Sunday, December 18, 2011

Good Morning, Charlie

Holy cannoli!
One of my reader's e-mailed me with a great question that I thought I should share on my blog. He asked, "What are you going to miss about Italy for two weeks?" So much, my friend, so much... But let me first say that I'm not actually going to be thinking about Italy while I'm trekking around Germany, Austria and the Czech Republic. Two weeks isn't a long time and I have a feeling that my trip is going to fly by from all the fun I'm in for. But nevertheless, I'm going to answer your question and also tell you what I'm not going to miss. 
The first and foremost thing I'm going to miss most of all is of course the food. Mmmm... There are just some things Italians do better than the rest of the world, and food is by far one of them. I'm probably going to go into gelato withdrawal once I leave, but its going 
Disappointed because at first I thought this was
spaghetti, but the girl with the chopsticks reveals
that this is, in fact, noodles. Not very Italian like I
first thought, but oh well.
to be too cold where I'm going to have gelato anyway, which brings me to my next point. I'm going to miss the weather! Because December in Rome is like October in Canada. I haven't really needed to wear my coat around the city except at night, and even then it isn't so bad. But I really love the weather here and know that once I step off the plane, I'll be slapped in the face with the cold German wind. My friend Magda jokingly asked me if I'm going to be ok with the cold weather since I'm used to tropical Rome. I told her she forgot who she was talking to - I'm a Canadian. I don't fear the cold, the cold fears me! But not really. I hate cold weather, and I am, indeed, going to miss the climate.
Another thing I'm going to miss about Rome is blogging, but I've already mentioned that. I really will miss writing and know that once I get back, I'm going to be so excited to write to you all. I'm also going to miss my big beautiful house and my comfortable bedroom. When I'm here I actually feel at home, and so I'm going to miss it. I'm going to miss the city itself, which I love to pieces. But I have new cities to explore.
Don't even think about it.
The biggest thing I'm NOT going to miss about Italy is the men. I hate Italian men, because they take it upon themselves to catcall and harass women, even one in modest clothing, as though she were really a hooker and they the construction workers in New York City. Its just donned on me that I want to move to New York City next year, and that I might be harassed by the construction workers as well. Not that I plan on hanging out at any construction sites, but still... Italian men are notoriously the biggest pigs in the entire world. I hate these men with a passion, and joked with my friends that 'the biggest thing about an Italian man is his ego', except that it wasn't really a joke. Its the truth. It doesn't matter if they're young, very very old, single, married, have children, grandchildren, great grandchildren... Nope. Pigs. That's pretty much the only thing I'm not going to miss.
I'm worried for my sister, Nicole, who's coming to Rome in May. Nicole is almost three years older than me and about three inches shorter. She's naturally tanned with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She can definitely pass for an Italian here, except maybe for her fashion 
Ladies and gentlemen - my sister.
Will work for food.
sense. (This is not to say she doesn't have great style, because she definitely does. I just mean she isn't the high heeled leather boot wearing kind of fashionista). When she arrives it will be hot hot hot, which of course means skirts, shorts, tank tops, etc. She's been a competitive cheerleader for the past seven years or so, and is in great shape. She also inherited my nana Pressé's large breasts, which means she's really going to get it from the Italian's once she comes here. And, as a young woman with taste who expects to be respected by men, she's going to hate that about Italy, too. Even my Italian host mom told me once before that she despises Italian men. I didn't remind her that she was married to one, but then again, that may be why she said it in the first place.
Last night, the parents had a ridiculous dinner party with all their other fabulous Italian friends. Looking at the women in their fancy designer outfits made me feel like a kid in a candy store. I just wanted to try them all on! I socialized a bit with them while the kids played in the kitchen. There were 10 kids in total over at the house who belonged to some of the parents at the party. So I got to drink expensive champagne, eat olives, and converse with some of Rome's wealthiest people. I only ventured into the party room to look at the outfits again and steal some crackers, but this woman in a beautiful purple wrap dress came up beside me, squeezed my hip, and demanded something in Italian. I shook my head and said, "Inglese e Franchese", and of course she speaks fluent English. Everyone does. She asked me again in English, "How do you stay so thin?"
Now, this woman was the same size as me. I just shrugged my shoulders and said thank you. But this woman wanted the dirt. "Do you throw up?" She asked me. Umm, no?! I tried to remain as composed as I could, but how inappropriate of her. I just laughed and excused myself to the kitchen, where it turns out the real party was. I left the adults to continue smoking their cigarettes, spill wine down their clothes, and laugh about how beautiful everyone is and how wonderful it is to have such large paychecks.
The kids were having a burping contest and the cook, Veronica, was telling me stories about her life. I'm telling you, this woman knows how to cook a pan. She made so many different things from lasagna to pasta to goat's cheese salad to smoked salmon. She also made the best rice that a person could possibly dream of. It was a sticky kind of rice dressed in pesto sauce, and had these impossibly juicy little tomatoes cooked in with them. I probably ate a pound of it. Then for dessert, we had that weird Italian Christmas cake and a delicious coffee mocca chocolate cake with walnuts. I left the house feeling so satisfied.
Afterwards I went out with some other au pairs girls and we went to Piazza Navona where the carnival was and rode the carousel. I felt like I was in Port Dalhousie where the big beautiful carousel is. This one definitely wasn't as big or as cheap to ride (10 cents a ticket in Port Dalhouse!), but it was still beautiful and lit up with twinkling gold lights. Apparently Italians really love the carnival, because it was still up and running 
Love of my life - nutella.
when we arrived at 12. After that, we went out for pizza, and headed to a club nearby. There's this guy Alfredo my Danish friend Clara knows personally who always gets us into clubs, for free, without waiting. Kelsey and I were really excited to finally meet Alfredo because his life story sounds completely like a movie. Unfortunately for us, Alfredo was sick, so we never had the chance to meet him. Clara was telling us everything she knew about him, and every time she told us a new piece of information, Kelsey and I would just burst out laughing because everything sounded so unreal. 
First of all, his name is Alfredo. We think that maybe this is just code to get into all the clubs around the world. If you say 'I'm on Alfredo's list', you will automatically get in for free and skip the line. Anyway, Alfredo is one of the biggest club promoter's in Rome. But he used to live in Los Angeles while working as a dancer. OF COURSE... Why wouldn't he? I'm beginning to think he's a bit like Charlie and that these foreign au pair girls are his angels.
I so call being Cameron Diaz.
We know he exists and he's really powerful... We just can't see him. Maybe we should just call him 'God' instead, since we all feel his presence and he does wonderful things for us, we just never see him. After Kelsey and I were finished our sequence of snorting, Clara says, "But he had to stop. It's actually a sad story." Cue laughter for the umpteenth time, because there would absolutely be a sad story to why he doesn't dance anymore. "He has a bad back now and he gained a lot of weight, so he isn't able to dance anymore." I laughed because this is both ironic and seriously sad. He can't dance anymore, so instead, he let's all his pretty little girlfriends get into clubs for free and watches people dance? What? It would be like a person without feet becoming a shoe salesman. And what's more depressing than that? Nothing.

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