right?

Melanie and Eric are here. so as per usual we got too drunk last night playing presidents and assholes, wore costumes to the bar and had a night cap on the steps of the Santa Croce. nobody vomited...yet.

I only have 99 luftballons in my heart and anime eyes for an androgynous dreamstar named Berlin.

The assignment was to describe our spring break in one paragraph for Italian class last Tuesday. Until I took the creative liberty to write more, the only way I could possibly explain was with multiple incoherent ramblings and allegories (using zero percent Italiano). If you could imagine the following scenario, you'll skip to the page I'm on: Envision being in a stable, quasi committed relationship. For me, this is Florence and I. We're reasonably obsessed with each other, but by-in-large the honeymoon is over. Neither of us shave our legs anymore and we'd rather watch wheel of fortune than go through the motions ONE more night. THEN I cruised online and went on a blind date with Berlin, thinking it would mean nothing until it meant everything. We ate Currywust, drank Berliner Pilsener, tagged brick walls, chased pidgins with air dusters, and woke up wearing oversized plaid shirts. 

Fortunately, we share the same passion for dingy bars. 

Unfortunately, I've cheated on someone I do love.

As a result, I've decided I'm learning German, getting a hobby (collage-ing), a side job (collage-ing for pay) and a real job (tour guide for tips) and moving to Berlin after I graduate. Then we can pick up right where we left off: 3AM at curry-point. As for Florence, if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.              

Scandinavia is secretly worth it.

Adrienne's spring break was last week so naturally I was inclined to skip all MY classes and go on a Scandinavian adventure. Our flight left early on Wednesday so we stayed the night in Milan after booking a REALLY sweet hostel, appropriately named: Sweet Hostel. Instantly obsessed once we were introduced to the complementary instant coffee and communal dog named jack. Our roommates consisted of an unsurprisingly quiet gentleman from South Korea and a couple from Finland. The Finnish guy snored all night: restrained myself to one Unisom, determined to remember the flight the next morning. "Woke-up" to my cell phone alarm: A British woman saying, "It’s time to wake up, the time is seven-forty." We all bonded over her ridiculous computer-generated voice. Even Korea was laughing: language was no barrier at 7:40AM. We noshed the weak continental breakfast, downed the rest of the coffee flakes, and chatted it up with the Canadians backpackers next door (after unintentionally mooning one them when I neglected to lock the bathroom door. GOOD MORNING!) Took a shuttle-bus-sauna to the airport, and then hopped on an obnoxious blaze orange 'Easy Jet' to Denmark. We had already planned on staying with one of Adrienne's friends in Copenhagen; he was going to meet us at the train station. Tried to call him when we got there, but turned out we were one digit short of having a REAL cell phone number. G r e a t. Felling pretty awesome at this point with eighty pounds of luggage strapped to my back and after refusing to pay a euro to pee in Milan I was becoming a REAL treat. Per usual, everything I know about Denmark I learned from Samantha Brown's: Passport to Europe. SO I had already been informed about some hippie town in or around Copenhagen: the first of many dream destinations. Two metro stops away and we were there: Christiania, soon to be renamed 'Dopenhagen' an hour later. I would have taken a picture, making the experience last longer, but I didn't want to get shot. Tourists are not allowed to take pictures ANYWHERE in their 'community', especially on the block where they exclusively sell drugs to children, glorified homeless hipsters, and us.

Our first real day in Copenhagen, Steve had class so Adrienne and I were left with two bus passes and our own devices. We heard rumor of a dollar-store type experience that existed somewhere in this over priced town. Luckily, we found 'Tiger' within the first thirty seconds of getting let out at the central bus station. "This place seems to have reasonable prices." yea, lots of things seem reasonable when you're paying 50 kroner’s for a cup of coffee.

Day Two: Museum day. Craving modern art, we hit up Statens Museum of Art. Secretly everything that Italy is lacking has been hiding in this building since the thirties. god bless. Because a portion of the sales made off of Carlsberg beer is filtered into the National Museum budget, and considering a lot of Danes are alkies, most museums are free! We ended up having to pay for one wing of the museum: the Wilhelm Freddie (Danish Surrealist) exhibit entitled: 'Stick a Fork in your Eye!'. A small fee for a HUGE mindfuck. Thanks, Freddie. I think that night we continued the theme for the day, supporting the arts by drinking beer, played some white-man guitar, found some Germans to dance with. but the REAL rewarding part of the evening started when we got home and made the unanimous decision to make French toast. Oh, how we missed maple syrup.

