Oh the places you will go!

"Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself 
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the girl who'll decide where to go."

        Three years ago I made it a goal to see a wonder of the world every year.  It actually was a New Years Resolution.  It gave me a way to measure my progress and an easy way to choose the places that I would visit next.  So, of course, first up...?  The Colosseum in Rome.  This elliptical amphitheater made of stone, stands in (most) of its glory nestled in the center of a huge, bustling city....with a birth year of 80AD. Second up?  Macchu Picchu. And it was the mother of all trips in 2014.

         It started off as one of two options, Chichen Itza being the other because of proximity.  That was until he found roundtrip tickets for under $800 to Lima.  So that was that.  We were going to Peru and had 6 weeks to plan this trip.  Have you ever looked into traveling to Macchu Picchu and taking the trek?  To give you a little bit of an idea....they suggest to book SIX MONTHS out.  It was safe to say that the Classic Inca Trail was sold out.  We opted for the second most popular....Salkantay.  We had 16 days in Peru and decided to rough it for the first half and splurge for the second.  No point in staying in a resort to then go trekking for 5 days...you know what I mean?  Now the prep for trekking is an adventure all on it's own.  I had check lists on checklists: 50 liter bag, hiking boots, thermal socks...my gear went on and on.  I didn't even leave the country yet and I was a G in the hole...not including airfare and accommodations.  But boy was this going to be worth it....right?  Right.  I talked to as many people as I could regarding this trip.  People assured me that I would be able to do it....it wasn't easy, they said.  But they also didn't say it was HARD.

           Upon touch down in the capital Lima...I was welcomed into a grey city.  I must say, I was a bit underwhelmed.  None of the food wowed me, the pisco sours were a bit more sweet than sour and the culture was not as apparent in the city.  Sure, we found a good hole in the wall and an out of the ordinary, funky, hipster (not in a bad way) bar and hung out with some cool people that were also staying in the same hostel...but nothing so impressionable that I am running to head back.  After two nights, we make our way to Cusco which was much more colorful in culture, people and food.  Hot desert days and freezing cold nights.  The city is incredibly small and saturated with travel and adventure goers alike. But not in a bad way.  Cusco is the starting ground for the trek so you get a culmination of different types of people, with different backgrounds and very different lives...but there was one thing we all had in common, the open-mindedness to learn from the world.  A 4am wake up call to start the trek is rough...we climb into a van with a couple from Chicago who will also be doing the trek with us.  Then, we pick up a 21 year old guy from the Sweden who was simply wearing jeans, a sweater and a scarf.  It's snowing outside and we can't shut the car windows because it fogs up the windows.  So here I am, with 2 pairs of socks, two pairs of pants, a tank, tshirt, sweater, jacket, scarf AND a blanket wrapped around me...and Alex is chillen in a pair of jeans and loafers.  Wtf?  How cold is it in Sweden?  When we finally get to the starting point of the trek, it's beautiful.  So serene and natural.  Our mule drivers, which includes a 7 year old boy, load up our big packs and get ahead of us.  The six of us, two couples the guide and Alex, then begin an adventure on foot too late to back out on.

