Fashionistas In the Making

This weekend, Ellen and I took an impromptu day trip to Milan for Fashion Week.  We had this perfect idea that we would show up looking all trendy and designers would insist we watch their shows for free and then invite us over for after parties and then omg we're best friends.  Events didn't unfold in exactly that manner, but we had a great time nonetheless and even though our feet were bleeding by the end of the day, it was one of the best ideas we've ever had.

The Duomo

I'd seen the fugly parts of Milan before on a bus ride from the airport to the train station, so I wasn't expecting anything magnificent apart from the Duomo on my first legitimate visit to the city.  I'm very happy to say I was wrong.  I know it's Fashion Week, but it isn't hard to believe that Milan could be as trendy on a regular basis as it is during one of fashion's most important events.  I could never live there because I would constantly spend money trying to look like Posh Spice on my walk to the grocery store and back, while simultaneously having to compete with other skinnier, trendier girls.  So I'll just spend the same amount of money and dress like Posh here in Bologna, where people have the audacity to wear jeans, flat boots and puffy coats.  Embarrassing.

We stopped at a café in front of the Duomo and had coffee (hazelnut-infused, gone in 10 seconds) and lunch.  People were literally staring at us like we were a pair of cyclopes.  I'm sorry that my sandwich is offending you.  Please carry on.

After our snack, we stalked out the Frankie Morello show.  Apparently this was the first year a show was ever held in Piazza Duomo, and it's not difficult to understand why.  I imagine the area is busy normally, but the street across from the tent was blocked with people just like us pretending they were a) going to get into a show free of charge or b) see their favorite celebrities.  Since Frankie Morello isn't as high-profile as, say, Dolce & Gabbana, we didn't linger for too long and instead made our way to the Roberto Cavalli show across town.  By "across town" I mean a 30-minute walk in flats, an hour in heels, 90 minutes if you stop and take a sitting break halfway through, get harassed by men selling ugly friendship bracelets and then have an obnoxious self-photo shoot in Parco Sempione.  I liked myself much better when I didn't know how to use the self-timer on my camera.

Most popular douche in Piazza Duomo

The atmosphere outside of the Roberto Cavalli show was very different from that of Morello's.  First of all, the symbolic white tent was at least three times bigger than the one in Piazza Duomo, its entrance settled under the immense Arco della Pace.  There was a large crowd, "organized" (whatever that means in this country) into sections like "Photographers," "Buyers," etc. directly under the arch harassing attendees as they shoved their way into the tent, and in the piazza below, there were all kinds of people taking photos and stalking the lucky skinny rich people who get invited to such shenanigans.  Most of the "photographers" (apart from legit paparazzi) were little kids like me with their paparazzo dreams, many of which we deduced must have fashion blogs or columns - so that unfortunately makes them significantly cooler than us.

Roberto Cavalli's Tent

 We stood outside the tent for a good hour or so.  People would show up (mostly adorable girls dressed in killer heels and amazing coats), pose for the fake nerd paparazzi (us), walk on and give an interview or two, and then make their way to the tent where I assume they had champagne and talked about yachts and adoption.  If you were really a bit more famous, like Kelly Rowland, however, you'd "sneakily" walk along the edges of the piazza with your sidekicks and still be mobbed the entire way by 40 creepy men with their dSLRs and Maried Rivera's lens couldn't even get within 5 feet of you.  I'm assuming that a lot of the people who got attacked the by the paparazzi were Italian fashion icons, designers, stylists, etc. that I just didn't know, so I didn't care.  This means I have to study up for next year.

Unfortunately, Posh & Co. did not grace us with their presence.  But let's be real.  They were probably transported directly into the tent via helicopter.  The reason it's that big is because the bird requires regulation-size landing space.

After we fangirled for a little while (Ellen got to creepily stare at her idol, The Blonde Salad's Chiara Ferragni), we realized it was dark, the show was about to start and our services were no longer needed, we met up with one of my friends I'd interned with this past summer, Sophie, who's studying abroad in Milan for the semester.  We embarked on a futile search for an aperitivo place, but no worries - our search led to my dinner, which obviously had to be Italian McDonald's.

