Random belly button pickings.
**Woo hoo! Thunder! One thing I've missed from Texas is the thunder and lightning storms. The climate of Rome is similar to that of Austin (slightly more humid than Dallas), but a bit less erattic. The saying I remember from Texas was "If you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes" This Roman summer has been weird. June was swelteringly hot. As in can't-fall-asleep-hot. July has been rainy, especially this week. Hot in the morning until about 2pm-ish, then the clouds start to roll in, and then we get torrents of water. Briefly. Then it's humid and cool, leaving you breathing the mist laying on top of everything. Just as long as the weather clears up for Sunday: I've got a tan to work on, baby.
31 July 2002
30 July 2002
And in other navel related news....
I've activated the comments section out of morbid curiosity, so behave yourselves. NB you have to register to post comments.
And remember as Resident Dictator, I reserve the right to delete drivel and utter crap.
And remember as Resident Dictator, I reserve the right to delete drivel and utter crap.
Clarfication
I'm starting to take some cultural differences for granted.
Upon reading yesterday's rant on vainglorious preening cocks, some one asked if I had been honest or if said strutting peacocks suffered from selective listening skills. The simple answer is yes on both counts. "I don't want to dance right now, I'm talking with my friends" seems (to me) a pretty obvious brush-off, not to mention somewhat tactful. I might be a rude bitch, but I do know how to interact with society at large. So Drool Boy suffered from selective listening skills, right? Hmm, not that simple, methinks.
Upon reading yesterday's rant on vainglorious preening cocks, some one asked if I had been honest or if said strutting peacocks suffered from selective listening skills. The simple answer is yes on both counts. "I don't want to dance right now, I'm talking with my friends" seems (to me) a pretty obvious brush-off, not to mention somewhat tactful. I might be a rude bitch, but I do know how to interact with society at large. So Drool Boy suffered from selective listening skills, right? Hmm, not that simple, methinks.
29 July 2002
Hints for vainglorious preening cocks on how NOT to pick up a girl
You and your antics are not making my panties wet.
When I go out dancing with my friends, I go out to dance and enjoy their company. I don't go out with the express intention of 'hooking up'. In fact, as I've said before, I loathe the concept of picking up in a disco or club. I prefer to dance by myself, every so often doing silly stuff with my friends (The Lawnmower Dance, anyone?). Occasionally, I will dance with a guy who seems to have a sense of rhythm, but it usually ends up being for a very short period of time, as I quickly get bored with the same set of 3 moves set on an infinite loop.
So last night I danced with some Lothario who considered himself God's gift to American girls. I fucking hate, HATE guys who think that dancing with you is an automatic invite to start slobbering and pawing you. This imbecile decided that if he started drooling on my neck while we were dancing, I'd be a good little stereotypical American slut and spread my legs. Uh, no. Not even close.
When I go out dancing with my friends, I go out to dance and enjoy their company. I don't go out with the express intention of 'hooking up'. In fact, as I've said before, I loathe the concept of picking up in a disco or club. I prefer to dance by myself, every so often doing silly stuff with my friends (The Lawnmower Dance, anyone?). Occasionally, I will dance with a guy who seems to have a sense of rhythm, but it usually ends up being for a very short period of time, as I quickly get bored with the same set of 3 moves set on an infinite loop.
So last night I danced with some Lothario who considered himself God's gift to American girls. I fucking hate, HATE guys who think that dancing with you is an automatic invite to start slobbering and pawing you. This imbecile decided that if he started drooling on my neck while we were dancing, I'd be a good little stereotypical American slut and spread my legs. Uh, no. Not even close.
27 July 2002
The dating game
Jumping back into the dating pool is not without hazards. Jumping back into the dating pool in Roma - Ack.
I've never been fond of dating. Maybe because I was a goody-two shoes ballet geek growing up (well, for the most part; there were those late night games of strip Twister and the occasional make out session). I didn't go out on many dates in high school. In a way it was a relief; you know the movie "Meet the Parents" (I think that was the title in English. Ti presento i miei)? That's my dad, minus the spy thing. Even to this day, an ocean away, Dad will give me the third degree about any male I casually mention in conversation. Doesn't matter if I tell him "Dad, he's a friend". What's his name, how old is he, what does he do, how long have you known him... It's a daddy thing to do. At least he doesn't ask me about my sex life (that's Mom's speciality.)
Dates make me nervous. Dressing up is not something I do on a regular basis. I'm not the world's greatest conversationalist, so the prospect of an evening trying to make polite chit-chat gives me the heebee-jeebees. And when I'm nervous, I'm a klutz. Which in turn makes me even more nervous as I hate making an idiot out of myself. Nice little cycle of nerves I create for myself.
