Better Than Television

Adri Loves Politics!

theres a special place in hell for politians and nursing home operators it’s called “florida”2:18pmlol yesgood pointbrb

i’m glad you did your civic duty mehahahahahaha

Portugal, Not As Creepy as Italy

Guido sitings: I’m in Portugal at this point, so only mullets to speak of.

Weight gained: I have been in South Carolina since June 28th, so my diet has been replaced with hearty fried foods and mint juleps.

It has been almost a month since I got back from Portugal, but the memories are still poignant in my mind. I got to see a very very dear lady friend, Diana, who I lived with for 2 years during UF. We hadn’t seen each other in about a year and this reunion could not have come soon enough. Definitely one of my favorite parts of EuroTrip 2010.

After paying a ridiculous amount of baggage fees (I have since learned my lesson about overpacking) I finally arrived in Lisbon. Right away, naturally, I got in the car with a chatty cabby. When I told him it was my first time in Portugal he automatically whipped out his IPhone (cabbies have IPhones???) and showed me all of his videos of sites around Portugal, without giving me any detail, just saying that I had to see it. Ohhhh thanks cabby. So anyways, I finally got to the hostel, which was literally the best hostel I have ever stayed in. A far, far cry from the sausage fest that we encountered in Sicily. I was at a loss for what to do without walking into a room with half naked men sweatily sleeping and sizing us up for how to best roofie — I mean talk, to us. In the hostel we were at all the local Portuguese artists decorated rooms in certain themes. Ours was themed with blackbirds and black trees. It was an extremely pretty room and almost hotel like. Right away, we were off to dinner. And there, we found him. The most beautiful, beautiful Portuguese lover anyone could ever encounter. So delicious and appealing — yes I’m referring to Vino Verde. After we discovered this cheap (usually between 7 and 15 euro) bottle of wine we were obsessed, stalking at every restaurant, obsessively drinking, it was a toxic relationship that could only go so far. We knew that this week in Portugal would be all that we could handle, otherwise we would turn into two more notches in Vino Verde’s belt, those two American (one slightly British) winos.

The next day we decided to just walk around and take in Lisbon, because we had been hearing that that was the best way to take in the city. Naturally, this includes church viewings. However yet again this created a dilemma. Would I, once again, be too skanky for the Duomo (or Cathedral). Turns out… no, those Portuguese really don’t care that much about what you wear in the Duomo (or Cathedral). However, Portugal is slightly more morbid than Italy. All around the Cathedrals there were wax statutes of dead saints and the grand presentation at the back of the first Cathedral of… waxed Jesus looking slightly like Charles Manson. There were also a lot of cool Roman (and even Iron Age) ruins underneath the Cathedral of Lisbon so the cathedrals, as always, were pretty epic. Then we decided to get a quick lunch — which turned into an hours long catch-up fest, which turned out to annoy the guy with the ponytail sitting behind me. He, ever so gratiously, dangled his ponytail on my back while doing a backbend to ask if we needed some water because we had been talking so much. Instantly, as his hair hit my back Italy stank face reflex was on — I thought it was yet another Fabio or mobster trying his game on the innocent study abroad student (I mean really, that angle is getting TIRED Italian men, so predictable). Instantly, the creepiness infiltrated our conversation, so we knew we had to transfer to yet another sidewalk cafe to just have a bottle of wine and continue our conversation. Unfortunately, or actually pretty fortunately, our cruel pimp daddy Vino Verde didn’t think one bottle was enough… and neither did our Wallace Sean (the guy with the lisp from Princess Bride) waiter. He kept bringing it and bringing it. Eventually we ended up with 4 bottles between the two of us. Please, if you will, imagine the drunken confessions. I don’t remember a lot of the conversation, but I do remember saying “Dark Stallion” a lot while Diana would repeatedly say “You like ittttt.” Wait, I do remember the conversation, and as always it was amazing, but definitely girl talk. Eventually, we decided to walk (at this point I was so drunk that I had to tell myself to not look drunk as I walked as I walked, which means I was stumbling) to our hostel where we planned to go to the Oceanarium the next day.

The next day, after a couple Excedrin and a liter of water, we sauntered to the Oceanarium, which is something that Diana both knew we had to see, but refused to admit at first. Turns out both of us have a love for creatures of the sea so we decided to go (and get pretty epicly lost getting there.) That’s where we met the villain of our trip… this asshole grouper. The whole time we were looking at the grand ocean tank trying to find this huge sunfish who kept lurking around the corners where we naturally couldn’t see it. Finally, we saw it coming around… it kept inching towards us, inching… and inching… until finally it came around the… OH GOD DAMMIT IT’S THAT STUPID GROUPER. What an asshole. And it sat there for like 20 minutes while we were awing at its nerve to sit right in the middle of the tank when it must have known we were waiting for that sunfish. So, bottom line, it’s still out there somewhere… or it’s not. We’re not really sure if it was actually a sunfish or that goddamn grouper. Either way, I’m making it a point to make grouper a staple of my diet.

And now…. on to part 2 of the entry… Porto and the return to Lisbon.

An Ode to Sloppy Duck

The shit has hit the fan here in Florence. I am updating from the trenches of bitch warfare. That’s right, it’s that inevitable time during every study abroad program – girl drama is in the air, and it is more potent than a Paris subway in July.

