I find this pretty interesting for a number of reasons. First of all, how do they even know about this blog? No, no, I know who you are and I know how you know about my blog.
Actually, I have only met two Italian men who speak English and seem to understand American culture well enough to really understand what I am saying in my blogs. That does not mean all Italians can’t speak English well or don't understand my American sense of humor. I just haven’t met too many of them yet.
Of course Italian men don't like my blog! Putting the language and cultural barrier aside, look at the stories I have written: The Thing about Italian Men; Italians Have no Awareness of Spacial Relationships; Welcome to 1950; The Phenomenon of Blonde Women in Italy; 95% of Italian Men Cheat. And now add to the list a little ditty named, “Italian Men Do Not Like My Blog!” and I am sure I’m not scoring any additional points with the fine Italian Uomo (men) in this country!
The fact is the blogs I write about Italian culture are full of overgeneralizations and clichés. They are written tongue in cheek on purpose (that means not seriously for any Italian man who may be reading this blog and not understand the term). They are written from my point of view only which is unapologetically sarcastic. They are written with the intended purpose of seeing things from different or non-glamorized point of view.
Of course I have no idea if 95% of Italian Men Cheat! Of course not all Italian men gawk at Blonde women. Of course not all Italian men dislike my blog… well, that may actually be true. But the point is these blogs aren’t written to please the audience. They are written as therapy for me, and used as my creative outlet.
I write when I am feeling lonely or intimidated, when I feel inspired, or when I find humor or irony in a situation. I don't write much about how much I love living in Italy, or how I love Italian food, or how I love the passion Italians have for life because I don't seem to have anything interesting to say when it comes to these topics.
The fact is if I did not like being here, or if I disliked Italians I would leave. Yes, sometimes it is hard for me to be away from home, but Florence is a special place. In most ways it is still unspoiled by American culture (there is not a Starbucks in sight!); it is still very old world. I absolutely love most parts of living here; but still, you won’t find me writing too much about that. This general state of happiness doesn’t inspire me to write, it inspires me to go out and experience more happiness. And that’s what I think I will do right now.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Desire
I try to stay away because too much of you is dangerous. But sometimes I can’t control myself and my body actually longs for you; to take you in my mouth; to feel you on my tongue.
Sometimes my mind drifts back to the first time I had you. I think about how surprised I was at how different you were from what I had imagined. I remember how you made me feel; how in my entire life I had never experienced anything like you. Even now, your taste lingers in my mouth.
And, as the spring draws near, my resolve is weakening. I’m finding it harder to maintain my will power and stay away. But how can I be expected to stay away? How can I continue with this self-inflicted abstinence? I don't think I can hold out much longer... Oh gelato you are my vice and my muse!
Sometimes my mind drifts back to the first time I had you. I think about how surprised I was at how different you were from what I had imagined. I remember how you made me feel; how in my entire life I had never experienced anything like you. Even now, your taste lingers in my mouth.
And, as the spring draws near, my resolve is weakening. I’m finding it harder to maintain my will power and stay away. But how can I be expected to stay away? How can I continue with this self-inflicted abstinence? I don't think I can hold out much longer... Oh gelato you are my vice and my muse!
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Little Things
When I first moved to Rome in October of 2009 I was scared to death to get on the bus. But in Rome you NEED the bus to navigate the city. It’s too far to walk everywhere; taking a taxi is way too expensive; and the metro doesn’t get you to enough places. But I didn’t understand how the bus system worked and I was intimidated to even buy a ticket even though I had memorized how to ask for one in Italian. There were just a lot of unknowns in this area, so the whole bus thing was very intimidating to me.
I remember the first time I got on the bus on the correct side of the street and exited the bus at the proper stop. I was filled with self satisfaction. “Yeah, that’s right,” I thought to myself, “I just took the bus by myself… in Rome… without any help!”
When I managed the Roman subway system, AND a bus transfer, AND a walk to the Ikea located in the suburbs of Rome, I really thought I had accomplished something noteworthy. And on the rare occasion when I actually manage to put together a sentence in Italian without any help, I feel like a complete rock star! “I just used the past tense of “to have” in a sentence in Italian! Who wants to touch me?!”
Yes, these are quite the accomplishments for a woman of 39 years! I mean, could you imagine the reaction of your friends in your home country if you announced at a dinner party that you were proud of yourself because that day you rode a bus to the supermarket and you managed, all by yourself, to buy some cheese and vegetables! I dunno, I think my friends in Washington, DC would look at me like I was on crack!
But not here; not when you’re a foreigner living in Italy. Here your fellow ex-pats understand these small victories. They know firsthand the challenges of finding your way in a foreign country. They understand that these little things matter. This, I have to say, is one of the things I absolutely love about my friends here in Florence. There is nothing like having a table full of people shout, “BRAVA, BRAVA” while giving you a round of applause because you’ve managed to piece together the most basic of Italian sentences.
And so, this has been a large part of my life here over the last 5 months; managing the things that seemed so small when I lived in a world I knew; riding a bus, buying a pineapple, learning a new language, making new friends. But these things, these little things are in no way small. They have taught me immeasurable lessons in humility, in survival, in patience, and in appreciation. And these lessons, no matter how hard to take sometimes are a large part of why I came here in the first place.
I remember the first time I got on the bus on the correct side of the street and exited the bus at the proper stop. I was filled with self satisfaction. “Yeah, that’s right,” I thought to myself, “I just took the bus by myself… in Rome… without any help!”
