that one time i lived in rome

Last summer I lived in Rome for 6 weeks; this summer I'm stuck at home and taking an LSAT class. First I wonder what I did wrong in a past life, to go from the most amazing summer ever to one where I sit in a class for 4.5 hours twice a week and cry look over logic games.

My roommate met me at the airport with a steak burrito (she's the best I swear!) in tow and asked me "Do you feel different?". I promptly responded and told her "Of course I do. My liver hurts like a bitch..." But I'm pretty sure that's not the answer she was looking for; then again if my liver ever put me out of commission she loses her favorite alcoholic. (Disregarding the trip to the emergency room...whoops)

Rome was amazing, the people were fanfuckingtastic, and despite eating my weight in gelato, pizza and pasta, I lost weight. It was a win-win situation, even if you factor in "sweating your taint off", but I think (thanks Google) only men have that. I think the only things I don't miss are sweating and the fear of being gypsie'd (I made my own verb! Suck it Rachael Ray).

Nothing really big happened in Rome. There weren't any moments that shook me to the core. No big spectacular earth shattering thing. But the experience was unforgettable. It's funny that I can't pinpoint one single event in Rome that was particularly phenomenal, but when I combine everything; it resulted in something bigger than anything I've ever experienced. But that could be attributed to me being a mere fetus at 20, and not having really lived very much.

I think Rome falls under the category of big occurrences. However it was one of those things where one particular moment didn't stand out, instead it was the overall experience that turned out to be an all consuming thing. It didn't feel big or serious at the time. I was merely living in the moment, especially those times we justhadtopeethisverysecond and peed outside... But looking back at the situation, that was it (well maybe not the drunken public urination). Simply living our daily lives was the big event in Rome.

The drunken walks stumbles home from Campo de Fiore, walking through the meandering alleys on the way to school, climbing the 5 flights of stairs(!!!), nearly getting taken at Mood (where American girls go to die or a brothel...not sure we got our free shots and ran out, hence why I'm still alive),, the Real Worldesque moment of walking in on someone naked and in the middle of sexytimes; all of these things seemed small and insignificant in the present, but they ended up making the experience (even in the constantly hungover state).

We were all just living. Even the mundane task of grocery shopping is now an event to me in hindsight. Maybe I'm putting Rome on a pedestal and maybe it wasn't the OMGAMAZING thing that I'm making it out to be (IT WAS), but it definitely changed me. It changed me in all the little ways that I didn't realize until someone pointed it out for me. Then again I don't notice very much, like when Alex dyed her hair orange by accident and I didn't notice til 2 days in since she started crying and saying "ORAAAANGE", and then I finally got it.

Rome and its affect (yes that's the right one) on me is kind of like that minus no melodramatic crying over hair color. Orange is my favorite color by the way, which I tried to tell Alex, but she couldn't hear me over her own wailing.

A year later and I've finally grasped the lessons from Rome; I can drink way more than I expected and chug beer well enough to earn a t-shirt. And I'm not as dependent or needy as I thought. That I can go somewhere completely foreign and adjust quickly. And other lessons of the sort, drinking and otherwise.

My amazing propensity for trouble

Sometimes (read: ALL THE TIME), I find myself in ass backwards situations that one shouldn't find themselves in. I have no idea how I get into these pickles (hate pickles ew), but I kind of secretly like them, because then I end up with fodder that I can regurgitate in social settings. Yes, that means I will tell you about the time I got a fish bone stuck in my throat which necessitated a little trip to the hospital at a party. (I'm a HIT at parties btw, invite me to all of yours) Clearly that doesn't happen to normal people.

Okay maybe that's not an example for my propensity for trouble, and rather an example of being an idiot, but whatever. I guess a more straight forward example of the trouble I get into is with the Irelands (2 boys 1 name...way better than 2 girls 1 cup) of my summer. Yes, I should stay away from anyone with an accent, but i'm an accent slut. It's awful and it's bad, and somehow I've met every single Irish boy in San Francisco, and oh my god why are there so many, and for the love of god whydoyouallknoweachother.

Anyway BACK ON TOPIC, if there was ever a topic to begin with...? I jokingly told someone they were trouble, and he said "What's the fun in living in god mode?That invulnerability and infinite ammo is pretty sweet for a little while, but you gotta have that challenge to keep the game interesting."


Oh man I hope he doesn't google this and find out that 1. I have a blog and 2. that I'm stealing his quotes for said blog.

I, like any normal person that isn't a total bore likes trouble. Trouble is fun, we do stupid shit that gets us into trouble because ultimately we believe the payout is worth it. We as people fucking revel in trouble. Those situations that we find ourselves in trouble, we rehash to anybody who'll listen to us about that "one time", because things like that are interesting and make us better. No I don't want to hear about how you took your dog on a walk and it was perfect, I want to hear about the time your dog got dognapped and you had to go to amateur stripper night to pay the ransom.

Trouble gives us something to talk about, look back on, and hopefully if we're smart learn from. Playing it safe is overrated. Okay maybe taking free shot coupons from the creepy Italian and following him into a place called Mood (where American girls go to get Taken) to redeem coupons, probably wasn't the best idea, but now it's hilarious in the retelling. And I can forever blame Annie for that one time she nearly got us kidnapped.

We're not getting out of this thing alive, so why not get into trouble (only the good kinds of trouble...like trouble with accents and a drinking problem) and really live? (Yes that's referring to those lame kids I had in my AP classes who were boring as fuck and glared at my friends and I for trying to have a good time whilst reading Moby Dick.) Clearly, I have grown out of my high school animosity for certain people...but I digress.

We're going through life, one way or another, we should take the time to BOTHER ourselves with quality trouble. Being vulnerable isn't fun and it's actually the feeling I hate the most, but being invulnerable gets old pretty fast and you're that statue that all birds poop on. I'd rather have a pigeon poop on me while I'm truly living, rather than a solitary marble structure that is pooped on.

Things I have realized while writing this: I'm pretty goddamn crass and should probably find more eloquent examples that don't involve pigeon poop...or any bodily excrement for that matter.