Chiara Ferragni

Chiara Ferragni

Ellen looking chic

Me looking like a douche

Being in line at McDonald's was probably the best part of my day.  Let me explain.  Naturally, since I was hanging out in one of the fashion capitals of the world, I wore a gray sock and a brown sock.  And naturally, at the end of the day, when I was on the verge of tears and my feet were about to explode, I eviscerated my platform heels with my invisible space gun aka took them off, pulled out my disgusting flip-flops, slipped them on over my socks and, with a smile on my face, walked down a few streets and into the metro.  Head held ever so high.

It was the lowest point and the highest point, taking off my heels.  On one hand, in a moment of weakness, I sacrificed my entire outfit.  On the other hand, when my feet were flat on the ground, I almost cried wonderful tears of joy.  Throughout the whole day, Ellen and I planned our fake lives and vowed to forever be trendy and cuter than everyone else so we can marry our Spaniards we don't yet know.  Once the pain set in, it was back to "I'm never wearing heels again," and once our feet remembered how to be flat again, we were once again saying things like "We need more heels" and making mental lists of all the things we need to buy in order to become Chiara Ferragni.  We'll unfortunately need our rich Spanish husbands in order to have legs that are 3 miles long and 6 inches wide. 

By the time we were back in Bologna, my outfit was not the outfit I left the house in that morning.  I looked like a man, you couldn't see my cute blazer (Liz Lemon shout-out) and I was wearing sandals with socks.  I don't care: comfort will ALWAYS trump fashion

NEVER.

She was my favorite

Maybe I'll take a day trip to Paris Fashion Week next week.  Spend five minutes trying to touch Miranda Priestly before I get back on a plane and weep.

I Have a Blog?

For a while there, I was doing really well keeping up with this business. Don't crucify me for having a life*.



I'm trying to remember what I even wrote about the last time I blogged, but even reading through that horribly-written post doesn't trigger any memories. That was exactly two weeks ago. I know that because I just looked at my calendar.

I was supposed to start my class today (well, yesterday), and I just found out I got the time wrong. It goes from 9.00-11.00, not 11.00-13.00, therefore my wonderful plan of waking up at 9, showering, getting dressed, watching The Office and then making my way downtown (walking fast), has been suddenly and cruelly shot to hell.  I feel bad. But not bad enough to show up to my first Italian lecture an hour late. Obnoxious.

My roommates are missing. Luana got home Sunday night, left 10 minutes later, and didn't come back until long after I passed out after a day of too much internet, not enough studying. I found her sleeping on the couch on Monday morning, in the same clothes she was wearing the night before, as if she were afraid to tiptoe into the room and into bed at 3 a.m. in fear of waking me. Dude, when I get home at 3 a.m., I'm sorry, but I am not sleeping on the couch. And if I cannot find my favorite pajama pants, I will turn the lights on. See, in America, we get things done. I thought you Italians were supposed to be a straightforward people.

Then, the next morning, she doesn't wake up until 10.30, even after telling me the night before that she had a 9.00 class, saying "hi" for two seconds, and then leaving again. I was out all day, came home at 1.00 and she still wasn't back. Everybody hates me.

And my other roommate. Well, she left last week to tend to her boyfriend, who is apparently in need of some emotional support, as he is tending to his sick ugly fat cat. Haven't seen her for a week, and she's been saying she'll be back domani, sì, torno domani, domani torno, for the past three days. I'm beginning to think they are planning some sort of escape, in which they leave the country (or the city, at least) and leave me with €1300+ of monthly rent to pay. That would be a great con.



Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Aside from this, the roommates have been great. I'm very lucky I'm not living with crazy people. And honestly, I'd rather Lea go visit the sick cat than have the sick cat come to us. I'm allergic to disgusting things.

