My Little Honey

December is finally here, and my third month (of round two) in Rome has passed. November had been quite a long month…

The week before Halloween I had a 10 day vacation, which just so happened to fall equal with a visit from a dear friend I had worked with at Nordstrom, in San Diego. The truth is we didn’t plan this trip based on my vacation, I actually didn’t even know I had a vacation until a few weeks before, but at any rate I did, and seeing a familiar face was the honey I needed in my tea. Let’s call her…Sophia ;). There is something about San Diego girls, true home grown San Diego girls, born and raised, it’s like seeing a long lost cousin for the first time, you just fit as if you can sense the familiarity in each other. Sophi is my fashion diva and her over all chill domineer brought a field of memories from home. By the way, SD girls are innocent; LA is the town that corrupts you… ;)

The day the girls (Sophi and her friend, another amazing ex-Nordstrom girl) flew in to Italy they landed in Milan, I was already on the train headed to meet them. I called Sophi when I arrived, “Oh meet us at La Scale, we are with a professional opera singer that we knew from Nordstrom”.  That’s not something you hear everyday. We spent two nights in Milan, and then frantically ran to catch a train to Venice Sunday afternoon, although we had booked a hotel in Florence, we only had 1.5 hours to tour Venice. If you could picture three girls running through the tiny streets, over the bridges and pausing to take pictures with our big floppy hats and sunglasses, and an ice cream in one hand, that was us.  We ended our weekend with a Sunday night out in Florence, again running to our train, and arriving within minutes of departure. Sophi’s friend said, “Boy, we do a lot of running with Nicole don’t we?” I had laugh because each train we barely made, and litterly ran to catch it. In Florence we meet up with one of my best friends in Rome, who also had her sister visiting. It was exciting for us to be tourists with tourists, in ‘our’ country.

The next week we spent in Rome, I was on vacation and my host family was in Turkey, meaning I finally had the house to myself to sleep as long as I like! It was also the week I found out you could party every single night, if desired. Tuesday we had an amazing 15 person dinner that lasted three hours, with all of our friends and guests. This night I introduced my best guy-friend in Rome to my best girl-friend from home. And you can imagine where the story leads from here. A few nights out and a few nights away, she fell in ‘love’ with her first Italian lover boy.

If you know me at all, you know, I am100 percent against Italian men. I love their confidence and romance. There is nothing like it to wake up and hear, “Baby I made you coffee, breakfast in bed, did your laundry and drew you a hot bath, you’re so beautiful, Ti Amo…” they are the worlds best Lovers, but the worlds worst Husbands, as in, they will love you and every other girl they see. Knowing this, the reality of my little Sophia and this Italian Louvarrr, scared me to death.

But there is trust. And it was something that I have to have in both of them. Trust he won’t hurt her, and trust she knows what’s best for her.

And what they have is beautiful. Their ‘love’ story has started a new chapter in their lives, one that hasn’t finished, since after her week in Rome, she came back for another four weeks, and is currently in the Canary islands next to Morocco and Spain, with her Italian Louvarrrr bathing in the sun and taking in what living life is all about. Living.

The problem is, when I am here in Rome, I am in my own world. When Sophia was here we spent our time reminiscing of our lives together downsouth, what I found that had happened, is when I went home to my big empty Italian house each night, I was alone, and I would start to cry. I cried because I felt selfish in my desires to live here, while I have been so incomprehensively blessed with the most amazing people throughout my life, the simple reality of living away again for another year had sunk in. What am I doing away from these people? These people are my life; I have my family and friends. And in Rome? I have my desire to experience something different, but is that enough?  In life, what is it that truly matters?

 A friend in San Diego was just diagnosed with stage two lymphoma cancer, she is 24. There are things I don’t understand, there are actions that I do that I may never understand why I did. But even when things happen that I don't understand, I have to have faith.

What do I want? Isn’t that the question we all ask? Sometimes I wonder if we really have a choice. Instead of what do we want, we should ask what really matters? I’m learning how to surrender… everything in every aspect, letting go and trusting that if God can ‘feed the birds in the sky, surly he can take care of me’.

The first two weeks of November were long, not only do I want to share stories of the parties and ridiculous things we do, but also the reality of living in a different country. It’s an intricate processes which requires a certain inner strength that I don’t always have. There might have been a few long weeks in November, and funny last year I had titled my November blog entry as “Never ending November”…The thing is, it’s now December and November did end and it ended with a routine Sunday dinner with my three best girlfriends.

I really could not live here without them. They need nick-names, so why not, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte…

We do everything together when we can, coffee and tea, shopping on Via del Corso, or Sicilia Pasticeria after Italian class. There is a tradition that we had made in October, every Sunday we have a dinner/ lunch that can last hours. It began after a long Saturday night, when we finally went to bed at 7:30 or 8am, and all woke up around 3 in the afternoon. Being starving and a bit hung over, we wanted to sit outside and drink a bit of wine and bask in the most splendid part of Italy: it’s pasta. Campo di Fiori was the perfect place, but the main reason for our meeting is that somewhere around 4am we all went our separate ways, and what we want to know is what happened between the hours of 4 and 8. How do we know what time we sleep, or make it home? Well there is a wonderful yet evil little invention called Whatsapp, an instant messaging system which allows us to chat on a group chat, we chat non-stop all day, everyday. When we go out, and then go our ‘separate ways’ we must message when we get home, it’s our golden rule. So when we all message at different times, there leaves stories that are obligatory to be told.

Our first Sunday Lunner lasted five hours, starting with a simple appetizer, and two liters of water, which magically changed into wine, and a four course meal. I wish I could tell the stories that are told between 4-8am, they involve Smart cars, taxis, fences, wrong buses to the other side of Rome, skinned knees, and lost keys. We dish about Big, Steve, Harry and Smith, we laugh non-stop until our stomachs hurt, and we eat amazing homemade pasta accompanied with house red wine. After that first Lunner the owner of the restaurant approached us upon our departure, I was ready for the un-invite back to the restaurant for holding a table for 5 hours and our annoying high volume level, yet to my surprised he grabbed me and kissed me, and said, “Thank you, because of you girls we have business, come back, please come back.” Ever since that Sunday, if we are in town, a few hours after we wake up, we go to our Sunday Lunner spot and spill the dirty untold secrets of the night, and laugh at the stupidity of each other. We aren’t just friends, but we have become sisters, who know all, tell all, and cry together.