            The elevation affects almost me immediately.  I mean, what was I expecting?  I got altitude sickness in Denver.  I mean...DENVER.  C'mon. Shortness of breath was the first sign.  We climb, and climb, and climb...roughly about 15,000 feet above sea level.  And it gets significantly worse, significantly fast.  This was by far the hardest physical thing I have ever had to do, ever.  I couldn't breath and I felt like I had needles in my lungs.  So with every short breath I was able to take, it was paired with a pain in my lungs that caused a lightheadedness I've never known.  I was dizzy and nauseous.  Panic attacks shortly followed.  The combination was brutal.  All the while having to hike up, up and more up.  I lagged behind because I physically could not keep up.  I didn't want to keep up.  I wanted to quit.  and I cried.  Inside, at first.  Then, behind my sunglasses.  Then finally to him.  I cried because I was so frustrated with myself.  I cried because no matter how hard I wanted to do this, my body was telling me, "No, you can't".  I cried because I was not doing well....not only that but I was dead last.  It was discouraging.  I'm not saying that I am naturally good at everything that I do..but I am also NOT saying that.  And this was only the first day. Then, finally...I gave up.  I sat down crying and told him I didn't want to do it anymore.  Not only DID NOT....I COULD NOT.  I wanted a horse and I was going to wait right there until I got one.  He told me there was no horse...but he's crazy.  I read that  fuckin' contract and it said in an emergency they would provide a horse.  Well, this WAS a mother fucking emergency.  And in the middle of my ridiculousness...in that very moment and in all the moments to follow in that day, he couldn't be more loving, gentle and supportive.  With me the whole way, we took it 5 yards at a time, helped me thru my breathing when I couldn't do it myself, and with encouraging words I finally made it to camp. I could not have been more in love with him than in those moments.  I got to play the whole day back in my head and to myself.   I thought, "he would make a great coach".  Coach.  That was my first thought.  Not "father" or "life partner" but "coach".  Guess that says a lot.  Back at camp we slept between snow capped mountains on the plateau of someones land on yoga mats and in individual sleeping bags.  My day terror slowly turned into my nightmare.  I woke in the middle of the night and I could not breath.  Have you ever had that sensation before?  To open your eyes gasping for air....but no matter how hard you tried, you just could not get enough air in?  It's like being buried alive.  Or how I imagine it would feel.  He wakes and tries to talk me down from my hysteria.  I get my breathing back in order and I notice my feet were frozen solid.  I actually had to unzip my sleeping bag and hop into his.  Mind you, these were single person sleeping bags that I hardly fit in....let alone 2 people.  Then, wrap a sweater around my feet and throw my sleeping bag on top of us.  I was miserable and this was MY idea.  I paid over a thousand dollars to live like a homeless person when I could have paid half the amount to have a luxury bus with wifi take me all the way to the top.  I could not believe it.  But it's the journey.....not just the destination.  Wake up call for the consecutive days were roughly 5am.  We'd hike for about 10-12 hours a day.  We hiked in every climate and every season.  Descending a few thousand feet a day made all the difference in the world.  It was now easier for me to enjoy the nature around me and the adventure that I was on.  What an experience.  When we finally got to Macchu Picchu, it was all worth it.  Every step, every tear.  Watching the fog lift from this magical place was a dream.  I still can't believe I did it.  I fucking did it.

     The next day we fly up to Mancora, a beautiful beach town with French flair. The bed and breakfast, EcoLodge, is an oasis.  I can't believe I get to shower...in a open stone shower, at that.  I am not high maintenance by any means....but I did realize I am semi maintenance.  We have them do our laundry...not that I need any of my hiking clothes for this beautiful beach town.  Upon waking, they serve you a 3 course breakfast on the outdoor dining table next to the infinity pool.  We read our books and sip our coffee and basque in the sun.  We eat ceviche beach side everyday at Los Delfinas.  We wine at Atletier.  He surfs.  I swim.  We dive with tortoises.  And all is right in the world again.

      I never got to thank you for that day.  I was too busy hating you the other days (sorry about that).  So, thank you.  Thank you for being the coach I needed to achieve one of my 7 dreams.

So with 2 down and 5 more to go, the question is where to next?  Will I be able to stand in the ruins of Chichen Itza.  Or fall in love with the Taj Mahal.  Or walk any of the 5,500 miles of the Great Wall.  Will Christ the Redeemer welcome me with open arms? Perhaps, marvel amongst the rose stone walls of Petra.  One thing is for certain...I have exactly six months to figure it out.  And I don't plan on wasting anymore time.

  

April is a promise that May is bound to keep

     My birthday month has officially come to an end.  On the last day on April, I boarded a plane to return to my second home and revive my second soul.  When you travel alone, you have a lot of time to think.  To re-evaluate your life...what you did, what your doing and what you want to do.  I told myself that this trip would be a perfect time to reflect.  I'd be spending many hours alone and would be forced to organize this mess in my head. First, I am 32 now.  So what did 31 bring?  What have I learned and who taught me these lessons?  Did I teach anyone anything?

     I will say, 31 was a get back year.  It was first year home and I had reverse culture shock like a son-of-a-gun.  While I was busy traveling the world and falling in love with places and people, I was also exhausting my entire life savings.  Well spent, if you ask me.  So when I came home, I literally had $100 to my name and that was it.  I was living in my moms house, which has absolutely no space for me,  I no longer had a car and definitely no job and that meant no money.  And when you have no money, that means (almost) no fun.  So, first thing is first, find a job.  So I did that....and I hated it, so I quit.  Found another one.  Hated it more, so I quit.  Then I found another one...and I stayed. Stacked some bread so my savings account didn't feel lonely anymore.  I went back to school, too.  I learned that everyone stayed the same age, except for me. Second up, move back into the city.  Ok, check.  In the first 3 months that I was back and functioning like a normal human being.