When I managed the Roman subway system, AND a bus transfer, AND a walk to the Ikea located in the suburbs of Rome, I really thought I had accomplished something noteworthy. And on the rare occasion when I actually manage to put together a sentence in Italian without any help, I feel like a complete rock star! “I just used the past tense of “to have” in a sentence in Italian! Who wants to touch me?!”
Yes, these are quite the accomplishments for a woman of 39 years! I mean, could you imagine the reaction of your friends in your home country if you announced at a dinner party that you were proud of yourself because that day you rode a bus to the supermarket and you managed, all by yourself, to buy some cheese and vegetables! I dunno, I think my friends in Washington, DC would look at me like I was on crack!
But not here; not when you’re a foreigner living in Italy. Here your fellow ex-pats understand these small victories. They know firsthand the challenges of finding your way in a foreign country. They understand that these little things matter. This, I have to say, is one of the things I absolutely love about my friends here in Florence. There is nothing like having a table full of people shout, “BRAVA, BRAVA” while giving you a round of applause because you’ve managed to piece together the most basic of Italian sentences.
And so, this has been a large part of my life here over the last 5 months; managing the things that seemed so small when I lived in a world I knew; riding a bus, buying a pineapple, learning a new language, making new friends. But these things, these little things are in no way small. They have taught me immeasurable lessons in humility, in survival, in patience, and in appreciation. And these lessons, no matter how hard to take sometimes are a large part of why I came here in the first place.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
95% of All Italian Men Cheat!
Yep, 95%! At least that’s what I’ve been told REPEATEDLY by Italian men. The first time I heard it, I blew it off with my usual, “yeah, right” response. By the fifth time I heard it I was mumbling, “What, what, wha…” in high-pitched confusion, like my Aunt J from Bean Town.
How could this possibly be true? NINTY-FIVE PERCENT of the Italian male population cheats? I was astounded. The Italian guys sharing this statistic were also astounded… astounded that I actually thought the rate was not that high in the U.S. “No, it’s the same everywhere,” they would say, “You just don't know about it.”
A quiet and defeated “ugh,” came from the back of my throat. Could this possibly be true?
“It’s a good thing,” these Italian men try to convince me. “How? How could a 95% cheating rate possibly be a good thing?” I ask, almost begging for enlightenment.
The compilation of answers is actually interesting. But before I get to sharing them with you, there are some things you need to understand about Italian men first.
In many ways, Italian men are in NO WAYS like men from the U.S. For instance, even with a casual hook up Italian men will treat the women like they are seriously dating. They will “make love” to them on the first night, spouting lines and making moves that rival the best movie scenes ever filmed. They will ask them to sleep over, to snuggle all night, to walk the dog with them in the morning, and they’ll spend the entire next day with them. When you hair is ragged and your makeup is a memory of what it was the night before an Italian man will make you feel like you are the most beautiful woman in the world. But what you have to remember is they will do the exact same thing with the next random girl they hook up with the very next night. Italian men believe in “taking care” of their women; even the hookups or the ones on the side.
Okay so back to the noted reasons why; I don't know how else to share these with you other than in a bulleted list, so I have ranked them in order of my favorites, the first one being my absolute favorite reason.
• It’s just what we do. It’s expected of Italian men.
• It keeps us interested in sex with our own partners.
• It keeps things fresh because you’re not having the same old sex all the time. (Same as before just said a little differently)
• As long as we are treating our wives and families properly (and they dont know about it) where’s the harm?
• If we had kids I would stop cheating for a while until they grew up.
• My wife and I are only staying together for the children. Don’t I deserve to have some happiness in my life?
The thing is I believe these guys actually believe this stuff. And maybe it’s because of the different culture here, but these reasons are starting to make sense to me too. Oh my god! I’m going to have to turn in my girl card soon! I mean, I still don't wish it upon anyone, but it was becoming more and more difficult for me to have an intellectual argument against this, you know, other than blurting out, “it’s just WRONG!”
That is, until I started assuming the same rules applied to women. I mean, it’s that whole goose and gander thing, right? As a woman shouldn’t I be able to keep things “fresh” in the bedroom too? Don't I “deserve” happiness as well?
And that’s when I think every Italian man in the country stopped what they were doing, raised a quick ear to the wind and let out their own quiet huff of disgust in response to my clearly American supposition that women had these same cheating privileges. “What? Women don't need to cheat on Italian men,” I’m told in response, “And if they do it’s rare and not really acceptable.”
“Ahhhhh… of course not,” I say feeling like I’m back on solid ground again. And then I think, God bless America (and Canada too… love you N). Let the arguments begin!
How could this possibly be true? NINTY-FIVE PERCENT of the Italian male population cheats? I was astounded. The Italian guys sharing this statistic were also astounded… astounded that I actually thought the rate was not that high in the U.S. “No, it’s the same everywhere,” they would say, “You just don't know about it.”
A quiet and defeated “ugh,” came from the back of my throat. Could this possibly be true?
“It’s a good thing,” these Italian men try to convince me. “How? How could a 95% cheating rate possibly be a good thing?” I ask, almost begging for enlightenment.
The compilation of answers is actually interesting. But before I get to sharing them with you, there are some things you need to understand about Italian men first.
In many ways, Italian men are in NO WAYS like men from the U.S. For instance, even with a casual hook up Italian men will treat the women like they are seriously dating. They will “make love” to them on the first night, spouting lines and making moves that rival the best movie scenes ever filmed. They will ask them to sleep over, to snuggle all night, to walk the dog with them in the morning, and they’ll spend the entire next day with them. When you hair is ragged and your makeup is a memory of what it was the night before an Italian man will make you feel like you are the most beautiful woman in the world. But what you have to remember is they will do the exact same thing with the next random girl they hook up with the very next night. Italian men believe in “taking care” of their women; even the hookups or the ones on the side.
