J1

Here we go. Six months in the making, I would have thought it at least would have tiny arms, a Humpty Dumpty of sorts. Alas it does not, at least it's very thin, you gotta know what matters in a baby.

And so I am in that place again. A foot on the door and a bag that's way to heavy, just as much as my thoughts. This is a dream coming true don't get me wrong. 18 months in the States. Sometimes I go around flaunting my achievement and people feeling my excitement go "how many years are you allowed to stay?" and I beam "18 months!" and they spit "oh, just that. I would have assumed way more by looking at you". And they just don't know that when I left for LA the first time in May 2011, with cardboard bags and an address scrambled on a piece of paper, I didn't know what the heck I was doing, I didn't know where my crazy, unconditional hope would take me. And most importantly they haven't been in the States, they don't know how it works, they haven't been at American Consulates where 1 out of 3 people petitioning for visas were denied, in front of my own eyes, just when I was about to go ask for mine. It's just 18 months alright but it is a huge achievement. And yes I'm patting my own shoulder right now, as much as it is inconvenient for my back pain. Six whole months of continuously providing documents and answering questions, most would have given up several times by now. A dream come true indeed, so why is it so hard to go meet it?

I'll admit it, I tend to like dwelling in nostalgia, I'm a 19th century troubled writer born in the wrong time-space continuum. So I'm dwelling away. Surprisingly this has mostly to do with my parents. They are not getting any younger and I hate being so far away from them. And this is where it gets twisty because I also LOVE being far away from them. Meaning having my own space, not having to listen when I don't want to and overall just having a chance to breath and be my own way. I guess it always just boils down to one big truth, always present, always valid, LA and Rome are just so fucking far away. Too much.

...

Meanwhile check in has opened and I got myself an aisle emergency exit stretch your legs seat! I'm taking off in 24 hours!! Forget my parents! WOOT WOOT!!

- Just kidding -

PS: Don't you hate that airlines keep the right to change your seat at the last minute for whatever reason? I fought for this semi uncomfortness and I'm going to bite you BA, hands off!

Back to packing.

My least favorite game...

Roma VS Los Angeles

Things I’m going to miss about Rome

Bidets

It appears this is the French word for pony because you ride the thing like it takes you places. One never stops learning. History tells us that furniture makers in the late 17th century introduced it in France for their Royals’ rooms. Because we all know they are clean people over there.

This would probably trick you into thinking they are big on bidets in baguette land nowadays. Think again! Looks like this is the one thing we savvy borrowed from our arch nemesis. We are smart what can I say. A bathroom without a bidet is not on anybody’s radar where I come from. We’re just not built that way.

Now this is a definition taken from Wikipedia, best ever, cracks me up!

Bidets are primarily used to wash and clean the genitalia, perineum, inner buttocks, and anus.

Very meticulous, thank you.

Some other little facts I didn’t know and have learn today:

Fact # 1 - Bidets may also be used to clean any other part of the body; they are very convenient for cleaning shaven heads, for example.

Who knew! I’d love for someone to explain me why that is better than a regular shower or sink. Leg exercise?

Fact # 2 - Bidets once served as a practical way for couples to prepare themselves before sex.

Any expert?

The thing I don’t get about countries that don’t use them is why the heck should one take a whole shower or, and I don’t want to think about it, keep the dirt where it is, when somebody actually gave them a way to get the best of both worlds? Just beyond me.

So here I am picturing myself trying the weirdest stuff to clean my genitalia and anus, thanks again Wikipedia, next to the sink with the aid of maybe a sponge, dripping water all over the floor. Very convenient.

Mozzarella e prosciutto

Hot summer days’ quick lunches, year round munchies. Fine sliced raw ham, prosciutto, and milk dripping buffalo mozzarella are my saviors. I usually wrap the prosciutto around a small mozzarella ball and OMG. I may be able to find it in So Cal but what will I have to sell in order to buy them? We shall see… Some things I can certainly deprive myself of for a bite of heaven!

Blinds

When I was young before going to bed I used to cover up every single light in my room with a piece of cloth. Digital clocks, TVs, chargers, you name it. Then I lived in England. Come dawn I had no escape, that sneaky light was all over the place. British boot camp built my character and I can proudly say that I no longer go coocoo on every electrical device in sight. But I still love my Italian traditional blind, it astounds me how smart we are. As above, why not use it if it’s there. US sunrise I fear you not, but I hope I get thick curtains in my house.

My room

I designed my room from scratch in 2005. I sat down and I drew it all with colored pencils. I was so dedicated to it. I got it so right after 6 years I would change nothing. My room is an open book to read me, it is me if I were furniture, that’s why we get along so well. I’m going to miss you room!

Cappuccino e cornetto

I get it I’m a hunger whore. I just love food what can I say! Have you ever tasted a hot cappuccino with powder chocolate all over it and a flaming cornetto with tender insides melting in your mouth first thing in the morning? If you have, you understand me. If you haven’t, sorry dude.

Things I’m looking forward to in L.A.

