on the cheek. No obligations, no expectations; that's my kind of date. And surprisingly, they want a second one. I guess guys really do like a chase.

On our way to the David statue by Michelangelo, where we met Alberto and Mirko, Kelly and I got lost. Typical. But after asking for directions in our butchered Italian, a nice Moroccan guy sipping beer out of a brown bag offered to walk us there. We conversed in French after he picked up on my accent, and asked if he could take me out for a coffee. This would have been fine had I not been on my way to a date. I politely declined, and said we were fine to wait for our friends to meet us once we got to the statue, but he lingered regardless. And when our dates arrived, he stayed too. You know when people make a turtle with their hands to signify an awkward moment? Well, this was like that, but with a giant sea turtle instead.

Once the fifth wheel got the hint and rolled on, Mirko and Alberto led the way to a charming Italian restaurant near the Ponte Vecchio. It's easy to walk past, as it is situated within the faded stones of an ancient tower, amongst the antique and arts shops. But after stepping inside the inviting air of Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco (The White Boar), and being seated by Massimo, the jolly and hearty owner, there is no way I would now be able to overlook this trattoria. Lit by candles, and definitely an older crowd, I became wary of this 30 year old Italian man I knew almost nothing about. The entire walk over I spat out information about my hometown and college in New York, so during dinner I decided to take on the role of inquisitor. Alberto opened up about his family and told me a lot of fascinating Italian history that was ten times more interesting learning about over steak and red wine than in a stuffy classroom.

Relaxed and at ease, I felt like I was getting an authentic Italian experience. Maybe the trick is to date a local..or drink a lot of strong wine, either way. But I did my best to use my Italian, even though only a word or two trickled out between sips. My date thought it was adorable, and gave me the look. Yup, the fatal "I like you" look. Now, I'm not being arrogant, nor am I being naive. I know this guy is 30, and is probably looking for what all single 30 year old men seek, but that look has no age limit. I know because it even happened to my rigid grandfather when my dog jumped on the table one Thanksgiving. He cocked his head to one side and smiled with his mouth, and with his eyes. It's always the same. Or maybe I'm just vain...because this post is about me.

The meal lasted longer than I thought, and the company definitely surpassed my expectations. We said our goodbyes after I made it clear that I had an early flight to catch, and after agreeing to another evening out, we turned down separate narrow alleys and disappeared in the darkness. Heels clacking against the uneven cobblestone, I locked arms with Kelly and said: "I am really glad that dinner was just dinner."

Reality Check

Being abroad is kind of like an escape from the real world. I am mindlessly swiping my piece of plastic and planning trips to other countries, overlooking the fact that I am kind of broke. Fortunately, my personal bank (The Bank of Dad), has a no-penalty policy for overdraft fees. But once I return home, the frivolity ends and reality begins.

I am transferring back to Eugene Lang: The New School for Liberal Arts, and breathe a refreshing sigh of relief every time I think of returning to my small, undeniably hipster(y) college in downtown Manhattan. The only reason I ever left was to alleviate some of the financial burden. But unable to stay confined within Stony Brook's middle-of-nowhere campus and aching to be shoved into buildings by quick-stepped New Yorkers racing down the sidewalk, I am taking on the staggering tuition fee independently. Meaning, I'll need to take out student loans, which consequently translates into debt.

Just two semesters shouldn't be a problem. I'll make it back in a year, easy. But after coming across an article from The Wall Street Journal, I'm not feeling so assured: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB20001424052748703389004575033063806327030.html

Does this mean I should expect to pay way more than I'll be told? Will there be absurd inflation rates if I don't go through the "right" company or allow for adjustable payment terms? I just learned how to make pasta, this seems like too big of a leap. As money-conscious students, what do we do?

Drink All Day, Play All Night, Let's Get it Poppin'..I'm in Venezzia!

The first carnival I ever went to was at my overnight camp for the 4th of July. I was ten, so naturally I thought the cheap decorations and games the older campers put together were awesome. Ten years later, on a train coming back from the Carnival in Venice, I scoffed at this memory, for I had just experienced one of the most outrageous festivals in Europe. Every year before Lent, cities all over the world host wild celebratory festivals. I was fortunate enough to join the party in one of the most beautifully picturesque cities in the world-Venice. Known for romantic gondola rides and tender canals that flow throughout the city, Venice is a honeymooner's dream. Except during Carnival.

A trail of confetti guided Paula, Kelly and I from the small train station to the Piazza San Marco, an enormous square filled with empty wine bottles and clusters of costumed Italians and foreigners alike. Every shop we walked slowly past sported walls of detail-oriented masks. I wanted all of them. We even met a mask-maker who explained the history behind some of faces and showed us how he makes them in his shop. He proceeded to dress me in a cape and glittery purple mask that made me feel like a performer in Phantom of the Opera. But my stage fright showed when he tried to kiss me. Cue curtain fall.