Okay so back to the noted reasons why; I don't know how else to share these with you other than in a bulleted list, so I have ranked them in order of my favorites, the first one being my absolute favorite reason.
• It’s just what we do. It’s expected of Italian men.
• It keeps us interested in sex with our own partners.
• It keeps things fresh because you’re not having the same old sex all the time. (Same as before just said a little differently)
• As long as we are treating our wives and families properly (and they dont know about it) where’s the harm?
• If we had kids I would stop cheating for a while until they grew up.
• My wife and I are only staying together for the children. Don’t I deserve to have some happiness in my life?
The thing is I believe these guys actually believe this stuff. And maybe it’s because of the different culture here, but these reasons are starting to make sense to me too. Oh my god! I’m going to have to turn in my girl card soon! I mean, I still don't wish it upon anyone, but it was becoming more and more difficult for me to have an intellectual argument against this, you know, other than blurting out, “it’s just WRONG!”
That is, until I started assuming the same rules applied to women. I mean, it’s that whole goose and gander thing, right? As a woman shouldn’t I be able to keep things “fresh” in the bedroom too? Don't I “deserve” happiness as well?
And that’s when I think every Italian man in the country stopped what they were doing, raised a quick ear to the wind and let out their own quiet huff of disgust in response to my clearly American supposition that women had these same cheating privileges. “What? Women don't need to cheat on Italian men,” I’m told in response, “And if they do it’s rare and not really acceptable.”
“Ahhhhh… of course not,” I say feeling like I’m back on solid ground again. And then I think, God bless America (and Canada too… love you N). Let the arguments begin!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The phenomenon of blonde women in Italy.
Italian men are obsessed with blonde women! I had heard the stories over the years about Italian men approaching blonde women on the street, touching them as if they were some sort of freak of nature; calling them names or just circling around them like a pack of hyenas moving in for the kill. You’ve probably heard these stories too, but you think they’re clichés, so you don't pay much attention... right?
Personally, I’ve never been attracted to those with blonde hair. I like my boys tall, dark, and handsome (in a pinch, normal height, dark, and handsome will do. And, don't get me started on my fascination with red heads or salt and pepper colored hair!). Anyway, as a lifelong brunette I’ve never really understood the fascination with blonde hair. What’s the big deal?
But in Italy, OH MY GOD it is insane!
You can’t help but notice the difference in the way blonde women are treated here. Men of all socio-economic levels will literally stop what they’re doing and stare. But not just any stare. This is a long, deep, and dirty stare. The kind that sorta makes you feel uncomfortable after you’ve witnessed it! Italian men will run up to an unsuspecting blonde, flip her hair with their hands and keep running. They’ll yell out, “Hello Barbie” with those gorgeous Italian accents. They’ll slow down on their motorcycles and lick their lips while getting a better look. It’s truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Italian woman HATE the blonde girls. ALL blonde girls: skinny, not skinny, tall, short, young or not young. It doesn’t matter. They’ll shoot them death stares for seemingly no reason; ignore them while working behind a counter; and make their boyfriends change seats with them at a restaurant so the boyfriend can’t make eyes at the pretty blonde across the room. All of these things I have witnessed firsthand. And I have to say, I still don't really get it… it’s just blonde hair!
You might think this is incentive enough to go a little darker on top. Ah, but let’s not forget the upside to this phenomenon. You’re smiled at by men all the time. You get into clubs for free. Men hold the door for you and grant you the right of way most of the time and you’re always the first to be approached while in a group of women. These are some nice perks eh?
Still, don't fret about me, we brunettes (who blend in nicely with the locals) get our share of attention too.
Personally, I’ve never been attracted to those with blonde hair. I like my boys tall, dark, and handsome (in a pinch, normal height, dark, and handsome will do. And, don't get me started on my fascination with red heads or salt and pepper colored hair!). Anyway, as a lifelong brunette I’ve never really understood the fascination with blonde hair. What’s the big deal?
But in Italy, OH MY GOD it is insane!
You can’t help but notice the difference in the way blonde women are treated here. Men of all socio-economic levels will literally stop what they’re doing and stare. But not just any stare. This is a long, deep, and dirty stare. The kind that sorta makes you feel uncomfortable after you’ve witnessed it! Italian men will run up to an unsuspecting blonde, flip her hair with their hands and keep running. They’ll yell out, “Hello Barbie” with those gorgeous Italian accents. They’ll slow down on their motorcycles and lick their lips while getting a better look. It’s truly unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Italian woman HATE the blonde girls. ALL blonde girls: skinny, not skinny, tall, short, young or not young. It doesn’t matter. They’ll shoot them death stares for seemingly no reason; ignore them while working behind a counter; and make their boyfriends change seats with them at a restaurant so the boyfriend can’t make eyes at the pretty blonde across the room. All of these things I have witnessed firsthand. And I have to say, I still don't really get it… it’s just blonde hair!
You might think this is incentive enough to go a little darker on top. Ah, but let’s not forget the upside to this phenomenon. You’re smiled at by men all the time. You get into clubs for free. Men hold the door for you and grant you the right of way most of the time and you’re always the first to be approached while in a group of women. These are some nice perks eh?
Still, don't fret about me, we brunettes (who blend in nicely with the locals) get our share of attention too.
Monday, February 1, 2010
WOW!
I've received quite a few emails and comments on my last posting, Growing Pains. It’s been both interesting and encouraging to hear people’s responses to that entry. Some people focused on the finding a guy part, some focused on the control freak part, some wanted to know why I thought I would be a failure if I came home, and some just didn’t want me to be sad. One friend (you know who you are!) asked if I was allowed to use profanity in a blog.
