Day 4 - Where Did The Day Go?!

Day 4 brings us into a morning Megan slept until noon (which is in reality only like 7 at home, sooo I blame jet lag). It also probably didn't help that I stayed up for a couple hours talking to another guy who lives in the building. Mikko is from Seattle and living in Florence attending school as a painter. He's a fairly pleasant fellow with interesting points of view and a very intelligent manner about him. He also gave me a lot of helpful tips of places to go eat, shop for fresh foods and which beers to drink. Thanks Mikko!!!

So, waking from my two hour-ish conversation, Mom and I took a while to get moving. We left the building and ran out to get a space heater and phone. Came back and hung out for a bit to become a little more technologically advanced. We webcamed with Dad and before hunger overcame us, we headed to the Duomo. The first "charming" restaurant we found we stopped in and ate like tourists. Mom had lasagna and I had spaghetti. We decided to take a nice long walk around the Duomo window shopping and people watching.

Get out your night vision goggles.

(Don't worry, brighter pictures to follow. You really can't grasp the complexity and enormity of this structure. When you see it walking down the street, it consumes your view so nothing can be seen but the Duomo. It's beautiful.) 

This is a picture taken from the outside of a cafeteria type establishment. In the corner of the restaurant, the gelato. Gelato shops are sprinkled throughout the city. But they don't just put the five gallon tubs in the windows like we do with ice cream. They shape it, drizzle it with chocolate, and add fruit (above you see a lemon stuck right in the lemon gelato). It's become a work of art and hard to pass up on. These Italians know exactly what they are doing!

Unfortunately, today yielded little results outside of the room. However, we established multiple connections with home and with that, I consider today successful.

I do hope all is well at home. Mom and I miss everyone, however still managing to take in this city the best we can. : ) 

Miss you all!

Day 3 - For The Sake of Pictures...

I was told (by Greg) that there were not enough pictures in the first blog. Someone wanted to see more of: the inside of restaurants, the street, the people, the... well... everything...

So for the sake of time, because I slept in until noon today, and due to a lack of words, because I drank some wine last night, I shall post some pictures below and update them later with the accompanying stories.

A.K.A.: A Two Part-er.

Outside My Bedroom Window

 

 Our Room Upstairs

Our Front Door

Where I Do NOT Live

Flea Market Outside Our Front Door

Street View

Mom at Lunch

Lunch.

Piazza della Signoria

Palazzo Vecchio

Michelangelo's 'David'  (This in not the real David. The actual sculpture has been moved inside for preservation purposes.)

Galleria delgi Uffizi 

Part 2:

So yesterday was a lovely day. We saw many historical areas on our hunt for schools. Trying to locate these schools is very difficult due to the terribly labeled street numbers and the fact that the city has no basic structure. Unlike the state, there is no grid-type pattern. It's easy to find your way and also easy to get turned around. Paradox.

Above are a few pictures of things we did yesterday. The few pictures of the room, where we finally figured out how to keep warm, are pleasant. Each day, it begins to feel easy to adjust to. Mom and I frequent the flea market outside our fourth story room. We were able to converse with a very nice lady and purchase some unique wine glasses which I promptly broke on our way up the cold, stone stairs to our room. Major bummer. Mom was not happy with me.

We began our journey in the Piazza della Repubblica, which is basically the center of town. We combed the area for English speaking schools before heading to Piazza della Signoria. This piazza is one of the most famous in all of Florence. Dating back hundreds and hundreds of years, this location was used as a giant assembly hall.

 Piazza della Signoria

Piazza della Signoria

After venturing around this piazza, we took a trip out and bumped into the Galleria degli Uffizi, a gallery housing some of Europe's most famous art from the Renaissance. 

Galleria degli Uffizi

Just beyond the gallery is the River Arno. It divides the city and attaching the two side are muliple bridges. The most popular: Ponte Vecchio. 

On the sides of the river are chains to prevent pedestrians from street traffic. However, the chains have been over run by locks. Locks of all kinds. Each one represents the hope of a lasting relationship. It's quite beautiful.

OH! And don't forget the gelato!!! 

We headed out to dinner at a charming restaurant (all of the restaurants are charming though, so it becomes a rather undefined characteristic).

Dinner: Mom had a pork chop. I had gnocchi.