Although “What am I doing here” floated through my mind, it’s moments like these that I will never have again. It’s the joy of new relationships, and the blessing of old, it’s unexpected life of the unknown and being away from home, it’s Rome.

Acting Up

Famous Italian writer

When you live in Rome, you find it funny when the Italians treat you like a tourist, although I have found this to be sort of a game to me. After a year you learn what’s considered a “tourist spot” an “American Bar” and the strictly “Italian” spots. I don’t have a preference, you would assume I like to do only what Italians do, but that’s not particularly correct. I enjoy drinking a beer at the Drunken Ship, which is the equivalent of Sharkee’s down south. Drunken kids running around being loud brings a small comfort to my soul.

Aloe Blac

There are times I love pretending to be a tourist, like the night of Vogue Fashion Night. Vogue Fashion Night transforms all the main designer stores into Parties. There are DJ’s and free drinks, Celebrities and Concerts all for the pure glory of fashion, and how could I miss a night like that? For some reason I wore jeans and a white tee, now if you know me and know my love for beautiful fashion, this just isn’t me, at any rate the low key style worked in our advantaged as we met the band of Aloe Blac (I need a dollar dollar-that song), and a professional soccer player that in his elder age was stunning.  Tia and I walked by the Louis Vuitton store and saw a line of 200 people trying to get into the shop. There were live models dressed in French Maid costumes posing in the windows and butlers serving tray passed orderves and champagne. Usually, I enjoy this store, but do not have a desire to enter, but tonight it was the challenge that enticed me. We walked straight up to the front of the line and started a conversation in English with the incredible sexy door guard. He was half black half white, 6’3 in stature and of course the perfect body. I looked at Tia and smiled; at that moment I did something that even to recall such an act causes my cheeks to turn a few shades of pink. I looked straight at this beautiful man and said, “Are all men in Italy as good looking as you, because if they are I could live here forever.” Did I really flirt with the door man at Louis Vuitton so we could enter this private party completely underdressed for the occasion? I sure did, and within seconds we were escorted in with a personal photographer who followed us around the stores taking pictures of us as we drank champagne next to my best friends: Speedy 35, Alma MM, Cirrus PM, and all the rest of the fabulous handbags in the store.

The Girls: Charlotte, Miranda, Carry, Samantha

The following weeks I picked up where I had left off last summer…working during the week, meeting the girls for coffee in the park in the mornings and weekends, well the weekends are sleepless, truly sleepless. Remember living with a family puts a pressure on the weekends. For us girls it’s our time to breathe, get out, and travel around Italy. Although most of the time we spend our weekends at our favorite places in Rome.

There was a famous Dj named Afrojack coming to Rome.

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9_QOnADShU&feature=related). I want to say I knew who he was before, but to be honest if it wasn’t for my sister updating my itunes once a year, I would still be listening to Maria Carry. Thanks to a few great friends we had free tickets and our own vip table for the concert. My 3 girl friends and I couldn’t wait to go. The concert was unlike anything I have been to before, maybe concerts have changed, instead it was like a club, but with the best DJ I have ever heard. My dearest friend is from Holland (Afrojack lives in Holland) and so for her a picture with him would be amazing. By the last song she asked me if I would go up to the DJ both and ask if we could snap a quick photo. Our table was close so we walked right up towards the booth. Surrounding the Dj was a few body guards dressed in black suits and ties, I started to chat with one in Italian, puzzled he stared back at me and stuttered, uh do u speak English? I laughed and started to explain how my girlfriend is from Holland and would love just to snap a quick photo with him. He looked at me and said, “I can do better, come with me”. So leaving our friends behind, we were ushered through a back door and into a tiny makeshift hidden room outside the concert hall. Within minutes Afrojack  himself came running through the door, panting and dripping with sweat. Our mouths dropped open, for I had no idea what was happening. I guess my loud mouth pays off, for we spent the next few hours chilling with Nick, one of the most respectable men in today’s music world.

Afrojack

Forgetting that we just ditched our girl friends for hours, they were calling upset, and right fully so because not once did it occur to Nat and I to call them.  Afrojack picked up the phone as Tia called, and on the other end Tia had no idea who she was talking to, and being as pissed off as she was, the conversation went as you could imagine…Can I please just speak to Nicole, I’m already Pissed…. I love to tease her about this ;) Not only was this an amazing night, we were the only girls in all of Rome to meet him, but this night also marks the bond of  4 friendships that grew and will continue to grow for the next year as we simple share our lives in a city, stepping forward into the world with confidence and true contentment that we are exactly where we are suppose to be…

In time..

Starting my third month in Rome, I have to ask where does the time go? Last I knew I was on a plane dreaming of my new life in Italy, leaving everything and everyone I loved behind to embark on a life changing adventure, to breath free of the known, and embrace the unknown…and that was a year and three months ago.

I wish I could stop time, I don’t want to grow another year older, or miss another moment at home, but to experience a life in this world is unlike anything else I have ever known. For instance, everything is a bit scary, every action I make is uneasy, things are new, you feel things deeply and differently, you do things you would never do, you make friends with people you would never encounter otherwise, you experience life in a whole new manner, thus inevitably changing who you are…

This to me is Rome.

It’s an adventure with ups and downs, gives and takes, building life-long friendships, or feeling heartbreak: it’s actually truly living my life.

At times I feel guilty, I genuinely do. Here I am at 27 years-old (yes it’s old) spending my mornings with my girl friends drinking tea and eating cake, taking walks down one of the world best shopping streets, and enjoying four hour lunches that turn into dinners, while drinking bottles of red wine. I have this gift right now, I have the gift of true freedom, at the drop of a hat I can leave for the weekend to Milan, or meet a friend in Venice. When I think of what my life was before, working 80 hours a week, (which kept me out of trouble), but what was life? I was away from my family living in Orange County alone anyways. Working to pay rent, to buy more things, to somehow make it in this rat race of life…Italy is different. Italy is about life, passion; you work to live, not live to work. You have a coffee, and smell the coffee, and add sugar to the coffee, a touch of milk and then you drink your coffee there in that moment, you savor the flavor you feel the hot thick crema in the back of your throat, you truly enjoy and know the pleasure of that coffee. As American’s what do we do with our coffee? We take it to go. We grab it and go, we have places to be and work that must be done and we drink our coffee because we need our coffee.

