My hiatus from writing was not because I did not have
anything to say. Due to the redesign of my template for this blog, I could not
find out how to re login. A pathetic blonde moment mixed with my inability to
understand technology for more than a few minutes. Call it A.D.D but I call it lack
of motivation.
I started my job. With burned fingertips, sweat, and hair
sprayed bangs, I have been doing my job as breakfast waitress. Good news is
that they have not fired me yet, bad news is that I am not very good at this
whole get up every morning and go to work like normal people who want an
income. I ride the train downtown each morning before the sun winks behind the
mountains. Dressed in a men’s shirt, fish tie, and a black vest, I report for
duty. Only one piece of toast has been dropped in the two weeks I have been
considered an employee. I have yet to be asked for my number, but I hope my
movie moment will appear one day.
The air is incredibly dry today. Gaping like fish without
water I sweat and watch as my eyeliner makes it way from my eyes down my cheek.
It is a quiet, chilled, evening tonight. The sun fell
beneath the buildings early today (at least in my opinion) and ever since four
o’clock, the city has been draped in a bleak darkness. I am currently writing
this while cuddled next to the radiator under the kitchen window. A colorful
blanket (that I got for my great deed of graduation, if you remember) is
wrapped around my legs like a butterflies cocoon. I have two pairs of socks on
to cover my tingling toes. My hands are purple. I know it is from the lack of
blood they receive due to my disease, but I like to pretend it is just because
they are too cold, like in cartoons.
Looking
outside the window, there is no light, except from an apartment window a few rooftops
away. The curtains are drawn; open wide, and I can easily see the figures of an
older male and female dancing. It is a slow dance, their bodies crippled with
memories of a good life, but you can see they are in love. I sit here,
imagining their lives. I guess they have housed three kids, two boys and one
daughter, who are now all grown up and on their own travels. Maybe they fell in
love early and were surprised with a child at a young age, pulling the idea of
marriage faster than they thought it would come. The way they are holding each
other is frail, beautiful, and supportive. It makes me think of my parents
dancing on Friday nights after my Mother has had a stressful week at work.
My
Father used to always put on Macy Gray at five on Friday nights, in
anticipation for my Mother to come home. Gabrielle and I, dancing together, watching
my Dad nod his head and stir whatever meal he was making, a glass a wine
swirling in his hand. He always comes over and grabs me, rocking me side to
side, twirling me out. Ever since I was little my parents and I would dance
together. I think they are the reason I love it so much and, not to brag, is
why I am pretty good dance partner. My mom would do this twist to the floor as
soon as she got into more comfortable clothes.It is her signature move that the two of us always pull out
at weddings. We wouldn’t eat until eight or nine, but no one cared because we
were too busy in the music and the environment.
I
wonder if this couple does something similar. I hope my parents never stop
dancing together and that one day I will stand outside of their house and look
through their window and see the same image I see in the apartment a few blocks
away.
And of course, it is music monday! Enjoy "Drop Names Not Bombs" by Louise Burns
Hello from my bed. It may be only 7:00 but I already have my
fuzzy socks on and am positioned under the covers. The lights are even off. No,
I am not ready for bed; it is just kind of really chilly in this apartment, and
I didn’t want to sit in those uncomfortable squeaky chairs in the kitchen. Italians
obviously do not believe in decent warming devices in their apartments
(probably because they do have a lot more hair on their bodies than other
countries… but STILL. I am a hairless American who needs to be warm!) Okay, I
am over exaggerating a little bit. Truth is, my bed is comfortable and I like
the way the comforter practically glows in the dark because it is so neon
yellow.
I apologize for such an awful introduction paragraph. Lets
try this again.
Young the Giant’s
most recent album is playing through my headphones right now as my feet are
cuddling underneath my neon yellow comforter. The only light coming into the
room is from the sliding propped open door. This square shadow of light (play
on words, eh?) is enough light to frame Rachel’s bed in a halo like fashion. I
am wearing my “your blog sucks” tee shirt and feeling really good about life.
Now, wasn’t that better?
Italy was beautiful today. This morning, I woke up with a
burst of energy that needed to be set free. I harvested this emotion by going out
on an hour long stroll, wandering through streets, kicking leaves up in the
small park to the left, and watching old men row boats down the Arno river. It
was truly refreshing.