It ended up being a great day of exploration. We learned a lot about the city and its sights. More to come tomorrow. I'd put more words down now, but this girl needs some sleep.

P.S. For all who were wondering, we bought an industrial corkscrew and Mom got that wine bottle open. It was quite the task. Opened another bottle tonight... : ) 

Day 1 and 2 - Arrival/99 Cent Store/Defeat of the Italian Cork

We have arrived. There is much to say in one post so I will do my best to get it all down (considering most if you won't be reading this for a few hours, I believe it's around 1 a.m. in The States).

I woke up at 8 a.m. this morning in my double bed. Mom has the full. The room is FREEZING. We have one radiator to keep this cement room warm (and warm is an understatement, consider yourselves lucky my fellow LexisNexis-ers). My landlord for the month of January, Silvia, was wearing a scarf around her head last night when I went down to ask for more blankets. I have yet to mention that we are on the fourth floor of a little cove-type building you could walk right past if you did not know where to find it. The street numbers are tiles on the side of the buildings. They started from 120-60 to 22 to 6. Normally this wouldn't seem odd except all the numbers between 60 and 22 are non-existent and the street is probably only about 3 blocks long. Do the math...

We unpacked our stuff last night. Our room is quaint, cold, but it feels like Italy. My computer is next to the window so I can look out to see the other buildings behind us. As the add mentioned we can see the "peaceful garden" which turned out the be a dirt patch. In all fairness, it is only January.

We learned that Silvia only wants us to turn the heat on when we are here and "we agreed" off when we're not (Sorry, Silvia, but I'll have my eye out for a space heater today to keep on when I'm home and off when I'm not : ) ).We found the washing machine in the kitchen, only to discover there was no dryer. We located the 3-foot tank that we use for the hot water above the sink the in bathroom. Which, as most of you guessed, is the type of bathroom where you shower over the toilet. No surprises there. Also, Mom solved the mystery of drying my soon to be wet clothes from the dryer: the clothes line outside my window. Good thing I brought my Calvin Klein-ies. He was Italian, right? Should be fine... 

Last night we walked from our room to the center of town, Piazza della Repubblica, which was a straight shot down Borgo delgi Albizi/Via del Corso/Via d. Spezialli. Lucky for us it was only a 10 minute walk and we found A LOT of helpful shops along the way. As Americans, of course we stopped in the 99 cent shop (I heard George Harrison's I've Got My Mind Set On You which made me feel right at home). We found a major department store, plenty of wine and coffee cafes. However, we had the most difficult time finding a place to get something to eat. But it was around 5:30 and I don't think Italians typically dine until around 8 or 9. However, by the time we made it to the center of town, we found a place to get some really good za and have some wine.

When we headed back to the room, I dropped a very tired Mom off and took a stroll to find some wine. Just around the corner from our room, were plenty of shops, most with very reasonably priced wine. I stopped into one, grabbed two bottles of Chianti and paid the man at the counter. It can be very difficult to determine how much money they want to items (seeing as we don't speak very good Italian), so I try to tally up the items before we get to the counter. The man, however, was very nice and as I was putting my change away, he looked me in the eye and said, "Grazie." I am most apparently foreign and he, as well as everyone else in this country, knew.

So, I returned home, with my purchase, and stumbled across one problem. An opener/corkscrew! Thankfully, Mom always comes prepared (One reason I love traveling with My Mom and Hillary, they always have corkscrews). Thus, I began the worst struggle of the trip so far. How the f- do you get these bottles open?! After MANY attepts with the opener, which was literally in pieces upon its failure and trying to jab the cork in with a key, I considered myself defeated, something I rarely ever do.

So, the bottles sit on my dresser, unopened with ravaged corks. It's also very obvious we barley made a dent. So, I'm beginning to think there is a trick to this and you can bet that tonight, those bottle WILL be open! 

Well, off to get ready for the day. I have to take a shower, which we just found out does have hot water, but apparently the sink does not. And then Mom and I shall hit the town in search of a job. She just walked back in the room with some hot water for coffee which I'm sure will be very helpful in warming my icicle fingers.

This place is very surreal. Mom and I are still having trouble placing ourselves. More pictures of the surrounding town to come. Missing everyone at home! Hope all is well on the home front!

A Message to The Newbies...

Welcome one, welcome all!