Let me start by stating that I am feeling better now. I’m not 100% of myself yet, but I’ll get there. I have a tendency to give myself deadlines for when I should feel better or be over things (whether I’m ready to be or not) and, along with growth in other areas I’m trying to break this habit. As much as I like to think I’m Superwoman the reality is I am not. And, although I am strong, and I do believe in myself, and I really do like who I am, I have insecurities. I have low points. And I do get scared. This time I’m letting myself feel this sadness and loneliness because it’s normal and I know it’s necessary.
As some of you know, I’d like to be an author. I love to write, but after college I stopped writing for pleasure. Several years ago I started keeping a journal to help me manage the myriad things going on in my head (it’s a scary place up there!). Writing is therapy for me. It gives me the opportunity to explore and admit how I am truly feeling.
I wrote in my blog that I want to stick it out and not come home yet for many reasons, but the primary reason is because I know if I come home now I will throw myself into work, give up on my dream of being a writer, and settle into a life that I don't want. That equals failure to me. If I try to write a book and I cannot find the words, or if I write a book and then cannot sell the idea to an agent or a publisher, I would consider myself successful. Not believing in me and not having the courage to at least try to make this happen is failure. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. It really only matters how I feel about this.
Writing in my blog has given me the chance to try out my writing style on a varied audience. It’s given me the opportunity to see how comfortable I am with putting my raw feelings out there. It’s given me a forum to understand how I handle both criticism and praise.
The feedback and comments I have received on my blog have given me the confidence to know I have a point of view people are interested in. I’m gaining more confidence in my writing style. I’m not letting my grammar mistakes get in the way of sharing my feelings or my point of view. Writing this blog has given me the confidence I need to start my own book. But, if I were not in Italy I would not be writing the blog. I would not have the time to write. If I were home I would work and maybe see my friends for dinner one night a week. That’s all I could ever manage to do in my life. Again, this is not a bad life at all. That life is not a failure; it’s just not the life I want right now.
Life is full of highs and lows. As is said, life is the ultimate journey. I just wanted to slow things down and actually experience this journey. That includes the messy stuff too. I certainly got what I wished for. Now I want to have the courage to be the real me, accept the real me, and move myself toward the life that I want. Being here is a big step toward that life. I know I can do it. I will stumble at times, but as a new friend says, “that which is for you, will not pass by you.”
Thank you for your interest and please keep the comments and the feedback coming (the good, the bad and the ugly). It's helping me get to the life I want.
Let me start by stating that I am feeling better now. I’m not 100% of myself yet, but I’ll get there. I have a tendency to give myself deadlines for when I should feel better or be over things (whether I’m ready to be or not) and, along with growth in other areas I’m trying to break this habit. As much as I like to think I’m Superwoman the reality is I am not. And, although I am strong, and I do believe in myself, and I really do like who I am, I have insecurities. I have low points. And I do get scared. This time I’m letting myself feel this sadness and loneliness because it’s normal and I know it’s necessary.
As some of you know, I’d like to be an author. I love to write, but after college I stopped writing for pleasure. Several years ago I started keeping a journal to help me manage the myriad things going on in my head (it’s a scary place up there!). Writing is therapy for me. It gives me the opportunity to explore and admit how I am truly feeling.
I wrote in my blog that I want to stick it out and not come home yet for many reasons, but the primary reason is because I know if I come home now I will throw myself into work, give up on my dream of being a writer, and settle into a life that I don't want. That equals failure to me. If I try to write a book and I cannot find the words, or if I write a book and then cannot sell the idea to an agent or a publisher, I would consider myself successful. Not believing in me and not having the courage to at least try to make this happen is failure. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. It really only matters how I feel about this.
Writing in my blog has given me the chance to try out my writing style on a varied audience. It’s given me the opportunity to see how comfortable I am with putting my raw feelings out there. It’s given me a forum to understand how I handle both criticism and praise.
The feedback and comments I have received on my blog have given me the confidence to know I have a point of view people are interested in. I’m gaining more confidence in my writing style. I’m not letting my grammar mistakes get in the way of sharing my feelings or my point of view. Writing this blog has given me the confidence I need to start my own book. But, if I were not in Italy I would not be writing the blog. I would not have the time to write. If I were home I would work and maybe see my friends for dinner one night a week. That’s all I could ever manage to do in my life. Again, this is not a bad life at all. That life is not a failure; it’s just not the life I want right now.
Life is full of highs and lows. As is said, life is the ultimate journey. I just wanted to slow things down and actually experience this journey. That includes the messy stuff too. I certainly got what I wished for. Now I want to have the courage to be the real me, accept the real me, and move myself toward the life that I want. Being here is a big step toward that life. I know I can do it. I will stumble at times, but as a new friend says, “that which is for you, will not pass by you.”
Thank you for your interest and please keep the comments and the feedback coming (the good, the bad and the ugly). It's helping me get to the life I want.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Growing Pains
I have been down for days. It started off with a general bad mood that moved into a terrible head ache and now deep sadness. Yesterday I cried harder than I think I have since my former husband died. And as I write now, I have tears in my eyes. I am embarrassed to admit this. I mean, I live in Italy. I only work part time. I am “living the dream!” What’s there to be sad about?
I keep telling myself that I am just homesick; that the “honeymoon” phase of being in Italy is over; that I am settling into my life here and this is to be expected. I know all of this is all true. I know this is normal. I know this feeling will go away. I know I am growing from this experience. I know all of this. But, the fact remains; I am filled with sadness right now. And, although I am surrounded by wonderful new friends again, I feel completely alone.
