E' notte, e non ho niente da fare

Buona sera amici,

It's Thursday night and I am embarrassed to say that I have nothing to do except update my blog, because I finished most of my homework for Tuesday (excluding a two page paper for Italian...that can be pushed off 'til later, of course). I guess I could have gone out to the bars or discoteca with people, but somehow, all I ever want to do at night is be a homebody in my Notre Dame sweatshirt and flannel pajamas and read or talk to friends from back home. I was already boring enough back at school--you'd think that living in Europe would be a transformative experience and I'd become a raging partier thriving on the Roman social scene...but no, I've become even MORE dull, if that's possible. I guess I shouldn't bemoan this unfortunate character trait of mine, because no one reads blogs to hear such things--I'm sure you all want to hear more about my crazy experiences with Italian men, right? Well, I can definitely oblige, if that's what you're interested in ;)


So, the day before yesterday a group of us ND kids had to make an hour and a half long journey out to the central police station/immigration office here in Rome as part of our continuing nightmare with the permesso di soggiorno. Note: the police station was definitely NOT central. We had to take two metros *and* a bus. And, there was a squalid Gypsy camp literally right outside the electric fence that wrapped around the police compound--note: Gypsies do NOT live in the middle of town. They reside in cramped, inhospitable camps on the outskirts of the city, and spend their days avoiding police raids....uh-oh, I'm about to go on a tangent, so watch out:

Before coming to Europe, I possessed a more romantic notion of Gypsies--you know, the whole handsome dark-skinned men and beautiful women, colorful clothes, wild violin music notion--but now, seeing how they live and work as beggars and swindlers, I have to say my attitude has changed drastically. Actually, my attitude towards a lot of things in life has shifted, and I feel like I'm having to struggle to retain whatever shreds of naivete I have left. I guess that's what happens when you go abroad...you see what the world is really like--you experience the squalor and injustice of the poor who fight every day just to survive, the corruptness of government, the plight of the immigrant, the horrific apathy of the middle and higher classes...ah, it's so much to think about all the time. I just saw a lot at the immigration office I wasn't expecting to see, and it made me treasure my American citizenship all the more.


Ahhhh enough of such depressing stuff--on to the Italian men, which I know you're probably very curious about! Okay, so while we were waiting in line to fill out paperwork for the permesso, there were these two youngish soldiers in uniform who would pace around the room and shamelessly flirt with the girls in our group, paying particular attention to the blondes, who did their best to not draw attention to themselves (great idea!!), and one idiotic redhead stupid enough to make eye contact with them. Well, one soldier kept coming over to me, teasing me about either not reading like everyone else (I was tired of reading about the intricacies of British foreign policy in the 1880s, okay?), or generally just trying to find out more personal information, which, of course, I was very cautious about! Anyway, it was my turn to fill out the first round of paperwork, and I had to tell the bureaucrat at the desk my cell phone number...thinking myself particularly witty, I conducted the whole conversation in Italiano. However, Mr. Soldier was conveniently within earshot, although I wasn't really paying attention at the time....I go to the next room for the fingerprinting and my phone buzzes...it's a text from an unknown Italian number: "Ciao! You are so pretty....sorry for my English!"

I just about died of laughter. Italian men are RIDICULOUS. The bureaucrat taking my fingerprints explained in Italian that it was because I'm a redhead; however, I just think it was because I'm a girl, period. Also, this same bureaucrat was shocked when I told him I was a theology major--actually, his face registered a slight horror when this happened. I asked him what was wrong, and he was like, "Are you going to become a sister??? You can't do that!! You are too pretty to be wasted on the Church!!"

Again, I couldn't help it--I burst out laughing. Guys in America are totally not like this at all!! Just today, as my friends and I were walking back to our apartment from school, two men in a tiny little car started honking the horn wildly, and the passenger exuberantly blew us a multitude of kisses as they passed by. Stuff like that does NOT happen at home!! It's so funny, and I guess the reason it's so amusing to me is because I know that it's completely harmless. Well, it's harmless when I'm with a group of Notre Dame students in the daytime, at least....


Alas, that's about it for my exciting tales of Italy since my last post! My roommates and I are going on a daytrip to Venice this Saturday for the centuries-old festival of Carnevale, which is going to be INCREDIBLE!!! My family and I went to Venice quite a few times when we lived in Germany back in the '90s, and I can't wait to return to the city as an older, hopefully slightly wiser individual. Look for an update on Sunday, when I will regale you with tales of La Serenissima, the most romantic city in the world! :)

Vi amo,
Laura