     It also brought me a new relationship, which is now (already) over.  I now see how hard it was to teach someone about myself when I was still in limbo.  Even though I was back home in a place where I knew the streets, knew the people and was apart of the culture...I still dreamt of my other life.  I still dreamt in another language and still yearned for the newness of everything.  I was only half here.  I gave him 100% of that half...but it was still only half of me.  Will I ever get my other half back?  Probably not.  But I am ok with that now.  I am ok with knowing that this half of me is the new whole me.  I'm ok with teaching future partners that, yes, I do have multiple personalities.  I wear different hats.  I live in different ways.  I love in different ways.  And, someday, someone will fall in love with all of them.

     And of course, my month, my year and my life would not be complete without travel.  So 31 also brought me a new 7 wonder of the world.  Macchu Picchu.  That is a blog in itself so stay tuned for that incredible adventure.  It brought me Coachella for the first time. I mean, sure, I have to been to "music festivals" before but we called them raves..and they lasted a (whole) night instead of 3 days.  It was a girls trip, kinda.  I had a blast but I really don't think I would do it again.  Music festivals are FUN.  I mean, really really fun.  But damn, you need a vacation after coming back from one.  Palm Springs dessert and it was nice and hot.  The highlight of my trip was seeing Marvin Garrix.  I could feel the bass flowing through me and vibrating the tips of my fingers all the way down to my toes.  Standing in the middle of hundreds and hundreds of people moving at the same time on the same wave.  Eyes open, eyes closed...it's all the same.  That night, I decided to stay on campgrounds (even though I had a perfectly good bed and shower at the hotel) to get the full effect and experience of Coachella.  What can I say?  I do it for the ig cred.  The night met me with a sandstorm that ripped apart the site we were staying in.  I was baffled.  We were sleeping on air mattresses with one pillow and a sheet under a canopy.  When morning came, I hopped my semi-high maintenance ass back on the bus and showered the sand away.  While, again, I throughly enjoyed myself...I would much rather spend a thousand dollars on a plane ticket outta here...

  Then, I was able to go on my annual trip to Denver.  First night, I was able to go to the Bassnectar concert at the Red Rock Amphitheater. That place is AMAZING.  Being surrounded by the red rocks high above the city is unreal.  I got to buy some medicinal marijuana from a dispensary for the first time..completely legal.  They called it a "bar" and the people selling them inside were "bartenders".  It was an educational experience to say the least.  I got to go to a Rapids game where I fell in love with Kamani Hill and his 3 goals against the Dynamo. I got to meet my little nugget, Elli Lynn, who I fell in love with instantly.  I got to see my sister from another mister and brother from another mother, whom I miss dearly.  Hiking Red Rocks was a beautiful sight as well...too bad the pictures were taken by the ex.  Oh well, I'll just have to go back sometime soon.

 And of course, smaller trips were taken as well.  Me and 19 of my closest friends went to tahoe for a weekend and I must say, I don't know a group more fun then us.  And that is the truthiest truth you will ever hear. Last trip of the year, left a bad taste in my mouth.  I took a time out from Thanksgiving this year and decided to visit my, then, partners home town in Dana Point.  We arrived the day before Thanksgiving, right in time for his HS reunion.  And on that first night, I finally got confirmation on who I suspected he really was. I see your true colors shining through.  And boy, I not like them.  So there, at the reunion and on that first night....we broke up.  Made a helluva weekend tho.  Can you imagine?  Being far from home, away from family and friends, eating Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant bar with a man who didn't deserve or appreciate you.  Joy.

And now I am welcoming 2015 with open arms and an open heart...and it hasn't been shaping up to be that bad either.  In the first two months, I ran away to Tahoe for a weekend, a couple of times.  I went to New York City to officially celebrate my birthday and to watch the oh so talented Mr. Stevie Wonder.  And I am closing my birthday month with a 16 day trip to Italy, Berlin and London.

So, thank you 31 for being my come back year but I much prefer 32.  And the best is yet to come....

  

    

The girl who reads

"Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. 

You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. 

You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. 

You, who make my life so god damned difficult. 

 She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. 

You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. 

But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, 

of someone who is better than I am. 

You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. 

You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. 

So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you."

             Thank you Charles Warnke but I will keep my books and live out my fairy tale.  I will enjoy the sonnets of di Lentini and Shakespeare, the lyrical paintings of Austen and Dickens, and fantasize about characters who were my reality built by the likes of E.L James and S. Collins.  I will continue reading because dealing with reality is too much sometimes and I am much more comfortable when I am dancing around in my own head.  

