the spanish steps.

my second night in rome was definitely one for the books.

after dancing and drinking and talking and smoking countless cigarettes, i ended up going on a walk with a young italian man named ruben.

it was late, but we were not tired. i don't understand how some people can sleep when there is so much beauty and history and romance surrounding them.

ruben looked exactly like my first boyfriend, R. it was almost uncanny. i think thats why i wanted to talk more to him. although we barely understood each other, we had hours of conversation - probably because it was difficult to get even the basic ideas across (like the meaning of the word "awkward" for example).

we walked the entire city it felt like, starting from our small scottish pub to the famous spanish steps. it was about 4 am and there wasn't a soul awake in the city except the occasional straggler. we stood there, at the top of the spanish steps - alone in the middle of the night - over looking the entire city. the view was so unrealistic, so picturesque, so fucking incredible. it was unbelievable - i seriously could not believe that something that amazing was happening to me. it was breath-taking and heart stopping and gorgeous.

after the spanish steps - we walked to the pincio garden park - which is a large park located on a hill top in the center of the city. there ruben and i kissed and watched the sun rise.

it was so magical and for the first time i was speechless in italy - not because i couldn't speak the language but because i couldn't find the words to say what i was feeling. it was unreal.

politics of american men.

you'd think that being in italy - i would be surrounded by sexy men, but no.
for the most part everyone i have seen here this past week has been short, super skinny, and better dressed than i am.
at home, everywhere i look i see someone ideal - tall, buff, strong, handsome, athletic. and here, i run in the park and get nasty, confused looks.

yesterday i talked to angelo, a friend of mine from home. we have never dated, but we speak on a regular basis. we live far away and things just never end up working out for us, so the only time we have ever hung out was actually the first time we hung out, two years ago around halloween.

he wants to come visit me and is currently planning a trip here. it's scary and forward and yet i am excited.

then i think about the greek boy - how much i begged him to come visit when we were together. how i pictured us in italy together, taking pictures of everything, kissing, eating amazing food. he was always hesitant and i was always pushy.

and even in a good moment with angelo telling me he is coming to visit - i think of the greek boy.

as i was thinking, i look at my computer and i have an e-mail, from non-other than the greek. we hadn't spoken since our break up and seeing his name caused me to hold my breath. my eyes almost immediately swelled with tears. as much fun as i am having, i do miss him. as good as our break up was for me, it still hurts. and as much as i thought i was over him, i'm not.

his e-mail was short, brief, non-emotional, almost political. telling me he doesn't hate me, he wants his sweatshirt back, that he hopes i'm having fun and he wishes me the best.

i wanted to scream, to cry, to break down. but i calmly responded, also politically.

it is almost more painful to be political, to hear the generic responses instead of what you really feel. i told him i wish him happiness, hope for the best. and deep down i do, but on the surface i want him to miss me, i want him to be hurting, i want him to feel as badly as i do whenever he sees my name.

i would give anything to have him here with me in italy, in this moment of weakness. i know we aren't good together, we have fallen out of love or maybe we were never in love at all. but for a short time he was the only person i cared about more than myself.

remembering distractions.

I have caught myself trying to hold onto stories and memories from the states recently, as a way of making myself more comfortable here in Italy. Just thinking about my friends or things that have made me laugh brightens the mood and allows me feel slightly more secure in a completely new and terrifying situation.

I think about R, the first boy to kiss me after the greek. I think about our one night together, how passionate and crazy it was. How we laughed together like old friends. How comfortable we were talking. How easily I fell asleep in his arms. He had such strong arms, I remember feeling them and being so impressed I made him do push ups in front of me. I think about the nights we stayed up talking, the hurricane that ruined our plans to see one another. I remember feeling so giddy and excited hearing his voice, and yet so disappointed at the timing of our meeting. When I think about him, I sometimes wish I could be back home.

Then I think about Li, all those nights I slept over her apartment and we woke up to no food in the house. I remember driving late night to McDonalds after already eating hot pockets. I remember how we met the Canadians and ended up the next morning, lost yet slightly wealthier from our accomplishments. I remember all those times I would be upset about the greek boy, how he broke my heart and never called again, and she would be upset about another dumb idiot and we would give one another short and sweet pep-talks and then we would just go dance the night away – happy and free. Li is one of those friends that lets you have your moment of weakness or lets you act out a little, but finds a way to tell you nicely that is was a little crazy and not ok. She isn’t judgmental or rude or hurtful. She is honest and thoughtful. When I think about her, it makes me wish I could have packed her in my suitcase. Being in Italy with her and experiencing this together would have been incredible.

