Italy: A Tale of Two V's

Verona
Verona is a charming city that is fueled by Shakespeare's famous tale of Romeo and Juliet.  As someone who absolutely adores Shakespeare (I would totally be his mistress) I had to go see where it all went down.

Giullietta's Statue

Everything is about Juliet in Verona.  Casa di Giullietta where many cup her statues right breast in their palm, her final resting place, her shop full of little trinkets saying "Amore" with little red hearts all around.  My question is, Wherefore art thou Romeo?

He is nowhere to be found and I am pissed.  Why is he not as important as Juliet?  Isn't it more shocking that he, a hormonal teenaged hot piece of ass living in Verona, would kill himself over a girl?  His history proves that he normally just moves from girl to girl, but Juliet was different.  Juliet was one babe he could not live without. 

Verona, I put my foot down and demand to know where Romeo's statue is and what I have to grope to get lucky in love.

(Note: Mercutio is my favorite character.  I definitely want to know where his statue is.)

Venice
Venice is highly romanticized in the American eye.  We see it as the ultimate place for love.  And how can it not be?  The softly lit canals, delicate bridges, and ridiculously attractive men (and women) at every turn really does satisfy every need for this gal.

I loved everything about Venizia.  Basilica di San Marco where every car commercial is filmed.  It's true, just look for doves flying away as the fancy car skids to a stop, grey towers looming above. 

Canal of Venizia

The Grand Canal and the Rialto Bridge were absolutely gorgeous.  The stock photos don't lie, it is as picturesque as it looks.  The colors of all the buildings made me realize that yellow, orange, and red in Italy is like America's beige.  I am so fascinated by the many colors around me.  Even the food is brighter here.  

So far so good on my adventure!  I'm still not sleeping well but I'll get over that with lots and lots of cafe latte's.  Keeps me jazzed.  We'll see what Cinque Terra has to bring for this weekend!

Italy: What Not to Wear

I made it! After spontaneously purchasing my ticket to Italy, I quickly got unpacked from Iowa and repacked for Italy.  Twenty-four hours later, I got into town and had the best night sleep.  I'm staying with my Uncle, Aunt and Cousin in Grumolo, Italy which is a rural town outside of Vicenzia which is in between Verona and Venice.

Today, I took my uncle's dog for a walk today just so I could get a feeling of what his town looked like.  This dog is a cute little beagle named Bailey.  As I was heading back to the house, Bailey decided to do her business and like a good dog walker, I used a doggie bag to pick up the poop.

Continuing down the street, a beautiful black sports car pulls into the drive-way across the street from where I am.  As luck would have it, the most gorgeous Italian man gets out of the car.  I swear this next part happened in slow motion.  As he stepped out of his car and shut the door behind him, he popped the collar of his black leather jacket with a red stripe up the sleeves, smoothed his perfectly tousled hair, rubbed his five o'clock shadow and glanced over at me.

Trying to keep what was left of my melting panties on, I realized how I looked.  Unlike the Italian women doing every day chores, I was not wearing my stilettos with a slinky black dress.  I was appropriately clad in a sweatshirt, saggy brown pants, a messy bun, and Chacos.  I also had the privilege of carrying a very clear, Ziploc bag of feces. 

Hottest Man Alive smirked at me then grimaced at my bag of poop and slo-mo walked away from me.  As I watched him walk into the house I thought, "Fuck.  Really?  This tribute to the gods is my neighbor?!" 

Next time I go dog walking you can bet on Hottest Man's oh-so-cute bottom that I will be in my Sunday best...probably with cleavage.

Iowa: The Land of Corn

Iowa.  The state where I discovered my love for Nutella.  Where a vegetable burger is a burger with vegetables on it and not the normal veggie burger.  I love Iowa.  The men are ruggedly handsome, the corn is sweet and there is nothing to do.  It's very relaxing.  I went to go visit my dad's step-mom, Grandma to me, and the other various characters that live within those rolling hills.

Football:
I have never been to a football game.  That's a lie.  I did go to a couple in high school but I was just farting around at those.  My college's football team was a joke.  If they won two games a season, that was a success.  So yes, this was my first big kid football game ever and I learned a lot (I think)

The University of Iowa Hawkeyes played an exciting game.  From the start, they passed well and made their plays with precision...ok, this is what Daddy Greg told me.  I have no idea.  All I know is that it was a hot, sweaty Iowan day.

It was thrilling to sit so close to the players.  I got to hear the tackles and watch the players interact.  The enthusiasm of the crowd is intoxicating, even though I was sitting next to tiny humans and bleached blonds who just wanted to get laid.  Coming from Durango, it's not everyday you get to see that.

Exes:
I had a rare insight into my dad's life in Iowa.  My family, mom included, had dinner with my dad's ex-girlfriend.  Yay!  It was pleasant and delightful.  They dated for quite sometime in high school mostly because their mothers where best friends and both died within a year of each other (my dad's mom because of a care accident and her mom because of brain cancer.) 

We talked a lot about death.  Most of my dad's friend's have died and are dying and that definitely puts life into perspective.  But enough on that...

We also looked at old-timey photos of my dad in high school.  It's frightening how similar he and I look at that age.  The nose, the sarcastic smirk, the posture.  If only I had a crew-cut...

According to the Ex, I also look just like Virginia Louise King, my dad's mom.  I've never seen a picture of her and no one seems to have one but I guess I have her body (no waist, legs for miles, boobs.)  I guess she had a sense of humor but that's all that I really know. 