And here lays the difference in life itself, are we made to take our coffee, or drink a coffee?

For now I’ll drink my coffee and savor every sip because it might just be the last time I will ever be able to drink a coffee in this way…

(the rest of the story...)

So there Tia and I were in Padova at 2:00am, looking for something to do, to our luck our new friends had found a little club called the ‘Q’, and off we went to dance the night away. After a few hours the men from the dirty south of Italy turned a bit too dirty, Tia and I had become a bit worried and quickly encountered ‘new friends’. The club closed at 4:00am leaving us 2 ½ hours before our train to Feltre left. We went sight seeing with our new friends all over Padova, seeing every Piazza and fountain in the city in the middle of the night. Making it back to the station in time for our train and blowing kisses to our new friends, we were off to see the world championship of bocce ball!

Snow White's Village

Feltre

Feltre is a storybook town with small stone streets and petite Snow White cottages lining the streets with wooden shutters, window flowers and potted plants. In the distance lies the world renowned Alps, with their snowcapped jagged edges and deep crevasses, the town felt like a dream. When Tia and I reached the hotel we were greeted by players from all over the world, all professional bocce players. I have to laugh; to me bocce ball is Sunday afternoons with my Nonno, playing outside their ranch in Ramona, California. Who would have thought this game could be taken so seriously? At any rate it was, and we got to experience it first hand; The World National Bocce Tournament in Feltre.

First Few Weeks in Rome...

Round Two in Rome: The First Two Weeks

Now being a sophomore here, there is no more ohh God please help me get on the right bus, or please please send me friends. Nope, I was headed back to a place I now call home; where the food is delicious, the men are sleazy, and the scenery is astonishing! Breathtaking. I have chosen at this point in time (and for the next three years I have left in my twenties) to live a breath taking life. Starting the first weekend I was back.

I have a dear English friend, Gemma, who was a part of my circle of friends from last year; she had spent the summer in Lake Baracciano and invited me up for the day. There was a small board walk around the lake, with restaurants right on the street in front of the water. The small quant little town with tiny paths and doorways, wooden window shutters, and stone steps was equally as breathtaking as the lake itself. There was one house in particular that sat on the boardwalk facing the lake. They some how managed to build a garden on the sidewalk itself, tall sunflowers, lush greens and bright red and orange Gerber daisies, yet the most amazing thing was no one disturbed it. It was made for admiring and it demanded respect, and it was granted by everyone.

Gemma and I spent the day lying on the beach and paddle boarding together on the same paddle board, falling every 15 seconds, one after another and laughing uncontrollably, I could only imagine what the people on land were thinking. Stupid Americans/English girls, paddle boards are made for one person…

Restaurant on the lake

We ended our evening at that perfect little restaurant on the lake, we had made a reservation earlier and there on a tiny white paper writen in black Sharpie sat my name on the exact table we had requested. No wonder Katie Holms and Tom Cruz got married here, and it’s simply marvelous…

Settling into my second week in Rome, I found a familiar routine with the boys back in school, making the weekends never looked so sweet. When Tia’s family is out of town we usually spend the whole weekend basking in the simple splendor of our own apartment. Acting like roommates we cook dinner, drink wine, stay up late telling boy stories, and dance around in bras. It’s my favorite way to spend a Friday night, although usually by midnight, we have found ourselves getting ready for a big night out.

Saturday morning we were up by 9, ready to hit the beach for the whole day with my surfing buddy in Ostia. Ostia beach looks somewhat like a lake, with tiny waves and mix of rock\dirt they call sand. It’s not the best beach in Rome, but it’s near and the key word is ‘beach’ and some days just the smell of the salty sea makes me feel at home.

Ostia Beach

Tia and I were lying in the sand wondering what trouble tonight may bring. My surf buddy had invited us to an outside reggae concert in the park, which had seemed to be a great idea until five minutes after Tia’s cousin called. Her cousin is a professional Bocce Player on the US National team (who knew such a team existed?) and was playing in the world championships in the small northern town of Feltre, situated underneath the Alps.(5 hour train ride)

Earlier in the week we had sought after this cousin of hers, trying to organize a day in Venice with the players; we have been unable to reach him until now. It was 5:30pm and Tia and I are lying on the beach covered in sand,

“Should we do this?” Tia asked.

“Let me check the train tickets”, still having no desire to move from the heat of the sun, I reached for my iphone and glanced at the next train time.

“There isn’t a direct ticket to Feltre, you have to stop in Padova in order to get there.” The next train leaves at 7:05! We are an hour train ride outside the city and we would still have to go toTia’s to grab our bags! At this moment we kissed our friends good bye and headed straight to the train station.

To our luck the train pulled in just as we had arrived. We both looked at each other and agreed it was a sign from God that we are suppose to go. Laughing at our current ridiculous spontaneous adventure, we started to pre-pack our bags, delegating who would grab what when we arrived at Tia’s home. As I took a closer look at the train times, I noticed that the last train to Feltre was 10 minutes after we arrived in Padova. I spent the next 30 minutes on our train ride home from the beach devising a plan to connect the Bocce players  for the night. Finally, it occurred to me that Padova must provide a more thrilling and entertaining night life than Feltre, the boys could just meet us in Padova, then we could stay up all night and catch the first train to Feltre in the morning.

Tia’s cousin agrees that Padova will provide much more entertainment for the night and promises to take the last train at 8:10 to Padova, arriving at 10, and remain in the station until we arrived at 11. Everything will work out just perfect!

We arrive at Tia’s house at 6:45, we have 5 minutes, to throw as much as we could in our beach bags, and with our partially  wet bathing suits still on, the two of us ran to the station, beach bags in one hand and our over stuffed purses in the other. My hair was in its natural curly sea-salt state, wearing a floor length white and black maxi dress that was too long on my 5’foot frame,  I had to hold the bottom of the dress so I didn’t trip. We were the epitome of tourists.  We reached the station within 5 minutes of departure.

