You’re Either Smoking Crack Or You’re In Love: Happy Anniversary To My Husband

Five years ago I met this twenty-five year old hot boy in Florence, Italy. Two years ago today I married him, the love of my life, the fuzziest of fuzzies, the yin to my yang, and the classy latin accent to my failing eloquence. These two years have seemed like a million..Wait, no, let’s start again. These two years have went by so fast that it’s hard to believe that we’ve already been married for two years. I know what all of you are thinking who have been married for like 20, you’re thinking, “two years isn’t shit, girl!” And you’re right, in the scheme of things it’s not that long but it’s about celebrating the little steps, right? So let’s celebrate! Two years down and sixty+ more to go (depending on whether or not he starts to help around the house more, otherwise it could be any day now). Everyone help me out with a big, “Happy Anniversary Francesco!” And give me whatever marriage/relationship advice you’ve got in the comments below! Who knows, you could probably save my marriage one day.

And now, the sappy part, guys. I really lucked out with Francesco. He really is my best friend, and is such an incredibly tolerant partner. He’s a great husband, despite his inability to clean up his nail clippings and fallen chest hair that peppers our home, and he somehow always puts family first. He effortlessly puts  our relationship before his own needs or his pride, puts our dog before himself, and puts me on a pedistool that I totally don’t deserve to be on (and after wine it’s just plain dangerous). I know I tease him a lot because I suck at feelings but he’s a badass and I love him. As part of his anniversary card, here is a digital promise to keep trying to be better for him:

Dear Francesco,

Thank you for putting up with me. Remember today when you were all, “I’m so happy I married you two years ago,” and I screamed, “HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT ON THE WALL!?” Then you ran away and left me to die. It’s a good thing that I was just trying to scare you because that would have been an embarrassing thing to explain to your friends, that I died because you abandoned me. Remember when you were being romantic and I tried to scare you? And then you were scared? Either we’re both smoking crack or we were made for each other. And also…thank you for laughing when I ruin romantic moments. Thanks for being supportive and always being there for me. Thank you for being exactly the opposite of me in every way so that I could find balance. Thank you for only showing mild concern when I have long conversations with myself in the kitchen, for kissing me every morning before you leave the house, and for being completely and totally immune to my sense of humor that people either get or are totally terrified of. Thanks for not finding me repulsive. Oh, and thank you for letting me buy whatever I want this week in preparation for our trip to NY. And thanks for finally letting me have Dwayne*.  I’ll try to be a better wife this year. I’ll be less naggy, unless you force me to do it then my promise is null. I promise to cook more and take more interest in Italian politics because I know it’s your favorite. I promise to be less neurotic and to work on saying normal people things around your friends and family. Except for Fusco and Leo because they don’t care and have grown immune to my blabbering. I promise to always try, never give up, and never become “too comfortable.” I’ll do my best to love you, forever, until my brain gives out and I forget who you are, or until I die. I hope I die first because I can’t imagine not knowing you. Plus, I feel like I’d also quickly forget about pants and get arrested for indecent exposure.

Til death. Forever, and ever, AND EVER. -ME

*Now you have to let me because everyone read my gracious acceptance letter.

US

Total Tuscany Interviews M.E.: How Many Inappropriate Things Can I Say In One Podcast?

The awesome guys from Total Tuscany asked me to do a podcast and I gladly accepted because I love their stuff and really enjoy embarrassing myself publicly after having a cocktail (or ten) for lunch. I’m pretty sure that I’ll win an award for saying so many captivating things during one interview. You can find the podcast with M.E. on their website Total Tuscany. We cover a lot of ground during this podcast like my favorite things about Italy, what drives me insane, and threatening public masturbation. Let’s make this a drinking game. Take a sip (or a shot) of something every time I swear, say “camel-toe, unicorn, Capybara, or baptism,” or anytime Travis or Pat are audibly regretting their decision to interview me. In all honesty, it was so much fun, I love these guys and their awesome website. They do great podcasts that are fun and informative with expats I absolutely love. If you enjoy the podcast go ahead and share it with your friends (or use it as an opportunity to talk with your kids about the dangerous of drinking).

As with everything on my site, this isn’t kid-friendly so put on some headphones before you give a listen if you have little ones around. And also? Be happy that you’re not me, or not married to me (Francesco will be sainted, I’m pretty sure).

Italian Bathrooms, The Bidet And How To Have A Sparkling DownTown Area

Hey guys! So, this is a C.O.S.I Post about bathrooms in Italy and bathroom related things. Don’t forget to check out what everyone else has to say about the bidet, bathrooms, and bathroom humor on my COSI page. Want to join us? Leave a comment on the page saying so and we’ll get in touch!

So, ladies and gentlemen, let’s talk about The Bidet.

When I have visitors from outside of Italy I know it’s only a matter of time before one of them shyly asks about that thing in the bathroom that looks like a sink on the floor. “It’s a bidet,” I tell them. They’ll move closer, as if they’re about to disclose a secret, “Weird! So, uh, how does it work?”

A toilet (left) and a bidet (right).

A toilet (left) and a bidet (right). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 
Let’s start with the first part of the reaction that the bidet is “weird.” I’m not sure that there is anything less than AWESOME about having a sparkling clean vagina twenty-four-seven. SPARKLING, CLEAN and it feels, GREAT. Don’t even get me started on how awesome the bidet is for men, especially the hairy ones whose asses could very well belong on a baboon. I’m pretty sure that most men, without a bidet, leave what could only be described as a murder scene of doody in their whitey-tities (why can you not operate toilet paper!?). The bidet is your friend, guys. It’s your friend. Don’t have a bidet? Get one! Seriously, best investment ever. When I’m in the US I feel totally icky without one of these things around. I’ll never understand why they haven’t become more popular in the US. I promise, once you’ve used it, you cannot go back. 
 

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