I've never been fond of dating. Maybe because I was a goody-two shoes ballet geek growing up (well, for the most part; there were those late night games of strip Twister and the occasional make out session). I didn't go out on many dates in high school. In a way it was a relief; you know the movie "Meet the Parents" (I think that was the title in English. Ti presento i miei)? That's my dad, minus the spy thing. Even to this day, an ocean away, Dad will give me the third degree about any male I casually mention in conversation. Doesn't matter if I tell him "Dad, he's a friend". What's his name, how old is he, what does he do, how long have you known him... It's a daddy thing to do. At least he doesn't ask me about my sex life (that's Mom's speciality.)
Dates make me nervous. Dressing up is not something I do on a regular basis. I'm not the world's greatest conversationalist, so the prospect of an evening trying to make polite chit-chat gives me the heebee-jeebees. And when I'm nervous, I'm a klutz. Which in turn makes me even more nervous as I hate making an idiot out of myself. Nice little cycle of nerves I create for myself.
26 July 2002
Ferragosto
August in Roma is my favourite month.
August is the month when 90 % of Italians go on holiday. The city empties out as everyone heads to the beaches or mountains. Boatloads of shops close up and practically the only people left in the city are tourists, sweating their khakis off in the hottest month of the year. Thanks to every guide book warning against said heat and "hoards of tourists", there's not even that many tourists to trip over in August.
I love it. It's like having Roma all to myself.
August is the month when 90 % of Italians go on holiday. The city empties out as everyone heads to the beaches or mountains. Boatloads of shops close up and practically the only people left in the city are tourists, sweating their khakis off in the hottest month of the year. Thanks to every guide book warning against said heat and "hoards of tourists", there's not even that many tourists to trip over in August.
I love it. It's like having Roma all to myself.
22 July 2002
Beach Blanket Freaks
Next time we're leaving earlier.
Sunday has been designated beach day lately. Yesterday we headed out at about 2pm after one of my girl friends finished working. We piled into her car, not anticipating a lot of traffic as most people head out early in the morning. We were right about the traffic, but upon reaching our destination, there was not a parking space to be had near our normal beach.
Sunday has been designated beach day lately. Yesterday we headed out at about 2pm after one of my girl friends finished working. We piled into her car, not anticipating a lot of traffic as most people head out early in the morning. We were right about the traffic, but upon reaching our destination, there was not a parking space to be had near our normal beach.
20 July 2002
It's A Girl Thing
There is no term for a phobia of hairdressers.
At least a cursory search of Google doesn't come up with one. There should be a term, however, as at the supposedly rational age of 26, I am scared shitless of hairdressers. I will go for a full year without dragging myself into a salon. And this phobia I can, with no qualms of guilt whatsoever, blame on my childhood. Mom was a hairdresser.
At least a cursory search of Google doesn't come up with one. There should be a term, however, as at the supposedly rational age of 26, I am scared shitless of hairdressers. I will go for a full year without dragging myself into a salon. And this phobia I can, with no qualms of guilt whatsoever, blame on my childhood. Mom was a hairdresser.
18 July 2002
Viva La Vida Loca
Living the Latin Life just might kill me.
It's summer. It's hot (well, excepting this weird coolish rainy spell right now). Air conditioning is not a normal thing here (Actually, I laugh my fool ass off at the Italian "Air Conditioning and/or sudden changes in the temperature of your immediate environment will make you sick" phobia) Discos here in bella Roma have closed up for the summer and moved outdoors to the beach, which means unless you have a car (or in our case, feeling lazy and not wanting to drive 30 minutes out of town), your partying options in the center are more limited than normal. Which brings us to the notorious "after-afer hours locale."
It's summer. It's hot (well, excepting this weird coolish rainy spell right now). Air conditioning is not a normal thing here (Actually, I laugh my fool ass off at the Italian "Air Conditioning and/or sudden changes in the temperature of your immediate environment will make you sick" phobia) Discos here in bella Roma have closed up for the summer and moved outdoors to the beach, which means unless you have a car (or in our case, feeling lazy and not wanting to drive 30 minutes out of town), your partying options in the center are more limited than normal. Which brings us to the notorious "after-afer hours locale."
16 July 2002
15 July 2002
Itch.
Round 1 of Navel Gazing. Written in May '02
Background:
So (being redundant) I wrote this back in May. I emailed it to ElUnbart of KTC fame during the short blog period of KTC, which has since changed scope. (Don't click on the link if you're one of those easily offended herd morons..ah fuck it. Herd morons don't know they're herd morons and I ain't here to babysit..) Anywho, Bart (and Perduabo and POCK) is (are) a cool motherfucker (s) and not someone you want to enter into verbal sparring with unless you're prepared to get your ass handed to you on a consise verbal platter. (And I mean motherfuckers in the best, most affectionate way boys :-P )
eh, the ending of this blurb is a bit hoping-to-gain-back-my-rosy-perspective and a bit girly if I do say so myself. Too bad. I'll rewrite it eventually. Or not. So click through for tales of sexual frustration in bella Roma.
