"Parla ingelese?"
"No," the little man behind the ticketing counter said and then starts talking to the woman behind me. Fast italian ensues.
"We're never going to leave the subway," I said to The Blonde.
The Blonde and I arrived in Milan on December 27th after roughly 14 hours of flying. Yes, you saw that right. 14 HOURS. This does not include our layover in Philly which was roughly 2 hours. How did we pass the time you ask? Well with alcohol of course!
God bless Duty Free and all it's awesome alcohol. We just wanted to get a little bottle of Seagrams to swig on the plane, but goodness no! Duty Free definitely does not sell anything little. Basically, we HAD to buy the big bottle of Seagrams, which we barely made a dent in on the plane. I had barely eaten that day, so once I had a hearty glass of 7&7 that The Blonde made for me, out came the confessions.
"So, I've started talking to Verizon again."
"I met this new guy name JT."
"JT is officially my booty call."
The Blonde, who hates to be in the dark, was not pleased at first, but when I told her that she's the only one that knows about this stuff, she became happy again. Secrets will do that to a person.
Anyways, on with Milan.
Apparently, the travel agent deposited us to the Milan airport that is pretty much an hour outside of the city center. So we took a train. No sweat. Then we had to get on a tram to our hotel. Big, big, big problem there. The Blonde took one semester of Italian in college and I have years and years of high school and one year of college experience with Spanish. However, when you start talking in Spanish to people in Italy, the majority of them will give you very weird looks. I got used to this by the time I left.
After an hour of roaming around the train station, trying to find out where to purchase our tram tickets, The Blonde just sucked it up, dusted off her beginning Italian and got us two tickets on the tram. Yea for Blondes!
I think my opinion of the people of Milan being stuck up first started with our hotel concierge. He was nice at first, but then we started asking him questions.
"So, where's a good place to go for dinner."
He looks at the clock and then gives us a weird look, "but it's only 6. No, no, no, people in Milan don't eat until at least 8." Then he looked us like, "ok, get out of my presence now."
Make a note: try not to ask any questions in Milan. They don't like it.
Our first day consisted of napping, people giving us weird looks, and snapping some pictures of the Duomo. Basic stuff. By the morning of Day 2, we were ready to leave. People would look at us like we were crazy if we asked if they spoke English. Plus, it was super cold there. Do you know how close Milan is to the freaking Alps?! Well, I didn't know until the plane was starting to land.
Anyways, after half a day of sightseeing, The Blonde and I decided to nap for a bit in preparation for going out (while also drinking a bottle of wine), but we were gossiping up a storm about our bikini lines, when suddenly it occurred to us why were we even bothering to go out. It's not like anyone liked us there. So, we got dressed and headed out for an early meal. Where we had another bottle of wine. Which lead us to the American bar down the corner where we had 3 Snakebites. Which lead us to find pizza, which again lead us in front of two random Italian guys.
Now this where the fun begins.
My memory when I'm drunk is usually shot, so I'm going to tell this exactly how I remember it. In flashes.
I stumble up to one of the guys and ask if he knows English. "A little," he says (Note: whenever you ask this and they say "a little," they really do know a shit load. Like they can do full on conversations. When someone asks me if I can speak spanish, I say a little and can only say "hola," "Me llamo Curlygirl," and "que paso?"). I give him the once over and decide he's cute. We start having a conversation (I think) and The Blonde is eyeing his friend. More talking.
Flash.
The Blonde and I are in the backseat of their car (my guy is Davide and The Blonde's crush left, so we're stuck with this guy that goes by The Might Pirate driving us). The Blonde and I are trying to make note of where our hotel is and where this bar is that we're going to. We're not doing well at all.
Flash.
We're at another bar and there's a shot of Captain Morgan's in front of me provided by the Mighty Pirate. (I think someone has seen Pirates of the Caribbean one too many times). Not one to pass up free alcohol, I take it. As does The Blonde.
Flash.
I come out of the women's bathroom and wash my hands in the sink area. Davide comes out of the men's bathroom, sees me, grins, pushes me against the wall, and we proceed to makeout. Fun stuff, but an interesting makeout location that he's chosen.
Flash.
Davide and the Mighty Pirate are in our hotel room. The Blonde and the Mighty Pirate are either kissing or he's saying sweet Italian nothings to her on the bed. Lucky girl. Now me, on the other hand, had a bit of a situation to deal with with Davide. Apparently, the Italians have octopus hands. He had dragged me into the bathroom (which, mind you, was barely bigger and an airplane one. Seriously. I hit my elbow everytime on the shower door when I was reaching for toilet paper.) How we fit two people in that bathroom, I will never know. His hands were everywhere!!!! My two favorite words that night were, "stop it!" We would be kissing and then all of a sudden my bra would be off and his hands would be all over my chest! Then his shirt would suddenly be open (which may I add, was very nice. He had a very chiseled chest. Me likely.) Somehow, The Blonde managed to kick them out and I think I made it to bed that night around 6am. Not bad for an "early" night.
Flash.
I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover I've had all year and my lips were cracked and bruised from all the kissing. They were literally purple!!!! I have never had that, not even when I was a teenager! My skin around my mouth area was also so completely rubbed raw by the experience, I looked like I had a red beard for the rest of the day.
Fucking Milan.
