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!

Beginning to Grow

I feel myself changing here, but in a good way. I will always be the same, impulsive, irrational, passionate (I prefer this choice of word over dramatic) person, but something in me has changed. I can not particularly put my finger on it, but I feel like a certain spark I once had, has sparked again. Through the excitement of a new city, new job, new language and new friends, I rest assured in finding God’s love, finding a peace in my soul that was missing for the past few years. I breathe easier, and not only in Yogo class: since I have yet to find a yoga studio in Italy that doesn’t cost an entire car payment a month, but now I stop, breathe and live. Living in the present moment of my life, whether that moment brings laughter or embarrassment, I take it for what it is and embrace it. 

They say “Laughter is food for the soul” and “a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”, so when there is a combination of both, the world stops to enjoy this miraculous moment. The night before Rosie left for Napoli, we had dinner with her cousin, and her cousin’s ‘guy’. This guy met her cousin a week ago, he lives in the north of Italy, and he flew down, booked a hotel room for one night just to see her again. In what world do I live in, that a first date consists of this extreme action? We ate steak that was cooked at the table to the temperature of our choice, two different types of Roman thin crust pizzas, platters of grilled veggies, and plenty of appetizers. Their first date was dinner with us, and he took all three of us girls out to dinner. I’m sorry California boys, but they know how to work it in Rome. Dating is a serious game here and there is nothing that could be more cliché than Italian men playing games. And the fact that they are actually concuss of the game they play?? This makes the comprehension of men in Italy… ‘To be determined’, yet through experiences the past few years, I have come to understand a few consistencies: They like to have their homemade cake with ice cream on the side, or a long term girlfriend, with a girl… on the side…

This concept is one I know all to well, but in life, we must take all that is given us, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and take responsible for our own decisions, as well as the decisions of others. It just so happened that my dearest and best friend in Rome, Birdie (this is a code name, but it must be said in an old English accent) that I just met, experienced this feeling first hand, this past week. To go through such betrayal of the heart, something that is only recognizable if it has been felt before. It’s an indescribable numbing feeling that penetrates to the soul. Birdie and I have Italian class together, and from the moment we met we hit it off. We have something simple in common, we love to laugh, we can laugh and laugh over the same stupid things over and over, and they never get old. We actually have many things in common, for instance, we both live with a family and we both share a love for Italy: good red wine, good food, dancing, the language, and of course, the men.  Secretly, I have been praying for a girl-friend who thinks the same as me. I know that this is a selfish request, but in order to have a ‘new life’ here I needed that relation. A few days ago, Birdie and I were walking home from class and she said, “You know Nicole, nothing is by chance, I believe that we are meant to be friends.” I couldn’t agree more. This past week we went out almost every night. It’s not because we are crazy party girls who don’t have anything better to do, but it was more of a bonding experience, and a band-aid on a freshly wounded heart.

Not all the men in Italy are cheating whores. My Italian guy friends are actually really great! I have an assortment of friends each with different personalities and interest. I have a wonderful speaking partner who takes me to fantastic dinners all around the city, including our last adventure to Sushi, although it really can’t compare to Mikumi’s, it was nice to eat something other than pasta! When we are out he only speaks in English, and I try to respond in Italian, great practice, but sometimes by the end of the night I have a pounding headache.  I have a few party friends that have seen the worst and the best of me…I have a great friend that looks more American than me, but he is like a little ray of sunshine, with his bright blond hair. I have my bar tender friend, who knows exactly how I feel about everything, and he can hardly speak English, but can rap every Lil’Wayne song ever written. I have a friend I call my brother, who stays very busy ruining his own bar, but when it comes time to party, he knows exactly where to go. Then, there is my first friend Lorenzo. One night took me to Tresevera, where the Romans say the ‘real Rome’ is. We had dinner outside on the patio. The street was cozy, tucked into a corner; to my right was the back of a very old church, straight ahead was another outside dinning area, and to my left stood a bass cello player and a woman in her 30’s singing deep Italian jazz. It was a scene from a romantic movie; each thing was perfect in its place, creating the most memorable night. After, we strolled around the city glancing and awing at the sights.  I can never forget the first moment I saw Saint Peters at night; the way the lights hit the fountain is breath taking, and the most remarkable thing is that it always remains… breath taking. 