First and foremost, let me start off by explaining my purpose for this bloggin’. I have decided to indulge in the spices of life and take a trip. Yep, leaving town, getting’ the hell out of dodge. And if you think, for one moment that I am going to spend my time emailing every one of my family members one-by-one to inform them I am still alive, you are wrong! Dead wrong! So, I have become technologically advanced and decided to teach myself to blog. After all, everyone’s doing it and I always jumped off the bridge (grimaced face, shakes head).

What you are about the experience is a personal experiment to share my thoughts, ideas, and/or past and future adventures. The stories you will read on this blog could be anything from a third-grade tale of whimsy, to how much I am enjoying this bran muffin right now.

Bottom Line: I'm going to spend my parent’s hard-earned money on writing a blog since I never became a novelist or high school English teacher like they always dreamed I would. Sorry, Mom and Dad.

Lastly, I will ‘preface’ this by including that all things told on this blog are factual, unless otherwise noted. You are advised to read at your own risk, for my stories of past negligence may not make me look like an upstanding member of society.

Dear Family, my apologies. Love, Megan.

Things to Notice:

I’m not someone who is going to take credit for other people’s writing or witty remarks. Therefore, I intend on letting everyone know from the get-go that some of my comments and words just might be, how shall I say this, reminiscent of comments you have heard elsewhere in society or popular culture. Hey, I can’t help it! When an exciting new jubilee of words hits my ear drum, I share! And by the way, you all can thank me for combining them in a user-friendly, one-stop shop of fun, exciting combinations that just might make you look smarter to all your friends.

Things to Read:

I’m leaving this blog pretty open ended. It’s going to be basically a portal into synaptic flashes within this glorious mother board I call my brain. If I feel like sharing a story, guess what? I’m going to do it. If the ladies I work with put too much coffee in the maker and I get all jacked on caffeine at 8 a.m., guess what? I’m going to write about it. If you are pissing me off today, guess what? You’re going to hear about it. So, you know, just a little F.Y.I. on what’s the happs in my world.

Things:

Rule Number 1: Anything goes. If I know you, do NOT be surprised if you read something about yourself. Even though this is my writing, I will not be held accountable for any of the stupid shit you have done in your life. I just want to write about it.

Rule Number 2: News Flash! This is my blog. If you write something to try and steal my spotlight, you’re dead. If you don’t like something I wrote about, it’s a free country, write back. But don’t expect to see it there for long if you choose to be disrespectful. Haters can hit the road, I’m not interested. Unless you want to tell me how great/funny/talented/awesome I am, don’t bother writing anything at all.

Rule Number 3: You better not get all serious and stuff on me! A sense of humor is essential if you decide to read. Just because I compare two things, like elephant guns and Sarah Palin, don’t get all up in my blog. No one is forcing you to read this. And do you know what else? If you don’t like it, there’s a little red box with an “X” at the top right corner of your browser. If you click on it, I promise it will all go away. Poof! I’m magical.

Enjoy! Or don't, I don't care...

: )

Puff Muffin

Once, someone (I did not know this person) sent me a text telling me that they were going to "slit my f*cking throat" (for clarification, I have never done anything to warrent throat slitting. They had the wrong number). Ever since, I have been a little weary of responding to texts from random numbers. However, not every random number wants to "slit my f*cking throat." Especially not Puff Muffin:

Random Number: I miss mah bros fo sho!

Me: Who's this?

RN: Puff Muffin, tell me you're joking

Me: Haha! Sorry, I don't know a Puff muffin...

PM: Ok I mean bill then

Me: Oh, I don't know a Bill either... You got the right number Bill?

PM/Bill: Sorry dude, it looks like I don't have the right number! : ) my bad

Me: No worries!

Never did find out who wanted to slit who's f*cking throat out there... And Puff Muffin/Bill, I'm sure your bros miss you, too...

A Van, A Loaf of Bread, and Three Sober High School Kids

1.) Starbucks was the normal hangout for my crew in high school. Usually we would hit it up before or after school, loiter and pretend to look cool drinking caramel macchiatos.

2.) My parents tend to take elaborate/not too elaborate vacations. They haul the trailer around the country and make pits stops to check out the good ol' U.S. of A. They like it. I like it. I get the house to myself when they are gone. They did this while I was being a cool high school kid drinking my caramel macchiatos.

