Massive!

I am so in love with Lisa.

To balance out my love for Li, how about I tell you story about Italy and my hate for it?

The Story Of Italy

So, many moons ago, Lisa came to visit me in London. After a ridiculous encounter with jack the ripper, basketballs, indian food, glassware, a drunk named Kirsten, and White Dorm Bob Marley, we got on a plane and headed to Pisa. Totally exhausted and half drunk.

In quick succession: Meet friend in Pisa! Look at the tower! Visit his high school because he is 17! Eat panini! Get on a train and go to Florence!

Lisa taught me the Italian I would need to survive:
Dai! -- Come on/ Gimme a break!
Basta! -- Enough!
Che cazzo dicce! -- What the fuck are you saying?! (Literally, what the penis are you saying.)

Florence is where Lisa spent last fall. It is her territory. I'm trying to get through this part fast. At the time Lisa came to Florence, Lisa was dating Jon the Pirate, a nice fellow. But then when she was leaving for Paris, they broke up. Jon is thus still in Florence, not dating Lisa.

Lisa, I say. Where exactly are we sleeping tonight?
Oh, she says. The bartender from my favorite bar said we could stay at his place.
As an afterthought, she adds: He pretty much tries to sleep with anything that moves. Italian guys are like that. Italian guys are crazy.

. . .

FORESHADOWING!!!!!

So, Florence: Old! Tiny streets! Big Palaces! Dog Shit! Scooters! And, after wandering the cobblestoney streets a bit, and running into J0n, aka Lisa's exboyfriend, aka Jon the Pirate, we meet up with Sergio, the bartender.

Sergio is about thirty. He takes the cheek-kissy thing a little seriously. He's got a wicked widow's peak and speaks pretty decent English. He is an avid facebooker--facebook, for him, reflects real life. He had an extra key made to his apartment, and we put our stuff down there.

I think you can really tell a lot about a person by the state of their bathroom. (FORESHADOWING!!!!!!) The layout couldn't actually be Sergio and associated roommates' fault, but it was laid out all in a line-- [sink area][shower][toilet], so that there's no way to move between toilet and sink without stepping in the shower area. Which did not drain effectively, so you stepped in a cold scungy shower-puddle. That was the part that WAS their fault--the general damp and grodyness. Also, I took a nap and sergio said the sheets were 'mostly clean.' Dude, don't admit it even if it's true.

We--Lisa, Sergio, two other girls, and I--eat dinner. An entire can of beer falls into a girl's purse, and no one notices until I see foam dripping on my foot. Goodbye, cell phone.

Time passes; bars happen. At Lisa's favorite bar, I have never been so gawked at in my life. The guys don't even bother to pretend like they're not checking you out. Odd moment when Sergio's guy flatmate is talking to me, and asks where Lisa and I are sleeping. I say Sergio's room, and it becomes his task for the rest of the night to convince me that I should sleep in his bed (Nothing will happen, it will be cozy!) so that Lisa can sleep with Sergio. Uh, yeah.

Lisa, awesome Rebecca of the cell phone beer bath, and I move on to irish car bombs in scottish pub in italy?. there is running on the tiny nighttime streets. Lisa leads me through the maze like Lassie; and at the end of an alley is a door and sign telling us to be quiet. So we quietly open the door, quietly enter the back door to a secret 4-am bakery where a quiet old baker-woman is taking trays of croissants out of the oven. Quietly. Drunk, quiet croissants. Lisa and I eventually return to Sergio's and sleep.

Next day: Remember, Lisa's knee is still messed up for mysterious reasons, so she can barely walk and her shoes hurt. We go to find her some new shoes, walking the length and breadth of the city in search. I convince her that abandoning her old shoes in a square is a good idea. No going back. She also shows me the sandwich place where she practically live for the semester since she was in love with the sandwich-maker. Sandwich artist. Sandwista?

I decided he was very unattractive. I'm not sure if this broke Lisa's heart or made her feel better about things. Sorry luv.

Dinner: again with Sergio, at the same place, and with a gaggle of girls from Syracuse for someone's birthday. Lisa and I are sitting at the end of the table; towards the end of the meal, the parents and teenaged daughter sitting at the next table overhear something, and, eyes shining eagerly they lean over with interest:

Dad (he has a mustache, if this helps you imagine it): Do you girls go to Syracuse?
(Mom and daughter lean in)
Lisa and I: No, they all do. I'm living in London right now, usually I'm at Cornell...and she's studying in Paris.

Awkward Pause. All eyes at the Fam's table go dead. Me, thinking both of these items could be of considerable interest to start up a polite conversation if all you wanted was to talk to a bunch of girls you've never met. What are you going to do over the syracuse connection? Talk about street names? Try and find people you know in common?

Family, babbling: Oh, well our oldest daughter goes, and belongs to XYZ sorority, and yadda yadda yadda.
Lisa and I, nodding politely.
I ask the girls sitting immediately to our left to talk to the 'Cusers. They all play Small World: Syracuse, and talk about housing issues. Family babbles on, happy to have an attentive ear. Lisa and I talk shit about them in French over the psedoconversation, and continue once that breaks up.

