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.

I'm a blogger?

Until a few months ago, I would have said the chances of me becoming a blogger were about as good as me becoming a high school teacher: laughable at best. Now, here I am researching teaching certificates and pondering a Master's degree in English education while writing my brand new blog. What happened to me?

The blog is the fault of my friends Sarah and Kathryn. Sarah decided she needed one because she was sick of the judgmental looks she kept getting from all of the other Journalism majors when they asked what the name of her blog was and she replied that she didn't have one. Kathryn got one supposedly to keep up with me while I am on the other side of the globe, but I think it's really to have yet another means of procrastination. Anyway, they got blogs so of course I got one too. What can I say, I'm what's called a "follower." There's nothing I love more than a good band wagon to jump on.

The teaching thing I really still can't figure out. Mostly I just can't think of anything else to do and I thought it would be fun to live out the cliche of being the young hipster who just uses teaching as a day job until I finish my novel. Plus, it's supposedly a recession proof job and my grades aren't exactly "good", so I can't really be expected to get any other sort of competitive job in this market.

That's enough for the distant future, let's talk about the near future and recent past. In 4 days I will be embarking upon my journey to 'Za Heaven, or Italy as I've heard some call it. All I have to say is this semester better be damned amazing after all of the guilt-tripping I've received from my friends and parents and the extra 3 weeks I had to spend at home after everyone else had already gone back to school. If you've never spent 3 weeks at the age of 21 with no friends or school or job to escape to with your parents, consider yourself blessed. Holy God in Heaven, I am about to rip my eyes out of my head. I won't go into detail, but it has been painful to say the least.

I'll be going now, maybe next time I'll give you a detailed outline of some of the people that are sure to appear in this blog more than once. You know, just so you're not confused.