I find myself thinking about the greek boy – how broken I was hearing him tell me that it was over, how much I gave into our relationship for nothing. Writing about him makes my eyes tear up, and I haven’t cried in so long and I refuse to cry now, but I would cry so much when we were together. I think about all the nights I laid awake while he snored next to me – wondering to myself “how could someone watch someone cry or hurt and just sleep so peacefully.” I think about the countless times I got up to leave and he just sat there and watched me and didn’t do anything. I think about all the times I apologized for feeling a certain way or for being honest and I thought about how much pain I felt. Our break up seemed effortless because I had already mourned the death of our relationship while we were still dating. When I think about him, I am so glad I’m free and in Italy. I am so excited to fall in love with this country because now I have extra room in my heart to fill with love.

Then there are the stories that I think about, the hilarious, outrageous moments that deserved to be captured.

Like when Jake went through my phone before living Li’s apartment, found text messages between R and me. The next day told me what he had done and I was just shocked. Seriously now, what grown man goes through the phone of a woman he isn’t dating, literally six hours after they met. It’s bizarre and unnerving. I’m no one’s property and yet there is always someone who is hurt that that is the case.

My first weekend home I went out with J and a bunch of his college friends. Walking back from 7-11 around 3 am drunk, we watched a motorcycle crash into a light pole. The streetlights broke and tumbled over and motorcyclist stumbled off into a car with some friends and left his bike in the middle of the street in Philadelphia.

Waiting for a cab with my friend Alex, I was goofing around and I kicked my leg up – not super high but high enough. Alex, one of my good friends from high school and someone that you would not think of as being flexible and agile, swung his leg high over his head (way higher and more accurate than mine) and shouted “boom baby!” and I just remember the pure laughter that followed.

I remember going to PBR with Li one night and she called me after very upset – I honestly thought she was hurt. I rushed over to her apartment to find he next door at Dan’s. The door, unluckily locked, I banged a little bit – still afraid that something was wrong. Li opened it, hair a mess, make up coating her face, sleeping on the couch but not looking upset – me looking like a huge asshole for nearly breaking down someone else’s door to get to her. Luckily, we left right then.

The stalkers of august deserve to have a little light cast onto them – mitch who demanded I date him, crazy joe with the obsessive text messaging, and vic – the wannabe tease. It was just too much to handle at certain times.

Going home and seeing mandi, drinking wine on my back porch and chain smoking cigarettes and prank-calling every number in my phone. Mandi does not have the type of family ties that I have. She can wander without fear where as I have to be home at a certain time every night for dinner. She now lives in Boston and was home for a few days to be “with her family” – she stayed the first two nights at my house, the next day drove back to Boston. Had dinner with her mother and sister once and stayed on with me to be my partner in crime. True friendships like that never end and every time we see one another, it’s just like senior year of high school again.

My sister Katharine and I have been working on our relationship lately. We have this pattern of being friendly, having a huge fight, and then not talking for months, years at a time. We are in the friendly stage currently. Meaning, we can drink wine, smoke outside and laugh at the expense of other people together. Not real sisterhood but we are attempting.

I think about all these stories, all these people that have made me laugh or made me cry. All the moments in time that I have allowed myself to remember so vividly and hold so closely. I think about all the times when I was not strong and all the moments where I found strength again. Mostly I think about all the things I have forgotten, all the moments I have let slip away. Why certain things hold more closely to my heart than others. Part of the purpose for writing this blog was to remember things that have happened to me, especially while I travel but in average days of my life as well. I want to grow up knowing that the meaning of life is not in one huge influential moment – but in many tiny, sometimes unnoticeable steps that lead to that moment. I am in no way an expert or a writer or a professional blogger, but I want to remember it all. I want to remember who has hurt me, how deeply I loved and trusted, and how beautiful the sky looked the first day I stepped off of the plane in Italy. 

arrival in italia.

a month after the greek man broke my heart, and a month of my friends putting the pieces back together, i found myself in italy - lost in streets surrounded by stone walls, art and food. heaven on earth.

my first day was interesting to say the least.

