I have the Spanish Flu or the Roman cough or some kind of subway sickness, but I neeeed to blog.
The first day in Roma isn't so important, but a summary is necessary. We flew from Palermo to Rome and waited four hours in the international terminal for Cortney's sister, Caterina. I've never seen Cortney more happy in our entire seven years of friendship. I was happy to see Catty too, kind of. We started fighting immediately on the train to our apartment. She calls me 'Earthtones' because my wardrobe is made up entirely of muted colors reminiscent of dirt and trees. I spent the first day lounging around my beautiful 900 euro a week apartment blasting the Marie Antoinette soundtrack and blowing smoke out of the window.
Day Two was a bit more exciting. We mastered the metro system and trekked around the Roman ruins and Colloseum for a few hours. At night, I had the brilliant idea to buy a couple of 40s and drink them on the Spanish Steps. Going to bars here is out of the question, unless it's a special occasion. Drinks are fucking expensive and we are very very poor turistas. When we arrived at the steps, beer in tow, there was a mass of people with the same genuius idea as I. Everyone was happily drunk on wine or beer and singing some cult-classic 90s favorites. Who doesn't love Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Oasis? An off-key choir of drunken Germans, Italians, Americans, and Russians could be heard from those steps until the wee hours of the mornin'. We spent the next five nights at those steps (and we'll probably go there tonight) getting ambushed by Indian gypsies selling roses, beer, and green lazers. I can proudly say that I know all of these gypsies on a personal level. We have Skaye, Sad-Face, and Shalem....and we get discounted beer because they love us. In fact, last night I had one too many beers and ended up exchanging email addresses with one such gypsy. I would like to keep in touch with the gypsies from Bangladesh to see how business is holding up on the Spanish Steps.... so kill me. Good times have been had on the Spanish Steps, and some not so good ones.
The second night on the steps, we were minding our own business....you know, hollering at some gypsy trying to sell us more beer than we needed, and some ugly Italianos sauntered up and fist-pumped the gypsy. The gypsy said, "They're American, are you interested?", and before we knew it, those asshole got in our face and asked for our documents. This isn't fucking communist Russia; they can't do that. When they flashed their police badges at us, I started to get pissed. I told them kindly that we weren't carrying documents and that they should go and hassle their friends from India before trying to induce some unnecessary Italian trickery onto us poor, defenseless Americanas. Actually, I blatantly told them to fuck off, and finally they did. What a bunch of bullshit. But that was just a minor bad moment in a slew of good ones at the Spanish Steps. If you have been fortunate enough to receive an international drunk dial from me, just know that I was probably sitting on the steps clutching a gypsy beer and peering at a beautiful German boy. Just know that.
Last night we met two girls from UCLA because Sergio thought they were fourteen and bought them roses. Sergio hasn't had any luck with the ladies in Roma, but he has plenty with the gentlemen. We met one such adorable gay kid from Baltimore because he started chatting up Sergio. He said he figured Sergio was either gay or European. At the end of the night, we walked the UCLA girls to their hostel about two miles through the center of Rome, which was crawling with crackheads and stranded travelers. Not a good place for two little small college girls to walk by on their first night in Italy. I had to pee, so I squatted on the metro stop. My bladder can't hold insane amounts of beer, so this was absolutely necessary. At least I can say I did it, no?
I've gotten used to traveling around Roma alone for the most part. I can't really say why, but I don't mind. I had company for the Vatican, but that didn't work out as planned. We stood in line for too fucking long with a tour group of old Sicilian ladies. Caterina kept saying, "Is this fucking disneyland?". Girl, watch your mouth, the Pope could be lurking around any marble pillar. The Sicilian ladies started pushing and getting anxious to see the Vatican and everyone in line was pissed. I know the fundamentals of Sicilian complaints, so I started to exercise these skills with a good old, "SENORA....BASTA!", which means in plain English, 'Bitch Stop'. When we finally got through the metal detectors and were about to enter the Vatican, a suited motherfucker stopped us at the door and said, "Too short"..... I think Catty thought he was referring to 2Short the rapper. Nah, he was talking about our cut-off denim shorts. I didn't know that one had to be completely covered to enter the Vatican....or did I choose to forget this knowledge on that smoldering hot Roman day? Regardless, I suppose one can't be looking like a complete buttana when entering the holiest Catholic mecca in the world. But seriously, is the Vatican fucking prom? Am I going to get dress-coded by the Pope? I got the brilliant idea to wrap a dish-towel we happened to have on us around my bare legs. I wasn't about to go buy an ugly silk scarf and I surely didn't want give up and go on home, especially after such a long wait. The tour group of Sicilians passed us and started laughing and talking Sicilian at us so I started yelling, "QUE BOI!!!!", or 'what do you want' in Sicilian. After that ridiculous episode, the snickering dresscoding man at the door told me to walk in the dish-towel, which fell off as soon as I took a step, and that was it. We were denied admittance to the Vatican.
Today I was standing in the sardine-packed subway by myself when a lady carrying a baby got on and stood next to me. A few seconds later, I glanced down at her baby and saw her hand in my purse. I freaked out and so did she because she knew she was caught. I followed the bitch out at the next stop, but figured it wasn't worth it. She didn't steal anything and I have the flu....thus, jello legs that can't chase a thief.
Ciao. Last night in Roma.
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