It all started on Wednesday with our trip to Central Park, a club where Americans and Italian midgets go to meet that special someone…. at least for a few hours. We decided to get our favorite sloppy duck dolled up to go out. After wandering around Florence for a few hours (or what seemed like it) we finally arrived and scoped out the dance floor. And then, I felt it. A hand suspiciously low on my waist. I looked around, thinking who is this gem of a man? But, no one was in sight. Was my mystery Cassanova camera shy? And then, I looked down only to find….. A MIDGET. He had to put his hand up to reach my waist. I couldn’t help it, I laughed, uttered a “You’ve got to be kidding me,” and ran as quickly as my DSW wedges would take me to the nearest bar.

Then, Lori and I went to check on our sloppy drunk…. things got too sloppy. After 5 Vodka Cranberries she decided it would be an EPIC idea to confess her love to Kerner, the Backstreet-Boy wannabe who was making out with sorostitute all night (of course in between her table dances and jumps to the floor to accost Lori for a choke hold picture). The face of sheer terror…. the stank face given by sorostitute became a perfect storm of emotions…. we knew we had to go, there would be a rumble. So we grabbed our own personal bodyguard Niccolo, who Lori worked diligently to get (who sloppy duck ultimately decided to sexually harass as he was CARRYING her out) and stole a taxi and GTFO of there.

After some amazing pyrotechnics Lori, Nikki, and I set off on our grand adventure via good old RyanAir, to Sicily. We finally decided to roadtrip it there instead of take the bus, which was the best best decision we could have made. It was such a great way to see the countryside. Anyways, I digress. We first arrive in Palermo at midnight. And let me tell you, Palermo is the hidden gem of Italy…. the mountains of trash, the hookers in wheelchairs…. The New Jersey of Italy. Right away, we were greeted by our host… the stoner backpacker Matt who showed us to our quaint B&B for the evening…. j/k j/k he took us to a hostel sausage fest. We walk into our room only to find our new roommate, asleep without sheets on, in his boxer briefs. It was quite the welcoming committee. After some assessment of the situation (and the value we place on not being sexually harassed, for the upteenth time since in Italy) we decided to switch hotels to the NH Hostel in Palermo where the hookers were there in their wheelchairs (built-in waiting rooms) to greet us outside. A goodnight’s sleep was had so that we could GTFO of Palermo in the morning to hit up Cefalu on the coast.

The next day we drove to Cefalu, a charming Byzantine beach town with a famous Duomo. Once again, I was told I was too skanky for the Duomo, so I threw on a mini skirt and tube top to make myself more appropriate for the Catholics. After that, we went to the coast to sunbathe (or sunburn for me) and got some Bacardi Breezers, which are apparently the patron drink of Italy. Around 3, we hit the road for Taormina… another adorable countryside town. We got there and knew what we had to see…. the Mueso Greco. Unfortunately, there was a film festival going on, showing the nice slightly known indie film, Toy Story 3. They told us that we weren’t allowed in the theater. Little did they know, there is a ginger, and two blondes (well kind of) in our group, which equals no rules, and police officers running after us offering us their free tickets. After catching some Toy Story 3 and eating some almond granite (by the way, most delicious thing I have EVER TASTED) we hit the road for Catania, the second hotel on our epic journey….. where we were greeted by…. DRUG ADDICT GYPSIES TRYING TO WASH OUR WINDOWS. Now unless they were washing our windows with their tears, we weren’t having it, so we turned right around and found another hotel for the night, where dreams of a real mattress danced in my head while sleeping on a box spring because there weren’t enough beds. The next day we set off for Ortygia Island and Mt. Etna.

Obviously, going to Mt. Etna gave me the opportunity to finer hone my acting skills. Throughout the drive, I reenacted Dante’s Peak. My acting has gone from Showgirls-worthy to kindergarden-play worthy. At least three steps up. The lava rocks driving up were so awesome, and we got in a cable car and saw the view from the top, and some asshole hikers trying to one up our fat asses riding up in a cable car. Show-offs. Anyways, Mt. Etna was amazing and one of the coolest things any of us (I think I can speak for the group) have seen. The volcano is still active with a lot of TECHTONIC ACTIVITYYYYY so I’m sure there are many town hall meetings to deal with it (this is a random reference to an inside joke, if you’re not laughing and wondering why you should care, that’s why).

Anyways, that night we drove into Ortygia Island and got to our cozy little B&B where we were left alone with access to a computer for free and only one other sweet South African woman traveling on her own. We got some awesome Shellfish and Pizza and wandered around and found a nice jazz bar for a night cap. That’s when we met them…. THE MOBSTERS… complete with purses—- excuse me, I mean satchels. Originally there were two. So many places to go with this story, so little ways to express them. I was sitting in the middle, so I got to hear both of them present their “game” or “screening process for roofies.” At first, one messed up a little bit, but don’t worry, it didn’t throw him off his game. He made sure to tell me that the beer that was spilled on him was no “pee-pee.” Oh, okay, good thing. Usually bladder control is a must for me, so I’m glad we can still proceed with this awkward bar mating ritual. Good save. Next, a conversational lesson. One asked Nikki and I if we knew what Miami meant in Italian (apparently it means “You love me,” ahahahahaha so clever, see what they did there?) Then, literally 30 seconds later the other one said the same thing to Lori and I. My response was simply, “Oh, yeah your friend just stole your line.” Later on we got to meet the “oldest and wisest Godfather— I mean lawyer” in Sicily. Don’t worry we didn’t have to kiss his ring. After Nikki finally finished nursing her Godmother (coincidence?) drink we GTFO of there hoping to not end up with the fishies later.