This is the first time in 19 years I have had time to slow everything down and think. When I think about that statement I have to admit it’s in no way an exaggeration. Since I left for college I have filled my life with activity that has left almost no time for real introspection. Yes, of course I have taken time off over the years and had those epiphany moments (that’s how I got here!). But I have been in Italy for nearly four months. Four months of introspection while navigating a new culture is quite different from a week at the nearest beach.
The truth is I am afraid. Like most people I hate the unknown. I hate not knowing what’s next for me. What will my life look like after Italy? Will there be an “after Italy?” Will I ever meet this person that everyone thinks I “deserve?” Will I ever stop caring about meeting that person? Will I ever truly be okay with “just me?”
All of my friends (old and new) have been great. The pressure of finding a man or meeting “the one” is off. Well, the pressure is off from everyone else. I have realized at this point, the only one trying to force the guy thing is me! It’s not like I talk about it or am actively pursuing it. But in the back of my mind I find my thoughts moving toward finding a man way more than I realized or than I want. At times this has weakened my resolve and I have almost gone down paths I am sure I would deeply regret.
This frustrates the hell out of me! Why do I care so much? Is it really so horrible to be alone? Of course not! I know this in my heart, but as a reforming control freak I’m finding it hard to stop engineering every part of my life.
Right now my unknowns are pulling me back to the life that I know; work, career, and professional fulfillment. These are all honorable things. There is absolutely nothing wrong with having a successful professional career. I could move back to Washington, DC tomorrow, resume my old life and make a legitimate point about why it was the right time to do so. I could do that and most likely no one would blame me or look at me like I failed. Well, that is, no one but me. The truth is I believe I am destined for a different path in life. The fact is I have no idea what that path is and it scares the hell out of me.
Don't worry. I’m staying here. I’m riding this out to the end. But my god this is fucking hard sometimes.
I keep telling myself that I am just homesick; that the “honeymoon” phase of being in Italy is over; that I am settling into my life here and this is to be expected. I know all of this is all true. I know this is normal. I know this feeling will go away. I know I am growing from this experience. I know all of this. But, the fact remains; I am filled with sadness right now. And, although I am surrounded by wonderful new friends again, I feel completely alone.
This is the first time in 19 years I have had time to slow everything down and think. When I think about that statement I have to admit it’s in no way an exaggeration. Since I left for college I have filled my life with activity that has left almost no time for real introspection. Yes, of course I have taken time off over the years and had those epiphany moments (that’s how I got here!). But I have been in Italy for nearly four months. Four months of introspection while navigating a new culture is quite different from a week at the nearest beach.
The truth is I am afraid. Like most people I hate the unknown. I hate not knowing what’s next for me. What will my life look like after Italy? Will there be an “after Italy?” Will I ever meet this person that everyone thinks I “deserve?” Will I ever stop caring about meeting that person? Will I ever truly be okay with “just me?”
All of my friends (old and new) have been great. The pressure of finding a man or meeting “the one” is off. Well, the pressure is off from everyone else. I have realized at this point, the only one trying to force the guy thing is me! It’s not like I talk about it or am actively pursuing it. But in the back of my mind I find my thoughts moving toward finding a man way more than I realized or than I want. At times this has weakened my resolve and I have almost gone down paths I am sure I would deeply regret.
This frustrates the hell out of me! Why do I care so much? Is it really so horrible to be alone? Of course not! I know this in my heart, but as a reforming control freak I’m finding it hard to stop engineering every part of my life.
Right now my unknowns are pulling me back to the life that I know; work, career, and professional fulfillment. These are all honorable things. There is absolutely nothing wrong with having a successful professional career. I could move back to Washington, DC tomorrow, resume my old life and make a legitimate point about why it was the right time to do so. I could do that and most likely no one would blame me or look at me like I failed. Well, that is, no one but me. The truth is I believe I am destined for a different path in life. The fact is I have no idea what that path is and it scares the hell out of me.
Don't worry. I’m staying here. I’m riding this out to the end. But my god this is fucking hard sometimes.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Welcome to 1950
Living in Italy today is in many ways is like I what imagine it would have been like living in the 1950s. Most of the time the little idiosyncrasies are charming and there are many lifestyle choices that I want to bring home with me, but there are some things about 2010 that I miss a lot.
How is Italy like 1950 you ask? Well, I've taken the liberty to outline of few of my thoughts on this topic in the paragraphs below.
Everyone smokes... everyone.
Campari and Martini Rossi are very popular here. What, never heard of those mixers before? Yeah, that’s because they’re from 1950!
Everyone dresses in their Sunday best at all times. Fedora hats with wool scarves and overcoats, Italian leather dress shoes and gabardine slacks are the standard winter dress code for older men. Take away the Fedora hat and you’ve got the standard dress code for the rest of the men in Italy. Many Italian women continue to proudly wear fur coats because no animal rights organization is going to impose on their right to stay warm and be fashionable. Actually, the dress here is surprisingly conservative for men and women.
Walmart, Target, and Costo do not exist (although IKEA does. They pronounce it EE-KAY-AH). The concept of bulk buying does not exist. People shop daily and they buy in small quantities as there is no “extra” room to store that 20 roll pack of paper towels. Paper towels are seen as luxury and a waste. Dish towels are the norm. Just imagine the dish towels your grandma had in her house and you’ll understand what is used here.