I couldn’t sleep on the airplane. I tried but I just could not get comfortable. So I was awake for the entire 7 hours and 45 minutes of our flight from Philadelphia to Rome. I watched Water for Elephants, The Agency, The Lincoln Lawyer, Sex and the City, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and half of two other films. When we finally began descending to Italy, around 7:30 in the morning; I was taken away with how beautiful the landscape was around us. When I think of airports, I see metal, millions of cars, planes, runways, no green for miles around. And although this airport had other planes and cars, and obvious runways, you could see the land so vividly and it was so bright. The colors are hard to describe – lots of gold and green. The trees are the green aspects but the fields are all gold. After we got off the plane, we went straight to our luggage terminal – where we waiting for what seemed like forever. It was so hot inside the airport. I, not so subtly, began sweating as I pulled my two massive 50 pound suitcase around – trying to hopelessly find the train station. When I finally did, I bought two tickets, one from the airport to the Roma Metro and one from the Roma Metro to Viterbo. I then proceeded to get on, what I thought was, the appropriate train. I was wrong. After a very long mix up and lots of bag handling, I finally decided, “Screw it – I’m lost alone in a foreign country, I will take a taxi.”

When I got to Viterbo an hour later, and 260 Euros poorer, I felt like crying. I just spent all my rent money on a taxi ride. It was about noon, I hadn’t had anything to drink or eat. I was moody and anxious. Although my taxi driver had showed me countless beautiful sights on our little excursion, the thought of all the money I had just wasted was not settling.

I went into the hotel we were having our orientation at – met my roommate for the night Kat from Boston (thank god she was cool) and proceeded to go upstairs to our room to unpack some things. After changing and washing my face, we decided to venture into the walls of the city of Viterbo. It is indescribable – a medieval walled Italian city, every corner there is a pizzeria or a gelato store. Everything is store, and lots ancient and unreal. I was officially in Italy. It was sunny and hot. The first thing Kat and I decided to get was gelato, the obvious choice. After we had finished eating we went back to the hotel.

6 hours later, I awoke from a nap to Kat exclaiming that we had to meet everyone for dinner and we were already 15 minutes late. I threw on my shoes and we headed out the door. We asked the hotel manager where the group went – he just pointed towards the door. Luckily, we had the name of the restaurant so we decided that worse-comes-to-worst we can just ask around for directions. We did. And let me tell you we were sent all over the city. Up hill, down hill, across highways, back over them, finally we found the restaurant, the Pizzeria Lazettra, hidden in a far back corner, inside an old church. It was magical. We arrived just in time for the appetizer; assorted meats and brushetta. We drank sparkling water and colas. After the appetizer and after meeting two new Italian boys, and several other members of the program, the pizza arrived. First, a plain cheese pizza – thin small delicious pieces, then a pizza with French fries on it – definitely not what I was expecting at all, and lastly a cheese pizza with grilled zucchini and eggplant. It was so good and I was full before I knew it.

After dinner, several of us decided to explore the city before turning into the hotel for the evening. We went to one little bar (very bright inside, with little tables and couches that resembled a retro 50s ice cream parlor) – there we each had a shot to Italy,  some sort of vodka contraption. Lets just say Kat had my shot that evening. After leaving that bar, we headed down the street, about a ten or fifteen minute walk to another bar (much more my style). It was darker with tons of outside tables. People were more relaxed. Drinking and smoking and walking their’ dogs outside. I got a glass of vino rosso, red wine. It was delicious, sweet and potent and smooth. We talked to other girls in our program, to our two Italian boy tour guides and to one another. We smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and we laughed.

After about two hours there, Kat and I decided to turn in for the night. We headed back to the hotel. Luckily Kat remembered the way because I never would have gotten there. I e-mailed my parents, took a shower, and got into bed. I was exhausted but three hours later I was wide awake, not able to fall back to sleep and that is when I decided to write this. It is now 6:27 am in Italy. The sky is rosy pink and I am awake. I am in Italy. 

baltimore.

for the most part - i dislike baltimore city.
the crowds. the people. the behavior. the crime. the poverty. the attitude.

but i have made the most amazing friends.
i feel like it is necessary to give a little blog shout-out to the most amazingly supportive, strong, and driven women i have met.