             I don't regret reading fairytales that give me hope or encourage me to dream (and expect) big.  Because I have learned that I am worth it.  I give big.  I love big...and I love big back.  I don't think it's outlandish for a gal to think the chivalry is, in fact, not dead.  Because I witness it.  I'm lucky enough to know men who still open doors, still walk on the street side and still help their ladies put on their jackets.  And yes, I think that it is possible that friends become lovers and lovers become friends.  I enjoy the smitten, the glitter, the rainbows and the butterflies.  I love to hear about love...and I love loving even more. But I am also a realist and quite often times a cynic. Prince Florian may have given Snow White the true loves kiss but Anna and Elsa saved each other.  

       My story changes everyday.  The characters in my life change, sometimes, change more frequently than I would like.  My hearts been broken into a million pieces a million times....yet, I am still hopeful.  I still treat each new love as if the previous love didn't scar me.  Even though they have.  I still feel that romance is not dead, at least not with the right person.  I recently read, The Five Love Languages, by Dr. Gary Chapman.  It was prompted after a silly quiz I took on fb and in turn encouraged my, then, partner to take.  The idea was not received well, which sucked because we were already having problems in keeping each others love tank full.   After the break up, I decided to read the book anyway. I learned what went wrong in our relationship...why and how we were the cool couple who then became distant and nagging.  More importantly, I learned my language and dialect.  I learned that I have a secondary language and dialect.  I learned how I can better teach my partner on how to keep my love tank full. And in learning these things, I have also learned how I can be a better lover.  How to identify someone else's love language and keep their tank full as well.  

       So, Warnke, I'd advise the exact opposite.  Date a girl who reads....because a girl who reads is imaginative...in many ways.  She is adventurous.  She is ever growing and ever learning and will want the same for you.  She is not comfortable with the mundane or ordinary.  She will test her boundaries as well as yours.  She will keep you on your toes.  Keep you wild.  and keep you alive.  So, please, date a girl who reads and let her mind paint the most colorful stories for you.  Or better yet, go out and paint them together.

My challenge to you...

Benedetto sia 'l giorno, et 'l mese, et l'anno,
et la stagione, e 'l tempo, et l'ora, e 'l punto,
e 'l bel paese, e 'l loco ov'io fui giunto
da'duo begli occhi che legato m'anno;

et benedetto il primo dolce affanno
ch'i' ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto,
et l'arco, et le saette ond'i' fui punto,
et le piaghe che 'nfin al cor mi vanno.

Benedette le voci tante ch'io
chiamando il nome de mia donna ò sparte,
e i sospiri, et le lagrime, e 'l desio;

et benedette sian tutte le carte
ov'io fama l'acquisto, e 'l pensier mio,
ch'è sol di lei, sí ch'altra non v'à parte.

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-Francesco Petrarca

This poem was written sometime in the 1300's by Francesco Petrarca to a woman named Laura.  He actually wrote 365 of them...about her.  Their eyes were the only thing that ever met. But in that instance, that split second....he saw her. 

Before leaving the states, I was told...DO.NOT.GET.MARRIED and come home soon.  Haha, I guess I am an obvious, hopeless, cynical romantic *shrug*.   So, roughly 10 months of me living in Firenze, I went on dates and dated because let's be honest....have you ever met an Italian man?  If you have, you know what I mean...and if you haven't, you should (or shouldn't.  I haven't made up my mind quite yet).  You are never actually sure about them but I guess that is the endearing part of it all.  Because, they are extremely truthful liars.  Oxymoron, yes, I understand.  It's one of those "you just gotta know" things.


Everything in Italy is a feeling.  I didn't get it at first...but now I do and it's hard to explain because...you just FEEL it.  The energy..the history...the beauty..the culture.  You can read as many books as you want about the place, shit, I did...but it will never prepare you for what you would actually experience while you are here.  Even if it is for a short period of time.  In every person I talk to...and let's face it, that is A LOT of people...you get a different interpretation of Italy.  The way they see their history and the leaders from past to current.You have the die hards that would never leave, you have the "wish-I-could's" and you have the ones with their plane ticket booked outta there.  I am lucky to know all three types of people. 

My girlfriend recently told me that she doesn't bode well with "surface level shit".  You know, the kind of conversation that you have with someone you just met.  Just some generic exchanges that help pass the time.  But now that I think of it actually, I guess it's not with just people you just met.  Have you ever known a person for awhile and one day it dawns on you....."I don't know one real thing about you"?  I feel like that happens more times than not.  But there...there, they asked me questions that knocked me off my feet.  On a first encounter, you can cover your hopes, your dreams, what frightens you the most.  Who are you?  Where did you come from?  And no, the answer was not: Nikko Bauti from San Francisco. I am a middle child and the only girl.  I come from a middle class, single parent, immigrant home.  I sat in cafes, sipping on espressos, opening my soul to a people who I have known for less than 6 months.  Watching this person...these people...cradle my soul carefully in their hands while I tell my version of my story.  Ever so carefully nodding with empathy and laughing when I got uncomfortable about certain things in my life so I made a joke of it. Everything is passionate here.  The need for human contact and real live conversations are just as vital as the air we breath.  When they spend time with you...THEY SPEND TIME WITH YOU.  They don't go to dinner to be on their phones.  They don't invite you over to browse facebook on their computers.  They don't have a deeper relationship with technology than they do with people.  And this is why I feel in love.