Day Three: Adrienne and I found the BEST StumbleUpon ever: a Children's Museum. The exhibit, according to the Danish cognates, was aimed at children between the ages of 0-8 (our exact attention span). Sometimes I forget how much fun it is to play dress-up in a faux Pakistani market.

After watching danish game shows we passed out at like ten. and after sharing two lovely nights of sleeping on the 'guest bed' (a twin-sized kitchen sponge) with Adrienne, she finally moved out. In pursuit of a better nights rest on the yoga mat and sleeping beg. She promised it was her and not me, the jury is still out on that.

Spent our final day in Sweden! There was an international film festival going on so everyone and their mom was there. We had our hungry eyes on the second we got off the train by, at two in the afternoon, and upon discovering that absolutely no one was going to take our credit cards we ended up eating at: The China Box (not quite the cultural experience I had hoped for). Continued binge eating at 'Wanyes' the Starbucks of Sweden: eating delicious pastries, gluged coffee, and laughed every-single-time the Batista greeted a new customer with a: HEEEYYY! (their official greeting, somehow?)


UH. can't imagine writing one more sentence.

in conclusion:

Scandinavia is the dream,
trying to understand Danish is impossible.
Carlsberg beer is my new favorite.
Swedes are fucking insane, but exponentially hotter than any Dane.

I'll do a n y t h i n g other than study. or pack.

The guy sitting next to me is working on a paper entitled 'the consequences of consumption and the uncertainty of avoidance.' I think that means, coca cola light, if i knew how to quit you I'd be two euros richer. I thought this computer lab was specifically reserved for facebooking anyway? Stop making literally everyone feel worthless. I once had dreams and ambitions of accomplishing shit today. Like 'reviewing for midterms' which should be 'necessary' seeing as I'm skipping this week of classes to dick around in Copenhagen. Get back on sunday, just in time to take those exams (sans review of any kind). Same as it ever was. Yesterday Adrienne and I worked form nine to five, trying to plan spring break part two: Berlin. Airlines like to lure you in by making flights cheap on the way there, but. oh, you wanna get back? that will be 200£ thanksloveyouciao. all the while using Ana's computer, translating our way through the spanish default setting: an unforgiving roadblock. Finally, gave into expidia.com, finding comfort in making our charges in dollars. we're saving SO much money, this is practically a side-job. Capped the night off by rekindling our love of 9th grade english: watched Harold and Maude whilst downing 1.5 liters of wine on an empty stomach. uhhh. As a result, I woke up to a self-diagnosed case varicose veins paired with unstoppable cotton mouth. Those are the REAL consequences of consumption, guy.  

impulse pulse pulse pulse

so last night we're getting ready to go out for Molly's birthday, Adrienne and Georgia look adorable, I felt lift out so I let them dress me up. Caitlin did my make up, I wore Adrienne's universal body-type tank that has been to more countries than I have, but something was missing. as I'm straightening my hair I glanced at Adrienne and said "do I need bangs?"
"I mean, Probably": was the consensus of the group. After watching empire records for the fifteenth time the night before I was feeling hair impulsive. when it was over and my anxiety spilled onto everyone, driving the house to drink more I finally looked in the mirror. Considering the makeup: I looked borderline Korean and could pass for Woody Allen's wife (if she had bangs). So it's ideal that I live in the Asian ghetto because my favorite question is always: will it blend? Probably.

art adjacent fruit fly .