The above points are relevant to how the events of one summer night played out. Let me set the scene for you:

Three friends hanging out at a Starbucks, drinking caramel macchiatos and not enjoying it. We were looking for trouble. We were looking for danger. Our friend Mark lived close and we decided that he needed to be hanging out with us. However, we waited a good two hours after deciding this and in fact actually doing anything about it. The party moved to the local Denny's where we consumed more coffee and further agreed that Mark needed to be around. Reaching the 1 a.m. mark on the clock, our quite little town had long since shut it's lights off. However, we were jazzed up on caffeine and ready for some Mark Time.

We drive to Mark's house and parked my then boyfriend's van down the street.  Mark's house was dark. No one was awake. I feel that I should interject that I was not the only of our friends to have strict parents. Mark's... with all do respect, were like mini Napoleons. This did not hinder our spirits. We noticed the garage door was open and snuck in through the side of his house. We knew the layout, so even in the pitch black of the house were were able to find our way. Through the living room, past the kitchen, around the sleeping dog, up the stairs and into Mark's room. We did all of this in complete ninja silence.

Mark's House, First Floor

And there he was... Sleeping like a little angel, mouth agape and slightly snoring. We three crept around his bed and hovered.

Below conversation had in whispers:

"Maaaaarrkkk...Maaaaaaaaaaarkkk....."

Then with the stir only a 17-year-old Mark could make, "AHHH!!! Oh, hey guys... What's up?"

"Whatcha doing?"

"Sleeping... How'd you get in?"

"Through the garage. Wanna hang out..."

"I'm going back to bed guys. Just don't wake up the dog on the way out and DON'T knock over the garbage cans either."

"Ok, byyyyyye..."

Creeping back down the stairs, someone ended up waking the dog (Dan) which then began its repeated high pitch bark. This put us into a scramble as we ran through the house, shoving each other out of the way, finally reaching the garage and only to be moments away from exiting the house when in our intense panic mode, someone (Dan) knocked over a garbage can. The event ended up being as much as a disaster as a success.

When we arrived back at the van, we thought, "Who else should we wake up?" We then began one of those epic high school nights. From Mark's house we drove to Colin's. Ah, Colin's parents... Some of the nicest people you will ever meet. Both pastors, their house was right next to the church where they both worked/preached/practiced (?).

Colin's House, First Floor

Entering Colin's house was always easy because his parents never locked the door. Colin had no dog and his room was in the basement. So we took it up a notch. When entering the back of the house, we had to pass through the kitchen in order to get downstairs. His kitchen contained one of those bread garages (I can't remember if that's what they are called or if that's what I call them, maybe a little bit of both). I also can't remember how we got this idea, but we grabbed the bread from the garage and headed down to wake up Colin. Creeping down the stairs, we reached his room and crept in, same as our excursion with Mark. Instead of waking Colin up right away, we decided it would be better to dress his bed in bread and theeeen wake him him.

We did so. And we did so.

Again, the following dialogue should be read in whispers:

"Colin... Coooooliiinnnnn..."

"HEY! Oh, hey! What are you guys doing?"

"Oh, nothin'. We gotta go..."

"Is that bread?"

"Bye!"

"Don't wake my parents up..."

Up and out of the house with bread in hand. Chas was next.

Chas had a big house that none of us were that familiar with. In fact, I don't think I had ever been in his house. Upon our attempt to break in, we noticed he had one of those fancy key pads on his front door, for like a security code. None of us were up for getting arrested, so we took our bread and headed to Brian's house.

Chas's House

Brian's parents, also trusting citizens, always left their front door open. And this time, we parked in the driveway and helped ourselves into Brian's house. We tip-toed down the basement to find Brian asleep on the couch. By this time it was close to 3 a.m. and instead of waking him up "bread style" we decided to seal up the bag and pull up some floor to crash.

We all awoke in the morning to one of those days that make you feel brand new. Brian never asked how we got there or what we were doing. We just hit the road. The sun was shinning, we were able to put the windows down on the van and someone put on some Saves The Day and that's exactly how we felt. We all got caramel macchiatos and went home.

Later, Colin called Dan and complained about not being able to make a sandwich.

Mark called me and said, "My parents are pissed!"