After crossing bridges, pausing every so often to take a 'send home to the parents' snapshot, and stepping inside every shop to try and find the perfect mask, I spotted a winner. The process reminded me of when I got my dog, Miki. He was the only white husky sliding around the antique shop in Boston where the owner's dog gave birth a few weeks prior. With one blue eye and one brown eye, I knew Miki Blue Eye was a keeper. I had the same feeling when I saw my mask. The intricate details making up the face of a cat was the stunning work of a conscientious Venetian. Illustrations of the canals on the cheeks, music notes above the eyes, a gold trim around the eyes, and contrast of black and white made this mask as weird and desirable as my blue and brown colored eye dog. Strangeness attracts me.

Strolling alongside other veiled faces added an exciting element to our trip. But what was probably the most thrilling part of our time in Venice was our lack of housing. That's right, we were homeless for a night. Intentionally. It wouldn't have been so bad had it not been for the negative degree weather. Until about 2 a.m. we were fine, parading around the city with newly made friends who took us to the different parties happening around the city. They also exposed us to a new cultural layer of Italian wine-hot wine. Skeptical at first, it was delicious, like everything I've tried thus far in Italy. That is, except for the restaurant we had dinner at. Not only was our waiter a brashly rude ogre, but they inflated the service charge by triple the amount when we went to pay. (Now I don't feel so bad about secretly drinking wine we smuggled in.) I fought the absurd charge while wearing my mask figuring that he'd get too annoyed to fight with someone who looked like a cat. I was right. Me-oww.

But around 2, after parting ways with our friends who reminded me of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle Dumb, the way they argued over silly logistical problems and such, we made our way to the train station. We assumed there would be a cafe we could sit in all night, but we were severely mistaken. I should have known better. Catering to tourists who come to their gorgeous city to breathe the scenic views of pastel-colored buildings lining canals whose tranquil waters are only interrupted by the gentle stroke of gondolier, it is no wonder that Venetians close shop early. The train station was our only option.

Evidently we weren't the only ones to be stupid enough not to book a place to stay in the middle of winter. As soon as we walked up the steps, we saw tons of passed out drunk bodies spread throughout the station. We found a small open space against a storefront, and my body was just about to go numb when a clearly inebriated Italian started speaking to us. We couldn't understand what he was saying, which didn't help when he threw a small backpack at our feet. But like heroes, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum appeared out of nowhere, just in the nick of time. The guy wandered off, and we asked the guys what they were doing. "We came to say goodbye!" they said.

The rest of the night was a blur. Paula, Kelly and I sought warmth in the car of a train leaving for Milan in the morning, and hopped off before it steamed out of Venice. The train back to Florence was at 8:30, so we still had a few hours to wait. We stood outside of the station's cafe, ready to knock down the door as soon as they opened-like a clearance sale at Neiman Marcus. When they finally did, I realized how numb my body was. Heat felt like a distant memory as it slowly warmed the tips of my fingers. When my body temperature was back to normal our train had arrived. Finally.

I sank into my seat, ready to fall into a deep slumber-if only for a couple of hours. As I drifted off, flashes of the weekend flooded my head. Despite everything I saw, the two guys we met stood out most prominently. I was so surprised that strangers we only met a few hours earlier would be so kind as to make sure a few American teenage girls were safe. But I guess we're all strangers before we become anything more. It's funny to think how we can go on with our lives just fine, and then someone comes along who you can't picture living the rest of your life without.

Where are We, Toto?

It's meals like this that make it clear I'm not in Kansas anymore. I got a frutti di mare pizza that made me work for it. The shells were in the pizza when I opened the box-startling at first, but so delicious! And I definitely needed something good after a tough morning of no English. My teacher only spoke in Italian during class. I've never taken an Italian class before so things are moving a little too fast for what I'm used to. I hope we don't go to Lookout Point for class number three!

Once my teacher was done force-feeding us Italian we watched a movie, (in Italian of course), that was over two hours long. Granted, it was a good movie, but my leg fell asleep by the end of it. Mentally I was alert because of the cioccolotto forte I've been getting every day. It's a small cup of strong hot chocolate, I think. Honestly, I don't need to know what's in it. There could be crack in there for all I care-it is magical. And it's a good thing I was paying attention. The movie was kind of like The Three Stooges meets The Godfather tinged with the constant variables of an old black and white foreign film. Surprisingly they can fit a lot of humor into a movie about a girl who gets impregnated by her sister's fiance, whose father, upon finding out, sends the brother to kill the fiance (well, ex-fiance by that point). The mob did originate here though, so I guess you can't put anything past them.