As we approached the ticket machine I remembered that last year on my way home from Torino I was able to purchase something called a ‘Globe Pass’ it was a first class ticket incredibly discounted.  I don’t know how I was able to use it or just simply how nice the conductor was, but when he asked for my ‘Globe Pass’ I handed him my California Drivers license and he let me on, not asking a single question.  So I had the brilliant idea to test my luck again, yet when I know something is wrong and I do it anyways, there will be a little voice inside of me that asks me what are you doing? You know better!!

Often I don’t listen to this voice, so we bought the ten dollar tickets for first class and hopped on the train.

It wasn’t before long the conductor was making his rounds for tickets,

“Posso vedere i biglietti ?”

I look at Tia and in English said, “Huh, What did he say?”

He glances up and down, and through the little smirk on his Italian skin he can see in an instant we’re ‘tourist’; although I normally jump at the chance to practice Italian, in this case, I better keep my big mouth shut.

I handed him our tickets, shaking like a child who stole a pack of gum at the grocery store.

“Here’s our tickets Sir” I said and tried to smile, “and your passes” he replied.

I looked at Tia and said, “umm he needs our ID’s” so we handed him our American ID’s.

 “No signiorine, this is no Global Passes”

Wide eyed and as innocent as a little sinner could be, I said, “We entered the numbers of our passes and we were able to buy the tickets that way, you see…,” and this is when my creative imagination started to take off, as I begin to tell a story that we had been at the beach all day (true) and one of our bags was stolen (not true) that had our passes in it, and I had called Global Pass for our pass numbers so we could buy our tickets, and they told us to show you our ID’s. Starting straight at me, this man didn’t know whether to laugh or kick us off, because obviously we look like hooligans gypsies trying to get a free ride in first class (partially true).

“Ladies, la next stop a Florence, a questo stop you must buy one ticket of 50 euro.”

“Oh really? Our passes don’t work anymore?” giving my most convincing confused faced I could possibly make.  So at the next stop I did exactly that, I bought One ticket for 50 euro from Florence to Padova. I even showed the conductor on the way back into the train, “Guarda, adesso tutto bene?”, slipping and speaking Italian, with a small tilt of his head he started at the ticket and said, “Si, va bene cosi”. As I was walking back onto the train still in my bathing suit, long maxi dress and crazy hair, I see him glace at me with the most puzzling look, later as he came back around to check tickets it became evident that we knew just what we were doing, when he asked why is there only one ticket of 50 euro, and two of you? Staring straight at him I simply replied, “I’m sorry sir you told me to buy one ticket of 50 euro didn’t you? And you see Sir, I showed you the ticket before we got on the train and you told me everything was okay, so I believed you.” with a small shake of his head he mumbled, “Dai non fate niete, ciao ciao regazze..” (come on, don’t worry, bye bye girls).

Tia and I looked straight at each other and the second he walked away started to giggle, for we have known what we have done, and we are guilty as charged. We both said a prayer out loud in forgiveness promising never to lie for train tickets again. And asking God to walk with us on the adventure for we are in need of protection! Shortly there after Tia receives a message from her cousin, “I missed the F*ing train, because no one speaks English!”(that’s what we get for lying!) everything up to this moment has been in our favor. We look at each other in dismay, oh my God what are we going to do in Padova, alone? It’s shocking we are foolish enough to leave for a night knowing that it’s impossible to reach our destination until 6 am, but knowing that a male family member would be accompanying us somehow brought comfort. Now we are arriving at 11pm alone on a Saturday night.

I changed in the train bathroom and gaving myself a sponge bath, trying to de-crevice sand in not so friendly places, after all, we are going out all night we better get ready. I did Tia’s makeup in the train seats while she helped fix my rat’s nest of hair. When we finally arrived we found a bathroom nearby and tried to make the best of what we had.

For our current circumstance we didn’t look half bad, Tia was wearing a bright red summer dress and I was in a black mini skirt and heals, and both of us had two bags in our hands and no indication where the hell we were. And off we went down the streets asking everyone we saw where we should go. A friend who lives in Padavo had mentioned a few Piazza’s in the center that we should find, and so we did. Unfortunately, my tour guide couldn't make it at that time, because his knowledge would have been priceless that night. Nevertheless, we found a bustling piazza, covered with teenagers and young adults. We found a small little table near the corner end of the piazza, and sat outside with a few glasses of wine.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

 The strangest thing started to occur, around one am, every little rigazzini started to disappear, it was as if the flood of people that surrounded the streets slowly melted away, and the vast amount of 200 or so  denigrated down to10. In Rome this is never the case, the streets are bustling with tourist all hours of the night, and besides it is only one in the morning, and in Italian time that’s equivalent to around 10pm.

Empty Piazza di Padova

“Ladies I’m sorry you must go, we are closed now” the waiter said as politely as he could, nevertheless asking that we leave.

“Where does everyone go to dance here?”

Noticing my accent he started a friendly conversation and informed us that in the center everything closes, there are no clubs, the only clubs that exist are outside the center about 6 kilomiters away.

How is that possible? We are still in Italy right? I know the north is different but every Italian city I have been to has dicotecas in the center, it’s part of their culture to stay out all hours of the night, especially on a Saturday night. Astonish we had no idea what to do, we have 5 hours before our train left for Feltre at 6:40am and we are alone in this town. Having an idea to sight see at 2am we started to walk around admiring the piazza when two somewhat older gentlemen approached us. One was short around my height in his late 30’s with tan skin and spiky gelled hair; he wore tighter jeans and a halfway open button up white collar shirt with two gold chains around his neck, and a few sliver bracelets dangling from his wrist. The other man was tall and thin, with gray hair and soft kind eyes, if I had to guess I would say he was in his late 50’s. They had a puzzling look on their faces, as if they could see we weren’t from Padova, and I returned the stare, because obviously they too were not from here.  They were from Bari, the south of Italy and they too were stumped to find nothing open past one. Four is better than two, they said, stay with us, we’ll find something to do…..    to be continued...soon I promise....xx

The End of Round One: July the last month

The End of Round One: JULY  2010 the last month…

“So what do you want to do today” I ask my 10 year-old, for we are about to spend a week just the two of us, while his brothers are away.