so Maija is here from Germany to visit for roughly ten days, thank god, I need someone to job-shaddow me becauae there's no way that ninety percent of my time isn't down-time. Wednesday Maija got into the uffizi for free because we just pretend she was part of my class. Martina kept eyeing her but never questioned. What professor wants to admit she forgot one of her students four weeks into the semester? no one. She ended up loving her new perspective student, comparatively. There's some REAL assholes (anyone for Stony Brook) in my class: instead of enjoying the birth of Venus like real fucking people, they're compulsively checking facebook on their blackberries and asking every question just answered. In the end: Maija gave a shit, so Martina didn't. Tuesday we attempted to see the Beatle's cover band but there was SOOO many hipsters. couldn't get through the hot ass doorway. Jazz Club seemed like the only reasonable default until we got lost and Adrienne was like OH secretly it's on the same street as my gym, turned out that she was looking at her GYM receipt and NEVER ever at her alleged Jazz Club receipt from last week. kaythanks. Found some randoms on the street that gave us fake directions, then proceeded to invite us to follow them to 'Rex Cafe.' I vividly remember getting lost (three blocks away form my apartment) coming home one night, I passed by this cafe and thought, someday. Someday it will be time for Rex and I to meet because if there's a ceramic mosaic back-splash at the bar, antique crushed velvet couches and bicycle parts hanging in the window I couldn't imagine quitting. Knowing that I'll never find it again on my own I knew we had to take the offer. Turns out, everything we needed from a Tuesday evening. LITERALLY the only Americans there, but 'Lolas and the Iguanas' didn't judge. All Italian indie garage bands are obligated to take any fans that are willing. Thursday we took a Hip-Hop class at Adrienne's gym. absolutly addictive. Even after that one class I was on such a natural high that I almost impulse bought a membership. although, seeing as I don't even use the free gym through my school and the fact that earlier that day I bought store-brand milk at the Coop just to save thirty cents... I'd never be able to justify that purchase. Friday we went to a costume party for a friend's birthday. it was a last-minute adventure so we exclusively bought our costumes from the euro store, took pulls of Martini gin on the walk there and appeared to be just classy enough for on-lookers to get it. after detoxing on Saturday we forced it: drank all the wine in the house and went out, got our dance on until we felt one too many unwelcome hands on our asses and ditched the club to get a well-earned Döner Kebab. Amazing: a burrito meets a gyro meets a cesar salad meets McDonolds fries meets your inner and outer thighs. good thing we're SO thin from all the Lucky Strikes, I don't know what we'd do. This morning Maija and I were exploring my neighborhood and found an incredible surprise vintage market. perfect. it had everything I never thought I needed. Postcards, jewelery, sunglasses, borderline pornographic sketches. Obsessed with this country. Adrienne allegedly had real things to do, I don't know who she thinks she is? but we're on vacation, so we can't be bothered. Instead, Maija and I made dinner and cleaned Adrienne's apartment. worked it out until genius decided to make unsound musical decisions. Sandstorm? doubt it. even with the contact high there was no way sandstorm was what anyone needed.

HOT Tranny Mess.

Good-Lord, this weekend was fabulous. Adrienne’s apartment was basically converted into a hostel, peeps sleeping all over the place. Thursday everyone culminated at said hostel, bringing booze of every consistency. For fear of being too sober we all got too drunk. Drinks are ridiculously expensive at the bars, so over-doing it is must. We ended up going to what is now one of my favorite bars in Florence: yag (gay: spelled backwards, thank you) literally on the block next to my apartment. It’s the perfect free-loving environment for anyone who’s willing to ungulate to the beat of various Shakira music videos being projected on the wall. Friday the roomies and I climbed the Dormo (the church in the center of Florence) four-hundred something stairs, (my ass still hurts), but the view was worth the struggle. Then, reversed the workout by eating our own weight in pizza. We deserved it. That night, started roughly at the same pace as Thursday. Ended up meeting some new friends from Adrienne’s gang, bar hopped, tried to hold various conversations with my broken Italian. Must have been a great night because the next day I found two Earl Grey tea bags in my left boot and a coupon for a free drink. Saturday morning I was w o r t h l e s s, still drunk in the AM, making eggs, and talkin’ trash. Everyone ended up getting cute and went out shopping; I clearly wasn’t ready to be seen in public. So, I lingered in the kitchen/ “living room” literally all day: borderline suicidal seeing as I threw out all of my natural dopamine like confetti in the previous 48 hours. Kept my mind busy watching ‘Rent’ on my laptop, flipping through Italian magazines that I’ve been collecting from the neighbors’ recycling and collaged the fridge. That night, still hung over, Adrienne and I cuddled in the kitchen, had an L-Word marathon and ate all the Nutella, I could faint. Sunday was a wash. Highlight of Monday was watching clips from ‘Roman Holiday’ and wondering if I too should chop off all my hair like Audrey Hepburn did. Proceeded to have a nightmare about losing all my hair. Hull. Not now, maybe soon. Feeling puffy from all the booze and Nutella, Tuesday we had a workout night, did Jill’s 30-Day shred from the biggest loser, then rave rave rave-ed to MIA/Girl Talk. Secretly SUCH a workout. And I’m spent.