You know when you have to go outside to get something, but it's too cold out and you're too lazy? That's how I feel right now. I need to pick up a few course packets a few minutes away, and aside from the aforementioned reasons why I don't feel like going, I am very prone to getting lost when I walk alone, and after I get my course packets I'll have to do homework. And every acclaimed procrastinator knows that to stay true to form, you should only do homework at the very last possible moment. Do I have a great work ethic or what? But there is some other work I should get started on, like my job application for a summer position at Columbia University. And I better start now since I know that the first sentence will take at least 72 hours to think of.

Superbowl Sunday: When Football is What it is

I've been powering through my cold in order to go out and be social. As long I'm fueled up on Ibuprofen, I'm okay. And if I missed the chocolate fair because of a silly cold, I never would have forgiven myself. I probably have the biggest sweet tooth on the planet. Cake, cookies, ice cream, you name it, I love it. But at the top of my list is chocolate. Give me a block of dark chocolate, and I'll work on that thing like a dog chewing on a bone. Needless to say, the festival was heavenly. Entering the tent was like climbing the stairway to heaven that Led Zeppelin so sweetly sang about. The scents of truffles, chocolate covered everything, and melted chocolate wafted through the entire place, sending my senses into a frenzy. I sampled chocolate liquor, chocolate covered orange peels and got the most delicious cup of melted dark chocolate I've ever tasted. If I died at that moment, I would have died happy.

And even though Paula and I were still full from the chocolatey goodness, we later went to a bar called The Joshua Tree (which we have at home), and then to arguably the best pizza place in Florence. We ordered a pizza with artichoke, ham, and cheese that melted in your mouth as soon as it touched your tongue. We could barely speak to each other, it was such an experience. Almost spiritual. To continue with our gluttonous day, we found a bakery where I got a connoli that convinced me that I can never go home. I don't know what kind of drugs they slip into these foods, but I need to take some back to the States.

After happily walking back to the apartment with a glow that only comes from the enjoyment of a fantastic meal, we got ready to go out to a club I have mentioned previously, called Space. It was impossible to just dance alone and enjoy the music. Creepy Italian men kept skulking around us, circling like predatory animals. I wouldn't have minded had they just watched from afar, but they swoop in and grab you with their sharp claws. An Italian guy even approached while I was dancing with an American boy I met named Nick. He seemed nice, so I thought a dance would be fine. But the whole time I felt numb. My mind was somewhere else and no matter how hard I tried to push the thoughts away, they kept re-entering. Finally I said I needed to rest and left Nick to find someone who might actually be interested.

But even when Paula and I were just dancing together, men kept penetrating the bubble. One guy just crept up on her from behind and started moving his hips. She asked me what he looked like and I said, "You don't want to know." Needless to say, he wouldn't be anyone's type. We tried escaping to the downstairs area but that was the same situation. Even after leaving, in the streets some guys got way too close to me, touching my arm and cat-calling. I guess this is something I'll have to get used to, but it just really sucks. I like to go out and have a good time and meet and converse with people. To have guys treat me like some candy bar they'd like to unwrap is just disgusting, especially when they actually tell me what they want to do to me. No, that doesn't get me in the mood, it just makes me want to take a baseball bat to your head (which I'd enjoy because baseball season has been gone for far too long).

And with Superbowl Sunday just a few hours away, I want to immerse myself in American sports, no Italian creepers allowed. So what do you say we head to a bar and watch some guys throw the old pigskin around? Go Colts!

Did You Know that Roofies Equal Fun?

Wrapped in a blanket with the sniffles is not how I pictured my Friday night. I had plans to go out every night-hitting bar after bar. But after staying out for two nights, my immune system turned on me. And I suppose the margharita I had earlier isn't helping. But instead of powering through, I'll stay in for a night of recuperation and (fingers crossed) be back in action tomorrow night. And if not, the night after that. Even if I'm still feeling lousy, I have to go to a sports bar to watch the Superbowl. I mean, it is the Superbowl. There are no excuses.

The other night me and Kelly ventured out at 1:30 a.m. to fashion designer Roberto Cavalli's club. Sounds classy, right? That's what we thought..until we stepped inside. We were met with an overwhelming heat wave and malodorous stench of sweat entwined with alcohol. It seemed like more of a frat house than a club a famous designer would own. I even wore one of my "special occasion" dresses. Regrettable decision. I must have used my entire bottle of perfume to mask the smell. But after scoping the scene a little bit, we met a very friendly older Italian man. He was nicely dressed and smiled like a fox. Sly guy.

