*Thanksgiving Dinner!!...On a Saturday night* Going around the table left to right: Graham, Hassan, Liz, Mark, Emily (or her arm), Matt, Chiara

Okey Dokey, well, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve written a post, mostly because there’s been a lot going on, so I haven’t had the opportunity to steal internet and write a post. Let’s get the bad news over with first. About a week and a half ago my purse was stolen. Suckville. It was stupid, the ‘zingaro’ (Italian term for someone who is non-native and makes a living by street vending and stealing things) took it from right under our noses at a bar, and my only gratification from the episode was that there was only about 7 euros cash in the wallet. The horrible terrible awful very bad thing about it was that my iPod was in my purse. *Sniffle* When I called my mom later that night to get credit card company numbers and etc., she remarked, “I don’t quite understand why your iPod was with you.” True enough, maybe a bar isn’t the best place to have an iPod, but this thing was attached to my hip at all times, and I always carried it with me because you never know when you’re going to need to have a dance party in your head to Madonna, or settle a heated bar discussion about song lyrics. Since I am poor as poor can be, when the glorious day arrives that I can finally buy another iPod, I am going to throw a party, and all of you are invited.

Next up on the news bulletin: I GOT A JOB!!! This is very exciting, because it means that I am going to be able to return in January and get at least a couple more months out of this adventure. The awesome thing is that I really, really like the job. Most jobs I’ve had have never been intellectually stimulating, it was all office work or driving rich vacationers around all day, or, and I even hate to mention this, it was retail (I’m sure some of you remember me in my green Ames vest, practicing A+ service—smile, meet, greet and thank…barf.) I’m working at the Trinity school, which is a short walk from my apartment (good thing too, because my metro pass was stolen with my wallet and I didn’t want to buy another one) and most of my classes are one on one or two on one. I have a lot of fun helping my students bust through grammar exercises and have fun with more creative activities. It’s also cool to teach little things that aren’t in the book (i.e. the meaning of ‘five-finger discount’ and ‘to get on/fall off the wagon.’) In turn, they teach me too (see ‘zingaro’ in paragraph one) and tell me about cool spots in Rome to go to—such as a club that has really good live jazz, sweetness. So yes, I am working now…not a whole lot, four or five hours a day, but at least I’m working, and I’m loving that jobs do exist out there that I can come out of thinking everyday, “That was awesome,” it gives me hope for future endeavors, whatever they may be.

My next piece of news, which you probably guessed from the beginning of this post, is that EMILY TULLY CAME TO VISIT ME, WOOOOT!!!! Little Miss E-Tizzle arrived on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and not a second too soon, as the purse thing kind of threw me into a bit of homesickness. It was as if we were back in Burlington all over again, except we were in Rome. I had a blast taking her to all of the touristy sections, such as the Colosseum, Roman Forum, Piazza Navona, Trevi Fountain, the Campidoglio, Piazza del Popolo, Villa Borghese, Trastevere, the Vatican Museums, St. Peter’s Square, St. Peter’s Basilica, one of the few (or maybe only) Gothic church(es) in Rome, the Spanish Steps and a few others. We took a ride in the Time Elevator, and the coolest part by far was the 5D animation movie we saw about the beginning of life here on Earth…it was sweet. Thanksgiving Day we were treated to a middle-Eastern meal made by our friend Hassan, and it was super delicious, but not the same as the spread that I know was put out in West Glover. Saturday night we had another Thanksgiving party at our apartment, and about the only thing “Thanksgiving-ish” was the mashed potatoes, however, the stir fry, gelato, bread, chicken cutlets, and everything else was pretty good. Sunday night, we went to a bar that plays American Football, and I watched the Giants blow their 21-0 lead at the half to the Titans (so typical, and to which Emily remarked, “I make up for being a Yankees fan by being a Giants fan, because only the Giants would suck so bad to blow a lead like that.” Well said.) and I watched the Pats beat the Bears (GO PATS, WHOO!) We both thought of home while we watched the game, knowing that while we were in Rome watching these games, at the exact same moment members of our family were relaxing on a Sunday afternoon doing the same thing. Emily and I had a great time, and I’m looking forward to making a trip to Prague (probably at the end of my time here in Europe) to let her return the favor, ha!

