right as rain

I write a lot when it’s raining.

It is just something I do – along with writing in coffee shops, about the coffee shops, while it’s raining.

No, this post is not being written at coffee shop, but it is raining.

So yes, it kind of fits in the theme.

I am sitting in my bed.

For those of you who have just caught on to this sensation, or for those of you who forgot, my bed is located underneath some else (it’s a bunk bed. I’m not literally sleeping underneath someone’s bed) and that bed also occupies a room with three other beds. I am the only one awake, which is a surprise because usually computer screens light up the small corners of the room way passed this hour.

It’s raining outside, rather hard actually. I can tell by the blur of the orange light on the building across the road and can hear the deep sloshing of fast paced vehicles on the busy streets. I wish I could throw all the windows open and write this while sitting in the middle of the room with the only light being the criss cross stripes of light from the windows on the walls.

My roommates do not believe in fresh air.

They also do not believe in opened blinds passed five o clock.

I think I write when it’s raining because the rain makes me nostalgic. It doesn’t make me sad.

 It makes me remember.

Remember the good times, the rough patches, the moments I wouldn’t change anything, the times I wish would have gone differently. This nostalgic feeling makes me feel like I need to share something. I don’t really want to share those memories though. So I come here, to this public domain, and describe in detail the objects around me. (We all remember the coffee garden posts where I pick apart the tastes, the smells, and the sites. Or how about me sitting at the dining room table talking about the lights and how bright they are against my parent’s studious faces.)

Posts like these are not really for you.

They are not informative about my life or the latest tunes those cool kids are listening to these days.

Posts like these are really for me.

They are something that the minute I start to write, usually introducing it with a poorly executed introduction, I cannot stop. My fingers constantly clicking keys, pressing onward quickly, not thinking about what I am going to write next, just writing down the thoughts as they present themselves no matter what shape or form.

My spelling is even more atrocious in these posts than usual. The page of text, first written in Word Document, is lined with red and green squiggles under misspelled words and unorganized thoughts. As my spelling gets worse, my vocabulary heightens and I randomly through in words like “executed” and “atrocious,” These thesauruses like words are often used wrong, kind of like my speech when I am nervous or not thinking before speaking.

It takes longer to spell check the document than to actually write it.

There is no music playing, no headphones on, no bar’s stereo turned up to loudly, but yet a song is tuning through my ears. It’s not a particular artist, chorus or key, but a combination of the rain, the street side laughter, and the quick click of the keys.

I hope my music isn’t disturbing my roommates.

I think this post that was originally brought on by the rain, which brought on the nostalgia, was also brought on by the idea that I will not be home for thanksgiving.

In Italy, I didn’t really notice that I missed it.

Yes, I took in the fact that my entire family was joining together to eat and laugh and unbutton their pants secretly at the table. But I was in a country who didn’t know what the holiday was and the time difference made the at home celebration seem like something that happened while I was sleeping and I just missed it.

That I just didn’t wake up in time.  

Not here. Here I see everything. Plans about where everyone is going and whom they are spending it with. I understand the reasons for me not going home – I don’t have a break from school and it isn’t worth it. But I still feel a bit homesick. I miss the company and warmth my family contributes. Even Skype sometimes can radiate their heat just by seeing their smiles.

Rain is my favorite weather. It is cleansing, simple, illuminating, and crisp. It is new. It is familiar.

I like to write when it’s raining. To me, it is inspiring.

Goodnight/Good Morning.

Have a wonderful Sunday.

I miss you.

Xo 

i think i have gotten more inspirational and sappy over here.

Well well well. What a beautiful saturday in this lovely city today has turned out to be. I woke up naturally, took a shower, wore comfortable yet chic clothes, and walked down to the bay with my roomies (and across the hall homies.) I have not laughed so hard in a very long time. Dinner was delicious. We just finished the watching "It is kind of a funny story" which was adorable. I took a few photos while we were down at Pier 14, posted below. 

I love the buildings. they are simply inspiring. also, every time I look up while walking down a big city street I instantly hear "sweet disposition" by the Temper Trap. (For those of you who don't know, that song is practically the theme song for my favorite movie "500 Days of Summer" and is first introduced when the leading male is talking about architecture.) 

At the street fair. This man was making a ring. 

Above is a very talented charcoal artist. I love the characters this city has to provide. 

