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.

Stuff and Such

Just got done with my first week of classes. (No class on Fridays, ever because they want to “promote travel”) Mondays I only have one class: History of Fashion in Film. Glorious. We watch movies or clips of movies and discuss the impact of film on society. Next week we’re watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s. This class is the dream. Francesca is everything I need in an Italian professor: Black cardigan tucked into high wasted black skinny-jeans pulled over espresso brown cowgirl boots. She wears this coiled metal ring with a dangling pearl that clicks every time she makes a beckoning motion “how you say, how you say…” every thirty seconds because she barely knows English. I’m in love. Tuesdays/Thursdays I have Italian, in a building across town, carelessly walk past ‘Squalla’ every time because it looks deceivingly like an apartment complex. Struggling through Italian as you can imagine, pronouncing everything with a Spanish accent. Whenever I have to read in class I just smile after, until Leonardo, my prof forgives me because I’m adorable and he knows it. Tuesday evenings I have Culture Shock: Cross-Cultural psychology—Francisco is a delightful old man who believes it is the professors’ fault if students fail. Francisco and I are in the same lane, so that's nice. Wednesdays I have Love, Sex and Marriage in Renascence Italy. It’s An Art History/History class. I’m getting Gustavus credit, fulfilling history pre-1800’s credit or something (just a bonus, I'd take this class either way, secretly SO interesting). Martina is straight out of the early sixties, harsh bangs, pixie cut, adorable laugh. Toward the end of class I couldn't tell if I was watching a lecture or an episode of: Love, American Style. Either way, I'm in.

so, here's where I'm at:

It's too cold and slushy to leave this apparent for any reason so, we'll chat. My roommate is adorable right now: hand washing her socks in a plastic tub whilst talking to her mom in spanglish. you're the dream, Ana. My other roommates decided to get up early to find where their classes are. A good idea in theory but, it's cold and slushy? Pretty obsessed with everyone in this apartment and as I meet more people in my program it becomes blatantly obvious that I lucked out. In the first room we have Lindsay and Lindsey (real original) they're from Utah, and even in a constant state of sobriety they're more fun than ever predicted. Second room, we have Shelly (does not look like a Shelly, constantly making up names for her) and Christen (samezies), they're from the O.C. and way cooler than I'll ever be, so I figured they were going to judge judge judge me. But turns out, they're both super laid back and Minnesota nice. and in the third room it's the grab bag: Ana and I. She's from Ecuador, went to B.U. for a year, tri-lingual, try-some. Just graduated and came to Italy for a super senior semester. Currently unsure if the roommates are fully prepared to live with me, but I taught them all to push the box, put out the fire, row the boat and mold the clay at "Space Electric" Discoteque. so if they're not in love, they're not trying hard enough.

current things I miss:
Arch support of any kind
Non-Stick cooking spray
A ten-day forecast
(that includes the Sun)
Legitimate Sidewalks
Funstrom Lounge at 3AM
The room that's not a room
Reliable Wireless
The Goodwill
Cribbage
Icy/Hot
Dryers

My guide book told me that “no matter what country you consider home, in Sienna, you’re Italian.” (Doubt it)

My apartment is a tundra. Slept in my mittens last night, an adventurous but necessary choice. The heat is on a timer, entirely out of our control and exclusively turns on j u s t as we’re leaving. Could have sworn that I liberated at least two blankets from the airline, unfortunately I think it was all part of a vivid dream. damn, because I'd give anything for those scratchy burlap sacks now. what else...already took a little day trip, went to Sienna with Adrienne yesterday—SO SO proud that I found her apartment on my own, navigating exclusively with landmarks. Discovered when walking alone, it’s essential to look pissed when any tour group passes you on the street, you’ll instantly blend in as a local. Sienna was a true taste of Tuscany. Adrienne showed me her school, met some peeps, got pizza, hit up every .99Euro store to stock up on everything we didn’t need. Went to a basilica that has saint somethings finger and literal face on display. Crazy, crazy Catholics. wanted to love it there until I hated everything about it. almost got stranded for the night, turns out there is a schedule for the week and for the weekend. a las, we waited for an hour for the 7:40 bus that never intended on coming. Huddled together with our tabaccheria snacks for the ten something bus. At this point we were so deliriously tired we felt wasted. And ready. Had subsequent breakdowns, comparable to the “you know that…” incident of OH six. cut to me drinking tap water out of a hotel coffee pot with tears uncontrollably running down my face. Because YOU KNOW THAT... I love you all so much.