Last night, I adventured back to Tresevera for a few drinks with my New Zealand friend, Kiwi. Heading home from a great evening down the tiny streets, I heard a mix of R&B, I followed the music and found myself in "G-Bar", I guess it's a bar for gangsters, perfect, that's me. So I went in. By myself. To the Club. With in 2 minutes I met the professional Rugby Team of Rome. They were such gentle men, and I had a great evening with my new friends and for now, friends are currently all I want in my life, because the longer I am here the more I am humbled by my own self insufficiency.

I have always prided myself on being a very independent person. I am the one that must stand on my own two feet and I must hold myself up, yet the thing is, if you are holding yourself up, what happens when you stumble? What happens if you trip over the rock in your path of life? No one is there to catch your fall. Like I said before, I can feel myself changing. I have spent the last eight years of my life doing whatever I please, hardly thinking of another person. In laymen’s terms, I have lived an unfulfilled selfish life, which most people my age (especially in Orange County) do, but in defense to the OC, it's beauty is what it is known for. We live there to be by the ocean, and we have a reputation of perfection. Being taken out of an environment I have grown accustomed to, helped me gain prospective of my own actions. Now, for such a time as this, I’m finally starting to grow and gain a passion for something different;  I want something great out of this gift of life, each day my eyes are opened to the rest of the world, and this is only the beginning of what's to come.......

Under the Influence

 It wasn’t long before I learned to book my Saturdays to the rime. One Saturday my schedule looked something like this: 10:30 English lessons and Cappuccinos down at the bar, 12:30 lunch date with a motorcycle ride around the city, and at 7:30 a motocross show. I was diving head first into Roman culture, starting with the boys.

            There is something about Roman Boys, at all ages they are captivating. My little guys at home have become significantly more comfortable with me. I find myself growing very fond of them as well. They are very smart and active, challenging me to create more difficult and entertaining lesson plans. This takes a great deal of time, but the reward is almost as tasty as the gelato I win after an hour run. We have created our own traditions we do each day. On Mondays, after school we spend a little extra time at the park, which is always entertaining. These little Italian boys live for soccer, wearing their uniforms to school and playing a pick up match whenever they can. I particularly love to play with them, although the boys do get embarrassed when I beat them. On Wednesday, we have Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, good’old’american food! The boys love them! The youngest was telling his mother the other day how I make it, and his exact words were, “Mama, a la verita, Bounisma” (Mom, I swear it’s wonderfully good”). They always keep me amused, and busy. Staying busy is not hard in this city, there is always something to do, or trouble to find.

Lately, for some reason trouble has found me. I don’t know why at this particular point in my stay that I have found trouble, or yet it found me, but at any rate, it has. It’s not too bad, but there was a few nights that I honestly had to stop and thank God for sending angels to protect me when my thoughts and actions where not as elegant as usual. A few weekends ago I went out with my ‘new group’ of Roman friends. Fascinated by culture and longing to taste the true ‘Roman way’, I jumped at the chance to partake in their lives. We went to a fantastic dinner, we had at least 5 different appetizers, ranging from a pesto eggplant parmigiana, pure raw beef on pineapple, and fresh homemade ricotta, and for dinner I had Fire Roasted Rotisserie Pig and rosemary potatoes with a glass of prosecco and red wine. After our fabulous dinner, we headed to a small bar named Carrot, kid you not. The name is Carrot, and yes it’s orange inside. There we had to celebrate with a bottle of prosecco. I have no idea what we were celebrating, or if we even were celebrating, but I opened that bottle like it was New Years! I had another glass of prosecco. Then we were off to the club, oh and Italian boys do not just ‘go to the club’ and wait in line. Oh no, they have to do it big. They have to have a table and bottle service. I had a few more glasses of prosecco. Although I love each person I went out with, I over estimated my confidence and self assurance of being the only non Italian with my new friends. The though of the night being a bit of a challenge for me did not cross my mind, like maybe you might feel nervous, or awkward Nicole. Me Nervous? Never… Until this night. I was nervous, and so awkward, so I drank. And Drank…and drank a bit more. Humility has never been a gift of mine, but after this night, I felt like someone slapped me on the face with a bottle of wine and said, “Wake up! This isn’t Cali anymore, you want to be here, you have to try, and this isn’t supposed to be easy.” You humble me Lord, you make me call on your name and you teach me to grow… I really don’t care what people think about me. I never have, but I always care about how I make other people feel. I never wanted to embarrassed anyone or put someone in an awkward situation, and I felt that in this particular situation I might have done that to a great friend. And what great friends I do have. This was my way of ‘breaking the Ice’. I don’t recommend it, but it did work for me.