Refrigerators are the size of "ice boxes" and eggs are not refrigerated. Microwaves are exceptionally rare. You’ll stick that last piece of pizza in the oven if you want to warm it up. And if you want to heat up some left over pasta or soup you’ll use the stove. There’s no instant gratification in 1950!
The weather still plays a major factor in how Italians live. Most Italians cannot afford clothes dryers. The machines themselves are expensive, but more so Italians cannot afford the electricity that is required to power a clothes dryer. Because they dry their clothes on an outdoor clothes line (even in the middle of winter if it’s not raining) or on an indoor fold away rack, drying time must be taken into consideration for what is washed and when it’s washed. For instance, the clothes you want to wear on Friday had better be washed on Wednesday to allow for the proper drying time.
Apparently the fear that one can catch their death of a cold is not just the stuff of Jane Austin novels. Italians (and many Europeans) still believe they can get sick from being out in the rain or out in the cold. They'll decide whether they'll leave the house based on the weather. Of course not having a car to get you from one point to another plays a major factor here, but still, Italians don't want to hear any scientific mumbo jumbo about how only viruses or germs can make you sick.
Many Italians cannot afford a car so they own a bicycle. People of all ages dressed in their Sunday best ride their bikes everywhere; to work, to the market, to restaurants, to bars, to school, to church… everywhere. But because it’s common for bikes to get stolen, no one invests in a new bike. That’s why so many “vintage” bikes are still in existence. These bikes have not changed much since the days of poodle skirts and saddle shoes. The bikes here still have chain guards so your dress pants don't get stuck in them, utilitarian baskets so you can carry your fresh bread and vegetables from the local market, and bells so that you can signal for the frustratingly unaware Italians to make room for you on the street.
Very few people, including students, walk with earphones to listen to music. It's a little strange to see because in Washington, DC and many other major metropolitan cities in 2010, earphones are an essential component of any wardrobe. It is still common and acceptable to be late for work because you ran into a friend on the street and were catching up. Italians believe wearing earing earphones isolates people from one another and that's not acceptable behavior for 1950.
Office dynamics sound quite Mad Men-esque. For instance, smoking in your office is allowed. Drinking at lunch is common place and sexual harassment is a relatively unknown and un-feared concept. Dating the boss is certainly not frowned upon. In fact, several of my girlfriends working for Italian companies have been told that women who “fuss” about suggestive comments at work probably just need to get laid.
Of course Italy is not COMPLETELY stuck in 1950. They have high speed Internet for goodness sake! Then again, you do have to sign a 2 year contract to get it. This forces many Italians (and visitors) to survive on an Internet key. An Internet key is the equivalent of an air card in the U.S., but it’s way more expensive and way less reliable. And then of course there’s the… the… umm… Okay, let me think… how else is Italy not like living in 1950? Hmmm (long uncomfortable pause)… Nope just that little wormhole called the Internet; that’s pretty much it!
Allora, welcome to 1950!
How is Italy like 1950 you ask? Well, I've taken the liberty to outline of few of my thoughts on this topic in the paragraphs below.
Everyone smokes... everyone.
Campari and Martini Rossi are very popular here. What, never heard of those mixers before? Yeah, that’s because they’re from 1950!
Everyone dresses in their Sunday best at all times. Fedora hats with wool scarves and overcoats, Italian leather dress shoes and gabardine slacks are the standard winter dress code for older men. Take away the Fedora hat and you’ve got the standard dress code for the rest of the men in Italy. Many Italian women continue to proudly wear fur coats because no animal rights organization is going to impose on their right to stay warm and be fashionable. Actually, the dress here is surprisingly conservative for men and women.
Walmart, Target, and Costo do not exist (although IKEA does. They pronounce it EE-KAY-AH). The concept of bulk buying does not exist. People shop daily and they buy in small quantities as there is no “extra” room to store that 20 roll pack of paper towels. Paper towels are seen as luxury and a waste. Dish towels are the norm. Just imagine the dish towels your grandma had in her house and you’ll understand what is used here.
Refrigerators are the size of "ice boxes" and eggs are not refrigerated. Microwaves are exceptionally rare. You’ll stick that last piece of pizza in the oven if you want to warm it up. And if you want to heat up some left over pasta or soup you’ll use the stove. There’s no instant gratification in 1950!
The weather still plays a major factor in how Italians live. Most Italians cannot afford clothes dryers. The machines themselves are expensive, but more so Italians cannot afford the electricity that is required to power a clothes dryer. Because they dry their clothes on an outdoor clothes line (even in the middle of winter if it’s not raining) or on an indoor fold away rack, drying time must be taken into consideration for what is washed and when it’s washed. For instance, the clothes you want to wear on Friday had better be washed on Wednesday to allow for the proper drying time.
Apparently the fear that one can catch their death of a cold is not just the stuff of Jane Austin novels. Italians (and many Europeans) still believe they can get sick from being out in the rain or out in the cold. They'll decide whether they'll leave the house based on the weather. Of course not having a car to get you from one point to another plays a major factor here, but still, Italians don't want to hear any scientific mumbo jumbo about how only viruses or germs can make you sick.
Many Italians cannot afford a car so they own a bicycle. People of all ages dressed in their Sunday best ride their bikes everywhere; to work, to the market, to restaurants, to bars, to school, to church… everywhere. But because it’s common for bikes to get stolen, no one invests in a new bike. That’s why so many “vintage” bikes are still in existence. These bikes have not changed much since the days of poodle skirts and saddle shoes. The bikes here still have chain guards so your dress pants don't get stuck in them, utilitarian baskets so you can carry your fresh bread and vegetables from the local market, and bells so that you can signal for the frustratingly unaware Italians to make room for you on the street.