Coming back home, I made a valiant effort to not succumb to the overwhelming technology culture that we happily adopted.  I did well for awhile...even tried to ditch my phone.  But now, I sit here...typing away on my laptop about the love I have for making connections, organic connections, with real live people...all the while with facebook and gchat open on different tabs and my cell phone sitting next to me. I can't write you 365 love notes.  Or notes in general.  But I do yearn for the passion to WANT to do so.  What lit a fire in Francesco to do such a thing?  Because that's what I want again.

So my challenge to you is: Dump "how are you?" and adopt "When did you feel the most loved today?".  Don't let our interactions be generic.  Let me look into your soul and look into mine.  Tell me your nightmares so we can dream bigger together.

“Not all those who wander are lost.” 

       So what happens after you spent a year living your EAT. PLAY. LOVE for real and still yearn for the cobblestones, history and cultural after 7 months of being home?  Easy, you go back.  And with good reason...My first month in Europe had been a whirlwind, going from 0 to 60 in 3.25 seconds.  

       First stop, my home away from home, Firenze.  Making my way through the airport to catch the Leonardo Express to Roma Termini was like, me roaming SFO and catching BART.  Memorized like the back of my hand.  I can't really express the excitement running thru me because I know what waits for me at the end of my two hour train ride.  The 15 minute walk from Santa Maria Novella to the Via Guelfa house is surreal....and fucking hot.  What is on my agenda for my first night back home?  Aperitivo, duh.  As we sit curbside of Kitsch, drinking my spritz, I can't help but feel normal.  I don't need a map or a translator...no, not this time around.  Because this time around, I know this city...the familiar faces, the old watering holes, the restaurants and some of my favorite people take residence here.  I made it back...just like I said I would.  But as much as I love and missed this specific place, my time here is to find, explore and travel...solo.  So, ciao ciao Firenze...

  Just three days after my arrival in Italy, I leave Firenze and start one of my many train rides out of SMN. Where to?  Jesolo.  I love this little town...so quaint and not packed with tourists.  I love my adopted Italian family that I stay with when I go there.  The whole reason why I came back in the first place.  I love that Ilenia is my link from SF to Italy and we managed to stay close even when we haven't lived in the same country for 2 years.  I love her little bun in the oven, even though I hadn't met her yet.  I love how, with her round belly and bikini, we stayed on the beach in and out of cat naps for a whole entire day.  This my friends, was the calm before the storm.

  After 4 days in Jesolo, I got back on the train and headed to Milano.  In between, I stop over in Verona for lunch and to wander the streets a bit.  Verona breaths romance...which is actually quite depressing when you are alone.  But being a single girl traveling solo doesn't leave you lonely for long...especially in Italy.  My train ride to Milano should have been an inclination of what the rest of my trip was going to be like.  I don't even make it to my seat before the train ticketing guy hits on me and we exchange numbers, smh. When in Rome, do as the Romans do...right?  Now, Milano is a whole different beast on its own.  Wider streets, taller buildings, people in suits *swoon*, and high heeled everything.  And damn everyone is beautiful here.  The men, the women..even the kids stunt.  Night life here is so much different than in Firenze and definitely Jesolo.  I got a real taste for it on what was supposed to be my last night there. 

  It all started with an early aperitivo...but you know how it goes.  As soon as you get a couple under your belt..you can basically say bye bye to an early night.  3 bars and 3 beers later, we find ourselves sitting next to a young couple who look like they couldn't be a day over 15.  The young lady orders a shot of tequila, Jose Cuervo is top shelf in this bar, and takes it like a champ.  No chase, no lime and no salt.  Heaven forbid us being shown up by a girl half our age.  So Antonio asks that one question that changes your entire night...."do you wanna take a shot?"  And boy did we.  Before even meeting up with other friends for drinks, I am nice and toasty.  Good luck with being drunk and trying to speak Italian, let alone understand it. lol.  The night continues that way that it started...more shots and more beers and more bars.  At some point, I think we were club before we decided to head back to a friends apartment and make pasta at 4am...not to mention the additional shots that the boys took.  I had to sit that one out...this girl has a limit.  And Sambuca is it.  I paid for it big time the next day.  I laid in that apartment and died for about 14 hours before trying to take the train back to Firenze...which of course, I miss.  So one extra night in the fashion capital would have to do.  Gosh, I wish I can tell the uncut version of this story because it is actually a really fun story...but there are just too many people involved.