Apart from that bit of irrelevant information, I haven't been doing much. Pre-session courses have just wrapped up. The final assignment from my class was actually quite challenging. The objective was to "perform," I guess you could say, a mock final exam. In Italy, final exams are oral (every once in a while with a complimentary written exam, but almost always with an oral component), and are essentially the only thing comprising your final grade. That's it. Finito. If you fuck up the final exam, yes, you can re-take it, but if you fuck up the final exam an infinite amount of times, you're screwed. There's no busy-work there to pick up the slack on your big, fat FAIL. For our "mock exam," we had to come up with three questions on any random topic, anything we'd learned about in our years of education, anything we knew well, and develop three responses to them. It was a chore, to say the least, and not completely like a real final exam (for one, it was too short - finals are usually 20-30 minutes long, longer, if you're unlucky). But then it was over and I was happy.

Then came the finals. I believe I performed quite extremely very brilliantly on my two exams that are very important and nice and challenging and things (opposite day).

I'm walking around Bologna on a daily basis with tennis shoes with holes in them. I look like one of the bearded men with the labradors that like to drink beer and sleep in suitcases on my street. Or at least, I will, once I my shoes rip in half mid-passeggiata and I'm forced to walk around barefoot like an Other.

This weekend, we made a day trip to an old Renaissance town called Urbino. It's about a two-and-a-half-hour bus ride away from Bologna. I was expecting a ghastly experience like our trip to Ravenna, but it was actually really fun. I think that's due mostly to the weather; it was a lot cooler this weekend, cold and wet - much more conducive to my frigid personality. Urbino looked like a set on Monty Python. It was all cobblestone, unlike Bologna, and the whole city is literally enclosed by walls, also unlike Bologna (which technically is enclosed by walls - but it's more metaphoric now, seeing as how the walls don't exist everywhere anymore). It's very quaint, and quiet. I got to swing. And I finally got a good, classic, Italian view that all us gringos picture when we think Italy. Rolling hills, patches of forest, old houses, palaces. Yeah, I went in a palace. Meh, I'd rather go see Versailles. I know my man Louis loved his gold. There was no gold in Federico III's place. Just...old tubs. It was cool, but...just tubby.

I can't wait to go to Madrid. I've already been, but I'd like to experience the city under vastly different circumstances. A) Not jet-lagged, b) not at 95ºF in the morning, c) not with my dysfunctional family (sorry, I love you guys, and you know I had a blast, but we were in bed by like, 21.00 every night!!! And no one would go to bars with me!!!), d) not with my shit shoes. Real Madrid (I won't even talk about what a hot mess they are right now) has some incredible games coming up once mid-November rolls around. The Madrid derby, Bilbao, Sevilla, Villarreal, Valencia, and then of course, the game I'd like to say I'm going to be watching front-and-center, El Clásico in April, and I'd kill a puppy to be able to make it to at least two of those.

I'm also considering going to London for the world premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Uno. Chances of my licking Daniel Radcliffe's pallid face: 0%, but just to be able to watch the film in London, in English, and a week earlier than all my fellow Potterheads in America (just to be a bitch), would be the highlight of my life. It's just a matter of finding someone to share a hotel room with me (looking at you, Nicola Paracchini).

I was talking to my friend Tati last night, and what she said about choosing to remain, for the most part, in Italy for first semester, is a good idea. That was my plan originally (I've stayed true to it), but I feel like time is going by so fast here - before I know, I'll be home for Christmas, and I'd hate to have to fit all of my traveling into five months. Granted, I can't see all of Europe, but is it too much of a stretch to pretend I will? People frown upon my fantastical brain, I think it's healthy. Realistically, I'd like to at least be able to see Signe, Pascale and Fabian in Norway, Switzerland and Germany, respectively. And this I can justify with "strong emotional connections", that way my dad won't freeze my accounts! Plus, Madrid and London, and Barcelona in the summer, and Greece to visit KPike. And then trips around Italy, which only cost like €3, let's be honest. That's only like, half of my life savings.



SHUT UP, CONSCIENCE!!!!!!!!!!

COMUNQUE, I'm really excited for tonight. A bunch of us are getting together and making dinner (Maried will be taking creeper pics, drinking, and setting the table) and then going to Soda Pops, one of the local bars/clubs/I don't really know what it is. Speaking of Soda Pops, I need to sing karaoke again (which Italians take really seriously. Singing a tone-deaf version of "I Love Rock 'N Roll", while entertaining in Big World, will only get you smoldering stares, judgmental reactions, smh...It's like, the difference between the American Idol contestants who show up, are prepared, and sing well, and the contestants who show up wearing a Big Bird costume and sing A Whole New World like Carrie Underwood took a severe beating to her esophagus).