Roommates. Are they not beautiful? On the left is Savannah and Phoebe next to her. Below is Kayleigh. 

This is the bay bridge. Beautiful sail boats passed our way. 

(Yes, the carried beautiful sailor boys too, but my lens did not capture their beauty fast enough because I was too busy picking my jaw up off the dock.)

Meet Paisley. 

See lives across the hall from me. She is simply stylish and a class act with a non stop laughable humor. 

Also, her favorite book is Perks of Being a Wallflower, which gives her many extra points because that is also my favorite book.

I think this guy had a really hard night last night, or maybe even morning. He looked like he stepped on the dock to sort out lives problems and his only companion was a cigarette. 

He looked like he had a story to tell. 

Part of me wishes I had asked what it was. 

The dock lines. Nothing like symmetry right after lunch. 

Cute cute Phoebe. 

No matter how old you get, you still believe you can fly. 

Savannah throwing her arms in the air and the chair spud her around. 

This is exactly how our day was, carefree happiness. 

Sometimes, like all the time, I cannot believe that I actually live here and have the opportunities I do. 

the sleeping beauties of this city. 

This young boy, maybe ten years of age, carried the soul of a sixty year old jazz player. He tapped his foot to a rhythm, while his lips pursed against a black taped trumpet. 

I hope he makes it far. I would pay to see him perform. 

And finally: the ladies. 

Today was just simply sweet. Filled with good times and good people. 

My horoscope was right, things are looking up and I do have so much to be thankful for. 

xoxo

Happy Late Thanksgiving!

Being in Italy celebrating an only American holiday is quite the sensation. First off, you do not get school off, in fact, you even have an extra class. Thursday we had a rescheduled cinema class in the morning, followed by film photography in the afternoon. Other than not having school off, I actually had to prepare Thanksgiving dinner. The three of us did a splendid job at that. Our menu included frosted tap water and delicious local red wine from our friends around the corner. Then we started off with an appetizer of fresh pink lady apples, swelled with orange juice. The main course included The Rachel-Grandma Shaw famous stuffing, hand mashed with a fork and arm muscles potatoes (by yours truly,) hot rolls, and of course, a turkey breast basted in seasonings, carrots, and mushrooms hand rubbed by Joanna. Dessert included milk from our own personal cartons and (Joanna’s Mom --->) Kathy’s too good to be true fudge sent all the way from Pittsburg. Now although it is nothing to compare to the amazing meal my family makes in the States, BUT considering we all had never really cooked anything like a Thanksgiving dinner, the meal was eaten with a smile and a sigh of content was released after we were induced into a food coma. To finish off the evening, we sat in the living room listening to Shaggy and Italian’s own Lucio Dalla, while yelling with laughter at a three-hour game of Catch Phrase. I even got told a bedtime story before passing out from a wonderful evening.

So here I am, wishing you all a very, Happy Thanksgiving. I am so thankful for my family and friends (who I miss so much,) for the opportunity to live in the most beautiful country, the chance to chase my dreams, and for the best life any one could ask for. I am truly lucky, blessed, and ever so thankful.

Forever and Always. Xoxo Ciao. Ciao.

This is for all the free sample eaters at Costco.

Do you really need to stand in line for twenty minutes to get a sample from a greasy old guy who probably didn't wash his hands after his last bathroom break???

I went shopping at Costco this weekend and was completely appalled by the herds of human flesh waiting in line, impatiently for a chip.

One chip.

Or a piece of ground up beef that was once frozen and just came out of the microwave. 

Or even a teaspoon of orange juice that has less real fruit in it than a beer does. 

Bringing your family with you to the sample table isn't a bonding moment folks.

Get that into your sample sized mind. 

People walk up to the table and park their big ass carts in the isles so i can't get to the frozen pizza section. Put your cart out of everyone's way, get your sample, and MOVE ON! Do not just stand there acting like you are going to buy it, chatting with the poor sales rep, asking them all these stupid stupid questions that you know can be answered if you just read the damn box, because we all know you just wanted a free bite. 

Do not even get me started on the greedy samplers. One sample is enough folks. If you like it so much, buy the product. If you are so freaking hungry go buy yourself a greasy hotdog/churro/chicken baked something from the food court as you are exiting out of the store and getting out of my way.

thank you.