A Couple of Italian Random Stories
Well, back in da Wien. I cannot believe how fast our trip went by! I want to go back! I loved Rome and it is probably pretty blasphemous to say this, but it isn't my top favourite Italian city. I know I know. It is spectacular and the people were lovely and the men dressed beautifully and the food was great and the history is spectacular but I still rate San Gimignano as my most favourite Italian city ever. But I still got love for Rome! Every time I come back from Italy, I am incredibly inspired... And by inspired I mean, I want to cook all the Italian foods! I left work this afternoon, super psyched to see the Kid (our flight was 3 hours delayed and he had already passed out at the in laws by the time we were back in Wien so I didn't get to see him yesterday) and quickly stopped at Naschmarkt to get groceries for dinner. I totally acted like Sally Fields in Not Without My Daughter yesterday evening.
I always want to cook a big feast after being in Italy. Every time I am there, I am always envious about how the kids are there. There is a sense of confidence that Italian kids have that I think is awesome. I also love how kids are part of the landscape. Sure, I like adult time but kids are NOT a necessary evil. They are necessary. In fact, they truly are our future and we need them to pay for our retirement so let's make sure they are treated well. And kids are pretty awesome in general and maybe I am talking as a mom, but I do find it weird when people actively hate kids. I type this as the Husband places his TV guide on the Kid, using his sleeping form as a teleprompter. Anyway, on our last night in Rome, there was a family of four sitting beside us. The 10 year old boy asked the waiter if the gnocchi was served with sage and the daughter (about 8) asked if the veal came with lemon. This impressed me because I remember being that age and being like "So, like, will the pizza come with extra cheese?" A friend did point out today that I still act like that so maybe I am not the best example. But I stand by my stance that Italian kids are pretty awesome.
When I got home today, the Kid seemed non-chalant about my arrival but he did whisper "Mommy" which meant the world to me. He passed out around 7 and is currently curled up on the sofa, looking at peace. He totally missed me. But this introduction is a long winded start to what this post is all about; my stalker tendencies... or, just my natural skill at being able to observe... oh ok, stalker tendencies.
So here are a couple of random stories from our trip.
Setting: Restaurant up on the hill around the corner from the hotel.
Cast: Me (pretending to read my Kindle), 4 Italians, 4 New Jerseyians: Jenny and Jeff, American Man and American Woman
Scenario: One of the New Jerseyians has brought friends to meet his Italian extended family. It is at the end of their dinner.
Italian 1: Eh, who wants a coffee?
American Man: Sure! I'll have an espresso, honey?
American Woman: Yes, please!
Jeff: Me too!
Jenny: Ugh. I hate espresso! You got a normal coffee? (she asks the waiter) Like, a normal American coffee?
Waiter: Si! Americano!
Jenny: Yes! American coffee! (the waiter goes off to make coffee, she continues with the conversation that apparently was interrupted by the waiter) So, like I was sayin. It's my first day at dispatch and this (very bad word) comes over to me and she is all like 'My name is Cookie' and I'm all like 'Hi, Cookie. I'm Jenny Giudice (sorry, couldn't think of another name) and it's my first day on the job'...
American Man: Oh yeah, I remember this Cookie story. (And I can tell he is trying to shut this story down. Jenny's husband Jeff is looking nervous now)
Jenny: Yeah, so she says to me 'I know your husband. Best lay I ever had!" (Jenny pauses and looks to the Italians to see their reactions. They all suddenly look at their dessert menus with great interest. Meanwhile American Woman across from Jenny gives her hand a sympathetic squeeze. This is all she needs to continue with her story.) So I say to her "EXCUSE ME?!?!" and I cannot not believe this (very bad word) has just said this to me. How DARE she disrespect me, disrespect my husband, disrespect my family! This (very bad word) has the balls to say it to my face. So I take off my jacket and I am all ready to beat the shit out of her... (at this point one of the Italian women leans over and asks her to keep it down. Meanwhile I sip my wine and try to pay attention to my Kindle)
Jeff: Honey, let's finish up and get ready for the concert (he turns to the Italian woman) how much time we got left?
Italian woman: About ten minutes. But who knows, they could start late! (So Italian)
At this point the waiter places the coffees in front of the guests.