   So after my first week back, I wander.  I wander, sometimes, aimlessly, up and down streets that I know, ones that I don't, with and without people walking beside me.  I am old and new at the same time.  A student and a teacher.  Familiar and curious.  But what I am NOT.... is lost.  No, my dear, I am definitely not lost.  Definitely not in the same streets that I found myself in.  Found my strength.  Found my second soul.  Found companionship in my loneliness.  and found my limits.  Which turns out....I don't have any.

eat.play.LOVE

I ate.

I played.

And boy did I LOVE.

I am a sucker for love, I really am.  A complete cynic about it because some of the not-so-great situations I ALLOWED myself to be in but still completely and utterly hopeful.  Go figure I would take risks in the most romantic country in the world.

I sometimes confuse "love" and "lust".  I swear, when it is THAT good, my vagina and heart don't know the damn difference.  Or maybe it's because they aren't that different.  At any rate, for the first...I dunno...5 months, I allowed myself to "love" a man that no one would have EVER expected, including myself.  

#1 - the 'nduja man

            I don't know exactly how "we" happened...no, wait...yes I do.  But I don't know how or why it continued.   Oh wait, I know that too..

            The first night we went home together, it was like he knew exactly all the things I wanted and everything my body needed.   In a snap of a finger while his mouth was still on mine, I found myself suddenly standing in the middle of his living room in my birthday suit.  He turned me around, pulled my hair, picked me up, choked me, bent me over and when round #1 was done, he took me to the patio room.  First we, took a break and smoked a joint (swoon) then, would you believe it...got right back to it.  Me on top, reverse cowgirl, and I am sure knees were involved at some point.  We exhausted almost every room in the place in one night.  Forza Italia! I remember when I finally got home the next morning to my incredibly hung over best friend....she asked me how my night went and all I could do is lean against the doorway and say, "It was just like American sex, but better".  I don't even know what that was supposed to mean...but I do know I wasn't expecting what I got.  And believe me when I say I was PLEASANTLY surprised. I must say, he was a man of many firsts for me.  My (sex) life continued with (only) him for the next few months and somewhere along the way my ass done fell in love with this bad attitude having, bi-polar-can't make up his mind having, softer side hiding, love the way he "loves" me, man.  With different guys trying to see me, date me or sex me...all I wanted was him.  Might have been perfectly happy with all his crazy, as long as kept doing what he was doing, to me.  Progressively, our late night hook ups turned into something else...not that we EVER got serious but lines turned grey. I found myself in a situation where he was allowed to do whatever, and possibly WHOever, he wanted but I was not entitled the same luxury.  Me simply speaking to a guy would result in an accusation of some sort.  Ugh.  We finally decided that what we had was not a good idea.  For either of us.  But that didn't stop us from seeing each other a few more times.  There's something about wanting what you can't have that makes you want it even more, huh?

          I can't say that the sex alone made me fall head over heels cos that can't be true.  We went a couple months without a hint of feelings.  I understood our unspoken agreement and AGREED with it.  Not only did I agree with it, I was all for it.  I never asked for more...NEVER.  I never assumed that we were more...not at first, at least.  It started when he first kissed me in front of everyone.  I was fine with people ASSUMING that we were hooking up but never asking, never telling.  But when he did that in front of friends, that caught me off guard.  Ok, he's drunk I thought...we can chalk it up to that.  But then it happened again...and again...and again.  The public displays of affection, me sleeping in while he went to work then dropping off the keys, the whispered "i love yous", the "I want yous", the invitations to places together...all that.  What a load of shit.  Everyone told me of what a bad idea he was...it's especially funny when you hear it from his closest friends.  But like I always do, I did what I wanted.  In hindsight, they were right...all of them, about it all.  But I don't regret a thing...

       The last 4 months I spent it with my, then, boyfriend.  Now opposite from Mr. 'nduja Man, everyone LOVED him and wanted us to be together.  So did I....so did I...

#2 - my Semi Dolce

      Little did I know, he was not always going to be this knight in shining armor.  

Boy did he fool me.  

         We met months before we actually dated... at a birthday party where my best and I were befriended by him and his friends.  From that night forward, we all spent quite a bit of time all together.  Mostly dinners at alternating homes and drinks out.  I remember the second time we hung out with them I turned to my best and said, "Watch, I am going to date him".  Since I was in the middle of a "situation-ship" with Mr. 'nduja, I kept at bay for months and played a friend role.