How to Guarantee You Won't Get a Third Date

"Megan, you didn't just beat him... He didn't stand a chance!"



Final score: 46 to 54.  Final Date.

(Hindsight - The names of the holes should have been a precursor to the outcome of this date.)

Swan/Goose

Last winter, I got really, really sick. I’m talking like, “kill me now!” because I would rather die than struggle to suck air into my face any longer. However, attempting to be a 'trooper' as my Mother would say, I sucked it up and headed into work at 6:30 a.m. I knew there was no way that I would make it without some kind of cold remedy to haze over my world, so I made a stop at the Jewel. I did the unthinkable.

Instead of parking my car in a spot (the lot was empty, however, the focus should be on how sick I was here), I found it more appropriate to park my car in the “No Parking Zone” in front of the sensor doors. As I’m coming to a stop, I noticed something. Something I had never seen before. Something strange. Something a little off. Something dangerous.

Geese.

Two of ‘em. Just hanging out. I was terrified. Allow me to pause for a moment to time warp into another story.

I’m 20 years old, on a golf course with my Dad. We are coming up to the green and on this particular hole we have to walk over a bridge to putt. For those who have trouble putting two and two together, the hole is surrounded by water. I probably don’t have to tell you this, but geese love water. Something about feeling at home… I don’t know. So we make it onto the island all right. We putt in, and begin the trek back to the cart. My Dad has a tendency to hit golf balls into the water and then he proceeds to look for them, like they are going to magically be floating, or jump out of the water and say, “Here I am! You LOST me!!!!” So as he is looking, this swan starts getting p.o.-ed. I’m not ever sure where the thing came from, but it appeared like an evil bird-spirit whose burial ground we had just desecrated. (And yes, I know that geese are different than swans, but they are pretty much the same thing… you know it, I know it… moving on.) So this thing starts flappin’ it wings and struttin’ its stuff over to my Dad.

Now, the resilient man that he is, he figures, "Hey, I’m armed!” So he decides that waiving his putter at the evil swan/goose will make it go away. At this point I am at a full on sprint to the cart. That thing’s wing span was about the size of my body. I know when and how to pick my battles and that day, I chose life.

So I get in the driver’s seat and start pulling away, thoughtfully leaving my father to battle the swan/goose all by his lonesome. When he realizes that the putter is not scaring the monster off, he books it for the cart. By this time I am pedal to the floor, going about 10 mph. (I have and will always have this mental video of my father, the ex-marine, running in slow motion, waiving his putter screaming “STOP!!!” while this massive swan/goose is chasing him. It’s one of my favorites.) So, he eventually catches up with the kart and with a running leap, topples in the passenger seat. The devil bird took a swipe at him as he jumped in, and again, pedal to the floor, we got the cart up to 15 and busted it out of there.

So, need-less-to-say, swan/geese scare me a little. ‘Time-in’ on original story:

By this time, 6:50 a.m. in the parking lot of a Jewel, two geese are trying to get in. I instinctively rubbed my eyes hard to make sure I was not dreaming, after all, I’m on my death bed. I realize that I either have to sneak past the geese, or find another place to go to get the medicine I desperately need. Mind you, I’m out-numbered. However, I decided that it was worth the risk.

As I make my approach, another horrible thought ran through my head. What if I let them in? I cause chaos and havoc at 7 a.m. at Jewel and I’m late for work and I’m still sick and I get fired and attacked by two geese and I’m in the hospital. I figured the hospital might not be a bad idea at this point anyway, so I go for it. Ace Ventura-ish, I glue myself to the wall and slide across the building. “Maybe they won’t see me…” I make it to the Jedi doors and slip in. I grab my cold medicine and book it back out. By that time they were gone.

Was it real? Could it be that my mind created this goose mirage due to clouded thoughts and fuzzy judgment? Was it because I parked in the "No Parking Zone?" I can’t help but think that I got away with something that day. Like, the swan/geese have it out for me. They are very good at showing up in obscure places, making me distraught and genuinely concerned for my own well-being. Maybe the swan/goose exists for the sole purpose to keep me in line. Maybe I'll see them in hell.

