Sono Stanco (Part 2)… or, I need a caffeine I.V., Stat!
So, after parting ways with Dave, and expressing “Well of course we will go shopping, or have dinner…just give me a call.” This of course means the same thing as it does in America: “I’m not going to call you ever…sorry.” I ran back across town for the next date on the agenda, with Andrea F….
Repeat the conversation above, but peppered with even MORE “everything in the world is better in Italy, and not in America” crap. Which, if Andrea had been hot (or even remotely cute), I would have totally thought it was adorable, but he wasn’t attrtactive at all. And, if I have to pretend I don’t know what the Mole Antonella is one more time, I’m going to vomit up my Gianduia. The only interesting part of the conversation that differed from the others is that I brought up the fact that I can’t tell a gay person from a straight person in Italy. Andrea just simply could not comprehend this. It took a good thirty minutes to explain why straight people in America typically don’t wear man-jewelry, skin tight clothing studded with Swavoroski crystals, and various other “gayish” type activities…especially in the South…perhaps in New Jersey, but definitely not the South… Granted, he pointed out this was the case in NYC, which is moderately true, and wherein it took another thirty minutes to explain that NYC is a completely different planet compared to the rest of America. The rest of our walk (thankfully for not that long), he kept pointing at people and asking me if I thought they were gay. It was not a fun game.
I lie, and say I have to go to dinner with my roommate.
Meet Andrea M. (#2 Andrea….yes, it’s moderately confusing) for a quick gelato date….
where I express wonder and intrigue at the various flavors I’ve never seen before (even though I have tasted nearly all of them by now) and of course must discuss at length every single gelato shop in town. Here again, I also get berated for not knowing enough Italian to have a full conversation in the language. Though certainly true, and certainly a failing I was not quite prepared for, I really don’t need a lecture about it everyday.
Andreas #1 and #2 both get deleted from my MSN account…..
6:45 PM – 7:45 PM
Go for a fast run in a desperate attempt to feel skinnier after having eaten lunch TWICE and had gelato TWICE because I can’t turn down free stuff…
Realize I can’t take a shower after run, since the light in the bathroom is out and it’s pitch black.
Thankfully, crazy roommate comes home and lights a candle.
Realize that I have to take two fucking buses to Maurizio’s house. But, I am cheered by the fact that Maurizio has emailed me, texted me, AND called me to make sure I am coming to his dinner party….
Throw on the cutest shirt I can find and steal a bottle of wine from my roommate to bring to the party…run to the bus stop to sit for 35 minutes because, of course, the bus I need is late.
Arrive only slightly late for the party, which is the gayest dinner party ever.
Realize that my love for Maurizio has not decreased at all between Sunday and Thursday.. 😦
I forgot my camera, so there are no photos of the party unfortunately, but it was quite fun, and the food was my favorite, pesto pasta (and chicken). It turns out that it was a birthday party for a guy named Massimo. I did have a few moments of frustration, when they were talking completely in Italian, and I felt very foreign, but the two Italians (Gabriele and Mauri) that knew English would occasionally include me.
Maurizio goes to bed, and the other Italians invite me to go drinking more at Extreme Bar/Cafe. I point out jokingly that I am the only one not wearing purple (the in-fashion fall color apparently…and EVERYONE in the city wears some form of it everyday), and Massimo disappears, returning with a purple scarf!
Basically, Extreme is a lesbian bar, but mixed. The bar serves also as my first interaction with Italian lesbians. It makes me oh so very very sad to confirm that lesbians in Italy (as in America) do not necessarily ascribe to the Italian aesthete of straight girl beauty, with only a few exceptions….like the crazy hot bartender:
Besides the fact that only Gabriele (who is insanely hot, btw, but boyfriend to Massimo *sigh*) can speak English, we still get along great thanks to the time-honored tradition of drinking, which clearly crosses all cultural lines. After approximate 14 shots (I lost count) of Chupitos or Chupas, or something like that, they decide to show me the view of the city from Monte dei Cappuccini. So, paninis in hand, and a sixpack underarm, we drive to the top of the mountain for a gorgeous view of the city below, where you can hear the sounds of the Murazzi echoing off of the mountain. Then they drive me home (somewhere around 3 AM….I don’t remember) where I crash into bed with a big smile on my face.