history, the traffic, the yelling. I made a joke to my friends that I'm going to set them loose in the city without a map and spy on them to see who breaks down first. I realize that I just compared my parents to something similar of an experiment that a 10 year old would perform by setting his hamster loose in a messy bedroom, but still... That's what my parents in Italy will be like.
I asked my mom if her and father dearest still would have visited me if I decided to live in Switzerland, which was a second option I was exploring, and she said yes. She told me that they're coming to Europe because they want to see me, and that the fact I live in Rome is just icing on top of the cake. Which defeated her point, because icing is the best part of cake. Moving on... She also asked where I plan on working this summer, which led me to a series of fantasies about the perfect summer job.
Like I've mentioned before, I'm hoping to go to school in Nova Scotia, which means dropping a lot of money on tuition, living expenses, and flights. This requires me working for the summer, which is fine, because I'm going to need a distraction from the fact that I'll be residing in the Niagara region come June. The thought of going home to Port Colborne for the summer puts me in a deep depression, and I push that ugly, lifeless fact aside and to the back of my brain. It would be nice to get a job at a cool store like American Eagle or Costa Blanca, where I can
|Hard at work|
But in my opinion, the ultimate summer job would consist of being paid an excessive amount of money to read magazines and tan underneath the hot summer sun beside a pool. Sometimes I will swim in it. My work uniform wardrobe will be made up of bikinis from designers like Ralph Lauren in creamsicle colours of hot pinks, lime greens, and electric blues. I would like to be a muse, but a muse who is allowed to sleep and tan and listen to music while thinking about how fabulous I am for being accepted to my dream school in Nova Scotia. I will occasionally snack on cubes of fresh fruit and update my Facebook status as to how difficult my job is, but that we all must
make money somehow. As a muse, I will obviously have to get up off my poka dot beach towel every once in a while to try on cool outfits while talking about the meaning of life in front of a camera, while my boss will be inspired and take photos of me. He will throw fancy cocktail parties with DJs, candles floating in the pool, people dressed in elegant dresses, and uptight waiters carrying around plates of champagne, tiny sandwiches and olives. He will introduce me to his friends as his muse, and tell them how hard it was to design the purple silk dress covering my newly tanned body. He will twirl me around while tucking a fat wad of cash into my diamond encrusted clutch hanging from my delicate wrist.
Does anyone know where I can apply?
Also, what will this title be to put on my resume? Supermuse? Fashionista genius? Cool-girl extraordinaire? I want to lead an interesting life this summer, even if it does take place on
|My brand new office.|
I don't plan on competing in the Olympics or rowing through the Antarctica this summer, but the thought of having an interesting summer is appealing, although I'm not sure how its going
to go over in... Port Colborne. Which brings me to another point that one of my reader's recently asked me. He asked, "When you return to Canada, will you continue writing your blog?" I stared blankly at the screen for about five minutes because it was a really good question. It was a stumper. (Side note: is stumper a real word?) Anyway, I haven't thought about it until he asked me. And the truth is that... Well, I don't know. Should I continue my blog after I kiss Italy goodbye? I'm not sure. I mean, what will I have to say once I'm in Canada? Today I woke up and drove to Tim Hortons. I got a cherry danish and then drove to St. Catharines to visit my grandparents. There was no traffic. I almost ran over a squirrel, but luckily he was a fast runner. Nana was watching The Young And The Restless while papa went for a swim in the pool. Nana made lunch. It was good. I drove back home and spent the rest of my night twidling my thumbs and crying about my life in Port Colborne. Repeat for the next three months.
The reason why I started this blog was because I wanted to use it as an open diary to detail my adventures in Europe. Life is exciting here. I'm doing and seeing things that most people
|Great party, guys...|
To blog, or not to blog? That is the question... I'll probably leave it in your hands, so write to me and tell me if you want me to continue blogging after Italy.