Thrift

Old and skanky is the new sexy. From clothes to furniture my DIY geekness is in serious need of an outlet and believe me when I say choice in Italy is limited. The closest thing to a supply store doesn’t even carry magnets, how lame is that? Also we don’t have yards, do your math. No yard sales, no used stuff, no nothing. Pardon me what? Oh flea markets, yes we have those. Go take a look at one of them, I’ll pay you if you find anything interesting!

My own kitchen

Last time I lived by myself in British boot camp the sweetest thing that happened to me was having my own kitchen, without my mom. Now cooking is my outlet. Some people create stories, I create dishes. This woman who gave me life also likes to take it away a little piece at a time with her obsessive compulsive need to clean and never let go of the stove, so I have no outlet, and I die. She cooks good for me don’t get me wrong but sometimes I just need to get my hands dirty and she just, won’t, let me. Listen to this, one time at dinner I was pouring some stuff from a pan. When I was done (30 seconds later) I went searching for the lid on the table where I left it (30 seconds before) and it wasn’t there. It was in my mom’s hands, at the sink, being washed. And her dinner was not even finished. You understand my excitement.

Eggo’s chocolate chip waffles

The sharpest memory of my 2001 summer in Omaha, Nebraska. Great times huh?!

Disneyland

You think I’m weird and giddy? You’ve never seen me inside the happiest place on earth that’s all I have to say…

Pancakes

Or probably I should say french toasts, cause I don’t know if they make funnel cakes down in So Cal. Anything American, sweet but not too much that can substitute a cornetto and that I never get to eat at home will make my sour times less bitter. I’ll stack up.

Leaving on a jet plane

All is well in this neck of the wood, except I've been haunted by atrocious headaches for more than a week now... I just woke up from a THREE HOUR NAP in the middle of the afternoon, comatose, confused. Wasted a lot of precious time that could have easily been put to better use with say, packing for departing in a snap, and I still feel sick. So irritating! I thought the reason behind the sickness was Jacob period stuff, but period's over now, so maybe it’s just my body reacting to the pressure of, as above, departing in a snap. Anyway, it sucks!!

I wrote this a few days back, meaning to wrap a post and blog about the last week in my hometown, a funky town. But like Osama this purpose went kaboom. I packed for four days for Christ’s sake. They had to feed me vitamins to keep me going. Some of my neighbors called in a drug test. But like a good old fairy tale peace is restored and the world makes sense again. My THREE BAGS are ready to soar and I leave tomorrow… Hold on, seriously? Faint.

Yes, this is my last day in Rome, and it’s 6pm as I write, so there’s really not much left to it. I’ve said my goodbyes to friends, with an opulent dinner last Monday to start the celebrations and a laid back BBQ yesterday to finally hug it out. I’ve dined with family. I’ve walked across the city center by myself listening to sad songs and saying my silent goodbyes while staring at the Coliseum till I had to go away to avoid crying. I filed and painted my nails today, because that’s key to airport security right? Wrote my last review this morning and spent some idle time stalking people on facebook since it propitiates a good flight. Checked in online and bought a new pair of sneakers to sweep my way through customs. All that’s left is taking a shower in a little bit. Kind of upset this day wasn’t full of amazements but I still had what I had hoped for, a quiet time home with mom and dad, a nice Italian meal, a few laughs, lots of hugs and the charge I need to hop on that plane. The deal is sealed. I’m coming.

When in Rome...

Today is one of those days I would draw upon my inner richness and let my soft side gloriously get hold of me by adopting a homeless cute little fluffy kitten. No. I would actually kill everyone in this s-hole of a city. Swear to god I'd have jetted out of the motherfucker on a handmade paraglide airplane built with my brand new trench coat. Unfuckingbelievable.

First there was a bus clogging the road I go through everyday. So I thought of outsmarting them all brainless drivers by making my way round the block, and BAM, a platoon of workers cutting branches off of damn trees. Road closed. This town is going all Truman Show on me. I gotta get to the freaking Machete screening and I'm late. To make a long story short I had to go all the way down in Acapulco, cross the main street and then get back to where I was to sit the car at my usual parking near the subway. Of course the only free spot I found was on the other side of the road so I felt like doing my little unrehearsed rendition of Chariots of fire. Here I am in my new, as you know, coral red trench coat, flowing curly hair, running down the pavement, eyes obsessed with fury and tongue to the ground, cleaning it, destroyed by the prolonged lack of any physical exercise, what the hell was I thinking? Luckily I wasn’t wearing heels.

Yesterday I went to the cardiologist, the doctor of love, and he landed me this machine for a month, in order to measure my heartbeat when it skips.

Yes, I have a turntable in there, Bob Sinclar’s mixing, come visit, we hand out free drinks if you come with hot guys, preferably brunettes.

Well, at this point I was right about to take it out my purse and use the thing. I’d have recorder a freaking beatbox.

Fortunately I didn’t die before getting to the subway, managed to take the train and with a little more running I got to the screening in time. Quite the intense morning.

Thing is, I hate traffic for one, mostly because I’m always late, and the disorganization of this city, for how small it is, makes me go bonkers. Sometimes I wonder how I’ll be coping with L.A., and the size of it, and the mess, and the waits in line on the highway. I really was born a city girl but there are just times where I’d mix one big Molotov cocktail and throw it out blindly.