I-A Steal-A Your-A Dress-A

My friend emailed me this video on FB with the title, “Misty, is this you?”

It is not me. I would have stolen the Gladiator’s sword, hopped on my vespa and ran the other girl down while waving my sword in the air, screaming, “THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!”

Though I wish I would have been there to at least say I took the video myself because it’s kind of amazing.

Because My Dog Wants Me To Die

Taking Oliver to go potty is like walking a drunk, homeless man. First of all, he smells like pee, secondly he runs aimlessly in random directions, and darts  back and fourth across the sidewalk without reason. Also, like all drunk people, Oliver has incredible strength despite his appearance. I learned this the other day when he accidentally (on purpose) tried to kill me.

Last week I took him for a walk as I do every day. We were strolling along enjoying the sun, I talked with myself a lot, things were going well when he randomly leapt in front of me for no fucking reason and  jolted forward yanking me behind him. Simultaneously, I looked down and yelled, “The fuck, OLIVER.” And, BAM! 

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Some asshole at Telecom left some giant plastic cupboard thingy open on the street. Almost instantly blood trickled down my face and neck and onto my jacket. I was still a block and a half from home so I used the sleeve of my jacket to soak up the blood while I made my way towards my apartment. Oliver  clearly didn’t realize that I was dying because he stopped to pee every three seconds and I’m fairly sure he kept mumbling something about NAM and the 99%.

This whole incident happened about the same time that every kid in Florence got out of school so the sidewalk was flooded with parents gawking and shielding their children’s eyes from me while I was all post-prom Carry. I sped up and tried to walk through the crowd as fast as possible but then Oliver decided he needed to take a massive shit right in the middle of everyone. So there I was, all haunched over, cleaning up his business while blood droplets rained over the sidewalk while everyone watched in silence. Thanks dicks for offering so much help while I was bleeding to death. Oliver hopped up and down all super excited that he just went to the bathroom while I searched desperately for a garbage can with blood in my eyes. I was feeling really bad for myself, plus my head fucking hurt, but I was kind of excited to go home and call my husband to tell him that I was dying cause, you know, sympathy. 

Anyways, I did not die and I did not need stitches. Apparently I’m just super anemic so I bleed a lot. Husband came home and was all, “The fuck Misty!?” Then he made fun of me for the rest of the week for nearly knocking myself out and was all, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, HOW DOES THIS SHIT HAPPEN TO YOU ALL THE FUCKING TIME?” And I was like, “I don’t know! GIVE ME WINE!”

And maybe being drunk is the solution to most things. Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to round-up your drunk friends when you’re sober but when everyone is drunk it’s just fun? Exactly. It’s all coming together now…

 

 

This Nomination Is Just The Beginning Of World Domination. P.S. Thank You

Since I have no real life and I basically spend all day stalking the internet it didn’t take long before I came across a new comment on my blog saying that I had been nominated for a The Versatile Blogger Award. Sounds fancy, right? It is fancy, my friends. I was nominated by a wonderful woman whose blog, the World Wife Traveler is full of all things expat, it’s warm, funny, and I totally relate. I love reading expat blogs because it tells you everything you really want to know about living somewhere. It’s also the best source for travel. Really.

Look At Her, Isn’t She Pretty?

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The Versatile Blogger Rules

  • Add The Versatile Blogger award photo on a blog post
  • Thank the person (or animal) who presented you with the award and link back to him or her in your post
  • Share seven things about yourself
  • Pass the award along to 15 favorite bloggers. Contact the chosen bloggers to let them know about the award.

 

Seven Things About Me:

  1. My mother worked as a stripper when I was a baby. 
  2. I was born and raised in Utah.
  3. I am not Mormon. Thanks for asking.
  4. My father is Iranian. I blame him for my inclination to marry a foreign person. F-U Freud. I am drawn to accents and excessive body hair, apparently.
  5. My favorite movie as a kid was The Last Unicorn. When you watch it all grown up you realize that it’s kind of creepy and deranged.
  6. Once as a kid I was allowed to sleep over at a friends house. We went to rent movies and I told my friend (a mormon girl), we should watch, “The Hooker From H-E-L-L.” I was later returned to my parents. My mother didn’t believe in censoring films. For my third grade birthday sleepover she also let me rent, The Nightmare On Elmstreet. My friends were banned from talking with me after that.
  7. I live in Italy but I don’t really like pasta. Mostly because I’m kind of diabetic and it makes me feel like death after I eat it. My husband believes that pasta is a health food. It’s adorable.

And My Nominees For The Versatile Blogger Award:

Little Sarah Big World

Art 925

Frivolous Monsters

Roam About Mike 

Cute Overload

Not Your Victim

Jour By Giorno

Coffee With A Canine

Sputnik

Cynthia Giselle Loveland

Manboobz

Learning Italian: How To Talk Stupid

One of the most difficult things about learning a new language isn’t the memorization or the studying which requires just a little time and dedication, rather, it’s trying to keep some of my pride intact while I walk around sounding like a drunk three year old. Trying to laugh at myself while knowing that everyone I come in contact with thinks I’m an idiot. “Those chips me like they good so good,” or, “This dress in window me want for to be in black maybe you no have?” And people spend a lot of time laughing at you, staring at you, and wondering why you just said, “I would like to fuck this thing if you have it,” because for some reason you can NOT remember the difference between scopare and scoprire which mean, “to fuck” and “to discover.”