“I want to fart on your face!”

 “Well, let’s see, what is the punishment for farting on someone’s face?” I ask

“To fart again on their face!”

He looks up at me and bats his almond shape baby-blue eyes with a sly, yet irresistible smirk, and says, I know you can’t be mad that I just said I want to fart on your face. And he is absolutely right. I can’t, I laugh and laugh, and threaten to shoot him with a Nerf gun! These boys are special, extremely intelligent and witty little shits. After spending April May and June engulfed in my own life, running around with our group of 8 girlfriends like school children loose at Disneyland; parting at least 4 nights a week until all hours of the night,  I have taken a vow to remain at home as much as possible for the next 30 days until I leave for California on July 22^nd (and accomplish a much needed detox as an added bonus).

The thing is, in Rome I really haven’t been much of a homebody. Actually I’ve never been much of a homebody. I would like to stay at home when I am at my mother’s house. It’s so beautiful there, with Friday happy hours and weekend BBQ’s with all her lovely friends, soon enough.

One afternoon Bea and I were lying out by the pool (which I found out later I was not allowed to have friends at the pool, well one time didn’t kill anyone). There was a boy in his late twenties who over heard us speaking English, he came over and in perfect American English introduced himself, he was spending the summer right in my complex with his grandma. I was shocked and incredible grateful for God blessing me with a friend at the perfect time .

Danni grew up in Ethiopia, but now lives in Australia; he went to college in Canada and loves to travel the world. He is incredibly intelligent and extremely outgoing and confident, so together you could only imagine the conversations we would have. He was staying with his 92 year old grandmother who wanted him home and in bed by 9pm, so every night after dinner, Danni would kiss grandma goodnight and pretend like he was going to bed, then this 26 year-old man would sneak out of the house and meet me at the front gate for drinks down the street at our local bar! We were like little teenagers, laughing and whispering down the street, I was so grateful to have a friend like him for the summer, and he truly was just a friend (understanding the western mentality of men and women actually being equals and friends). Leading up to my long awaited trip home to meet Milana…

Home was amazing… simply amazing.

When I was at the airport a very good looking man in his late thirties asked me to stay just one extra night in Rome. They had over booked the flight and they would give me  a first-class up grade, $600 dollars and a hotel room at the beach. The first thing out of my month was, “I haven’t been home for one year, I have not met my baby niece,  and I have not seen a single member of my family for one whole year! There is no way in hell I’m not getting on that plane today.”

Later I must admit I do regret the $600 extra dollars, and with in the first 20minutes of the flight I missed my first-class update. Oh well, all in all it was worth it.  Watching my mother’s face turn white when she saw me for her birthday surprise, and Milana crying because Auntie ColeCole was a bit to excited when I got off the plane and screamed when I saw her.

My family, is the biggest blessing in my life. The first week I arrived at home I did not turn on a computer or check a phone for 4 days. It was glorious. I made a promise that for one week I would not tell a single soul that I was home.

 I spent the first few days at my brother and Nini’s house getting to know the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. She is brilliant, and I know everyone thinks their baby is beautiful, but really she is stunning. Big round baby blue eyes and the perfect button nose (she didn’t get that from our side that’s for sure). She stops traffic in public. People comment daily on how cute she is. Her personality is showboat drama queen, Princess Milana, as she should be. She loves to be the center of attention and she will dance and laugh for you as long as you like. She is a joy and she’s going to be a cheerleader. Not that she has to be, but she likes to cheer. I couldn’t remember the words to any nursery rhymes, it was my third day with her, her mommy was cutting Jackie’s hair and she wouldn’t stop crying. So I did what any other ex-cheerleader of 10 years would do, I sang her cheers… Ohh she just loved it! And from then on, Milana and I would spend our afternoons yelling G-O let me hear you say GO, GO, that’s right unite, let me hear you say Fight… and so on…

While I was home I had a 13 day road trip with my two best Italian girl friends that I met my very first summer in Napoli 3 years ago, and my adorable friend from England I met a few months back in Rome.

Vegas

Added 2200 miles onto my car, we toured all of California ending in Las Vegas. Let’s just say, turning 27 with 8 of your girls in Las Vegas makes for a few memories, just a few. But as you know… what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, unless your Bea, then it gets published on Facebook;). With all of my girl-friends from around the world together for my birthday made me the luckiest girl in the world. Really lucky because I did lose my iphone and camera in one of the biggest clubs in vegas, and somehow found them by the end of the night. Vegas when you are 21 and Vegas when you are 27, are a world of difference.

Oh God 27, 27 Twenty-F-ing-Seven. I cannot believe that I am minus three from 30. I have noticed I am starting to mature emotionally and signs of maturity have come in little lines around my face, not to mention the new addition “heal cracking”. In which this hideous callous forms and then proceeds to brake itself at the heal of my foot. Incredibly Sexy, sorry Mom for always making fun of your feet, I guess that’s what I get.

As I prepare for Round Two of Rome, it feels different now. I have changed. How could I not, I feel stronger, very strong on my own, giving me a sense of contentment and peace in knowing that this is the perfect choice for me right now in my life. I know this is where I am suppose to be, and being confident in the decision I made comes from a greater understanding of myself and a great faith that if God can take care of the birds in the sky then surly he can take care of me. And He has, unfathomably.

Bring on… Round Two.

Ten Today.

(Be advised: I have to comment that I was having a bit of a bad day and might have been too harsh on Italy. I did not mention the things I love...like my 3 little guys who bring me so much joy and have taught me that I am very capable of being a mother, because I love them as if they were my own, their presence is why I am here, and why I will be back next fall. i <3 my little guys...)