We survived the night. The next day we took the drive to the Valley of the Temples, where after a lot of cannoli, a pack of 20 chicken McNuggets and donuts done in roundabouts – we made it. The ruins were amazing. Apparently Sicily was like the New York City of Greek times, so some of the most amazing and well-preserved ruins are around Syracuse and other places in Sicily. I recommend that everyone goes. We only got an hour there though, so we did the speedwalk through to make our plane back from Garden City— I mean Palermo.

Then we arrived in Pisa around midnight. Got a taxi to find our B&B only to find – NO ONE THERE. So, the obvious choice was for me to flag down the nearest bodybuilder German and Albanian DJ to take us to the nearest hotel. After listening to some Du Hast Mich in the car, and some near cries on steps to the thought of our possible homeless camping, we found a cute B&B mixed with a bar and stayed out last night. The next day Lori and I got to see the Leaning Tower along with about half of Korea and got to Florence in time for fashion week…. oh yeah and class.

No Ho Gives It Away For Free: A Memoir

Mullets Counted: 35 (including one romance novelesque one on the bus)

Guidos: At this point it’s easier for me to just try and follow my Civil Procedure professor. P.S. What the hell is he rambling about now… blah blah blah forum non convenience?

Weight Gain: Jerry Springer and the crane are due at the Archi Rossi when I get out of class.

Miss Jay Quotes: “No Ho gives it away for free.” “That girl is tiny, I feel fat.” (In response to the professor giving advice (jokingly) to not get together with a guy who doesn’t pay child support) “MMMMM HMMMM.” Basically I want to kidnap Miss Jay and keep her with me always in my pocket for my own comedic relief… It would just have to be some really big cargo pockets, maybe a burlap sack will do. Yesterday she had her hair like a cocktaoo so it was blocking her EPIC computer conversations that I inevitably read and have no shame about doing. LITERALLY, who can talk about jurisdiction and then go back to arguing with your man about being a sugar daddy? I admire and fear this woman. Unfortunately she hates me so I can’t follow in her footsteps. She’s like the Machievelli of law school… or RuPaul. Tomato, tomatoe.

So, so much to update on. Where to start? Oh okay fine, I’ll start on the World Gelato Festival Cup of 2010. Lori, Nikki, and I all came up with the grand plan to make this into a sporting event and to take any measures necessary to ensure that we try all the gelato possible. So, naturally I got ridiculous. Even Guidos make fun of me, and you know when you’re getting made fun of by some gypsy with a slicked back mullet wearing plaid man capris that you have really outdone yourself. I decided that it would be necessary for me to sport some pigtails, running gear, and clapper hands to rally my team together. We got our cheap mini bottles of Prosecco and knew what we had to do — and by that I mean run around the streets of Florence making the most noise possible. We got 10 tastings and started right away…. but couldn’t find the good stands! Luckily Lori took the role as chief navigator so ultimately on Sunday we were able to fulfill our destiny. We definitely are champions. Picture 4 women running in athletic gear set to Chariots of Fire to get their ice cream… it’s the ultimate pilgrimage for the ladies.

The next day we got to sleep in (j/k j/k we had to wake up at 6:00am) and got on a bus full of sorostitutes and Miss Jay (P.S. I love you) to go to the medieval town of Sienna. We went to the Duomo, which was amazingly gorgeous, where I was too slutty to enter because my collar bone was showing, so they made me wear a paper robe through the whole thing, which basically made me look like a member of the KKK. Finally after listening to some 40-year old lady dictate to us where to go (P.S. just because you’re 40 and in law school doesn’t automatically make you a honorary professor), Nikki, Lori, and I took the “less annoying route” (as I like to call it) to get to the restaurant where DeLuca bought us all lunch, and Nikki had an unfortunate incident with some glasses. And that lunch, finally, brought me together with the sorostitutes. The moment that I’ve been waiting for since I first heard about their drunken hook ups in class. My plan is to infiltrate their group one by one. First, I obviously went for the “nerve center” that’s right… the girl with the Lilly Pullitzer dress and Kentucky Derby hat. (This isn’t even a joke, which is either the best part or the worst, I can’t decide which). Unfortunately, the conversation that I had with her was so unimportant and probably about make up and some hot Italian dude that she hooked up with that I can’t even remember it. The important thing is… I’M IN! I look forward to attending her wedding and singing “Sisters Are The Chains.”

Then, Lori, Nikki, and I decided to take a “break” from our new friends (or should I say, a break for a really strong drink) to find some gelato in Sienna. Good news, we found some. Bad news, we lost our group and were 20 minutes late to catch the bus. Needless to say, Miss Jay was not happy with “those dumb white bitches” from FIU and has ignored me ever since. I’m thinking about buying her something to straighten her weave (really just so I can continue reading her conversations) so I can smooth things out between us. I really miss her friendship. Such good times were had. Those dirty looks, the safety pins, her calling me a dumb bitch to Lisa. Just doesn’t happen every day. So, all was smoothed over with the professors and we went on with our bus ride listening to sorostitutes serenade me with some N*Sync and Backstreet Boys. They have such originality and talent with the 90s ballads they choose.