To finish off, I posted this on my LJ and I figured, since it's a simplified version of things I've noticed (how original) in my month here (it was officially a month yesterday!), I'd save myself the trouble and just copy+paste it, like a boss:

"1. When talking to guys from Naples, it's not a great idea to bring up Gomorrah or the Mafia, even if it's completely hilarious
2. ERASMUS bars suck balls
3. McDonald's is actually really amazing and way better than American McDonald's. Unless you like it nasty. This is probably just me trying to justify the fact that I have McDonald's once a week. I may have used the phrase "WoW tHiS aCtUaLlY tAsTeS hEaLtHiEr" more than once
4. Old people are assholes.
5. Wearing college apparel is ew. Wearing it in public is ewier.
6. So apparently open container laws don't exist; Americans are party-poopers.
7. Italian TV is not Italian.
8. They only show the Italian teams' CL games at bars (WHAT?? WHY?? HOW ODD), so I guess they just all have to get eliminated then please.
9. People don't have children here. They instead own dogs that they put in strollers and take everywhere.
10. Bologna is like, Little Spain. Yummers
11. Italians do not like their current immigrant situation. My roommate ranted to me about it for like a half-hour the other day. Srs bsns
12. Rum and pear do NOT go together. I do not speak from experience
13. KebaP > Italian food, those damn Turks are gonna turn me into a whale
14. I wore my Spain jersey around the other day and I'm surprised I only got like 10 hurtful comments
15. Every Italian man that doesn't have a lady slobbering on his face is gay. Swear to god
16. I'm sorry but I like that in the US of America, things have the option of being jumbo-sized. Everything is mini here and I don't like it, I don't like it ONE BIT!!!!!
17. Sometimes people speak Spanish to me on the street and it catches me off-guard so I respond in Spanglishtalian
18. This shutter bsns is awesome
19. There are Roman ruins everywhere. Selfish
20. Don't ever do spaghetti with bolognese. I guess that's like, wrong or something. Dad."

K bye.

* = The fact that, as of late, my life revolves around LOST (surprise, surprise), gelato and McDonald's, will be ignored.

Traveling

While I was waiting in Frankfurt for five hundred hours for my aereo to Bologna, I started thinking of what I had seen throughout the day, what I'd experienced traveling-wise that I hadn't before, and what stupidities I could say about it. Here's some of the stuff I wrote down. Disclaimer: I had been awake for about 12 hours straight at this point, lugging around about 150-lbs' worth of luggage and trying to figure out how to both navigate an airport and keep on the lookout for hotties I could maintain awkward eye contact with (some of this stuff is from the past couple of days as well).

• I have some insane control over my body. I'm Spider-Man. After he gets used to his web, is what was on my mind the entire time that I was waiting for my flight in Frankfurt. I was attempting to nap, all the while being able to watch my stuff so no one tried to take advantage of my comatoseness and attempt to steal my ever-important stash of plastic tampons. In order to do this, I had to assert some sort of control so that I could make myself wake up every like 5 minutes or so and verify my stuff was still there/that I didn't accidentally fall asleep for 5 hours and miss my flight. Knowing Italians (how very little I know them), I highly doubt they would wake me up like this one girl on my flight to Atlanta was once we started boarding. Especially considering that today, while we were walking around central Bologna, some poor blind guy ran into a post while attempting to cross the street and no one even turned an eye or tried to help him the rest of the way. True story.
• People ride bicycles in the airport. Inside the airport. I don't know if this is an exclusively German thing, but it was both ridiculously hilarious and dangerous. I was almost run over multiple times. The bikes did have bells though...but not everyone used them.
• My flight attendant was this adorable gay German guy. I was in love with him, he was so sweet. Am I positive that he was gay? Absolutely not, my gaydar is horrible.
  