The next day I was in need of some girlfriends. Just in time, my dearest friend from Naples was visiting Rome. Rosie is a doll, I first met her last summer in Naples at the town’s local bar. Our favorite activity consisted of poking fun at the Napolitano boys. They are such an easy target, it’s better than George Lopez and Mexicans. In truth, I needed to see her, especially after last night; it’s great to see someone who knows me long than a month. We were meeting at one of the hottest clubs in Rome around 1:00am, so I left my house around 11:50pm, to insure I wouldn’t be late. I had to take the bus, the metro and a short walk to get there, dressed in a light silky black one shoulder dress and black heals, I headed down the street to the bus stop. I decided to take a quick nap on the bus before my long night out, until I was awaken by the stillness of the bus. It had stopped with all doors open, and alone I sat, on a bus and on a street I had never seen before. My heart started to pound. Where am I? I immediately hopped up and started questioning the bus driver. He had said that this bus was headed to the depositary for the night and he was unable to take me anywhere. Inside I was freaking out, what am I going to do. I have no idea. He must have been able to see the distress in my face, because the next thing out of his mouth was “non ti preoccupare”, (don’t worry), “Ti portero” (I’ll take you). What did he say? He’ll take me? I can save money on a 20 euro cab… Now this is when I hear my parents voice, “Nicole, do not talk to strangers, Nicole do not get in the car with strangers, Nicole, do not EVER RIDE A BUS ALONE TO THE BUS GRAVE YARD AT 12:30 IN THE MORNING IN A BLACK DRESS AND HEALS with a stranger.” Yes, Mother and Father at this very moment I heard your voice, and at this very moment, like always, I did not listen. I have constantly considered myself a good judgment of character (minus one poor judgment this past year of an ex-boyfriend). I feel that the Holy Spirit impresses on my heart an indescribable feeling, I honestly believe I can feel if a person’s spirit is good or not. This isn’t a new concept, but something that I have felt my whole life. Not in anyway do I ever recommend heading down a small road, 12 miles outside of the center, on a dark cold bus alone, but I did. And there I was, once we arrived at the bus depository, the driver told me to wait by the street corner. Again, not very good places for a girl in a black dress, so I sat down on the curb and prayed for an angel and a gun. I got in this 42 year-old bus driver’s WV black Golf hatchback, and headed down the road. The very first thing out of my mouth was, “How old are your Children?” “Tell me about your wife?” I figured, if I could keep his mind on his family, it would keep it from wondering other places. He was very kind and respectful, only once did he ask for my number to take me for coffee or pizza, and I politely reminded him of his pregnant wife, and asked him if he would like it if she went out with another man for coffee? He smirked and replayed, ‘no’, as if through my broken Italian, he understood my point. I made it safely to the bar, and took a tax home that night.

Living in the Present

I did say Dating ROME, not dating IN Rome or Dating a Roman...

I just date the city of Rome...   :)

Current love affair with Rome...

Dating Rome isn’t easier than dating a male, but it is defiantly more enjoyable…

He wakes me up with a smile and gently reminds me of the daily blessing from God, Oro Gold Lavazza coffee. With the sweeties aromas of coffee one could ever smell, I slip on my brown rainbow sandals and head to the table. There glowing with gold shinny lines on the 6 burner stove top stands, my personal, double shot espresso maker, steaming hot waiting for our good morning kiss. At last my love has saved me and he is perfect in his original form, which is never the case for a man, but this man needs no sugar, he slips down with ease.

Rome and I went hand and hand on a walk, with no map, I wanted to explore and see his creative side. Through the tiny stone streets at the bustling time of 8:00am I was determined to find untouched ground. I stumbled upon a tiny corner shop. There were two old wooden doors, one on each side of the corner, they almost touched. Looking though the open door my heart skipped a beat at what my eyes saw. Beautiful breads of all kinds, and pastries that added ten pound with the glance of an eye… I bought three things and ate them through out the day.

Skipping down the cobble stone road wearing black leggings and an oversize pink tunic, and carrying my white goody bag in my left hand, I was determined to be a local, not a tourist. I turned a corner and there stood the Pantheon, oh the camera was out faster than an Asian at Disneyland… I am a tourist. In my previous trip to Italy I never saw the Pantheon, and what a mistake that was. It really is a magnificent sight, dating back to 120AD. The first thing I did was walk though the yellow and pinkish marble floors, straight to the very center of the dome and look straight up. A local boy told me that no matter how hard it rains, it never rains in the Pantheon. When we have our first day of full rain, I am testing this Roman theory and its validity. Every couple has their spot, and this will be OUR spot as long as we are together.