It has been 10 months exactly today. 10 months since I entirely flipped my life upside down, stepping into a world that is exact opposite than the one I had created before, a world that no longer revolves around me, but instead spins on the dynamics of a foreign family. My apologies faithful friends and family for writing less, actually four months of ‘less writing’, but I have quite possible lived the most thrilling four months of my life, until now…

There is an Italian word I love ‘Stufo’ , sono stufo di autobus, sono stufo di campo di fiori, sono stufo di… Meaning: I am sick of.. I am sick of the bus, train, metro, tram...I am sick of the bars, the parking, the early morning rises and undressing-glares of men… I am sick… but most of all this week I have found myself to be dauntingly homesick.

There is a line, there is always a line, yet I constantly stagger on a line of too much or not enough. Last night I long jumped that line setting a new world record. Wednesday brought a sweet sunshine and loving familiar smile from a girl I met a few times while working in Newport.  She has a beaming personality and stunning looks to match, almost reaching 6 foot, and you know how I love tall people, the cherry is we share the same birthday. I loved our day! Yesterday was another Italian holiday celebrating, oh who knows maybe voting again…but I wouldn’t be bothered, by the grace of God, I was off work! We spent the whole day in the city, it was precisely what I need to remind myself why I wasn’t at home holding baby Milana in my arms. Sight seeing all day in the hot sun, not eating much and drinking a bottle of prosecco for Aperativo, gave me the running start for my record long jump.

 It was also the last night, of the last girl, in my group of girlfriend here in Rome, which achingly was sinking in. I am alone. Taking a journey back in time to the first month I had arrived, those all too familiar feelings rushed in. There I was in a black dress and heels, with two fun-loving friends, wishing I was the one getting on a plane tomorrow and heading back to the States. When we arrived at the third bar around 3:30am I posted on a stool, drank and texted until I could not text anymore (possibly because the girls had hijacked my phone, but the keys were a bit blurry anyways). I was addicted, I couldn’t stop texting! I wanted to know what my friends were doing, what they were making for dinner, what baby names they had chosen, what new clothes they owned…I wanted to just be there, I wanted to be home. The poor boy next to me must have chatted for an hour, and then asked me, “Well do you even know my name, or where I’m from”.  “Huh, ohh I’m sorry, what?” I replied.

 Honestly, I just don’t care. I don’t want to meet anyone, what’s the point? I’m not going home with you, and even if I wanted to (which I never would, but incase I met Cristiano Renaldo) I didn’t tell my “host family” I wasn’t coming home, so I can’t, and frankly sono stufo di men, actually, sono stufo di everything new! I don’t want new friends, especially new guy friends, I want my Old guy friends, I just want my old life.

 I don’t want to ride the bus home at night and smell this horrific stench of a salty-sweat that has been marinating in the hot sun all day long and I don’t want to have to ‘go out’, just to get a brake from work, and I don’t want to eat anything un-vegan, I just don’t want to eat anymore food… for months, I don’t want to be celibate!  I don’t want to dream of Miliana, I want to see Milana, I just want home. I want my mother to greet me with a hug and kiss when I walk in the door, I want hear Jack Johnson without my headphones. I want to come home to roommates watching trashy TV, I want my friends to lie on my bed late at night and share ex-boyfriend stories. I want my shoes! I want my new friends I made to come back to Rome! I want to drink wine and cook with my family at Sunday dinner. I want to sit next to the fire-pit at mom’s! I want to steal my sister’s clothes and piss her off! I want to see my brother hold Milana. I want my dad’s avocados! I want to hear his guitar. I want my fresh squeezed OJ I drank every day for two years made from the oranges I picked from my dad’s trees!  I want to hear the Today Show while I squeeze my OJ. I want to wake up and run next door to see the pugs playing outside, I want to hear our old tennis coach tell us “now that’s a picture, girls”, I want my yoga body back!! I want to eat what I want, when I want and how I want, any f-ing time of the day. I want to be a Vegetarian again! I want to grocery shop at Trader Joe’s and Growers Direct. I want to wear the shortest dresses and not have a man ask me how much I cost! I want my 24 hour fitness membership and my Grande Soy Vanilla Spice Chi from Alta, I want to see Jenny prego, for the third time! I want to come home to my house, where I can have as many people over as I want. I want to throw a house party! I want to walk out of the shower and be naked as long as I like! I want to sleep in my underwear and wake up as late as I want and eat breakfast in my undies! I want my nails done, I want, well actually I NEED a pedi mani, haircut, hair dye, wax, facial, massage….ahhh after 10 months of a completely life switch, this week, I want my old life back. OMG I want my CAR!! I want to control the radio and BE allowed to sing as loud as I want with out boys screaming at me!!! I want the beach, My BEACH! I want my homes: San Diego, Newport, and Granite Bay…I have exactly one month, yet I need it now…

But the thing is….

I also LOVE Rome. I am in LOVE with Rome. From the moment I arrived I had been engulfed by its passion, splendor and rich history.

I might be sick…Homesick, but I’m not done with Rome quite yet. You see, after ten months certain relations are built that are unbreakable and etched in your mind; after ten months I have deeply changed due greatly to these relations. The past four months were no longer ‘I or Me’, but ‘Us or We’, and I found myself surrounded by the most brilliant group of friends. Which as of today, have all returned to their respected countries or spending the summer around Italy, but certainly our experiences are never to be forgotten. In the mist of my self-imposed bath of nostalgia I will pour the bubbles of the past four months in optimism to fill the perfect prescription for my current state of illness. I strongly believe in self-medication through writing particularly when you do not have insurance. Where are you on that one Obama? Without further a do, last I checked I left off at March…

For a much needed boost after the gloomy winter, spring was in the air. I wasted no time springing into action. Every morning after taking my boys to school I started running in Villa Borghese. It is beautiful at this time of the year; the tiny pink flower buds in bloom and the crisp sun warming up the air, it started to feel like Italy. I was fascinated by my fellow joggers, they provided hours of endless entertainment. Just their outfits alone are priceless; my personal favorite is the man who wears woman’s yoga pants. At any rate, I started a conscious game of Judgment. I would guess where each jogger was from, what language they spoke, if they had children, where they worked, if they were married or faithfully married; the best way to judge if a jogger is faithful in his marriage is to gauge his glare. If you run by and he glares at you and the glare continues beyond past inception and down past the small of your back, followed by a wide-eye-rapid-head-bob, ladies and gentleman we have found ourselves a cheater. I would let my imagination run wild, as I used Rome as my personal gym. The Spanish Steps became my Stairmaster and for lost of better words, it was just rad. After 2 glorious ambition filled weeks as ‘a runner’ I sprained my ankle quite badly while silently judging an old man on a bench, who in turn, silently judged me while I screams out a not so bella word…I couldn’t walk for a week.