• I forgot to take drugs before the long international flight. Still cliffing myself about that one.
• Oceans is probably one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen. That is, until they show freaking sharks de-finned and thrown back into the water like trash and the filmmakers decide that it'd be artistic and profound for them to show the poor shark sinking into the dark, dark depths of the ocean. Maybe that's why I couldn't sleep.
• I can't speak a word of Italian.
• Aisbnbiiiaihgozoijosirjha. Could probably pass for a German word. I have intense respect for people who take time to learn that language. It's almost as weird as Basque. It seems incredibly complicated, I would never have the patience for it. Plus, it makes people sound angry when they speak and I'm all about the peace.

• All of the pages on the Internet have switched automatically to Italian. NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
• People wear flip-flops. And shorts. And they are far from shy about showing skin. We were lied to. I've been frantically searching for decent sandals that won't murder my feet for the past 2 days to no avail. I thought Milan was one of the fashion capitals of the world. We're only two hours from there, you'd think some of that shit would reach us.
  
• Europe, a.k.a. Italy, the organization of its cities, reminds me of Little People, Big World. Except for more like, Little People, Little World. Everything is so close together, I feel like there's barely space for people to breathe. Screw this analogy. In a piazza is one of the few places where you can actually see the sky. I miss corn fields and actual space. Having a yard but not really using it but just being happy to know that it's there just in case...
• I DON'T KNOW ANY VERBS!!!!!!!
• Saw a guy at the airport with shiny Converse. If I ever date a guy who wears shiny, metallic Converse, shoot me and convince me to turn lez, that is just insulting to your masculinity.
• Unless you're traveling for business, why would you wear stilettos while you're traveling? Are you stupid?
• I'm quite certain this one couple was in 2 out of 3 of my flights. Russian spies.
• I love watching couples walk around, because all you ever see is the woman talking and the guy staring off into nothingness. 

Things I'll Miss About America:

• Shitty food that slowly kills you
• The iPhone - oh wait, everyone and their cat has an iPhone. Worldwide. I'm surprised I've even seen iPhones here, considering they cost almost €600. I bet Maddox Jolie-Pitt has an iPhone
• Real Madrid games in the morning vs. late at night. I like having my whole day ahead of me so then I can purge my mind of the memories of a horrible game, if necessary. (Our first game of the season just finished. We drew 0-0 and played like crap. Granted, it was a rough game, away, against a good team that's even better at home, so it was positive in that sense. It could've easily been a loss for us had it not been for some good saves from our ever-brilliant goalkeeper. When I go see them live, all them bitches better be on their a-games and Jose better be wearing a black suit).
• Tall guys. A rarity here. 
• Wearing pajamas to the grocery store
• The Kardashians
• Giant cars. Trucks. Hummers. Slowly murdering our planet.
• Pennies. 
• I miss fat people. I miss having fat people everywhere around me. This may be crude for all you softies, but I like feeling good about my size - a rare emotion for me. I have a Latina's ass and my hips don't lie; Italians being so fit and wearing such tight clothes (even when they shouldn't...that takes confidence I don't quite possess) does not help my self-esteem issues. I guess I'm one of those vile people who thrives off of other people's misfortunes. Crucify me.
• Not having to wear a watch and instead having to go frantic trying to search for a clock or some indication of time. The Italians seem to never have schedules, or clocks, and are never in a rush, always relaxed and "in the moment." Us Americans love being busy-bees (although we apparently have a reputation for being lazy), and wandering around without concrete tasks is kind of strange for us. That will all change come Tuesday, though. And I can't even justify wanting to sit around and veg out because I've only been here for two and a half days. Ugh.
• People speak too many languages here. Just stick to one and stop showing off. Please be less civilized so I can feel somewhat less intimidated about being able to speak every language I attempt to speak, poorly. Is that too much to ask?
• Matthew Fox's hair needs to be at least two inches long at all times. This has nothing to do with anything except for my strong desire to see him wet and sweaty and running through a jungle shooting things every week. 
 

• Hahahahaha I'm just kidding, pennies are so stupid.

I think that's all I have to say for right now. I'll write more specifics later. Now it's off to the shower, and to Photoshop until the Emmy's are on. At 2 a.m.

Worth it.

But if Matthew Fox loses I will kill a puppy.