Jenny: Hey! Wait! My 'Americano' coffee has no milk! What the hell?!? (the waiter looks to the Italians for an explanation, they quickly ask for latte.) How is this American? (Jenny is agitated and she yells for milk.) So I am about to beat this (very bad word) Cookie but I calm myself down, reminding myself that it is my first day. So I call Jeff and I am like "Do you know a woman named Cookie?!?" and he says "No." and I am on the phone, on the phone talking to my husband and I am like "Bitch, my husband don't even know you!" (At this point Jeff looks a little desperate).
American Man: Wait, Jeff and I went to school with Cookie. (And then Jeff looks like he wants to die)
Jenny: WHAT?!?!
And I could go on and on but let me just say that Jeff probably slept outside that night. There was so much more but I would have to write a screenplay and I am not that motivated to write a screenplay called "Jersey Shore: the mid-life crisis". I also want to point out that Americans totally get a bad rap abroad and to be honest, it really isn't well-deserved. American tourists are pretty awesome for the most part. Times have changed and I am happy to see a renaissance in the travelling North American. But Jenny, oh Jenny, you were all the entertainment I needed on a crappy evening. So I say, thank you.
Setting: Back of cab
Cast: Older Roman, Me and the Husband
Scenario: Going into town
Me: Scala Spagna?
Cab driver: Si!
Me: Uhhh, not Via Scala (once realizing we are nowhere near the center)
Cab driver: Si!
Me: Piazza Spagna?
Cab driver: Oh! Spanish Steps! Si! (and off we go)
We tear through narrow streets and the Husband and I grip each other in fear. At one point we come to a stop behind an SUV. Our taxi driver leans on the horn and starts to swear. Nothing. The driver of the SUV rolls down his window and starts talking to two guys in a small shop. Guys in small shop gesture and talk to guy in SUV. Taxi driver has a stroke as he swears, leans out of the window and lays on his horn. SUV still doesn't move. At this point I feel like stepping out of the taxi as I spy the taxi driver's forehead vein throb and make a phone call to his doctor. This was quite a vein. Suddenly the SUV moves and parks a meter down the road. Taxi driver revs up his car and gets to the entrance of the shop. He leans out and screams at the two guys in the shop for a minute. They look bored. Then the taxi driver revs his car and goes one meter and screeches to a stop and screams at the SUV driver. Then a minute later he takes off and the Husband and I grip each other.
Cab driver: IMBECILE! (he yells while shaking his fist out the window. 5 minutes later we squeal to a stop and with a big smile he announces) Si. Spanish Steps!
I still have to write about the fight at the Fiumcino airport departure terminal (the news showed up) as well as Man Hands a.k.a. the line cutter. My internal aggression was in fine form yesterday.
Stay tuned for some dis and dat in a day or two! Happy Monday!
I always want to cook a big feast after being in Italy. Every time I am there, I am always envious about how the kids are there. There is a sense of confidence that Italian kids have that I think is awesome. I also love how kids are part of the landscape. Sure, I like adult time but kids are NOT a necessary evil. They are necessary. In fact, they truly are our future and we need them to pay for our retirement so let's make sure they are treated well. And kids are pretty awesome in general and maybe I am talking as a mom, but I do find it weird when people actively hate kids. I type this as the Husband places his TV guide on the Kid, using his sleeping form as a teleprompter. Anyway, on our last night in Rome, there was a family of four sitting beside us. The 10 year old boy asked the waiter if the gnocchi was served with sage and the daughter (about 8) asked if the veal came with lemon. This impressed me because I remember being that age and being like "So, like, will the pizza come with extra cheese?" A friend did point out today that I still act like that so maybe I am not the best example. But I stand by my stance that Italian kids are pretty awesome.
When I got home today, the Kid seemed non-chalant about my arrival but he did whisper "Mommy" which meant the world to me. He passed out around 7 and is currently curled up on the sofa, looking at peace. He totally missed me. But this introduction is a long winded start to what this post is all about; my stalker tendencies... or, just my natural skill at being able to observe... oh ok, stalker tendencies.
So here are a couple of random stories from our trip.
Setting: Restaurant up on the hill around the corner from the hotel.
Cast: Me (pretending to read my Kindle), 4 Italians, 4 New Jerseyians: Jenny and Jeff, American Man and American Woman
Scenario: One of the New Jerseyians has brought friends to meet his Italian extended family. It is at the end of their dinner.
Italian 1: Eh, who wants a coffee?
American Man: Sure! I'll have an espresso, honey?
American Woman: Yes, please!
Jeff: Me too!