Then, the next leg of our journey led us to San Giamongo, a tiny town in the countryside with the World Champion of Gelato residing there. Lori and I naturally tag teamed up with the professor to find this place. All the flavors were delicious, but the one that you wouldn’t think would be amazing but definitely is the best one I have ever tasted is Gorgonzola with Walnuts mixed with Pear. It tastes just like them together in a salad and you can even taste the consistency of the Pear. So, so so good. Then we climbed up the tower and got some pretty awesome views of the countryside, with an unfortunate casualty RIP Lori’s underwater camera. Finally, we went back home and were some dead that we literally got a Doner Kebab and went to sleep.

On Sunday we had signed up for a bike tour of Tuscany to tour vineyards. First, the positive: Tuscany is gorgeous and the bike ride was really fun and the tour guides were awesome and pretty laid back (and someone that I know’s new victims, sorry I mean interests). Now, the negatives: Triathletes were in our group so I was breathing like James Gandolfini for the majority of the day, and we only toured one winery! If I am going to get my tolerance up for 22% ALV Portugal, then I’m going to need to up my tolerance. And now for the EPIC: Lisa may or may not have told Lori and I that she COULD NOT ride a bike before our BIKE TOUR through the hills of Tuscany. Long story short, she ran into a wall .5 seconds after getting onto the bike and spent 70 Euros to ride in a really sweet van talking about Amanda Knox. Then, they gave her another try in the grass after we had some lunch. Nope, maybe a second later she fell into a tree. So, Lisa is relegated to the van permanently. I felt bad, and so did Lori, even though we all just eventually laughed it but really, who thinks to themselves, “Hey, I’ve never ridden a bike, maybe a great time to learn would be mountain biking in Tuscany? That would be a GREAT and ECONOMICAL idea!” Lori and I met some great quality people and by that I mean FRAT STARS. Fist pumps, chest pumps, and gorilla chants were seen and heard whenever one did something epic and “Sweet, bro!” Don’t worry I made sure to get video of their epic team circle where they pumped each other up after making up that “Sweet hill, brah!” Later that night, Lori and I’s butts really really hurt from those seats so we just dominated a little more at the Gelato Festival and went home.

Anyways, this weekend we’re off to Rome and Capri! I’m sure there will be much to update on.

2 notes

Theme: Cavalcade

Insight into Advocacy Skillzzz

me: yeah i dobut that doesn’t mean i’m not good at itthat’s what MAKES me so good at it

adri: true

me: because when you care too much and start flying off the handle people just want you to STFU but when i make my comments i have the realization that that governing board wants to GTFO asap, because i also want the same thing

9 months ago

Portugal, Not As Creepy As Italy, Part II — I Cheated on Vino Verde with Port Wine

So, we ended up taking the evening train along with some delicious cheese sandwiches (that lady hooked it up!) and finally arrived in Porto later that evening. The next day we decided to finally have a beach day which ended up being a cold and rainy beach day (yet I still managed to get sunburnt?). Don’t worry though, we found plenty of Vino Verde to sooth the pain. Later that night was the St. John’s Festival which is one of the craziest festivals in Europe. We started off our night by going to this crazy party at the hostel. There was even a FB event that Diana was invited to. They promised us only the best grilled sardines, potatoes, and kale soup, and plenty of fun with other travelers. What we got was…. isolation. It turns out that the backpackers in Portugal aren’t necessarily interested (like the token hostel guy in Naples) in getting wasted and sharing crazy backpacker stories while listening to The Beatles or writing poetry with fellow travelers. They are actually interested in sticking with their group. So really Diana and I had a lot in common with them. If anyone knows about our wonderful stint with the Navigators, they know what I mean. I don’t even know who my Navigatee wasn’t it some girl named Nestle or something? Anyway, no matter, clearly you can see how social we were in that group, definitely considering we were really excited when we thought we got the hotel room to ourselves where we peered out into the hallways whispering “Get off our stoop!” to all the foreigners/Americans. Whatever, the jig is up, I just joined that club to get on Santo’s list every week and go to the social events, aka ladies’ night. Eventually, the socialization without social lubricant proved too much for us, so we decided to venture into the city with our newly purchased toy hammers in hand. The tradition is that on the St. John’s Festival you buy plastic hammers to bop people in the head that you want to wish good luck – haha, or let’s be serious it’s just an inventive way for Portuguese men to pick up women. Diana and I would only bop 5 year olds in the head, and only after they did it to us. I mean my mother did teach me to never make the first move. I’m a lady!