Very few people, including students, walk with earphones to listen to music. It's a little strange to see because in Washington, DC and many other major metropolitan cities in 2010, earphones are an essential component of any wardrobe. It is still common and acceptable to be late for work because you ran into a friend on the street and were catching up. Italians believe wearing earing earphones isolates people from one another and that's not acceptable behavior for 1950.
Office dynamics sound quite Mad Men-esque. For instance, smoking in your office is allowed. Drinking at lunch is common place and sexual harassment is a relatively unknown and un-feared concept. Dating the boss is certainly not frowned upon. In fact, several of my girlfriends working for Italian companies have been told that women who “fuss” about suggestive comments at work probably just need to get laid.
Of course Italy is not COMPLETELY stuck in 1950. They have high speed Internet for goodness sake! Then again, you do have to sign a 2 year contract to get it. This forces many Italians (and visitors) to survive on an Internet key. An Internet key is the equivalent of an air card in the U.S., but it’s way more expensive and way less reliable. And then of course there’s the… the… umm… Okay, let me think… how else is Italy not like living in 1950? Hmmm (long uncomfortable pause)… Nope just that little wormhole called the Internet; that’s pretty much it!
Allora, welcome to 1950!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Just me
I might be destined to be alone for the rest of my life. Sometimes I’m okay with this realization and sometimes it scares the hell out of me. Not that long ago the thought of being alone (as in without a long-term partner) never really bothered me. Then a few of my girlfriends who are in the 50+ age range kept telling me how much it sucks to be alone and it freaks me out. That’s when I usually jump on Match.com with a solid determination to find SOMEONE to share my life with. I’ve done that now on two different occasions and I have to say the search-through-pictures-and-read-a-bullshit-profile route doesn’t really work for me.
To be completely honest, in the back of my mind I think I will find lasting love, but it won’t be for years and years. I’m not sure why I think this, but I do.
I tend to put my own life on the back burner when I have a man in my life. I suspect many women do this. At least, I hope I’m not the only one! By putting my life on hold, I mean doing less of what I like to do. I work out less because I’d rather stay snuggled up in a warm bed with the boyfriend then drag my ass out of bed at 5:15 AM to prep for a 6:00 AM workout class. I read less. I write less. I explore less. I try less new things. I’m not sure why this is. Over the years I’ve tried to maintain more of “myself” when I have someone in my life. I’ve gotten better at doing so but, still, maintaining balance in this area is a challenge.
For me, Italy has never been about finding a man… never. As I have blogged about before, Italy was always about challenging myself. When I came here I was dating someone who I would have happily stayed faithful to. However, many of my friends old and new seem to have a different idea for what this trip should be about. Some friends thought I should have broken up with my boyfriend before I arrived so I could be totally open to new experiences here. Some friends think I should have a series of torrid affairs with foreign men, just to see what it would be like. And some want me to find the quintessential Italian man who will sweep me off my feet, recognize how “special” I am, and take care of me for the rest of my life.
By the way, I’m not quite sure I like the term “special” in this context. To me, “special” is sometimes code for: high maintenance, difficult, picky, and/or in no way normal like the rest of us!
So many people are interested in this aspect of my trip, I have found myself getting wrapped up again in the need to “find” someone. The number of inquires are serving as very subtle pressure to have a great “story” in this area. I understand completely that people are just curious and, in some ways, living vicariously through this experience, but I’m starting to get anxious about not having someone and I don't want to feel that way. I don’t want to fall into old patterns. I don't want to force this part of my life anymore.
I don't know if I’ll meet someone here. I don't know if I’ll be alone forever. What I do know is I don't want to worry about whether I'll find someone. I don't want this to become the focus of this trip. I just want to chill out and be me for a while.
My new philosophy at this moment is to be open to every new experience. I want to keep an open mind and re-adjust if I start going down the wrong path. For right now that’s the plan.
Oh, and if I do meet the gorgeous man with the amazing accent who makes mad, passionate love to me, maybe I’ll let you know in some secret way like by titling a blog entry, “It’s a whole new world” and then writing about something that has nothing to do with that topic. Until then, it’s safe to assume that it’s just me enjoying Italy and all that I can make of my life here.
To be completely honest, in the back of my mind I think I will find lasting love, but it won’t be for years and years. I’m not sure why I think this, but I do.
I tend to put my own life on the back burner when I have a man in my life. I suspect many women do this. At least, I hope I’m not the only one! By putting my life on hold, I mean doing less of what I like to do. I work out less because I’d rather stay snuggled up in a warm bed with the boyfriend then drag my ass out of bed at 5:15 AM to prep for a 6:00 AM workout class. I read less. I write less. I explore less. I try less new things. I’m not sure why this is. Over the years I’ve tried to maintain more of “myself” when I have someone in my life. I’ve gotten better at doing so but, still, maintaining balance in this area is a challenge.
For me, Italy has never been about finding a man… never. As I have blogged about before, Italy was always about challenging myself. When I came here I was dating someone who I would have happily stayed faithful to. However, many of my friends old and new seem to have a different idea for what this trip should be about. Some friends thought I should have broken up with my boyfriend before I arrived so I could be totally open to new experiences here. Some friends think I should have a series of torrid affairs with foreign men, just to see what it would be like. And some want me to find the quintessential Italian man who will sweep me off my feet, recognize how “special” I am, and take care of me for the rest of my life.
By the way, I’m not quite sure I like the term “special” in this context. To me, “special” is sometimes code for: high maintenance, difficult, picky, and/or in no way normal like the rest of us!
