I never know how to start my posts. I feel like it should be formal: Dear readers. But then I feel like that is probably really lame considering the usual content of my blog. Do I even acknowledge you? Do I say hello? It is confusing task being an avid blogger. I want to entertain you. My goal is to make you connect with me in some way or another. Actually I lied, that is not my goal, but rather my goal is to write and hope that you read it.
Italians are naturally beautiful. I am saying this as I am observing the people at this student center. It is like a library, with Internet all over, a coffee shop, bookstore, everything a student could want, in one location. It is three floors, indoor and outdoor, with a satisfying view on all four sides. To the right of me is Duomo, Florence’s finest attraction (besides Mr. Naked David himself.)
The people here intrigue me. I want to be one of them. Tables filled with friends laughing and playing odd games with quarters. This only proves that no matter where you go, kids will be kids.
There is free Internet, but I cannot get onto it now. I actually have to get a library card, which will lead me to Internet and giving me the ability to check out books that I will not be able to read because of the foreign language barrier. A library card will make me feel included a bit.
But I have begun to realize I lack the natural European sexy flair (I probably lack the American sexy flair too, but I do not really want that as much I want this.) These girls are captivating.
I am watching this table across from me, a group of students about my age. This girl is talking to her friend. He has the most beautiful eyes and looks like “Danny” from Grease but more attractive. He is listening to every word she is saying. Complete eye contact. I hope they are in love. They should be in love. The look like they would be in love. I want them to be in love. Wait, no, I want him to be in love me. That’s better.
Today I had Italian Language. It was a much better class than the first, but again I cannot understand him enough to really learn. He also thinks that we are memorizing machines. He asked us to read this page that had all these pictures of books, a door, a pen, etc. Then he wanted us to tell him what they are in Italian after one glance. Also, my sarcasm that saved my ass in French the passed two years is not going to help me here. He does not understand our humor, let a lone our non-humor. I really want to learn, but it is hard grasping what he is saying.
Before class I walked. Like I said earlier, I walk to familiarize myself.
I met up with the ladies and I familiarized myself with the “sandwich” man today. He is this cute fifty year old man that makes amazing paninis. They were huge and cheap and nothing but delicious. I wanted to leap into his arms and give him a big thank you kiss on the cheek after I tasted my first bite. Yummy.
Remember how I bought a hair dryer? I was so excited to use it today so my bangs would be able to look slightly normal. I went to plug it in and the little prong things are too large for the outlet. I was devastated! I ran around the apartment desperately plugging in my little hair device into every outlet. No such luck. I went to Melania, the problem solver of my Italian life, and she told me what to do and made Charles, her husband, show me where to get the adapter. I will promise you that the next time you hear from me, I will be hair happy. Hopefully.
“S&M” by Rihanna is my theme song.
People seem to tie my name to it even though there is absolutely no comparison between the lyrics and me. At all. It was the song for Take Five, Kramer thinks of me, Audrey Marshall thinks of me, and nameless other people probably think of me. Anyways, it has followed me to Italy. Every night, EVERY NIGHT, it plays down the street at this little concert venue we can hear from our apartment. When I say concert venue, I mean restaurant that plays really loud music while people eat pasta. It is so funny. Of all songs, the Italians have to love that one. It makes me so happy.
I think I am going to die of second hand smoke. No one at home smokes, but here everyone does. Just being outside I know that I am inhaling mountains of ashes into my lungs. The odd part is that I do not notice it. The secrete killer. Da Da Da Da.
I am dying about how cute all these guys are. . . oh my goodness. They are vintage classics.
Rachel and I walked around the city tonight here is a bit of what we saw:
Have a good night! : )
1 comment:
HAHA I love how you hear S&M even in Italy and that I was mentioned. Also I have officially decided that I need to get my ass to Italy and get me a Italian man!!
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