I really enjoyed my time with the Ex.  She talked to much but she was a hoot.  I learned a lot and made me realize that I need to have more adventures.

Maid-Rites:
So the best burgers are in Marshalltown, IA.  They aren't your normal burger.  It's like a dry sloppy joe with loose meat.  You finely chop ground beef, cook it with beef broth, water, and salt until the liquid is gone then you put the meat on a bun, put onions, pickles, and mustard on it and chow down. Eat with chocolate malt and dill pickle chips.

Ketchup is a sin.  I don't know why I'm just repeating what I'm told.

Here's a link:  http://allrecipes.com/recipe/iowa-maid-rites/

I'm sad to leave my grandma but happy for my next adventure: Italy!!

MOIST (and other words)

MOIST.  MOIST.  MOIST.  MOIST.

The worst sounding word of the English language.  It drips, it hangs on your lips, it makes me think of inappropriate things.  Mature, I know.  I just can't seem to get over it.

MOIST doesn't always have a bad connotation.  "The cake was MOIST," is a simple example.  You don't want your cake to be damp, wet, steamy, misty, or any other variation of the word.  (I remembered how to use the thesaurus!)

Other words that frustrate me are...

Nipple:
             When I had to help a customer at the pharmacy find a Nipple Protector, I thought I was going to die.  The dirty old man inside me told me to say something inappropriate; "Like in a strip club, eh?  Do you need Titty Tassels or Hooter Pasties?"  The more professional side said, "Pull it together, ya dumb bitch!"   My personalities compromised so that I said "nipple" as often as I could and tried not to smile.

Supple:
              I was told I have supple breasts once.  I mentally slapped them and told them to rot in hell.

Teat:
              Why?  Just say boobies!  

Suckle:
              Unless this has to do with honey suckle, I am uninterested and even then I'm not convinced I won't slap you.
            
Spittle:
              A close friend of mine loves this word.  Each time she says it, I want to cry.  "Some spittle was hanging from my mouth."  Gag.

Combined, these words make the (unfinished) world's worst sentence: Spittle fell from his lip onto her nipple as he suckled from her moist, supple teat.
Think about that.

The Wall of Man

Today, I finally took down the Wall of Man in my room.  This now barren wall was my own nerdy homage to Star Wars, Star Trek, Harry Potter, and X-Men.  Of course it was sprinkled with comedians and other famous men but the overall voice screamed geek.  Apparently I don't have a type as seen by the eclectic group unceremoniously attached to my wall with scotch tape.

Infamous "Wall of Man"

Much of the things I have in my room have been there for 23 years.  I am completely incapable of getting rid of anything, especially stuffed animals.  They all have some sort of sentimental value or some bullshit like that.  I have two, six foot tall book shelves filled to the brim with children's books and young adult literature.  I also have a fainting couch because, well, who doesn't need one of those?

I am by no means a minimalist.  I'll probably end up featured on the frightening television show, "Hoarders" drowning in my pictures of hot nerds, stuffed animals and books.  A hand reaching from the towers, grasping for breath...

Drama aside, I need to start purging my room.

Durango Tango

Well, it's official:  I finally left Durango, CO in a permanent kind of way.  I celebrated my decision to leave with a month of shenanigans.  I quit my pharmacy job, pierced my nose, and bought my tickets to Iowa and Italy in the course of 72 hours.  I then moshed at Ska Brewery's Anniversary Bash and gave tearful goodbyes to some of the best people I've ever met.

I drove away this morning with a slight sense of liberation and minor panic.  Pulling from every chick-flick movie I've seen, I decided to stare out my passenger side window, sigh heavily, and choke back tears.  When that wasn't getting me anywhere, I thought of making a sign that says, "Help me!  I'm being kidnapped!"  Since neither of those options would really do any good, reflection became the best choice.

Things Durango taught me:

1.  If you are 20 minutes late, you are still 5 minutes early.  I used to be on time.  Always.  Now, I take my sweet, sweet time and couldn't care less.

2.  After over 5 years of living in Durango, I have come to realize that the old adage is true: We've all lived in your house or slept with your girlfriend.  Sometimes both...at the same time.  The town is too damn small. 

3.  Durango Chic does not exist anywhere else in the world.  Only in that town does a plaid shirt count as "really dressed up" and showering once every three days is widely accepted.  Not that I judge the culture but there is a very distinct smell that lingers...

4.  Dumb phones are the best phones!  Suck it, iPhone.  Suck it long, suck it hard. 

5.  On that note, young ladies have a sense of humor there that young ladies should not have (according to mother.)  I personally love telling dirty jokes over several beers in the numerous bars in town.  You will be hard put to find a man there that doesn't appreciate that.  My friends have kindly named me Monty because my sense of humor reminds them of a crass, elderly man.  I can proudly say that I have a dirty old man inside me.

6.  You will work at least 2 jobs at minimum wage, barely being able to pay rent.  At one point, you will be homeless, couch-surf, and free-load off of your amazing friends.  By them a thank you gift once you pull yourself out of the gutter.  You will be over worked, under-payed, and not appreciated.  Thank goodness for Pint Night.

7.  Beer.  I have a greater appreciation for a good beer.  Wheat beers are great but I found that dark beers do have there place in my liver.  We are so spoiled.

8.  I love that no one has a t.v.  We all get together on the front porch, grab a beer and just talk about our day.  I will miss that.

Tonight, I raise my glass to Durango.  You will always hold a place in my heart.  I don't know when I'll return but I know I will go back.