So many people are interested in this aspect of my trip, I have found myself getting wrapped up again in the need to “find” someone. The number of inquires are serving as very subtle pressure to have a great “story” in this area. I understand completely that people are just curious and, in some ways, living vicariously through this experience, but I’m starting to get anxious about not having someone and I don't want to feel that way. I don’t want to fall into old patterns. I don't want to force this part of my life anymore.
I don't know if I’ll meet someone here. I don't know if I’ll be alone forever. What I do know is I don't want to worry about whether I'll find someone. I don't want this to become the focus of this trip. I just want to chill out and be me for a while.
My new philosophy at this moment is to be open to every new experience. I want to keep an open mind and re-adjust if I start going down the wrong path. For right now that’s the plan.
Oh, and if I do meet the gorgeous man with the amazing accent who makes mad, passionate love to me, maybe I’ll let you know in some secret way like by titling a blog entry, “It’s a whole new world” and then writing about something that has nothing to do with that topic. Until then, it’s safe to assume that it’s just me enjoying Italy and all that I can make of my life here.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Florentines have no awareness of spacial relationships!
There are now 2 things I miss about Rome; the Villa Borghese and Roman drivers. Yep, that’s right, Roman drivers. Those people know the rules of the road. They stop for pedestrians in the walkways, yield to other vehicles when appropriate, and seem to have a sensible understanding with the motorcyclists and bicyclists.
I knew without a doubt if I walked out in the middle of the street at a designated pedestrian crossing the cars in Rome would stop. In Florence I feel like I’m taking my life into my own hands even though I’m crossing legally. Luckily my exceptional “Frogger” skills come in handy when maneuvering through the very busy, very unpredictable streets here.
Equally as clueless as the drivers in Florence are the walkers. No one looks before they pop out into the middle of the street and no one yields. I had a man look at me for several steps as he walked right into me and then started yelling at me. He honestly expected me to move, even though he had cut into my lane walking in the opposite direction of pedestrian traffic. I just laughed when he started yelling. Oh wait, no. I mumbled that he could bit me too.
No one seems to have any common sense here. For instance, the sidewalks are very narrow. If a couple is walking down the street with open umbrellas, they will not form a single file line to make room for you on the same sidewalk. So, if you're already on the sidewalk, as close to the building as you can go, the couple will not form a single file line. Instead they’ll bash you in the head with their umbrella, get you soaking wet, and keep on walking without a care in the world.
Women are certainly not granted the courtesy of going first here. The phrase “Ladies before gentlemen” might actually make the men in Florence laugh out loud. I can’t tell you how many times a little old Italian man has cut me off or bumped me out of the way. It’s not just me. Italians cut everyone off. It’s equal opportunity discourtesy here. This was surprising for me. I was expecting that women would be treated with kid gloves and pedestrians would have a kinship against the evil drivers of automobiles no matter how “Smart” their cars were.
I have access to a bicycle now. The freedom one has with a bicycle is fantastic. Obviously you can get to places in less than half the time and you can go farther than you can when you’re walking. However, motorists here think that cyclists are less than dirt! Cyclists have no rights, which is weird because so many people ride their bikes in Florence. Helmets are not worn because, apparently, Gucci hasn’t designed one yet. And cars come so close to you on the street that it takes all your resolve to remain calm and focused.
This kind of anarchy would not fly in Amsterdam, I can tell you that! You can get stoned off your ass there, but don't even think about messing with a cyclist!
So, I guess Rome wasn’t all bad, and Florence has some flaws. Sorry Rome. I suppose I owe you an apology.
I knew without a doubt if I walked out in the middle of the street at a designated pedestrian crossing the cars in Rome would stop. In Florence I feel like I’m taking my life into my own hands even though I’m crossing legally. Luckily my exceptional “Frogger” skills come in handy when maneuvering through the very busy, very unpredictable streets here.
Equally as clueless as the drivers in Florence are the walkers. No one looks before they pop out into the middle of the street and no one yields. I had a man look at me for several steps as he walked right into me and then started yelling at me. He honestly expected me to move, even though he had cut into my lane walking in the opposite direction of pedestrian traffic. I just laughed when he started yelling. Oh wait, no. I mumbled that he could bit me too.
No one seems to have any common sense here. For instance, the sidewalks are very narrow. If a couple is walking down the street with open umbrellas, they will not form a single file line to make room for you on the same sidewalk. So, if you're already on the sidewalk, as close to the building as you can go, the couple will not form a single file line. Instead they’ll bash you in the head with their umbrella, get you soaking wet, and keep on walking without a care in the world.
Women are certainly not granted the courtesy of going first here. The phrase “Ladies before gentlemen” might actually make the men in Florence laugh out loud. I can’t tell you how many times a little old Italian man has cut me off or bumped me out of the way. It’s not just me. Italians cut everyone off. It’s equal opportunity discourtesy here. This was surprising for me. I was expecting that women would be treated with kid gloves and pedestrians would have a kinship against the evil drivers of automobiles no matter how “Smart” their cars were.
I have access to a bicycle now. The freedom one has with a bicycle is fantastic. Obviously you can get to places in less than half the time and you can go farther than you can when you’re walking. However, motorists here think that cyclists are less than dirt! Cyclists have no rights, which is weird because so many people ride their bikes in Florence. Helmets are not worn because, apparently, Gucci hasn’t designed one yet. And cars come so close to you on the street that it takes all your resolve to remain calm and focused.
This kind of anarchy would not fly in Amsterdam, I can tell you that! You can get stoned off your ass there, but don't even think about messing with a cyclist!
So, I guess Rome wasn’t all bad, and Florence has some flaws. Sorry Rome. I suppose I owe you an apology.
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