M - my future roommate after my stretched vacation to europe. although she is older and wiser than i am, she treats me like an equal. she has never talked down to me or joked at my expense when i was being overly dramatic or crazy. she is one of the most hard working people i have ever met. she has strength way behind her tiny petite build. she always makes me laugh - though she is always sense-able. although i am the bad influence, she indulges in me. i remember meeting her and thinking "wow, she is never going to give me a change, and 9 months later we have a baby....(just kidding..)..no, we are closer than i ever imagined."

i remember when she broke up with her ex. how heartbroken i was for her, because i know how hard it is. and she was so strong, so regal. so freaking put together. i just could never be as strong as her. i admired her more in that moment of vulnerability than i ever have before.

i remember taking her out afterwards and taking body shots - now that girl can party!! living with her is going to be an absolute blessing because she always supports me, understands me, listens to me, and keeps me grounded.


Li - what a freakin' riot. i have never had more of a wing woman in my entire life than i did with her. she has made me laugh. she dances like there is no tomorrow. she lives for the moment. she shows me time and time again that life is more important than image. she teaches me that whatever i choice, i should always choice to be myself. although i am often uptight and have a fiery temper, she can always talk me out of any situation where i feel mad or frustrated. she is such a calming, powerful woman. she is so driven in finding her niche in teaching - same as me - and i just thank god everyday that i have her. because she makes me appreciate myself, and appreciate true friendship over and over and over.

the first night that i met her was a work christmas party - where we snuck into the kitchen and made cannolis. we went to the bars afterwards and danced and danced and she was literally "a blast in a bottle! - of wine!" i loved her the moment i met her.

there are very few people that i am completely myself around, very few people that do not judge me for being crazy, emotional, or outrageous. very few people that i can tell anything to without consequences - and luckily i found her.

the greek.

my most recent and longest term ex is a greek man.

he was everything i thought i ever wanted in a boyfriend. he was very stable, confident, smart and athletic. in the beginning, he was sweet, romantic, almost witty. would send me lyrical text messages, take me out for nice dinners, tell me secrets and stories.

i remember in the first few weeks of us dating, he had made a comment that offended me. i had told him so because i pride myself on being honest. he looked at me so deeply in the eyes it was almost uncomfortable. it was like he was trying to convince me with his soul. and he said to me, "i will never do anything to hurt you." (any of you reading who know him are probably rolling your eyes, but i swear that this did once happen, i did once believe him.

in the beginning, i thought he was perfection. sexy and strong, yet calm. we were inseparable. every day we were together. i remember wanting so badly to tell him that i loved him because i knew i did so early on. i remember riding in the car with him and singing along to the beatles. i remember him stealing my ipod because i had way better music then he did. i remember the first night he kissed me - the night of our second date. i was inpatient. i was nervous. we were flirtatious. i had told him i could throw a "mean punch!" and he told me to prove it and we were playing around, he caught my fist in his hand, pulled my against him so tightly and kissed me, without hesitation or fear. it was powerful and romantic and seemed to last only a few short moments. that entire night we kissed, over and over and over. we never stopped. it was perfect.

a week later we were official and i was hooked. a month after that we were driving up to new jersey to meet my family. i was so certain that he was the right person - so confident and untainted, so lost inside his humor and smile.

we started dating in february, for the summer i moved back home to work - and that meant living him behind. it was heartbreaking. ten long hopeless days later i drove to his house, anxious and excited. we kissed outside my car and it was beautiful, steamy. we went inside, made love almost immediately and than suddenly he said it. he said i love you. and i melted. that small moment was a moment that i held onto so furiously that i denied any existent negativity brewing.

over the next year and seven months, we kissed, we laughed, we fought, we cried. there were so many bad moments. so many fights. so many tears. and yet we stayed because at the end of every dark moment there was our glimmer of light, of hope. after all, we loved each other. thats what the movies teach us - love isn't supposed to be fun or easy, it's supposed to be hard right?

eventually he had enough. we both did - i just liked torture better. a month before leaving for italy he broke up with me, i crumbled for a moment (three days to be exact) and then i moved on with my life. decided not to just date the first handsome, sexy, smart man i meet online.