Other highlights: Apparently Lisa never learned how to spin pasta around a fork, despite a) being italian, b) living in Italy for 6 months, and c) intense instruction from a table of italian dudes and syracuse girls.

That night, we returned to Lisa's favorite bar with the group. I met Sal, Yoel's doppleganger and all around nice guy, and played pool with Italians, and everyone was horrible at it, except for girl-who-I-forget-her-name. And every Italian guy tries the 'Oh let ME teach you how to hold that thing,' but the Girl totally cleans up and schools them. But we were having a good time. Jon, the pirate, was there, and I talked to him because I hadn't in a long time.

It was getting to be the end of the night, so Lisa, Jon and I move outside, waiting for Sergio to meet up. He says he'll be ready to go in 20 minutes, but that is a lie. We're sitting on a stoop near the bar, and an italian dude approaches, asking for a light. Lisa has one, and six minutes later he is crooning into her ear how in love with her he is. Two things about Lisa: She knows how to say 'Do you have a light' in about twelve languages, and carries around lighters for just that purpose. And she attracts european boys like flies. She is like that.

So Jon and I are talking, and Lisa and Italian are cooing. Jon and I are mostly talking about how creepy sergio is and how uncomfortable he makes me. Jon is the one who first noticed that Sergio looks like a vampire. and after like an hour and a half Sergio returns. Lisa goes to talk to him, and Italian follows. And then Lisa comes back absolutely sobbing, and to this day no one knows what exactly the Undead Bartender said. The Italian disappeared.

I give sergio a dirty look and start walking away with sobby-lisa through a crowd of kebab-eating customers. If you haven't had kebab/falafel with the sauce they use for kebab, it's really pretty delicious. But at this point I was trying to figure out what happened. And then asking Jon if we could stay over at his because I was afraid Sergio was going to slit my throat in my sleep.
Me: Thanks Jon, you're a real pal.
Jon: It's cool, do you know where sergio's is so we can pick up your stuff?#
Me:...no.
Lisa: sobbing.
Me: Lisa, you don't have to give me directions, but can you guide us back to his house?

Jon and I drag knee-broken, drunk, sobbing lisa through the streets of Florence. She is like a little compass, this girl. We go inside using the copied key, and I pack up our stuff, consider stealing something as asshole tax, decide against it, throw the key on the couch, and leave. Estimated time between entering door and departure: four minutes. I don't mess around.

We go back to Jon's. Lisa is not in hysterics anymore, so she and Jon talk as I do Jon's dishes because he had a lot of them and I feel bad for imposing. As I'm doing that, Lisa goes to use the bathroom, and comes back.
Lisa: Dude, what's the red stuff on your mirror?
Jon: Oh, yeah, it's kind of messy in there. Last week, I had a huge dinner with some people, and had a bunch of wine, and threw up a lot, and some of it splashed. I haven't cleaned it all up yet.

We are now all standing at the threshold of Jon's bathroom. There is indeed a pile of pink ribbon-shaped pasta, corralled in the corner by some pink paper towels. There are pink flecks on the walls, ceiling, and mirror.

Lisa: Why is the toilet seat in the shower?
Jon: It came off when I was throwing up. And I didn't want to lose it.

(The next day, I say to Lisa I think I will clean up Jon's bathroom as a thank-you for letting us stay. She tells me I should not. And I am glad.)

Sergio is now calling Lisa every ten minutes or so, so I turn off her phone. Lisa wants us all to snuggleare. Jon laughs, because that is a made up verb. Jon's laugh is great, it's like an explosion.

Jon sleeps on his couch, and Lisa and I sleep in his bed, better to snuggleare.

The next day, Ididn't know it was day and not night anymore because jon's shutters totally block out all light. I was impressed. Lisa checks her messages and the series of Sergio Messages are priceless:
'Leeza, come back right now, this is sillyness'
'I cannot believe you, this is not very polite'
'Leeza...I do not know what I did to upset you? I do not think I said anything that terrible? I did not use any bad words?'

She calls/texts him, he doesn't answer. (because now that it's daylight he's turned into a bat, and bats don't have thumbs so can't operate cell phones.)

We go and get kebab/falafel, meet Jon's friend Kelly (Who I thought was named Cali, and also thought that was an funny choice since she's from California. No, I just didn't listen well enough.) It was sunny, and we were sitting next to a well/fountain in a square. Some guys jumped in/threw each other in, and everyone watching suddered because it was pretty filthy water. Visited Boboli Gardens, a Medici palace. It was very, very pretty. We also got a lot of gelato on this day.

I forget when we sat on the triangles, it might have been this day. But on one of the bridges over the river in Florence, there are these structures that stick out in a triangular fashion from the side of the bridge. And lisa and I sat on them and took pictures and communed with the dirty river. Lisa told me about the water rats that eat people and the blood poisoning you get from swimming/drinking the river water. It was a day with dirty water.