Mondays and Wednesday I have Italian lessons, although much like college I tended to skip class for a coffee with my best friend. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings I met a student for coffee next to the Steps. Ella is in her late forties or early fifties, and seeing that she is a full time mother of two very active teenagers and holds a head position at a local TV broadcasting station, between the times she drops off her children at school and before she goes to work is when we have our lessons. I fell particularly hard for this dear student, actually incredibly hard. She is the perfect mix of my dear friend in Newport Beach who is also in her late 40’s and my darling mother. Ella stands 3 inches shorter than me, has bobby blond hair and a tiny petite frame. She loves to smile, laugh and shop. During our morning coffees we would take walks around Via del Corso and window shop in the fabulously expensive store windows. When I asked her why she was studying English she had told me that English was very important to her, she hoped to one day retire in Africa and work in an orphanage. This is the type of woman that she is. Some evenings I would skip over to her house (she lives across the street) and enjoy a wonderful three course Italian dinner. She asked me if next year I would live with her, so I could be her English teacher. As charming as she is and as sweet as she is I still didn’t feel quite right about the offer, so I graciously declined and went on our way never bringing up the topic again.

One Saturday morning Ella took me grocery shopping with her, you can imagine the supermarkets jammed packet with little Italian woman driving their carts through the isle with the same demeanor they poise with their cars, pure craziness. This is the market on a Saturday morning. I can’t imagine what these Italian women must had thought when the saw Ella picking up a cucumber from across the yellow basket filled fresh produce section and over a small child’s head, “And what do we call this?”

Laughing, I yelled back, “CUCUMBER and this is a BELL-PEPPER”. Within the next few hours we had transformed the supermarket, post office and hair salon into our classroom remaining a memory I will never forget. 

In questo momento nella mia vita:

These past three months I have been over-consumed with my current life and greatly apologize for my lack of communication. You are all in my thoughts and prayers daily, and love and miss you… So where was I, that’s right, I’m in Rome…

Siene: Carnivale

 What I have found in Rome is something not found in the city its-self, but found with in oneself, well, I guess I just found…myself.

Myself, in its purest form, actually not too pure, but moving to a country completely alone and starting from scratch in an environment that is so diverse than home, causing me to re-evaluate, acknowledge and grow. I have a few secret confessions I must get off my chest. Secret # 1: I go out to wine and cheese dates with my current book. This is something I had never done before Rome, but I actually enjoy it.

There is this place called Beppe, it is a wine and cheese bar in the Jewish Ghetto in the center of Rome. One Saturday afternoon my friend and I stumbled upon it by accident and it was love at first sight. When you walk in to the left is an open deli style cheese counter and there lays over a 100 different-types of homemade cheeses. To the left in the white wash cabinets are homemade jams and organic nuts, there are tan wooden floors and dark oak tables that do not match, yet some how work perfectly. Once you walk through the small archway, you enter the ‘drinking’ area; a snug little room of shelves and shelves of small private label wines. There you can enjoy a bottle of wine and mouth watering cheeses. A fine bottle of wine and plate of cheese later, Beppe had become my favorite posto.

In January, my dearest friend from Naples was coming into town for a visit. She wasn’t arriving until later in the evening, so we made plans to meet around 10pm. Being that the sun was shining, I wanted to get out of the house and walk around. It was around 7:00 and I started to dream of the homemade whole-wheat bread  they bake at Beppe’s, I thought, what the heck, I have a book I can grab a glass of wine and a plate of cheese for dinner while I wait for Rosie.  Well, I guess I had made some sort of impression the last time I was there, for when I walked in I was greeted as royalty. Swiped to a table and poured a glass of wine, my night had started. The owner insisted that I meet his 21 year-old nephew from Torino, he is actually responsible for making all the cheese. How could I say 'no' to an opportunity to chat in Italian with a cheese maker? My book suddenly was brushed aside and new company had joined. Cheese making was a trade he had learned from his grandmother and he insisted that I try only his best work, with the appropriate wine to match, again, how could I say no? He proceeded to mix and match my cheese with organic-naturally made marmalade and honey, and of course the perfect complementing wines, per la dulce: champagne, liquor and home-made chocolate nutella. My mouth has never felt the same since; I literally ate the most delicious cheeses I have ever had in my life. By 10:00 I was grinning from ear to ear, and remained in a state of pure satisfaction for the rest of the night. Only in Rome, La vita in Roma e sempre cosi…

There is nothing like the city that once was the center of the world. A month back, Friday night started quite routinely, pizza, wine, and drinks in Trastevere. 2:00am had come around and it was time to head home, just when a friend called to meet up, so we said 'sure why not', and were off to a tiny whole-in-the-wall bar. It was dressed like a vintage Irish pub slash strobe-light mini disco place. It was small and smoky, yet very cool, almost like Malarkey’s in Huntington Beach. Around 3:30am and my friends we were ready to embark on yet another adventure. We pulled up to a closed Hooka Bar, the steel cold silver gate was locked shut, I remember thinking, what are we doing here, this place is closed. A moment later a young man opened the gate and led us through to our own corner of the room. The place was enormous, the roof was lined with hand-blown glass lanterns and bright colored silk drapes on every corner. We were enjoying this middle-eastern tradition, in our own private bar.

Later on my friends called to me, “Hey Nicole, come here we want to show you something…” I followed my two guy friends down an alley and into what looked like an old storage room. We walked though the main room and down a few small staircases. It was a dime-light, cold under ground cave, scattered carelessly across the room were old wooden milk crates filled with hand blown glass. Surrounded by old little archways and rooms, and then like a frying pan would smack one in the face, the reality of where I was hit me. Could this be the famous underground Rome? My heart started pounding, as I looked up straight before my eyes were an ancient marble Roman column. Yes, I know there are plenty of them around Rome, but to literally be in an ancient Roman house, running from room to room, seeing the tiny door ways and the beautiful archways sent me into a state of shock. I am playing in an ancient Roman house at 4:30am, like a little kid in a tree house. Unreal.