And, while I know this is quite a long entry, not that many people read my blog, so I feel I can ramble on without much consequence. That said, with the passing of Thanksgiving, comes the Christmas season, and I’m very excited that exactly three weeks from today I will be on a plane back to the United States for 12 days. I’m ready to see my family and friends—I want to sleep in my gigantic comfy bed, I want to drive my car, I want to have a conversation and cup of tea in Gram’s kitchen, I want to eat a burger at the Shed, I want to drink homebrew with my brothers, I want to go sledding with my nieces, I want to giggle and gossip with my sister, I want to pick on my dad about anything I can (knowing full well that he’ll pick on me), I want to gush over the Christmas season with my mom, I want to see friends I haven’t seen in over a year, I want to see the friends that I saw the days right before I left, I want to eat the Thanksgiving dinner that I missed, knowing that it will be made up on Christmas Eve and the following day with much of my extended family there, I want to go skiing, I want to walk down Church St. with the lights on the trees. Then I want to take all these times, and bring them back to Rome with me, knowing that it’s important for me to be doing this right now, because it’s a once in a lifetime chance, and despite the worrying and stress that I’ve experienced on this trip, I don’t regret one single day, I can’t.

Just a couple of thoughts before I begin this Friday evening.

#1. I think I have a phobia over doing laundry. Every time I really need to do laundry, I get a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach, very similar to the one that I used to get on my way to piano lessons. I guess I'm afraid that I'm going to shrink, ruin, dye, or lose my clothes, and that I, as the jolly green giant will be forced into buying clothing in this country where everyone is a size 2 and about 5'4". *Shudder*

#2. I was on the bus earlier today, and as we drove by a children's clothing store, I got a good look at the little kiddie mannequins modeling the clothing. These mannequins were posed in positions that would suggest a four year-old handles him/herself the same as a thirty year-old, and has the same sense of style and flair. What I want to really see is kiddie mannequins in positions that resemble actual children. Like, the temper tantrum mannequin, that is a mannequin on it's back with legs and arms appearing to be flailing in the air. Or maybe the carry-me child mannequin, that is in the form of a kid almost slumping over on the ground, but with the head raised skyward, as if you could hear it whining to the adult, "But I'm so tiiiiiired." It's not that bad of an idea, it would help parents imagine the clothing on their children a more easily.

#3. It's less than six days before Thanksgiving, and I want everyone in the U.S to think of their friend over here in Italy, who will undoubtedly be eating pasta and fishsticks.

Happy weekend everyone.

First and foremost, congratulations to Sam and Rachel for their new baby girl Sophia. Secondly, I just can’t get over how awesome it is to not be living in a hostel. I really like the fact that when I’m looking for something small and miniscule, such as my adapter or cell phone charger, I don’t have to unlock my locker, empty all of the contents out in order to find it (because it’s always on the bottom of the pile) and then put everything back in the locker while the cleaning lady sighs and dances around me with dirty sheets because my I’m not special enough to have a locker in my room, oh no, it’s gotta be in the hallway. Now I have five rooms my tiny little adapter could be in, and it’s great! At any rate, yes, my new apartment is all the fun and shenanigans I had been hoping for. We are a scholarly group, and play games of chess while free-styling and eating French toast. We even found 100% maple syrup, as opposed to the 2% maple syrup that was in the liquor section, of all places, at the grocery store. What’s funny about the 100% maple syrup is that it is a product of Canada, yet the company’s name is “Vertmont.” Come on Canada, let’s be a little more obvious in trying to pretend that your syrup is coming from Vermont, which a number of people both in Europe and in the U.S think is a part of Canada anyway. But back to the apartment, yes, it’s fabulous, and I will really enjoy spending the next five weeks here before coming home.