Porto was insane that night, it seemed like everyone was out in the streets. They had a free concert in the town center where the resident celebrity Mr. Clean (because he was bald, see what I did there?) performed some Portuguese tunes that apparently only the two of us and an older gentleman in front of us enjoyed. Neither of us could understand what was being said but some words resembled “roofie” and “stripper.” I’m guessing this guy is Italian. Afterwards, we decided to catch the fireworks from our room…. our room had one of the best views of the city and we were able to see all the fireworks from the roof. So amazing. The next morning we decided to go into some cathedrals and check out the river Duoro. Unfortunately we didn’t realize…. the Portuguese like to search for excuses to close things. So, the whole city was basically shut down except for the river, which had a bunch of cool boat races going on. So, we took one of the double decker bus tours and saw all around the city (and listened to a lot of classic Portuguese music… on repeat… for hours.) Then we got to the River Duoro and decided to take a wine tour of one of wineries. Unfortunately I had too many stolen embraces of Vino Verde, Port Wine never stood a chance. Diana and I knew that we would never test our love for Vino Verde again. But Port Wine is definitely worth a try, I knew I had to, any true wino just knows that it is his or her destiny to try the strongest wine out there… 22% ALV on average. I had been prepping for that moment all through my Italy trip, but it turned out my feelings towards Port Wine was lukewarm, which made for a rather anticlimatic meeting. It was like a terrible, terrible blind date. Later that night we had the saltiest ham on earth (but never too salty for Mario) and then went to bed, knowing that we had to get day drunk the next day to watch the World Cup. Hey, it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.

The next day we got to see the Cathedral Se and found a bridge that overlooked the River Duoro. There we met another adversary…. SEAGULLS PROTECTING THEIR YOUNG. As we were walking, we noticed some seagulls acting unusually hostile towards us. Then, they kept flocking over our heads, I knew some shit (pun intended) was about to go down. So we ran as fast as we could down the medevil steps to try and find another cathedral that I wanted to see with a golden Renaissance altar. Unfortunately, the Portuguese believe in 3 ½ hour naps, so that just wasn’t happening, unless I wanted to miss my chance to yet again find an excuse to booze it up with the Portuguese on a “national holiday.” So, I ended up seeing the altar… on Google Image search. It was really nice, everyone should check it out (including me at a time when the Portuguese decide not to sleep, it will be difficult finding a time that that happens though.) So, we ended up wandering around Porto and finally found our way back to the River Duoro to get ignored by waiters and some more Sangria for the World Cup game oppressed/oppressor showdown between Portugal and Brazil. We were sandwiched between some bitchy American girl who wouldn’t give her footstand chair up to any poor soul sitting on the ground (hey, what’s up entitlement?) and some evil Germans who were sitting next to her, plotting world domination, or how best to sleep with the entitled American. Pipes were involved. Also, to our front, there was some Brazilian MySpace pose masters who never failed to come up with a new way to show flex their muscles in new, innovative ways for photos. The game was awesome and so exciting, it ended up being a tie, and then we ventured back to the train station to catch an evening ride back into Lisbon.

Bacardi Breezers, State Drink of Italy, a EuroTrip Finale

Mullets Counted: I’m going to be honest, I lost count in Sicily after the mobster encounter.

Weight Gained: I was wearing a baseball hat and someone thought I was Michael Moore.

It has been a week since I have returned from Eurotrip 2010. And ohhhhhh what a last week it was. The majority of our time was spent studying for finals, because it turns out that we were supposed to pay attention in classes, so unfortunately most of the stories from the week includes sitting in our rooms Gchatting each other our assignments for how we could best cover 3 classes in a night of studying, which mostly just ended up with me playing ABBA in the room while everyone was studying, and someone spitting phlegm all over the streets as we walked. So, I will basically skip to the good stuff, the final banquet, our illegal trip to the Santa Croce, Portugal, and my epic flight home.

After our exams, which turned out to be just a way for me to most creatively make up answers, we decided to get dolled up and go to the final banquet for some free food, even though the drink situation was questionable. This created a crisis, we knew that we were dealing with stank face, sorostitutes, AND law school Backstreet Boys, so we knew we had to get copious amounts of alcohol, and fast. But how? Then, Lori had an epiphany. She and I would run to the liquor store across the street and buy some refreshing Bacardi Breezers to help us interact with straight faces. However, there was a flaw in our plan, the taxi came literally as we were buying and opening our Breezers. The crisis happened in slow motion, how would we hide our Bacardi Breezers from the cab driver, with me sitting in the front? Luckily, sober minds were among us, and Nikki quickly saved the day and grabbed my deliciously refreshing Ruby Grapefruit (and didn’t drink an ounce!) for our ride up to the villa.

However, it turns out that our informant was wrong, and that there was an open bar at the villa, along with all the law professors and their wives. Another crisis came upon us as we waltzed into the formal banquet with wine coolers, how can we look classy to professors AND still enjoy our deliciously refreshing Bacardi Breezers. And that’s when we saw it…. BUSHES, and stable gravel. So, we hid our full Bacardi Breezers for us to drink at a safer time. But, our plan had a flaw in it, the thieving Lebanese gypsy from our program had not yet arrived. From Lisa’s stories about her and hostel payments, we knew she was prone to thieving. Upon realizing this we looked up to find… THE GYPSY ARRIVING (and looking like a hooker). We saw her look at the ground, we knew what was going to go down, she had seen our precious Bacardi Breezers on the gravel. I was ready to throw down. No one takes my Bacardi Breezer (especially Ruby Grapefruit Bacardi Breezer) and gets away with it. However, after longingly looking at the Breezers, for at least 20 seconds, she looked up and stumbled away in her 8 inch hooker shoes. I think she might have seen my stank face (which can easily probably be confused with an awkward state of panic) on my face and knew the perfect storm of emotions that would lead to an FIU rumble if she took those Breezers.