Sly guy chatted with us for a while and bought us some shots of something. He was clearly older than Kelly and I combined but it was entertaining nonetheless. Well, until he told me that his clothes were too tight and I needed to help get them off (reaching to put my hand on his pants). I heard Italian men were forward, but this was pushing it. After we ditched him for the VIP room, we were able to breathe a little. It wasn't as crowded and there was another bar and small dance floor. The music that the DJ was playing was really great. I just wished I was able to enjoy it. I asked a random guy to take a picture of me and Kelly, which he gladly did, but then he made Kelly take one of me and him. And then wouldn't leave me alone for the rest of the night. I love meeting and talking to new people, but what he was saying weren't things I wanted to hear. Fast forward to leaving the club when a few guys called out to us, "Hey! You girls wanna have fun? We're gunna take some roofies!" Oh yeah, that's my idea of a party. I really don't know how I meet these guys. Just lucky I guess!

Last night was a much needed girls night. Paula, Kelly and I went to a place called Art Bar where the drinks are made by two old Italian men, who see every concoction as a masterful work of art. And they are! We got the fruit cocktail which was almost too perfect to eat. The pineapple, strawberry, apples, lemon, and kiwi were cut so intricately, it was a shame to eat it. (But, of course, I did.) We were there for almost three hours without realizing it. No one was rushing us, so we simply ate, drank, and enjoyed. Walking back along the river was relaxing, too. It's so beautiful at night, and I can't wait for the weather to warm up so I can linger there for hours. Along the way back we did some bar-hopping, checking out places we want to go back to. Florence has an insane nightlife. It seems contradictory to its historic exterior. Florence is a city that is famous for its past, but the bars and popular clubs say otherwise.

I talked to my parents on Skype when I came home, who were happy to hear that it only costs 3 bucks a month to talk to them as much as I want. For a few extra dollars I can call cell phones too, which my friends back home were happy to hear about. I feel like so much has been going on with me this past week, that the same would be true for everyone back home. But, not so much. The first time I studied abroad, I had this feeling of resentment towards my friends when I came home because I felt so different and they were all the same. I have this weird need for change all the time. It can be mild, like something ethnic for lunch, or really intense, like studying abroad. But I am a Gemini, so I guess that explains it.

Oh man, I feel like I have so much time on my hands right now but I can't do anything because I'm sick. Well, I do need to take more medicine soon, so that constitutes as something :-/ Anyways, at least one thing went right today: I switched into a closed class. It wasn't easy though. I had to hone all of my persuasive abilities and charm..and when that didn't work, I demanded a meeting with the Dean. Easy enough. Now, instead of my cooking class (which I was really excited for but the teacher is absolutely horrid), I'm taking social media, where we use social interfaces like Facebook, Twitter, and blogs to discuss the inner-workings of online communities. My roommate Megan is in it and said it's great and easy. Hello easy A! I don't mind challenging courses, but it's hard to devote a lot of time to studying when you're abroad. Food, culture, language, places to go, things to see, people to meet; talk about distractions. But I don't want to start off behind so I think I should get started on my homework. I'll begin with Italian. Ciao!

Love: Question Mark

Everyone keeps talking about how they want to find love in Italy. Like being here will magically make all of their romantic dreams come true. I'm sure the wine and the charm of the city help, but is love something you can plan? I don't think I could plan on finding something when I don't even know what it is. That's like knowing there's a guy named Waldo who's always getting lost and attempting to search for him when you don't even know what he looks like. You'd be looking forever.

I think I thought I was in love once, or something like it, but that was just a waste of time and days spent eating ice cream on the couch. Plus, can you plan for love to only last three months? That seems fleeting. I'm confusing myself. It's so intricate, and yet simple at the same time. No wonder people who are in love always complain about having the feeling of butterflies in their stomachs, it's because they're so freaking confused about what love actually means!

And I'm not just picking on love, relationships in general can make your head spin too. Friends with benefits, booty calls, seeing someone, it's 'complicated,' in a relationship but not in a relationship on facebook (which clearly dictates what is official and what is not), an open relationship... I need a Xanax. Whatever happened to: boy likes girl. girl likes boy. girl and boy date ? Did that go out of style when hair scrunchies did? I just think that if a guy really likes someone, he will make it happen...which comes back to this whole idea of how relationships carry too much pressure. With so much corruptness going on in the world, do relationships need to be equally as draining? They're supposed to be fun and care-free, and happy! They're not meant to make people stressful, anxious, jealous, or miserable. And with 50% of marriages ending in divorce, the latter unfortunately seems to be the type of relationship most people are in. But I don't want that.

Smiling and laughing are two of life's simple pleasures that I over-indulge in on a regular basis (gay, but true), and I don't think I should give that up for anyone. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, well, I'm not really sure. I just don't want relationships to have such a negative connotation. People should take them in their organic form-a connection between people. Simple, right? But I guess that's easier said than done...