It’s also more difficult learning a language when you have a partner who is fluent. They’re sitting next to you at a dinner party talking about molecular biology while you’re saying things like, “I went school. I finished. I learned. I moved Italy.” It must be at least a little embarrassing to know me during times like that when all of his friends are thinking, “Nice catch buddy, which institution did you pick her up from?” Since I’m super shy at times it took me much longer to learn Italian then it took most of my friends. My advice to anyone who wants to learn Italian is to get really drunk and then just speak. You can study, you can practice, you can read, “The Idiots Guide To Learning Italian,” cover to cover thirty-five times (which I’ve done) but you won’t be able to speak until you let yourself be stupid. Unfortunately, learning a new language is agreeing to be child-like and uneducated for a certain amount of time but it really is only temporarily. If you commit to sounding like an idiot for a solid month you’ll quickly pick up the language and will be talking like a rather intelligent seven or even eight year old, in no time. 

The Big Cheat: The Truth About Italian Men

Seezy Dude, All Like, "Whaaaat? I had pizza for lunch."

Sleezy Dude, All Like, “Whaaaat? I had pizza for lunch.”

A few weeks ago I was having a drink with a friend of mine; we were talking about relationships when he said, “I am actually surprised that you married an Italian man. You don’t seem like the type of woman who would go for one.” I asked him to explain further, he sighed and said, “Well, they are famous for being very high maintenance and for being unfaithful.” I wasn’t offended because it’s kind of true, they are high maintenance compared to an American guy, and it wasn’t the first time someone had brought up the “cheater” stereotype. Announcing that I’ve married an Italian man always inspires two different responses, either, “Oh my god you’re so lucky, they are so romantic!” or, “Why would you do that? You know he’s going cheat on you.” I find both stereotypes to be kind of true and kind of funny. Yes, my husband is romantic, but he doesn’t call me, “your majesty,” and take me on dates on the back of a unicorn. At least not yet, I’m still waiting. As for the other thing, well, there’s no way to ever know.

Italian men do seem to cheat more than American men, at least statistically. Statistics vary depending on the study but most of the studies showed that the infidelity rate for men in Italy is around 70%, whereas the rate for men in the United States is around 50%. Curious as to why the rate might be higher in Italy, I interviewed random Italian men in Florence. One of the men, a married man, said that he believes the statistics are high in Italy because there are no real consequences for cheating. He could be right since the divorce rate in Italy is only 11%, compared to the United States 53%, and the number one cited reason for divorce is actually issues with, “the mother in law.” Does that mean that cheating is considered okay in Italy? Of course not. Cheating is not really okay in most countries but it seems to be tolerated more in Italy than it is in the United States. People suffer but don’t seem to see cheating as a relationship ender. While, in the US only 33% of relationships will continue after the discovery of infidelity.

It’s not just men who cheat. Women entering the workforce has increased the infidelity rate for women in Italy which is quickly catching up with the men. The workplace seems to be the most common place for finding a lover. According to the marriage association of Italy, 60% of cheating happens at work during the lunch break. Your partner might be eating more than a pizza for lunch.

Moving to Italy in two-thousand-nine I remember being shocked by the prime minister and his sexual indiscretions. Berlusconi is famous for his misconduct and his affairs yet he keeps getting voted into office and is praised by his constituents. When I asked Italians who voted for him what they think about his sexual sneakiness they said things like, “well good for him.” Politics are often a reflection of culture. When President Clinton had an affair with Monica Lewinsky he was nearly kicked out of office for lying about his weird and creepy cigar incident. Honesty is one of the most important things in anglo-saxon culture. The brits, the americans, the irish, hold honesty to a very high regard and seem to be less bothered with “fitting in”. It’s possible that Italian culture is more lenient because looking good, or maintaining “bella figura” is more important than being honest.

So how does one marry an Italian man knowing that he is statistically inclined to stray? Game Theory proposes a few different theories regarding defense mechanisms to prevent infidelity. One of them suggests that punishing infidelity harshly is an effective defense mechanism. My husband has admittedly cheated on most of his ex-girlfriends because according to him there was no real reason not to. I asked him if he would cheat on me and he said, “Why? So I can get divorced and possibly be murdered? It’s not worth it.” Does that mean he won’t do it? No. Statistics are never completely accurate and the national average doesn’t mean that my husband will for sure run off with his secretary during his lunch break either. But, just in case, I should mention that Lorena Bobbitt is a sort of hero of mine.

An iconic photo of the John and Lorena Bobbitt...

An iconic photo of the John and Lorena Bobbitt event in the United States in June 23, 1993 showing the trial. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)