          And out of the blue one night, everything changed.  It was a typical dinner with probably too much wine and Willie Wonka, the movie, to follow after dinner.  To spare you the boring details of how it happened...I'll just tell you.  He kissed me.  And that was it.  Kisses.  How nice.  We didn't end up seeing each other again for maybe a week.  Or at least it felt that way.  I remember being so giddy about that kiss.  About how I completely caught off guard because it was NEVER like that with us.  And all of a sudden, here he is, making his move. I remember playing the situation over and over in my head, reliving each kiss, each move, each word.  When we finally saw each other again, it was just us two....going for aperitivo at Kitsch.  Against all of my beliefs in PDA, we sat outside watching a live band and making out occasionally while holding hands.  SMH.  So I guess we skipped the whole dating thing  and went right into being officially together.  Unlike #1, I took my time with this one.  I was in no rush and he never pressured me.  If a man can wait weeks after sharing a bed together, he's good in my book.

        The time we were together was like a fairly tale.  I felt I was literally getting swept off my feet.  Like I was the main character in some overly cheesy chic flick. It felt so natural and comfortable, like I had been doing this with him for years.  He was intuitive, a great communicator and made me laugh EVERY DAY.  I felt like I was able to finally exhale.  I never really got home sick until the holidays came around.  Gosh, he did everything he could to make sure I was as happy as possible during this time.  Stayed up watching American football with me, going home early to watch the Giants, keeping us busy with traveling and seeing different things...anything he could think of.  I even went home with him for Christmas.  We talked as if there was no end to us.  It was unfathomable that we would be separated.  Except there was one minor detail that we choose to ignore until the very end...I AM American and he IS Italian.  And I'm no expert but I do believe to make something work, you guys should live in the same country at the very least.  I had no choice but to come home but was planning on coming back after 3 months.  So we found ourselves at the airport in Rome saying "ci vediamo a presto" I will see you soon.  I was hoping that was the truth.  It fell apart before we could even try.  Long distance is hard, but even more so when only one person is trying.  I didn't know this man I was now in a relationship with, he was not the same man I met, dated and fell in love with in Italy.  It's hard not to feel resentment, even as I type this, but things fall apart so better things can come together, right?

#3, 4, 5 and 6 - my Forever Love(s)

        Seems like I came up empty handed, huh?  Sure, I fell in lust and then I fell in love and both tanked but what I left with, I wouldn't change for the world. I wish I can write each story of how I fell in love with each of these people, but that would make for a really long blog.

           These people are the reason why I can't wait to go back.  The ones who helped me acclimate, the ones who listened when I needed to talk, drank when I needed to drink, danced with me, ate with me, cooked with me and just let me be me.  The ones who tried to talk me out of yet, another one of my "great" ideas and the same ones who supported me with some hard decisions.

To my Gothic Girl, thanks for all the dinners, all the talks, the laughs and support.  I'll get you

to visit me one day and can't wait to see your home town down south.  

To my boys of via Guelfa, formerly via Ghibellina, thanks for the grill outs, hookah/movie nights, slumber parties and not making me pay for the two beds I broke.  

Ti voglio bene per sempre e ci vediamo a presto.  I promise. 

       

eat.PLAY.love

You (hopefully) read about my favorite foods in Florence in my latest blog EAT.play.love.
Following along with that theme, let's PLAY.

It is no surprise to anyone that I played and played hard during my time in Florence.  Rock it 'til the wheels fall off, right?  At 29, I felt like I had a lifetime guarantee on them bad boys. I wish I could tell you I watched the sun rise a million times but the truth is, we would leave where ever we were, the sun would either be down or already out.  I thought I knew some party people in SF, hung out with some in LA, did it SUPER big in Vegas but the truth is, Europeans know how to have a DAMN good time. And not like how we party either....only hanging till the wee hours because Molly won't stop dancing or that white girl got you up and at 'em.  Pure and simple, alcohol....slow and steady won this race.

So just like with EAT, here is a list of some of my favs along side with some of the honorary mentions:

Anyone who lived in Florence when I did or came and visited should not be surprised that LION'S FOUNTAIN on Borgo degli Albizi makes it first on the list.  Sure most of the shit shows I experienced originated from this very bar but the Bartenders made up for that by 10 fold.  The crew that was there when I first arrived in Florence had to be one of the most fun groups I have ever hung out with.  Just straight fun loving drunkards....just like me.  A Guinness and shot of Jameson is what got me thru most nights....but when it came to summertime, vodka lemon was the way to go.  Thursday night Karaoke?  Duh, I was there.  Sunday night live music?  Count me in.  Going just to go?  Yup, that was me on a nightly.  Wait, did I say "nightly" cos I meant ALL.THE.TIME.