I simply love this city. Walking home from school after
class today, I really tried to soak in everything I passed. I have become so
accustom to the route from casa mia
(my house) to the school, that I sometimes take for granted how magical Firenze
is. For example, as I was walking I breathed in deeply (with my new nose!!) the
smells of home cooking, cigars, and that certain Italian city smell (no, not
the pee and beer smell thank you, there is another one that I cannot put a name
to.) I was walking down the little side street and I noticed the steam coming
out of what looked like an air vent for one of the walled apartments. The way
it swirled up and dispensed into the cold air as thick white petals was
entrancing. I still smile at the lines of clothes that hang out of windows,
even though it is a common sight in my days here. Now that I have lived her for
so long, I can look passed the tourist monuments and really fall in love with
the sweet subtitles.
I have begun to develop the feeling that every city is like
this. Salt Lake City is just as beautiful as here, but I do not take the time
to notice its details because I realize that I have taken it for granted. You
never know what you have until it’s gone right?
Italian language is one of my least favorite classes because
I hate being put on the spot and failing miserably when I am. BUT on the plus
side, I love the challenge of trying to learn this new, beautiful, language. I
want to learn! Oh goodness, my life is so hard. Just kidding. : ) Italian class
was alright today. My fingertips were really cold. I have mentioned my
pronunciation/spelling problem before, well now in class it is kind of a joke.
For example, we were changing verbs from present to past tense, and Joanna
chose my word to be the hardest one in the whole wide world (not really) to
pronounce just because we all know how I st st stutter. I cannot remember it
now and cant look it up in my notes cause I left my notebook at school, but
know that it was hilariously hard (for me.) Oh well. Italian class is one of
those classes that you dread going to, but once you are there you are fine, and
everyone leaves laughing. Nicola may be an awful teacher, but he quite the
character.
This has nothing to do with anything, but it made me laugh. I thought you would need a little giggle on your Monday.
Thanksgiving is obviously not celebrated here (if you do not
know why… you have some serious problems that you need to figure out before reading
any further. Google it.) Despite the country we are living in, Joanna, Rachel
and I have decided to make a feast. We made a list of items we like to eat and
divided them up between the three of us. I am in charge of a fruit and mashed
potatoes. I am thinking maybe doing my family’s favorite apples in orange juice
mixture and maybe some pomegranates.
Grandma, when Michael reads this to you, please know that I
will not do your mashed potatoes justice and I am sending up my white flag.
There is no competition; you have already won. Hopefully I will come in at
least a close fifth place on the “good mashed potatoes” list. It cannot be very
hard right? I mean I do not have a blender or anything... Is it unsanitary to
use a rock? (I am only joking Rachel & Joanna; you honestly do not need to
worry about if there are going to be dirt and other earthy materials in your
buttery potatoes.)
All I can say is thank goodness I am not in charge of the
turkey.
Music Monday Update: Check out the song “Hotel Song” by Regina
Spektor. It is a current love of mine.
I finished Like Water
for Chocolate. Please read it. I had chills of wonderful emotion through
out the entire thing. It is an easy, magical, read. (Please note that the picture to the right is not the real cover of the book, but an illustration someone did. I found it on google and liked it. That is all. )
Also, in the news of the social networking, I think you will
find great pleasure in the new follower my twitter account has gained.
“Titsoffire” has indeed started to follow my unwitty, too quotey, status
update, tweet feed. I feel honored, really. Not many people can say that
someone with such a great name is one of their 92 followers.
My final statement deals with a lot of exclamation marks.
Prepare yourself:
MY BEASTIE BECCA IS COMING TO VISIT ME OFFICIALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well my weekend was definitely a waste of time now that I realized that I have missed the Spring Belly Dance Festival. When events like this come along, one must let me know. I am incredibly disappointed that I missed out sequined muffin tops bouncing and shaking to tambourines. Like really disappointed. Instead I devoted my days to chewing gum that looses its flavor in three minutes, gets hard, and creates a sweat breaking work out for my chompers. I also shivered in terror ghost adventuring and working endlessly on my consuming project Take Five. What a waste. What a waste.
In an effort to make this years Take Five (five plays that are student written, directed, acted, and is produced by me) the best ever, with sold out seats every night, and an adoring applause, I decided to hunt for the producers of the past forty nine years. I got out my book of "Take Five for Dummies" and started to facebook the list of names that belonged to these past producers. After seeing what they all look like - I am slightly afraid that I am going to turn out the same way. No one put dark circles, thick wrinkles, and ugly husbands in the side effects of producing Take Five! And now I can't back out! I am doomed! Doomed I tell you!
I have no school tomorrow because the board of education sat around and thought it would be a good idea. I love the board of education. They make great decisions.
Here is a little piece to end your sunday evening. Its calming and could be considered quite boring if you are not in a relaxing mood. It is also better if you imagine so young guy with dark curly hair and brown eyes playing it instead of the old man. Have a good night. xoxo
