Oh the Weather Outside is Weather

I'm just going to steal a phrase from my good friend Sarah (who actually stole it from Peter Griffin anyway, so I don't feel as bad), something has really been grinding my gears lately. When I signed up to go on this trip, a large part of my deciding was due to the fact that it was in the town where Under the Tuscan Sun takes place, operative word being SUN. Now, I'm no meteorologist, but we haven't seen a whole lot of this sun. It's been cold and rainy/snowy here for about a month and a half now. That's not to say that we haven't had a few pretty days here, we have, but I'm getting just about sick of statuses on the 'book saying things like "i got so sunburned today :(" and "can't wait to get to the beach :)" and "is loving this warm weather, summer's on the way!" I'll ignore the use of emoticons for now (though I disagree with them on so many levels) and just get to my point: why does God hate Italy? I know many of the Italians are sleazy and creepy and live with their parents for entirely too long (it's completely normal for a 30 year old to still live with Mom and Pop), but is that any reason to punish the whole country? More importantly, is that any reason to punish me? I'm just saying, it's really sad when I see that the high is going to be 64 and get excited. No one recycles in this country and they all drive diesel cars, so why the hell hasn't global warming picked up? I'm cold and I don't like it.
Moving on, another thing that grinds my gears: creepy Italian men. Now, there are plenty of creepy men in Amurrica, but at least there we don't have a language barrier so I can get rid of them easily. Here, when you speak English to them they pretend they don't understand and when you speak Italian to them they act like you're mispronouncing/misusing every word so they still don't understand you. They always understand you. And they're not just creepy, they're rude. Last night, for example, a drunken man spit on 3 of my friends and me, and when I say spit, I mean hocked the biggest loogie I have EVER seen. It was rather upsetting. We told the bartender, Gianluca, who we're friends with. He responded with "Oh, I'm so sorry, I can't do anything though." Wow, thanks Gianluca, quite chivalrous of you. Also, when you are coming to Italy, people will try to tell you that Italian men think all American women are sluts. And they will be right. I know this because I asked. Here's the conversation:
"Hey, Michele, do all Italian men think all American women are sluts?"
[no hesitation]
"Yes."
That's pretty much how it went. Michele is Gianluca's brother and they are actually shining stars compared to most of the other men we've met here, which is not saying much. To be fair, there are some really nice guys here who look out for all of us in the program, so don't get too bad of an impression about the men. The majority are creeps, but the minority are actually quite possibly better than guys at home.
I don't want anyone to think that I'm anti-Italy or that I'm not having any fun. On the contrary, it's a blast. Despite the weather and the men, it's freaking Italy. Even the ridiculous things that happen just make for really good stories. I might never come home.

To Mustache or Not To Mustache?

This week, like every week in the magical fatherland of the Guido (which is an actual first name here and I know someone who is the proud owner of said name), has been quite eventful. The most intriguing question we have been faced with: To mustache or not to mustache? For weeks we have been saying we are going to host a Mustache Bash at the Lion's Well (or L-Dub, as I like to call it), so we've already had mustaches on the brain. Then, this weekend in Orvieto, my roommate Jones and I had a discussion with Anderson about how funny it would be if he shaved his week's worth of beard and adopted a mustache. Once back in Cortona, Jones and I promptly forgot about this conversation, however, Anderson did not. That evening, at the L-Dub, we were introduced to Javier, Anderson's mustachioed alter-ego. Javier enjoys not smiling in pictures, touching people's faces, playing with balloons, and being a general creep. Now, a mustache as a joke is one thing, but a mustache for serious? I'm pretty sure Anderson's is a joke (though it may not be, he's an odd young man), but here is a list of the only persons who should wear a mustache, if for no other reason than to identify them in a crowd:
-Pirates
-Sea Captains
-Swarthy Latin men
-Europeans (men and women)
-Pedophiles/Sex Offenders
-Members of barber shop quartets
-Cops
-The musical group the Village People
-Burt Reynolds
That's pretty much it. If you do not fall into any of these categories and don't want people to laugh at you incessantly, please go shave. If you choose to retain your 'stache, I will laugh loudly in your face and so will everyone else. That's just my opinion, but it's true.

Cortona, Month 2

So I've been slightly lackadaisical in my blogging of late and I do apologize to all of my fans, all 3 of you. Cortona has been, well, interesting. Don't misunderstand me, I'm having a blast, but it's kind of weird. We call our teachers by their first names, we dance on bars with our R.A. (well, some of us do), and a glass of wine is 1 or 2 euro. All of this, plus school is really hard, like really, really hard. I'm constantly having to read stuff by that ass clown Nathaniel Hawthorne, develop film and then try to pretend to write creatively. And I do all of that after staying up all night at the Lion's Well. Since I can't really recap the entire past month in one post, I'll just give the escapades from the past few days.
Tuesday night, my roommate Laran and I decided to go have wine and do homework. It sounds like a brilliant idea I know, but, it turns out, doing homework while being highly intoxicated does not produce very good results. I know, it surprised me too. I don't remember much of Tuesday night.
We had our first photography project due Thursday at 8 a.m. so Wednesday night was spent in the dark room. Don't worry though, Anderson had his backpack at dinner and we filled it with the leftover wine from the teachers' table. So, I may or may not have been slightly inebriated whilst making my prints. Then, Jones, Laran, Anderson and I decided it would probably be a good idea to stay up until 1 watching Arrested Development and drinking wine. They drank straight from the bottle, but I drank from a plastic cup because I'm a lady.
Thursday morning was barrel of monkeys, as you could have probably guessed, and I had to take a little tiger snooze after photo. I also got to take a quiz in Art History that afternoon which I probably bombed because I was watching a tv show instead of doing my reading. I'm a bit of what is commonly known as an "under-achiever". Well after all of these projects and quizzes and the 2 poems that I almost forgot to write, Jones and I decided that we needed some vino biancho. It was a good choice. After dinner, Jones, Christine and I ventured to the Well and it all went downhill after that. Our R.A., Daniel, and the Italian professor, Marco, turned up and we had a jolly old time watching Canadian students try to hit on Daniel and Marco. I also spent a good majority of the night pretending not to notice that Giulio, the Italian who I drunkenly made out with and then told I had a boyfriend, was sitting behind me. I think I did a pretty good job. And by "pretty good job" I mean I was really awkward. At around 1 we left the Well and Jones, Daniel, Marco and I went and got some foccaccia from a lovely little sketchy bakery. It was the best bread I've ever had in my life. After the trek up the hill we were reunited with Christine who had left the Well with her Italian, Michele. Then we all decided it would be a great idea to play soccer...in the hallway...at 2 in the morning. It was really fun. And then we got yelled at. It was Daniel's fault, he's the one who brought out the soccer ball. Our bad. Obviously, I've felt great all day and I'm pretty sure my brain will never function the same.
It's been a good month and I would recommend Cortona to anyone and everyone. It's quite the odd little place, probably all of the Etruscan ghosts.