Finally, Lori and I decided to pour our Breezers in our champagne glasses (literally, why didn’t we think of this before?) and headed off to dinner inside, where we got placed with…. FARARI JEFF AND 40-YEAR OLD KNOW IT ALL…. and guidos. It turns out 40-year all know it all does indeed… know it all. A greaser (sorry, GUIDO) showed up Benadrylled up (I mean come on, allergies are a bitch) and Lori asked what kind of allergy medicine he was on (since of course, Lori has had a never ending war with allergies (not hers, Sloppy Duck’s) since she’s been in Italy). To this, 40-year old know-it-all responded “HE’S NOT ON ANYTHING, HE’S JUST BEEN DRINKING, I KNOW…. I USED TO BE A PHARMACIST!!” So, literally, she does know it all. Don’t question her, she’s done it.

Then, we went into some obligatory bonding time with the Benadrylled up guidos. At one point they were guessing our nationalities, and one guessed that I was Armenian, and if anyone has every seen me before in my life, this doesn’t even need a joke tagged to it, it is a joke in itself. Eventually we decided that being social was a little too much for us so we headed off to Space for some good old long awaited karaoke action. The crowd at Space was dead, and filled with 14-year old middle schoolers. I felt like I was at the Oviedo Mall waiting to be picked up by my mom again. I knew what needed to be done. I got on stage and started singing “Red, Red Wine.” Even though my performance was spot-on, it was a bust. But why? What would bring these middle schoolers out to dance, and not just Lori? Then, I had an epiphany… I SHOULD SING A SONG THAT NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD PICK, IRONY, DUH! So, my obvious choice was Spice Girls, because that’s what all girls sing when a) they’re on a girl’s night, or b) right before they drunk dial the boy that just broke up with them the night before. And that brought the girls to the yard. All of a sudden there were 15-year olds gathered, singing along, making sure all those pre-pubescent boys knew that if they wanted to be her playground lover, he definitely had to get with her friends, because as everyone knows, middle school friendships, last forever.

Later, we decided to GTFO out of the 8th grade dance and go to Central Park to find the guidos. Unfortunately….. FERRARI JEFF AND 40-YEAR OLD KNOW IT ALL followed us (and shared a painful cab ride) there. When we got there, the club was packed, with local Italian men, so we knew danger was afoot. To ditch 40-year old know-it-all and Ferrari Jeff we decided to brave the dance floor. Sexual harassment had to be better than sitting through another conversation with those two. Turns out…. it was equally as painful. That’s when we knew, our trip was over. No longer was a random guido running his hands all over my arms and calling me Bella amusing. It was like flourescent lighting. You do your make-up in the natural light and think you look all hot, and then you like at yourself at school and wonder how you could possibly look like that after 2 hours — that was like the realization that Lori and I had at Central Park — the natural lighting was the guidos calling us Bella, the flourescent lighting was us seeing them say the EXACT SAME THING to the girls right behind us. WTF. I thought we were special! At that point, we knew, it was over. It was time for us to go sleep in our twin bunk beds and take a long, hot pressure-less shower in the morning to wash off the guido stank.

The next day we wanted to catch up on some last minute site seeing. After lounging in bed in the rain for a good 75% of the day we ran off to the Santa Croce, our last site on the list in Florence. We got there, and it turns out…. THE ITALIAN WEBSITE GAVE US THE WRONG INFORMATION AND THE CHURCH CLOSES AT 5! So, naturally, being Americans (and having the secret weapon, a red head, with us) we were able to get into the church, just to see Michaelangelo and a couple other’s tombs, which basically translates to us as private English-spoken tour guide (a security guard) leading us around the whole Santa Croce and not making us stop with the two original tombs. Haha, Italy, you fail yet again to enforce any kind of rules on girls whatsoever. Later that night we had a fabulous goodbye dinner at Aqua Al 2 (also in NYC and DC!) and headed off to home, where I caught my flight to Lisbon in the morning.

Goodbye Italy! I will [not really] miss your blatant sexual harassment and guidos! But I will miss your food, and wine.

Can I Get Some Fries in My Doner?

Mullets counted: 50

Weight gained: I will have my own TLC special filmed soon

Missions accomplished: 0…. does anyone have 15 euros I could borrow for a worthy cause?

Camera casualties: 4

It has been a week since I updated and ohhhhh, what a week it has been. On Wednesday we shuffled the sorostitutes and Miss Jay (complete with some delicious Pringles) onto the bus for the 3-hour trek to Rome. After we got some great views of “castles” and some beautiful Roman pines, we were finally dropped off in a really safe convenient spot. J/k j/k, we were dropped off in the Mecca of gypsies…. THE TRAIN STATION (duh, duh duh!). Right when we got there, there they were…. the gypsies. Sizing up our fanny picks and desirably licking their lips…. you’d think my computer case was some sorostitute at a keg party. Finally after the meat market at the Rome Terminal, we found our hostel… the “Hostel Beautiful,” which I think should change it’s name to “Filming Location for How To Catch a Predator.” Right when we got there, we were informed that the internet recently got taken away from the hostel because someone was doing the “illegal things.” I automatically responded with “Delightful!” Because that’s the only way I can think of responding to knowing that I may end up in human trafficking. Lori decided to brave it and was led down many strange hallways with lights that only operated by censor (so pitch black hallways) with strange Pakastani men…. then she decided that she had had enough and came to get us. Finally we got to our room for some rest and then we found it. AIR CONDITIONING…. along with two strategically placed holes in the ceiling. Since I have seen Eastern Promises and Taken with Liam Neeson (by the way, I hope if I am ever trafficked that my dad is half the bad-ass that Liam Neeson was…. “If you don’t give up my daughter, I have a particular set of skills, skills that have been developed over many years, and I will find you, and I will kill you.” And basically he found them and kicked ass and didn’t even bother to take names because he is Liam Neeson for God’s sakes. I think if you know that you are dealing with a) Russell Crowe, b) Bruce Willis, c) Denzel Washington, d) Morgan Freeman, or e) Liam Neeson, you might want to reconsider your kidnapping plot, because that shit will get real. Maybe you should all just see it. ) So we all decided that we don’t play that and put our cheerleading experience to work (Go Jackson Heights Middle School Bobcats!) and did cheer stunts and got Nikki to put some toilet paper and filled up the holes. So, sorry everyone I won’t be appearing on Dateline or some Diane Sawyer special.

