I had a picture to put here, but my stupid blogger account wouldn't allow it. It was a photo of a store front with a man and woman wearing designer clothing, but instead of heads, they were wearing gigantic eagle's heads. I had a great joke to go along with it about Halloween, but now the world shall be deprived of it forever. Thank you.

Things in the world are going well, I’m still living in the hostel, still looking for a job, still panicking from time to time, still having fun whenever I’m not panicking, and still wishing there were some form of silencer for plastic bags. Every morning as the rest of the room wakes up and starts rustling and bustling and shuffling around, I say a little prayer of thanks for my iPod and my headphones that minimize outside noise, and then plug it in and squeeze in another hour or two of sleep while listening to Debussy’s La Mer. It’s starting to play games with my dreams, while I’m in this shortwave sleep. This morning I dreamt that I had received a job at a school, and I was trying to find my way to the lesson through all these halls and corridors, and finally found the right spot. It was then that I noticed Mary Lou, Mary Rowell and Mary Anthony from the Chamber Players giving a concert before my English class started. I was excited to see them, and was waiting (in the dream) to talk with them, but didn’t get a chance to, because by the time the music stopped, somebody in the real world had slammed the bathroom door and brought me back into consciousness.

The job hunt continues to be a roller coaster every day. This weekend I applied for a job, and after making a follow up call to make sure they had gotten my application, I received the lamest excuse yet for hiring (or lack thereof): my age. “Well, you see, because you’re only 22, no one you teach will take you for any credibility. They just can’t believe that you would have the knowledge and know-how to teach another language, and that you’re already through university and have proper certification.” ….uh-huh. Well, I convinced her to let me come in for an interview anyway, and I’m going all out—hair up, make-up on, silk blouse, properly ironed slacks, loafers (which I have yet to locate in the black hole of Bruna’s apartment) and one hell of a determination to prove that I am suitable for this job. I may only be 22, but I’ve been told that I tend to be on the mature side, though I know those of you out there who would disagree with that statement ;-) Another school called that I forget ever having applied to, and should everything go well, not only will I secure a job with increasing hours over the winter months, but I’ll be able to work there as a full-time teacher in a bi-lingual classroom next year. This greatly intrigues me, but that’s all I’m going to say, because chances are I’ve already jinxed myself out of the position.

Let’s see, what else. Oh yes, apparently yesterday I swept a Senegalese right of his feet…which is funny, because he came over and started talking to us right after my friend Matt flipped over in his chair in the middle of the park and his feet were swinging through the air as he struggled to right himself. I thought for sure he was going to give us a sale’s pitch, because he came over and said, “I want to give these to you as a gesture, because today’s my 25^th birthday and I feel very happy today.” ‘These’ were two small carved animals, an elephant for Matt and a turtle for me, from Africa. I started waiting for the pitch, but in broken English he asked if Matt was my boyfriend, and we both said no, and then he turned straight to me and asked if he could give me his number. I said sure, knowing that I didn’t want to give him my number, and through some jumbled phrase or another, it came out that I spoke French. So we spoke French for a while, during which this guy laid it on, thick… “You are like a light that has lit up my soul. And to quote Victor Hugo…(*quote not available because this was tune out time for Annie during which she was thinking, ‘Is this guy for real??? What is going on???’*) …I’m am a man from Senegal, you are a woman from America, and here we are meeting in Rome, which means love has no boundaries.” Yeah, well, huh, see, the thing here is that I don’t want love right now. I want a job, I want that great Margherita pizza from San Giovanni, I want a cool beer and a stack of Ringos, but I don’t want ‘love that has no boundaries.’ I didn’t explain this to him, but through some moment of poor judgment I gave him my number (I believe his reasoning was, “I had the courage to come talk to you, you should have the courage to give me your number.” What the hell was I thinking?) And he said I could call him any time, day or night. I told him I didn’t want him calling me all the time, so he said, “I will call you at night, before you go to bed.” Wow, well, yeah, he called, and my phone didn’t have service, but once it did the damn thing didn’t stop ringing, so eventually I sent him a text saying, “I just received news from home and I need to think by myself right now. Maybe (maybe not) I will call in a few days. I hope you understand.” And I haven’t received a response yet. Now, I didn’t lie…I really do need time to process the news from home that Mom made baked beans this weekend, and my niece Olivia changed her mind from a kitty cat witch to an angel for her Halloween costume…that’s just, well, something I need to think about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I also received news that Mom made brown bread to go along with those baked beans, and that’s just too much for me to take right now…