In other news, Roma beat Milano for the first time in twenty years at the Milano stadium, it was a good game, and I’m starting to support the Roma soccer team, despite the fact that they are the Yankees of soccer here in Italy. We also watched a rugby match, and I’ve decided that American football is for wussies, rugby players are gi-normous freaks of nature, and the game in general is just bad-ass. I can’t help but think of my cousin’s old VW Rabbit that my aunt drove through Boston with the bumper sticker: Give Blood, Play Rugby. The match last night was New Zealand vs. France…French rugby players? Are we sure such a thing was ever meant to exist? New Zealand pummeled them, of course, so the French have retaliated by no longer calling kiwis kiwis, but Freedom Fruit instead.

The weather is, in Vermont terms, nice. It’s feeling like it’s about early to mid-October, and all of my friends are freezing every night when we walk to the Fiddler’s Elbow for Happy Hour. And they always make a big deal over the fact that I’m not wearing a jacket, scarf, hat and gloves and still do not feel cold. I can’t start wearing jackets now—it’s 60 degrees outside! If I start wearing warm clothing now, not only will I be overheated, but I’ll die from temperature shock when I come back to Vermont. I don’t miss the wind whipping off Lake Champlain though, that’s for sure.

Yep, that’s about it…I now steal internet from the McDonald’s at the train station, so after a short while all I smell is grease and pimples, so I have to make a quick getaway before the big McDonald’s fat vat sucks me in and I never appear again.

Good times at Fiddler's Elbow...

THIS WAS ORIGINALLY MEANT TO BE POSTED ON FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 3RD.

Goodness gracious me oh my get me out of this freakin’ hostel. At first, I was cool with it. At second, I was a little annoyed. At third, I can’t wait until Monday to get into my apartment, I don’t care what it costs me. I think the problem is the fact that I’m living with nine other girls, and I don’t like girls…at least these girls. One has a poor aroma that I recently started noticing assaulting my nostrils while trying to fall asleep. Another is a dirty hippie, she sleeps in the bunk above mine, and this morning swung her feet down right into my face…gross. Another one missed the seminar on “climbing in and out of things” when she was three, so she continually struggles getting into her top bunk every night, and the other night I was the only witness awake to watch her round behind struggle in the air as she huffed and puffed her way up, only to lose her strength and tumble down the three rung ladder to the ground. Another one uses her blowdryer in the room at 7 in the morning (wtf?). And yes, there’s also the girl who’s parents taught her, “To whisper is to scream.” And thus every morning there’s a flurry of LOUD Spanish, while she preps for her day as a sound effect impersonator, her specialty being eighteen wheeler horns. Sigh.
Anywho, I hate bureaucracy, and it totally screws up everything I want, which really is just a job. This is the line from all employers, “We really enjoyed our interview with you, however we must have employees with proper permits and papers in order to hire you. Please feel free to contact us when you obtain these, as we’d be happy to offer you a position within our school.” I guess it’s better than being told, “Nah, we liked someone better. Good luck next time.” Kind of like Groton School which kindly ended their letter, “We’re sure there is a position out there suitable for you, unfortunately it is not with us.” There’s nothing unfortunate about it... ‘unfortunate’ denotes regret, and if you really were regretful, you’d give me a job, losers.
I hope everyone had a splendid Halloween, I surely did, and I didn’t even have to get all dressed up. The cheap-in-price-but-fantastic-in-taste wine here is very good to me and my friends, good times I’ll always remember (or will I…do I even remember them now?) I guess that’s all for today, I would like to give a birthday shout-out to Ms. Sara Henderson, though I’m sure she won’t read this, as she’s too busy stealing bagels from the United States Postal Service. To the rest of you, consider seeing Scorsese’s The Departed…I highly recommend it. And of course, happy Friday, it’s the freakin’ weekend.

AND NOW FOR THE LATEST ENTRY, WRITTEN TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 7TH.