Raid Always Wins: A Metaphorical and Literal Exploration of a Halloween Past

When I was in junior high, I had a core group of friends. In fact, we were clever enough to come up with a nickname for the group, and corresponding names for each individual group member. Please Note: The key words so far are "junior high" and "clever." The name of the group was the Fruit Loops (this was 1998 and much before any derogatory terms could pierce our young minds). Naturally, no pun intended, we all were named after a fruit. Some of the fruits that were lucky enough for us to entitle ourselves after them were cherry, peach, grape, kiwi and lemon. I was the lemon (not funny) (meh, kind of funny).

As any other core group of 13-years-old girls would do, we followed each other everywhere. Rarely was there a moment when were not all together. We even had one of those notebooks that the popular girls pass around to write who they are in love with that week and what their mom served for dinner that they refused to eat. However, one day the truce, the sisterhood and the love was broken. That day was none other than, ironically, Halloween.

It was a struggle up to the day before for the five us to decide on what to wear for Halloween. Past Oct. 31s brought us together as Teletubbies, a day which I remember fondly because we looked good that day (If you are not familiar with what a Teletubbie is, please follow link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejzg5bCvT1U&feature=related). But this year, there was something different. There was an indescribable funk in the air. The funk of girls growing older and becoming more opinionated and bitchy. Maybe it was PMS, but I'm pretty sure that I just blatantly got forgotten on Halloween circa '98.

I remember going over the one of the girls houses the night before to hang out, or so I thought. In retrospect, I probably invited myself. However, sure enough, I showed up and what was scattered all over the pink carpet? Bug costumes. "What is this?" I asked, slightly panic-y. "Did you guys get costumes?"

"Yeah, aren't they cute?!?" said one of the backstabbers.

My prompt retort: "What am I going to wear?!"

"Ohhhh... Um...."

And that was the moment. The dreaded moment in a junior high girl's life when she realizes, "I've been left out!" I could feel the tears well up, but there was no way I was going to let these fake fruits (pun) get away with this.

Later that evening when I arrived home, I immediately ran to my mother to cry. "Mom, they left me out! I HATE THEM! HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO ME!?!?"

"Oh, it’s ok, Meggie," she said.

"What am I going to do? Halloween is tomorrow and I don't have a costume?" There's something about the complaining moments of a preteen girl. They are high pitched, the syllables stretch, ect. Very much like how a dying cat. "What am IIIIIII goingggggg to dooooo? Haaaaalloweeen is tomorrowwwww?!?!?!" You get the idea.

"I know what we can do..." And then, like switchblade (shwing, swipe), my mother concocted what could quite possibly have been her most diabolical scheme she ever told me about.

We quickly jumped in the car and ran to the nearest grocery store. We would find all pertinent items to make my revenge costume there. When we got home, we turned my room into some kind of evil lab. I pulled out the scissors and Elmer's.
We worked diligently through the night, cutting and pasting, shaping and sculpting. But 10 p.m. we had completed the masterpiece and if I may say so, I looked good...

I went to school the next day to an orchestra of apologies. "Meg, I think we have an extra (fill in stupid bug here) costume, if you want to wear it?"

"No," I replied. "I am all set. I'll see you guys later tonight." It was perfect. For 13-years-old, I was sly and cunning. I was short and smooth. It was one of those perfect junior high days when you have a secret that EVERYONE wants to know.

And finally my moment arrived. We pulled up in my Mom's SUV and her and I got out. The rest of the giddy, curious girls piled out of the house to see what my costume was. We opened the back door and pulled out my red cardboard cylinder. I slid it on over my head and put on my spout. And there I was, the perfect life-size replica of a can of Raid.

Gasps filled the air. "Megan, you're going to wear that?!?!" If only I was allowed to swear at that tender age, I would have said something like, "What's up bitches! I'm-a about to f*ck you up!"

I have been asked if there was animosity in the air for the rest of the evening. My response, "Well, let’s put it this way: junior highers + free candy? The argument didn’t last long. Pretty soon we were hopped up on Skittles and Snickers and all was forgiven.”

So, Halloween, 1998: It was a battle of epic proportions. And, I may have lost the battle, but I won the war. Who do you think random strangers providing us with candy gave the most to? A couple of lady bugs and bumble bees? Mmmm … No way. And so it rings true in costumes and in life: Raid always wins.

(Umm... Hindsite: there's history on my work computer that I searched for "teletubbies." I think I hear the dudes from IT now... )