Background:
So (being redundant) I wrote this back in May. I emailed it to ElUnbart of KTC fame during the short blog period of KTC, which has since changed scope. (Don't click on the link if you're one of those easily offended herd morons..ah fuck it. Herd morons don't know they're herd morons and I ain't here to babysit..) Anywho, Bart (and Perduabo and POCK) is (are) a cool motherfucker (s) and not someone you want to enter into verbal sparring with unless you're prepared to get your ass handed to you on a consise verbal platter. (And I mean motherfuckers in the best, most affectionate way boys :-P )
eh, the ending of this blurb is a bit hoping-to-gain-back-my-rosy-perspective and a bit girly if I do say so myself. Too bad. I'll rewrite it eventually. Or not. So click through for tales of sexual frustration in bella Roma.
Lint-Free Belly Button Gazing
Subtitle: I join the ranks of the blogging hoards. Version .000001
di riguer disclaimer:
While peering existentially at my belly button and inviting others to look at my belly button too and marvel at how deep yet lint free it is, you might be subjected to the following:
*many blue streaks of cursing, swearing and salty remarks (in two languages!)
*frequent references to porn, sex, and my vibrator
*much misanthropy towards my fellow man
*my (grammtically wrong) fetish with partenthesis and elipses...
*ideas that might shock (!) and abhor (!) you
*my (secondary) fetish with those darn addictive emoticons ;-P
*have I mentioned my vibrator?
*sex, drugs, and rock n' roll
*misspelled words galore.
*brainfarts in English vocabulary replaced with Italian
In other words, if you are a minor (or still live with your parents), are easily offended, have no sense of humor, take PC to extremes that makes the Pope look like Sam Kineson, didn't really want to know *that* about me, or use AOL, bugger off. This will be the only profanity free entry.
The AOL thing is a joke, folks. Kill yourselves instead
Rather ugly right now(purple, ugh), but I'm working on a better design in my free time (read:when I'm bored). Slow, but it's free hosting. But it's my belly button, so, to be 100% honest, if I want your opinion, you can be sure I'll give it to you.
Be forwarned: if you send me email, i'll post it if I feel like it. Especially if it includes stuff along the lines of "OMG your such a *fill in epithet here* Y don't U get a life I'll pray for you're soul and that you may find Jesus..." Thanks, but if I want to find Jesus, I'll go to Mexico. You can't spit without hitting about 10 Jesuses there...(What is the plural of Jesus? Jesi?...)
Second forwarning: I wouldn't link anything for a while if I were you. For one, I have limited bandwidth. For two, I *will* be changing this site, which means there is 99.999% chance that any links you make to me will be FUBARed in short order.
Onto the madness...
di riguer disclaimer:
While peering existentially at my belly button and inviting others to look at my belly button too and marvel at how deep yet lint free it is, you might be subjected to the following:
*many blue streaks of cursing, swearing and salty remarks (in two languages!)
*frequent references to porn, sex, and my vibrator
*much misanthropy towards my fellow man
*my (grammtically wrong) fetish with partenthesis and elipses...
*ideas that might shock (!) and abhor (!) you
*my (secondary) fetish with those darn addictive emoticons ;-P
*have I mentioned my vibrator?
*sex, drugs, and rock n' roll
*misspelled words galore.
*brainfarts in English vocabulary replaced with Italian
In other words, if you are a minor (or still live with your parents), are easily offended, have no sense of humor, take PC to extremes that makes the Pope look like Sam Kineson, didn't really want to know *that* about me, or use AOL, bugger off. This will be the only profanity free entry.
The AOL thing is a joke, folks. Kill yourselves instead
Rather ugly right now(purple, ugh), but I'm working on a better design in my free time (read:when I'm bored). Slow, but it's free hosting. But it's my belly button, so, to be 100% honest, if I want your opinion, you can be sure I'll give it to you.
Be forwarned: if you send me email, i'll post it if I feel like it. Especially if it includes stuff along the lines of "OMG your such a *fill in epithet here* Y don't U get a life I'll pray for you're soul and that you may find Jesus..." Thanks, but if I want to find Jesus, I'll go to Mexico. You can't spit without hitting about 10 Jesuses there...(What is the plural of Jesus? Jesi?...)
Second forwarning: I wouldn't link anything for a while if I were you. For one, I have limited bandwidth. For two, I *will* be changing this site, which means there is 99.999% chance that any links you make to me will be FUBARed in short order.
Onto the madness...
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