So my friends and I are all at the ‘After Hours Social Club’ that we like to dub, “The Reading Room.” This is basically because there are a lot of books on the wall, and every once and a while we’ll pick one up, flip through it and quickly place it back on the shelf, knowing that our eyes are not necessarily capable of moving along a line in the same direction while comprehending information. Maybe this is why a number of the books there are art books…you can just look at all the pretty pictures. Anywho, this particular evening, two girls from Vancouver who had been studying abroad in Paris joined our group. I don’t really want to be mean, but these girls were definitely not the brightest bulbs on the tree, which was probably compounded by their inebriation. One girl was telling a story about her ‘world travels’ or some such thing, and made the comment, “Yah, you know, New Zealand…it’s part of Australia?” At this I sort of chuckled, while my Australian friend Chiara calmly informed her, “Uh, it’s its own country. Two separate places.”
“Um, excuse me? I wasn’t even talking with you, so I don’t feel like you need to be a part of this conversation.”
“I’m just telling you, seeing as Australia is my country.”
“My country?!? My country?!? Look, I don’t think this concerns you, so just back the f*** off, okay?” At this, Vancouver chick turned her back, placed her hand behind her head, and extended her middle finger, and only her middle finger.
“Woah, woah, woah,” I intervened. “There’s no need to flip her off, let’s just calm down a little bit.”
“Um, ex-cah-use me, I am not flipping her off.” At this point I became belligerent towards her belligerence.
“Oh come on! You’ve got your middle finger straight up in the air, I don’t see how that’s not flipping someone off.”
Chiara stepped back in to moderate. “Look, let’s just drop it okay, I just wanted to make the point that Australia and New Zealand are two different countries. It’d be like me saying that Canada is a part of the United States.” At this, Vancouver flipped out.
“Canada is NOT a part of the United States. Canada is a completely different country, with its own political system, its own characteristics and its own history. It is definitely NOT a part of the U.S.”
“THAT’S THE POINT!” I exclaimed.
“Hey, you know, let’s just drop it. Sure, New Zealand is a part of Australia, okay.” Chiara was ready to let it drop, I was getting caught up in the heat of the moment, because I FEEL PASSIONATELY ABOUT GEOGRAPHY, DAMMIT!!! Or at least I did at that particular moment.
“And anyway,” Vancouver continued, to the groan of the group, “I was talking about the whole region—Oceania (which she pronounced Oh-she-ann-KNEE-YA).”
“Okay, sure, fine, I believe you, whatever I said, or that you think I said, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did to offend you so much, but I’m sorry, let’s just let it go.” It was about time to move along in this debate, but Vancouver wouldn’t let it drop.
“Oh my God, if you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for then you don’t have any right to tell me what’s right and wrong. You are just so provincial.”
“Provincial?!?!” Chiara stared back at her in disbelief, because she has every right to, seeing as she’s lived in Belgium, the U.S, Australia and Italy, plus speaks 3.5 languages.
“Yeah, you know what?” at this, Vancouver got up to make her dramatic exit, “If you traveled outside of your own country, maybe you would understand the rest of the world that’s out there.” Her dramatic exit was not so dramatic, as everyone was trying to stifle laughter, which given the circumstances came out in huge guffaws and snickers. Her friend who was with us just stared at her as she left, wide-eyed, as if she’d just witnessed the girl from The Exorcist turn her head 360 degrees.
“Wow…uh…” She blinked a few times, her face was long, “I just really don’t know where that came from. Woah.” We all agreed, and that was the end of that. Ridiculousness is funny, especially when it involves over-reactions over being informed that New Zealand and Australia are in fact their own separate entities. Phew, glad she’s gone back to Paris.

On another note, I’M IN MY NEW APARTMENT!!! It is miraculous, I love it, I’m glad to be here, and I think it will be a splendid place to be unemployed in. Our location is awesome, we’re right in the city center, and after living at Bruna’s and the hostel, I thought the day would never come when I was back in a place I could call my own. And I can do so for at least the next seven weeks. When we moved in, there were no sheets on the beds, so my friend Matt and I made a mad dash to the store to get some. Number 1: sheets are expensive, please tell me why. Number 2: It’s funny to think of the two of us picking up various sheets and asking, “What does this mean? How long are the beds? What are the differences between this and that? Wait, what’s this word mean?” We eventually got everything figured out, and are sleeping happily in our new apartment. I’m excited to lounge in my pajamas, cook my own meals, take naps freely and frequently (as I wait for phone calls explaining why I can’t have a job), invite friends over, be within walking distance of my favorite watering-hole and just generally relax a little bit. Yesssss.