Today starts the last week in March; I have to ask myself, where did the time go? My time is over half way finished, it’s like sweet and sour chicken, I don’t know what to think.  An incomprehensible life with out my boys, how empty, quite and boring; I have grown so attached to the little brats. We try to burp the alphabet, (not at the table), we skateboard, talk about soccer and fight over American football. We rap Enem and sing JLo’s new song together, until I start to dance.  Last Friday we were at a stopped at a busy traffic light, and every Friday I cheer ‘whooohooo’ and dance(a lot); staring back at me was a little audience, the Middle Child and I just looked at each other and started to bust up laughing uncontrollably… I turned a few shades of red that morning.

 It’s a different life then I have lived the past eight years in Southern Cal, yet it’s much more real life. I have been exceptionally blessed this year; I have been given the gift to influence these boys. Yes, time well spent, little do they know, they have captured my heart, and hold it in their hands.

Men, oh My Father in Heaven, these Italian Men…. I don’t even know if I should act surprised, or just laugh…I was driving home from a nice run in the park (trying to shed my kg gift Italy has given me) it was a proper day, the sun was shining and the weather glimmered of spring. I was in my black yoga clothes, hair on my head and glasses on, cruising down the road, behind me a car starts to honk. Omg the nerve of this man to honk at me, I was driving a bit slower than normal taking in as much rays as I could, but now I was pissed, Ughhh pass me whatever!  I wanted to give him a mean nasty glare for his rude jester, yet to my surprise he scrunched his noise and shook his head and with a little smirch, blow me a kiss, ‘ma che bella’..  I just laughed and shook my head, how can I flip-off this man now? He just blew me a kiss… hahahahaaa only in Rome…..

Never Ending November

Never Ending November

Now that the Holidays are over and the New Year is among us, I found it time to share a few of my favorite Holiday stories and of course, life learned lessons, and blessings from above….

After a some what weird and disappointing Halloween, I spent two weeks at the house, hardly going out. Halloween is far more entertaining in America, and will always be. Halloween is the time to pull out your inter-child and let loose, which I am hoping to see a bit more action during Carnaval, because Halloween was such a bore. At this point it has been exactly two months since my arrival in Rome. These two weeks were by far the hardest for me. Feeling the excitement slip through my fingers and the realization of my allotted time in my current environment, frankly started to scare the crap out of me. OMG, I live in Rome, I live with a family, I don’t have a car, I don’t have Coffee that comes in a glass bigger than 2 inches, I don’t know where Trader Joe’s is, and I defiantly hate hate hate public transportation including, the bus, the metro, and any form of a train… and I spent 70 Euros on Taxis in one week…What did I do to my self for one year? AND my skin keeps getting whiter, my pants are getting tighter, and my bra’s don’t fit….After my self-sulking, I slapped my self around a bit and took a little vacation to Brussels (Bruxelle) Belgium….Land of Chocolate…

Why do women love chocolate so much? Understanding such a question is beyond the normal thinking process. Is it the smooth, soft, cold touch that reminds us of a prince charming kiss, or the pleasure it brings when the taste slides down our tongue? Perhaps we have learned to replace men with such pleasure. Besides, all women need is love and pleasure. Anyways, Brussels came at the perfect time, I was ready to get out of Rome for the weekend and find a little chocolate pleasure. Brussels was by far the most outrageously amazing adventure God has ever blessed me with. My flight left at 8:20 Friday evening, my darling friend had arrived 7 hours before me and was expecting me to land by 11pm. I, not always being punctual, was extremely late, still having to take a bus to the metro, the metro to the main train station and from there take a shuttle to Ciampino Airport, (which is 45 minutes away) and I left my house at 6:45. I was running through the streets, with my big colored stripped bag on my shoulder, and tall knee high boots and long coat, determined to make my flight.

By the time I arrived at the main train station Termini, the shuttle would have taken too long, so I decided to barter with a group of cab drivers. Speaking only in Italian, I found a nice 64 year-old cab driver named Giovanni (of course) who took me to the airport for 25 euro. I was so excited, I made it on time! After a 15 minute line in security, I ran through the airport in socks not even stopping to re-put on my boots, I was not going to miss this flight!

I arrived in Belgium a little past 11, I was ready to meet up with Jackie, all I had to do is take the last shuttle 30 minutes into the city and give her a call. It was cold outside, as I waited in line at the ticket window in front of the airport, then with 10 people in front of me, the 6’0 foot, French speaking shuttle drive said something in the terms of, épuisé or ‘sold out’…Merda (Italian for number 2)! What am I going to do, I reach for my phone to tell Jackie what happened, except, ‘Merda!’ I forgot to buy the re-credit for my phone, what am I going to do?!? I prayed… I always pray when I’m in trouble, which is quite often, but God never lets me down. I walked up to the French bus driver, not knowing a word of French, I told him in Italian, ‘I’m alone and I don’t know how to get to Brussels any other way.’ He was a tall, good looking, but hairy French man, he gave me a pitiful sigh and said, something and motioned with his hand to follow him. And there I sat in the little handicap chair next to the Hair Bus Driver, all the way to Brussels.

My darling friend must have known I would take the same shuttle as her, because there she was waiting for me, and off we went to a bar of 2000 beers on tap, a private castle,  and homemade roast beef dinner and American breakfast… and not to mention Chocolate of all kinds… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K4tLu5G0Uno click this to see where we got to stay.

A lot to be thankful for…

The following week after my mini vay-kay was Thanksgiving. Surprisingly, my host family had never celebrated this holiday before. I took a leap of faith in my cooking skills and with a little help from Marth Stawart,  I cooked my very first full 7 course Thanksgiving dinner. We had mashed potatoes, pumpkin cinnamon puree, green bean and mushroom casserole, corn on the cob, stuffing, pumpkin cheesecake, and turkey.  It was adorable to see the boys enjoy their first Thanksgiving Dinner! I am incredible thankful this year to have the opportunity to experience something as great as Rome, and I am abundantly blessed with family and friends all over the world!