Where to even fucking begin. I am so behind on blogging that I might just need to summarize....
Our apartment is in the center of Roma on the fifth floor of a high rise apartment building. It is bellisima to say the least. We were greeted by our fabulous land-lord, Elisabetta, a sixty-something chic Italian woman with great taste in art and literature (I know this because I devoted an afternoon to rifling through her shit). I am in love with the apartment. Not only is it fucking adorable, but you can smoke in it. I have few pleasures in life...and one of them is smoking in an apartment in the center of Rome. I don't want to leave, ever, please.
This is my first taste of what it means to kind of be an adult....I pay rent, grocery shop, knit, yell at screaming kids in the street, take three hour shits, etc. Only some of that was true...We cook one meal a day, since we're impoverished travelers dying from the dollar to euro rate. Sergio cooked pesto spaghetti the first night and took his shirt off as soon as we sat down for dinner. Scusa Sergio, no one wants to see your fifteen year-old happy trail. Why does he have the liberty to take his shirt off and not me? I'm hot and sweaty too. My upper lip has perspiration as well...so why can't I take my goddamned top off as well? So I did. It was mainly just to fuck with Sergio and let him know that ladies are pimps too. Cortney and Caterina had to stop eating because pasta and hysterical laughter are an impossible combination. I just kept twirling my pasta around my fork like it was the most normal thing in the world to eat dinner with my bra-clad b-cups staring at my dinner mates. I wouldn't be able to eat either if I saw such a great set of tits.... But anyways, I stay out of the kitchen as much as possible. On the second night Caterina and I cooked dinner and no one fucking ate anything. The salad was too soggy, the hot dogs were boiled and not fried, the tomatoes weren't cut right. I've come to accept my fate as a horrible future wife. I cleaned the kitchen though yesterday, so that's something.....I guess.
I share a bedroom with Sergio, which kind of sucks because he sleeps in his little panties, or briefs or whatever the fuck (someone needs to give me a lesson on boys underwear). He is also a complete dick all the time. He pretends like he knows where he's going because he came to Rome once when he was seven and he speaks Italian. We walk in circles while he saunters around with a map and asks locals for directions to this monument and that restaurant. I hate maps and I hate directions. Those are a last resort for me. The fun thing about travelling is getting lost and figuring things out for yourself. The map and directions don't bother me as much as Sergio's self assumed position as tour guide and team leader. Who put him in charge? I'm 25% percent older than him. He also acts like we're a burden to him since we're obnoxious American girls. QUE BOI SERGIO? WHAT DO YOU WANT? Leave then, my dear Serg. We don't need your half hairless body anymore than you need our hairy ones (Sergio got his junk and legs waxed last week).
Rome is so beautiful, I can hardly believe my eyes at times. I sort of hate it in some ways though. I hate going to a monument and seeing hundreds of cameras snapping away. People don't stop and look at the art or architecture before whipping out their pathetic digital cameras to snap a grainy photo. I could stare at the Trevi Fountain all day without feeling compelled to photograph it. I have taken to photographing all the masses of tourists around me so I don't feel as lame as them. Everything about Roma is so grand and monumental but it's so directed at tourism that it makes it almost unenjoyable for me at times.
I have a lot to write about, but I suppose I'll save it. I came down with a cold today probably from using the dirty metro all the time. I'll elaborate more on some great Roman moments tomorrow, but for now here's a little something to tide you over:
Typical Day in Roma
Wake up to Sergio watching disney channel movies in his underwear.
Eat a hotdog bun with Nutella because I'm fucking poor.
Check out my Sicilian sunburn in the mirror
Smoke a cigarette and peer out the window at my view of Rome.
Travel alone to a monument that my roommates aren't interested in.
Grab a panini and sit on the Spanish Steps to eat it.
Bang my camera lens on the side of the door on the metro.
Walk two miles to whatever monument.
Stare in Awe at the monument.
Walk back to the metro dead tired.
Drag my jello legs back home.
Take a two hour nap.
Blow 30 euro on a mediocre dinner.
Go buy a 24oz beer from a grocery store.
Sit on the Spanish Steps and get wasted with rowdy Germans.
Get ambushed by Gypsies selling beer.
Try to find hot European boys....they all have girlfriends or straw hats. I like neither.
Hail a taxi back home.
Wake up and do it all over again, more or less.
I love Rome.
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