Jenny: Ugh. I hate espresso! You got a normal coffee? (she asks the waiter) Like, a normal American coffee?
Waiter: Si! Americano!
Jenny: Yes! American coffee! (the waiter goes off to make coffee, she continues with the conversation that apparently was interrupted by the waiter) So, like I was sayin. It's my first day at dispatch and this (very bad word) comes over to me and she is all like 'My name is Cookie' and I'm all like 'Hi, Cookie. I'm Jenny Giudice (sorry, couldn't think of another name) and it's my first day on the job'...
American Man: Oh yeah, I remember this Cookie story. (And I can tell he is trying to shut this story down. Jenny's husband Jeff is looking nervous now)
Jenny: Yeah, so she says to me 'I know your husband. Best lay I ever had!" (Jenny pauses and looks to the Italians to see their reactions. They all suddenly look at their dessert menus with great interest. Meanwhile American Woman across from Jenny gives her hand a sympathetic squeeze. This is all she needs to continue with her story.) So I say to her "EXCUSE ME?!?!" and I cannot not believe this (very bad word) has just said this to me. How DARE she disrespect me, disrespect my husband, disrespect my family! This (very bad word) has the balls to say it to my face. So I take off my jacket and I am all ready to beat the shit out of her... (at this point one of the Italian women leans over and asks her to keep it down. Meanwhile I sip my wine and try to pay attention to my Kindle)
Jeff: Honey, let's finish up and get ready for the concert (he turns to the Italian woman) how much time we got left?
Italian woman: About ten minutes. But who knows, they could start late! (So Italian)
At this point the waiter places the coffees in front of the guests.
Jenny: Hey! Wait! My 'Americano' coffee has no milk! What the hell?!? (the waiter looks to the Italians for an explanation, they quickly ask for latte.) How is this American? (Jenny is agitated and she yells for milk.) So I am about to beat this (very bad word) Cookie but I calm myself down, reminding myself that it is my first day. So I call Jeff and I am like "Do you know a woman named Cookie?!?" and he says "No." and I am on the phone, on the phone talking to my husband and I am like "Bitch, my husband don't even know you!" (At this point Jeff looks a little desperate).
American Man: Wait, Jeff and I went to school with Cookie. (And then Jeff looks like he wants to die)
Jenny: WHAT?!?!
And I could go on and on but let me just say that Jeff probably slept outside that night. There was so much more but I would have to write a screenplay and I am not that motivated to write a screenplay called "Jersey Shore: the mid-life crisis". I also want to point out that Americans totally get a bad rap abroad and to be honest, it really isn't well-deserved. American tourists are pretty awesome for the most part. Times have changed and I am happy to see a renaissance in the travelling North American. But Jenny, oh Jenny, you were all the entertainment I needed on a crappy evening. So I say, thank you.
Setting: Back of cab
Cast: Older Roman, Me and the Husband
Scenario: Going into town
Me: Scala Spagna?
Cab driver: Si!
Me: Uhhh, not Via Scala (once realizing we are nowhere near the center)
Cab driver: Si!
Me: Piazza Spagna?
Cab driver: Oh! Spanish Steps! Si! (and off we go)
We tear through narrow streets and the Husband and I grip each other in fear. At one point we come to a stop behind an SUV. Our taxi driver leans on the horn and starts to swear. Nothing. The driver of the SUV rolls down his window and starts talking to two guys in a small shop. Guys in small shop gesture and talk to guy in SUV. Taxi driver has a stroke as he swears, leans out of the window and lays on his horn. SUV still doesn't move. At this point I feel like stepping out of the taxi as I spy the taxi driver's forehead vein throb and make a phone call to his doctor. This was quite a vein. Suddenly the SUV moves and parks a meter down the road. Taxi driver revs up his car and gets to the entrance of the shop. He leans out and screams at the two guys in the shop for a minute. They look bored. Then the taxi driver revs his car and goes one meter and screeches to a stop and screams at the SUV driver. Then a minute later he takes off and the Husband and I grip each other.
Cab driver: IMBECILE! (he yells while shaking his fist out the window. 5 minutes later we squeal to a stop and with a big smile he announces) Si. Spanish Steps!
I still have to write about the fight at the Fiumcino airport departure terminal (the news showed up) as well as Man Hands a.k.a. the line cutter. My internal aggression was in fine form yesterday.
Stay tuned for some dis and dat in a day or two! Happy Monday!
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