The next day we got up at 6AM to go to UNIDROIT for class (I’m coming up with a theory that whoever made our schedule was on speed or acid) and had to sit through some guest speakers and all that. Then, we ventured to the nearest cafe with chocolate croissants and some parma ham sandwiches. Next thing you know, I felt a tug. I figured it was Miss Jay trying to get to the chicken, but no, it was a…. duh, duh, duh… GYPSY trying to tug on my bag. First of all, what an idiot. Way to make it obvious. Second of all, what an idiot to think I was that dumb to put a wallet in my backpack pocket in ROME. Has this gypsy no experience. Didn’t she see “Hunchback of Notre Dame” or “Aladdin?” I mean really, this should be a pre-req for all those wanting to be a thieving gypsy. However, Miss Jay came to my rescue and screamed at the lady. So, now we’re totally good again, even though she already told Lori that they were best friends. It has caused a lot of problems for Lori and I. God, what a bitch. Naturally, I was pissed off that someone actually thought I was that stupid (and still offended that Miss Jay chose Lori over me), not even that someone tried to rob me, so I decided to take preventative measures. That’s right, I wrote an angry note to any gypsy who tried to rob me in the future referencing Borat. I will leave out the text for language purposes (I mean, hello I think Sean reads this, I don’t want to hurt his princess ears) but basically the gyst of it was for the gypsy to give up what we all really want…. his or her tears.

After my therapeutic creative writing we ventured to the Colleseum only to find a… duh… duh…. duh!!! chauvinist Italian tour guide. I think this guy literally, to make his act, watched Bob Saget stand-up and Everybody Loves Raymond (and mixed them all together) and wrote every obvious “women are always on their periods and are skanks” jokes that he could think of. Nonetheless, the Colleseum and all the Roman ruins surrounding it on the Palantine Hill were amazing and something that not even a guy with some of the most obvious jokes could ruin.

Then, the real fun begins…. Thursday night. I’m writing from a slightly altered memory, so please, please forgive me if I’m wrong. We started off at this really delicious Italian restaurant, ordered about 5 liters of wine (so basically 8 bottles of wine) and proceeded to annoy the people surrounding us, and for some of us really excite the wait staff. Then we proceeded to some other bars where I waned on and on about Civil Rights and asked some guy with aviators “How Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was” and finally, safely, somehow, ended up back to the “Hostel Date Rape” safely tucked into our beds, with no indication of the morning we were about to have. I’ll just skip over that.

The next day we had The Vatican with our plan, so we decided to take some Excedrin, dress up, and get right with God after our own version of The Hangover from the night before. The Vatican was beautiful, and so was the Sistine Chapel, even though they are worse teases than Britney Spears when she claimed she was a “virgin” when it comes to getting there. Everywhere you look, there is a sign to go to the Sistine Chapel, with no Sistine Chapel in sight for at least 20 minutes. And St. Peter’s Basilica was breathtaking even though I was apparently too skanky to enter (again). Geez, I really had no idea I was so skanky, but that is a reoccuring theme of my trip. “Your dress is too short, here put on this KKK robe and get right with God.”

Then, we got to see the Pantheon (eep!) and the Spanish Steps and headed off with the FIU boys to a couple bars for some drinks, which is where I came up with my top secret mission which is inevitably going to cost me at least 50 euros to invest in, what with the Limoncello, the clothes, the hair, the transportation, and bribe, etc. etc. But, I am not a quitter and must follow through… and will. You’ll see!

Then, the next day we went to go see Pompeii and finally got to Capri. Pompeii was beautiful and amazing to envision back in the day, and it was even amazing that those structures still exist in any form, but the roads kind of reminded me of Miami (invest in infrastructure!!!) and then we ended up in Naples…. the shit of Italy. When we got into a taxi to get to a ferry we had guidos surrounding us in our taxi (which is a reason why I didn’t include them in the count, it was like a guido convention) and just general nastiness and gypsies. However, that was a small sacrifice for Capri, which is the most gorgeous place I’ve ever been too with jewel blue water. The hotel and everything was just gorgeous. Then, we decided to try and find some good old fashioned seafood and went to Bucca Di Beppo, j/k j/k but there was something else I don’t remember after Bucca and I got delicious Seafood Risotto, but for a price a little more than we all bargained for. Nikki and Lori both ordered fish that they figured would be amazingly cheap, but it turns out the conversion between the US and the metric system is a communication barrier that cannot be overcome at Bucca which ended in a muttered “F*** you” by our waiter and a ridiculously expensive initial tab.

