Frank and Mulan

Yes you’re lovely,
With your smile so warm,

Soooooooo. This weekend, I am afraid I haven’t anything new and exciting to report. Meg has visitors in town and is staying with them at their hotel, so it’s just been me and the Hardoys (and their psycho grandson Matteo – I’m kind of beginning to wonder if his parents want him anymore). On Thursday night, Maggie, Jess, Erik, Keagan, Meg, Drew, Kendel, Emily, Shan and I went to a bar called Joshua Tree. It was a fun night, and I decided to stay at Jess, Erik, Keagan, and Maggie’s apartment because I wasn’t in the mood to forgo my lifesavings for a cab ride home. We slept in (and I really mean in – 130pm!), grabbed a bite to eat at this really good Ecuadorian restaurant Ebby’s, and walked around a bit. We went to the bookstore, read for a while, and I bought some toothpaste at the farmacia down the street. All in all, I’d say it was a successful shopping jaunt. Back to the apartment we went, where Jess, Maggie, and I proceeded to watch 5 consecutive episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. I seriously don’t even remember time passing. That show is so freaking good – I think Caela tried to get me to watch it for a while. I guess it took living in Florence for me to appreciate quality American TV. Anyways, I’ve decided to kind of re-evaluate my possible career choices and become a surgeon, but only if I can be guaranteed an attendee like Dr. Shepherd.
Today (Saturday), I wrote an English paper, bookmarked my art history images in my textbook, watched Mulan, and listened to Frank Sinatra Greatest Hits on repeat. I also ventured down to the Duomo for a bit, and then ended up back in the bookstore. Books are universal and I wanted a bit of home, so there you go.
I know what you’re thinking – what the heck are you doing watching movies on the weekend – you are in Florence so go and do something. Guess what? This was the first weekend I’ve had to relax, and I took full and complete advantage. And right now, guess what I’m going to do? I’m going to go to bed. And it’s only 9pm. You should commend me for thinking ahead though, as I expect to be jarred awake by darling Matteo kicking his soccer ball against my door at 7am. Next Saturday is his birthday. I think I’ll buy him a muzzle. Ok, I’m sorry, I’ll stop complaining.
I guess I might as well try to provide some sort of cultural blib – I know Mom will appreciate it. The bus has become my second home. I know route 17 like I know the route to South Coast Plaza, and have become especially accustomed to smelly armpits in my face. There are certain things I’ve kind of picked up about riding the bus in a sort of trial and error experience. You enter from the front or back doors, and you exit from the middle. You purchase a student monthly pass, rather than spending 1,20 EURO each time you board. You step out off the curb to signal to the bus driver that, yes, you would like to board this specific bus, and no, you weren’t just standing there for fun. You try not to touch anything until you absolutely have to, and if you absolutely have to, you wash your hands as soon as you get off. You do not sit in the lowest seats closest to the bus driver. These seats are for older people, and you will always have to give them up. When you board the bus, your fate is sealed depending on the mood of the driver. Some drive reckless, some never level the bus out, and some consider stop signs mere suggestions. Some are always in a bad mood. Some are really nice (kinda). Some are creepy. And some decide not to show up at all. Usually, the bus is good enough for me.

But Dad, about that Vespa.


Lovely, don’t you ever change -
Keep that breathless charm,

G e n e v i e v e . L o r r a i n e . D e v a n y