Finding the Pantheon without looking for it.

Roaming around Rome

We are all created with a hole that needs  'love'. That is how God created us as humans. We are made to crave love, and find things to love and eventually God comes and fills the cracks of every part of our hole so that we may feel whole. Milana is our family's new love. She has brought a joy to everyone around her, even for me. Although my heart is broken and longing to hold this precious gift God has given Sebastian and Denise, her pictures bring me sweet joy. What an amazing creation and beautiful gift you have blessed us with. Forever she will be part of our family, and a joy to us all. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1M0flYf1rg

Thursday night I decided to adventure out of the house to a near by pub, I was in need of a drink…after two full days of travel, a new set of parents (as if the 2 sets I already have weren’t enough) and 3 new little brothers (as if the 5 I already have weren’t enough!) a glass of procceco seemed like bliss. So off I went in my navy blue JCrew dress, gold sandals and a scarf to have one drink. I get down to the bar and there in all of his glory was 50 cent and Lil Kim singing Candy Store on a 60” flat screen tv, and a man sitting in a San Diego Charger football shirt drinking a beer. Ahh home, I found my ‘posto’ (spot).The setting was very posh for such a tiny bar. It has a very clean sleek look, with white illuminating plastic everywhere and clear barstools and chairs. I order my glass of procceco in Italian, because I am determined to improve my skills. The bar tender, which looks like the black curly haired guy from Gym Class Hero’s, entertained my idea of ‘Italian only’ and started conversing with me. Three minutes later into our Italian conversation a group of American students came stumbling in. Francesco, the bar tender looked at me and rolled his eyes as the girls said… “shots…Vodka…molto economico”. I just laughed trying to contain my composer and said to Francesco, ‘Si, loro sono di Americano”(yup, they’re American). Next the girls started to speak to me in Italian! I couldn’t take it any longer, I blurted out, “Where are you girls from?!” Next thing I knew I was given 2 shots of vodka and a glass of procceco. By this time I was yelling BASTA (enough for me). My bill was only 6 Euro, thus my first night out…

            Friday it finally hit me. I was dead tired; I took a nap in the afternoon for almost four hours, and then awaited my call for the news concerning Milana. As soon as I heard the great news, I was out cold, dead asleep. The best part of houses in Italy is the shutters that pull all the way down to the ground, and make your room literally pitch black! I could sleep for days and never know what time it was. Saturday I woke up at noon and ready for adventure! I packed my bags, grabbed my things and was on my way…within two minutes it donned on me that I have never been alone in my life. It’s a weird, but fun concept; I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. As Jackie told me before I left, “get used to it sister, it will be good for you”.  Such wise words from my 21 year-old sister, although she is speaking from her own experience, she was right.

            I went looking for something different, a nice quiet spot away from tourist, you know somewhere for locals. I went exploring at Villa Borghese, the park I had described before. I found a somewhat hidden pond with beautiful cast iron benches and adorable duck families. The trees were aged and over grown hitting the top of the water with their branches. It was the perfect distance from the street and a tiny café-grab-and-go sort of place on the corner, I felt safe at my pond. Feeling very proud of my discovery I sat down to take out a map and plot my next adventure, when I heard a man say, ‘Heeelloo’ in his deep Italian accent. I turned my head to look and there stood a partially balding man with his person part in hand peeing! Yes PEEING! I was so grossed out, I screamed OH MY GOD and ran off!! That was the end of finding a personal spot; according to Italy personal things do not remain personal!!

Walking at such a brisk pace I hopped on the first bus I found and headed down to The Trevi Fountains. Just when I was sick of being alone, I met two girls from San Diego. We grew up 15 minutes away from each other, which made me realize how small this world really is! The three of us continued to tour all of Rome until it was almost 11:00pm and time for me to catch the bus home. On the busses they do not post the up and coming stops, it is the riders’ responsibility to remember where they are going. I choose the stop that said ‘Balduina’ which is the name of the city I live in, except it was completely wrong. I was lost at 11:45 at night, in Rome. Mom cover your ears…Across the street was a gas station so I walked over to the man pumping his gas and asked him if he had any idea where my street was. He stared at me, and then it hit me, he was the same boy I had met the first night who was wearing the San Diego Chargers tee shirt!

I know someone is watching every step I take When in Rome.

P.S. I would like to make a contraction in my previous writing ‘Here I am’ the adorable lifeguard who be-friended me is named Lorenzo not Leonardo… He is now my Italian teacher (whether he likes it or not :)