We met up with people for dinner, and this girl was coming to visit London so I told her things and gave her my email and my number. She never called or emailed, I hope London didn't eat her. Also, a tiny girl tried to sell us flowers at dinner, and tried to charm us with her sad eyes. We gawked at the attractive waiter and tried to figure out if he was Italian.

I headed to the airport after dinner, since my flight left at 6 AM and the first bus/train didn't get there til 5:50. (I had been carrying around my stuff, don't worry, the story has continuity) The last bus/train got there at 1. Sucks for me, i figured, but at least I don't have to impose on Jon for another night, and anyway sleeping in an airport is not that terrible.

On the way to the station Lisa translated as guys catcalled a girl for wearing tight pants. She was basically wearing leggings with a pink puffy/furry trimmed ski coat. It's not like she wasn't pulling it off, but on the other hand, why would you do that?

The bus had about 7 people on it, and all of them got off before the airport. The radio was on and played a string of easy listening music in Italian, and then My Heart Will Go On. I just remembered that. All of the italian singers had that whisper-sing thing going in their songs, I suppose to express 'longing.' Maybe 'regret.'

I get off the bus at the aeroporto. There is another guy ahead of me, walking to the sliding glass door. He walks up to it. The door does not open. He knocks against the glass. The door does not open. He looks frustrated, turns right, and walks to another door.

This smells like trouble.


I walk to the sliding glass door. It does not open.

Holy shit, I think to myself. For real, Italy?

I walk to another door to the left. Nothing. I walk the 3/4 of the airport that is accessible, and it seems that I am screwed.

I walk back to one of the doors and start knocking furiously. A trio of guards eventually come by and open the inner door. I tell him, 'sera, Englese? Evening. English? using up everything I have learned since Che cazzo dicce. What?
He tells me...something. And then retreats to the other side of his door, with his giggly cohorts.
'The airport isa close.'
Me: What time will it open? What time in the morning?
Him: (something) and waves a hand at me.

Shit. I am frustrated and angry and spat at the door as he left, because that is how frustrated I was. (Remember Pyramid Books?)

I consider the options. There is the bench I am currently sitting on, just outside the doors. There is a road, and a parking lot. There is a parking structure. Then there is highway and nothing.

It's cold. I head for the parking structure.

There was a vending machine with a wide selection of flavored waters.

And a bathroom.

The bathroom, I noted, had CCTV going for it. So at least if a bloodthirsty Italian decided to cut my throat in the bathroom, there would be a trace of it. I was suddenly aware of the fact that I hadn't take a shower in two days, so I washed my hands and face and tried to revive my hair by flipping the hand-dryer around. I learned the words for 'liquid soap' and 'fire extinguisher.' I read some random class notes that were in my bag. I generally made myself at home for three and a half hours, and then went to stand with the crowd of unhappy people at the eastern entrance.

One guy seemed to be a professor for american students in florence. He was very eager to prove he knew everything about everything. He also had a man-ponytail run through his baseball hat. One guy was just a travelin' dude who met his fiance due to Ryanair cancelling a flight. Two guys were canadian students doing the eurotrip thing, and shamelessly flirting with a gaggle of Italian girls who arrived moments after I did. I didn't talk to anyone, choosing instead to sulk and sit on a bench, and write a letter to avoid eye contact.

The Letter I Wrote:

Title: Shitaly

Italy is stupid, I hate it. After being terrorized by short, swarthy guys or thirty year old predators for as long as I could stand, I was informed that I could not spend another glorious night in an anonymous airport. No, Galilea International Airport 'Was close. The airport isa close.' Fuck off, rentacop guidos, and see you in three hours as I sit six feet away from your precious fucking sliding doors. You know what? I spat on you and I didn't feel bad about it, because every bathroom I've been in in the past three days has been filthy. Jon this is not including yours per se, the red wine/tartaglia vomit was just Italy rearing its ugly head. At least it does make me glad to return to London, where at least I can predict people's behavior and find generally up to date information about businesses and public places.

Italy: Aside from the obvious delights of the food, coffee, sometimes architecture, and weather, BIG thumbs down.

(end of letter)

I think that accurately reflects my feelings at the time.

A little while later, some dude walks in a hurry arounds the corner, up to the doors--The Doors Open! And into the airport. We all look expectantly, and Professorial Dude tries to follow him. Doors do not open. We are, as a group, dumbfounded.

About 20 minutes later, dude comes back and opens the doors.

There is much rejoicing.

Further insults, though, as no one is around yet to start the check-in process, and then I eat a gross breakfast, and then I get a bottle of water AFTER I go through security and they take it away from me, and I say, 'Dai!' and get a shrug, and watch the smarmier Canadian get the talky Italian Girl's email, and sleep on the plane.


So that was Italy, in one Massive post.