Monkey Bar on via della Mattonaia.  The ONLY bar that has my favorite beer: NEW CASTLE.  They also have the bomb Indian beer but I can't remember the name.  The wall paper in their bathroom is....um, AWESOME.  Think comic strips meet 50 shades of grey.

Viktorias on Via Verde.  No one can argue that they had the best looking staff.  In particular, the owners who happen to be two drop dead gorgeous TWINS.  Mamma loves her some twins.  Ok, not only were they hot...but they were approachable and seemingly down to earth.  WHO DOES THAT?! And if you got a cocktail from them, ask for the special because damn do they know how to make a good drink.  Now this place is polar opposite from Lions.  A bit of an older crowd and mostly Italians but a good mature vibe. And I loved when Frank DJ'd....

Le Murate takes up a whole block between via Ghibellina and via dell'Angolo. This was the place that starts a night...not ends it.  Go around 7ish to grab a Spritz and some bites.  I miss aperitivo with my whole entire heart.  No happy hour in America stands a chance going up against this.  Now, besides the great selections on wines and beers (yes, they do have a full bar...)  the venue was AMAZING.  In 1424 it was built as a convent for the nuns, until Napoleon took over.  Then during WWII, they used it as a jail.  Now, people get drunk, eat and watch shows there.   Did I mention that there was a theater there?  The coolest part is that they still have some of the cells in tact.

Volume and POP Cafe in Piazza Santo Spirito.  You can either begin your night here or end it here....either way, I promise you a good time.  I am a people watcher for sure and this place never fails me.  For Volume, I fell in love with this place when I was first introduced to it because a friend of mine was show casing his art there.  This place kinda reminds me of a hipster bar in the Mission somewhere but with older people.  Artsy and packed, this was a great place to meet people.  Pop cafe...to be honest, the times I was there...it was after 2am and at that point...everything is either fun or not at all.

Astor's in piazza Duomo.  All I have to say is Martini Monday with Rami.  Yes, this is the same Rami that made that bomb ass risotto.  Not only can he make a mean ass dinner....but he can make a drink just by me saying "Vodka and not sweet" and hit the mark every time.  And was it Thursday nights 3 for 5 Euros?  You better quit it.  I did, however, find the Peter Pan to my Never, Never Land here.  He is hands down, the MOST HANDSOME MAN IN ALL OF FLORENCE.  but he's practically married with a child.  So I always just admired from a far and made sweet love to him all in my head.

Late late, after the bars close down, I'm drunk and still wanna party BARS:

Let me start with TWICE on via G. Verdi....people say it was named Twice because you never go there twice.  I am ashamed to say, I have...like 5 times.  When you are drunk enough and Cristian is DJing...it's actually not that bad.  Otherwise, it just reminds me of the Wedge at Great America....except I am waaay over 18.

Babylon on via Pandolfini was a cool little alternative for a more club type scene in the center.  It gets crowed as a mother fucker so if you are claustrophobic...do not go here.  If you don't like EDM, you probably shouldn't go here either.  I liked it...but then again, I love people and EDM.

Monte Carla on via de Bardi (private club).  Ok, this is an after the after party, party.  Full of leopard print, velvet, low lighting and people "smelling" the counter tops.  After the first time I went there, and left at 5am on a scooter with 3 people on it..., I described it as the Vampire's Lair.  You know that scene from Blade when he walks into the warehouse party and it's just a bunch of sexy vampires partying all night?  Yeah...right along those lines.

Teatrino on...hmmm, I don't remember but also a private club that is behind Lion's Fountain.  This place is way chill...they place music but not club loud type, show movies and they have a pool and foosball table.  Expect the smoke a pack of cigarettes in here...whether you smoke or not.

Blob on via Vinegia.  Also a chill place but they do have a dance floor.  Or you can go upstairs and play foosball or sit at tables.  Also a heavy cigarette smoking place but good music and lots of people.

and contrary to popular belief....I DID more than just party in clubs and bars.  Its nice to have a picnic in the Boboli Gardens in the Pitti Palace, ride bikes or go to the pool at Cascine Park, walk up to Piazzale Michlangelo and watch the sunset on the steps and drink wine and listen to the random performers.  Florence is a giant playground to those who are open to culture, art and different people....and of course, would like the option to party from time to time! And while these places were the places that I frequented more than sporadically, there are many other places I tried....let me know your taste and I will point you in the right direction...