We didn’t let that phase us. The next day, after reciting to ourselves that old sticks and stones phrase we finally got to see the Blue Grotto, where guidos take you in a rowboat and sometimes burst into song, to see the jewel blue water. It’s the way the light reflects on the sand. If any of you have a chance to see it, please do it is beautiful and one of my favorite things now. Then we had a wine and appetizer hop, got SANGRIA SLUSHIES (7-Eleven please consider), some chocolate “samples”, and then finally headed back home to Tijuana, (did I say that, I mean Naples). While we were there, we met the most obvious backpackers ever. When I picture hostel living I picture these people. They were all sitting on bean bags, sipping on their PBR, trying to meet new people by saying “Hey! We’re getting wasted tonight, and YOU’RE INVITED!!!” while listening to none other than every backpacker’s inspirational band (at least for going to Amsterdam) THE BEATLES.

Yesterday, we finally got back to Florence and it feels so so good to be back. Tonight we found a karaoke bar for me to bust out some BSB and Enrique Inglesias on your ass, and then Sicily this weekend, where the ice from the first gelato is found (which is the Holy Grail for Lori). So exciting!

http://www.metacafe.com/watch/yt-Lu-Ys0Fdy4E/the_bachelor_part_10/

The Land of Lady Porn: A Memoir

Mullet Count: 16 (including an American)

Guido Count: At this point, it’s easier for me to count my Euros in a timely fashion.

Weight Gain: Does anyone know the mom from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?

It’s been a couple days since my last update of my tour de tastebuds in Florence, Italy… Where do I begin… The food (again) oh man the food… There’s this little neighborhood restaurant right near where we live which is to die for… it’s so cheap, but best lasagna ever (and anyone who knows me at all knows that I love to perfect my lasagna). It’ll never get to that level. The noodles just melt in your mouth and it’s just so delicious, and even the slightly stale bread they give you before you eat is better than most bread that I’ve ever had. Hello, carbohydrates! I eat enough carbohydrates in a day for a person of Shaq-like proportions. This weekend, the real killer is coming up, the GELATO FESTIVALLLLLLLLL. I am imaging thousands of women running about the streets shoving each other out of the way for the tiniest taste of Hazelnut gelato. This is literally the pilgrimage for women (much like going to Paula Deen’s restaurant in Savannah, there’s always old middle aged women lining out the door, oh yeah, and me). In fact, I have a visual. Imagine it like in the 2000 movie, The Bachelor starring the one and only Robin from Batman and Robin Chris O’Donnel (for those of you not privileged enough to have seen it, seriously, you’ll survive in the world somehow, I recommend you skip to :50, and watch as little of it as you can to get the gist of what I’m picturing in my head for the Gelato festival, it is that bad):

I haven’t had as much time as I would like to explore the city. This morning our class took us on a tour of City Hall with beautiful frescos and a self portrait in a statue by Michaelangelo. I feel like Michaelangelo was the first Mel Gibson or Russell Crowe, if he got pissed off and he was alive today he’d be throwing phones at bartenders or yelling obscenities at cops… but back then the equivalent was pissing off the Medici family by imposing a self-portrait into a sculpture. CLASSIC. I saw Machievelli’s office (whom I fear, not love, see what I did there?) and the first globe of the world thrown into the Medici family CLOSET. We had an Italian tour guide (did I say Italian? What I meant was KING of the stereotypical Italians) and he had a little landing strip as a mustache and one for his little goatee. As soon as I saw him and our director embrace, I knew that I was witnessing a bromance that has lasted the ages, and I also wondered how he felt about starring in the Pink Panther, especially because it did so poorly in theaters.

Now I guess it is probably useful to mention something about class (P.S. I’m in class now, what is this lady talking about??) I think it’s a crime that I am in class from 12:30PM to 4:30PM. Way to take away half my day to explore things. It’s such beautiful weather in Florence but nope I’m stuck sitting in class listening to Miss Jay (Lori and I call her Miss Jay because she wears an obscene amount of make up for the daytime) complain on and on about class. Yesterday she had a blowout with the other half of the class and yelled at them that at least she does the reading, and “pun intended.” First of all, wrong use of the word pun, get your sarcasm right, and second of all your face is literally melting, is it heavy carrying all that make up to class? I really get overly angry when people say “Pun intended,” and there was no pun to intend. I mean you are in law school, you should really work on being an asshole in the correct way. It is your career on the line, here.

Onto the room situation, where do I begin? Living with 4 girls in one room and one bathroom with no bathroom rug, no AC, one computer and no mattress pad? One answer: LIVING THE DREAM! Lori was our first casualty of the War Against Mosquitos and I have a feeling there will be many more in our very near future.

But they are taking us to Sienna (this medieval town) so I’m really really looking forward to that. I can’t wait to see all the historic stuff. And Rome next weekend!!! And then we decided to take a 3-day trip to Sicily and side trips to Capri! Blue Grotto! Seafood (and inevitable food poisoning)! So exciting! And then….

PORTUGALLLLLLLLLL

2 years ago