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Text message on Saturday night on my brother's phone:

Time 10:53pm

"Where are you?"

From: My Beautiful Sister

I mean, where did he come from? They actually make guys like my brother? This is also the guy that will pick me up from any airport and booked me a full-body massage when the Aussie broke up with me... Mom has him trained well...

The Rundown...

Ok, I'm taking too long about Rome and Dublin, so I'm going to lump them all together. Yes, I know, Italy AND Ireland are both kind of random. Here's the thing: the Blonde and her boyfriend broke up during the fall and since she was bumming, I suggested we go on a trip to Europe and get out of town for New Year's. The Blonde had always wanted to go to Italy and I really wanted to see my relatives in Ireland, so we compromised and spent 7 days in Italy and 3 days in Ireland.

Rome: gorgeous, ancient, and big. Basically, since we were so hungover from the night before (shocking, I know), the Blonde and I took a 4 hour nap and barely made it out on time in our fancy clothes for New Year's. We almost could have missed out on being drenched in champagne! That would have been a travesty. Apparently, when you see small groups of people standing around holding bottles of champagne and talking with their friends, they aren't actually waiting for midnight to come and so they can pop open the bottles and toast to the New Year. Lord no. Why would anyone want to DRINK the alcohol? Instead, let's definitely seek out the two American girls that look so cold and so out of place because they're the only ones that got dressed up, and pour tons of champagne on them while they crouch down, trying to shield their very expensive cameras from all the liquid. Yep, that sounds like a good plan to me.

After the hoopla died down, the Blonde and I tried to walk back to the hotel, but since the taxi driver that drove us from the train station to the hotel and the taxi driver that drove us from the hotel to the Piazza for New Year's (got that? good.) both took different directions, we were all confused about how to get back. Plus, I had a blonde with me so that was two strikes against me (kidding! love you Blondie!). We asked what we thought was a helpful Italian guy which way it was to the river and he kind of pointed in a direction and went back to talking with his friends. So we started walking... a lot. It was freezing out, so we stopped in a bar really quick for something hot to drink. You know what makes me a genius? Having coffee at 1:00am. I can't have coffee here past 3:30pm otherwise, I won't be able to go to sleep at 11:30pm THAT NIGHT. What's that I hear? Well, thank you. I do know that I'm completely smart and awesome. When in Rome...

Anyways, did I mention that people are staring at us? More so the Blonde, 'cause she's well, blonde, but also because she's wearing an all white outfit and has open toed sandals on. In 30 degree weather. Granted, we both thought that we'd do the whole New Year's thing outside for a little bit, then go find a bar and hang out. However, since we were drenched with champagne and exhausted, we just wanted to go back to bed. The Big Guy Upstairs clearly had other plans for us that night. Apparently, we were walking south when we should have been walking north. We went AN HOUR out of our way home. An hour. In high heels. On freaking cobblestones. Did I also mention that there were no taxies around? None. Nil. Nada. Zippo. 

Needless to say, that after taking another break (this time for a beer), we managed to make it back to our room at 4am. We walked for 2 1/2 hours (sober), finally got a taxi who took us 3 blocks from where our hotel was. Nice. And guess what else? I was still wired from that little cup of coffee at 4am. I had to knock myself out with sleeping pills (my savior) in order for me to get up and go sightseeing at a decent time the next day. Guess what else? I got up before the Blonde :-) 'Cause that's how I roll.

And that was Rome.

Dublin: freaking cold!, rainy, but as I told the Blonde, you go for the people. My relatives kick ass. On this trip though, they actually kicked MY ass. Well, Prada did. 

Let's take it back a couple of months where my cousin emailed me asking what we wanted to do while there. I told her the Blonde wanted to go to the Guinness brewery and the Jameson distillery if there was time (do you see what's important to us here?). My cousin mentioned that she wanted to take us horseback riding up in the mountains and that it was really pretty up there and blah, blah, blah. I'm not too keen on horses (Christopher Reeve's kind of ruined them for me) and neither is the Blonde, but we both agreed that we should do it 'cause how many times can you say you've been horseback riding in Ireland? We're all about the bragging rights.

Well.

Did I mention how cold it was? How it was storming and blustering (learned that word from the pilot on the way over to Ireland) out? Well it was. My cousin said that the ride might be cancelled because it was storming, but the horse people said to come anyways. Awesome.

On the way up there, it started snowing. Now, for sure I knew it rained in Ireland, but I had no idea that it snowed there. Well, I might have had some sort of an idea, but I really did expect it to while there. Mainly because I hadn't dressed for the snow. 

So even though the weather was sucking, the horse people said that it was a go. I was picked first and my horse's name was Prada. He was the biggest horse I've ever seen. Isn't everything in Ireland supposed to be little? The Blonde was bumming because there was a horse there named Versace, but the instructor told her that he was a bit crazy. The Blonde was happy to get an old timmer named CJ and my cousin got a horse with a really Irish name that I can't pronounce or spell. So let's call her's Bob.

We were supposed to go for 2 hours, but because of the weather, we cut it down to 1 hour. Again, fine by me. I was freaking out. Seriously, I've been on a horse a couple of times before, but Prada was by far the biggest. It was really pretty riding a horse while it was snowing. The snowflakes would fall down and just lay lightly on you. It was just so picturesque for like 30 minutes. Want to know what happened for the other 30 minutes? It's started pouring down rain. Freezing rain. This is the type of rain that penetrates your skin, so you feel it in your bones. My nipples could cut glass at this point. Nothing could top a moment like this... except, perhaps when the instructor suggests we trot. Um... say what?

Has anyone ever tried trotting on a horse when it's pouring? Do you know how much you slide? My abs and legs have never received that good of a workout. Prada definitely liked to trot. I think it was because he was sick of the rain and cold and wanted to be in his stall again. However, he didn't plan for some whiny American bitch to be on his back, preventing him from running his ass home. It was clearly a love/hate relationship between us.

We made it back safe and sound and I was never so happy to be on solid ground. Or was I? For the next 3 days (the whole time I spent in Ireland), I could barely walk. My back hurt, my arms hurt, my love muscles in my legs hurt. I felt like I spent an all night bed romping session with a very large black man. 

Needless to say, Prada hurt me, but in all the right areas. I chased away my pain with many, many glasses of Jameson and cran (try it. It tastes like candy). Also, I'm now a professional drinker according to the Jameson distillery. I have the certificate and everything! My mom is so proud!

Those are just two stories from my vacation. I have some more, but I'll probably save those for a rainy day.

Done with kisses

Ok, I'm done with all the makeout stories in Europe. I'll try to hurry up with the Rome and Ireland stories.

I Left My Heart (and gloves) in Florence

"Ok, so let's just go to dinner, check out the discoteca, then call it an early night. We don't want to party ourselves out too much since New Year's Eve is tomorrow night."

It was such a smart plan we had. We really did want to go the responsible route. However, Florence had other ideas for us.

We had quite a day taking snapshots of the Leaning Tower in Pisa (which, by the way, is home to where I had the best pizza ever in my life. BEST. EVER.) and we were memorized by the statue of David. Fun stuff. Good pictures.

So we went to dinner and I swear, there's something else besides alcohol in the wine there. Drunk immediately. The Blonde and I were talking about how beautiful Florence was and how much we are looking forward to spending New Year's in Rome, when the two guys next to us started to talking to us. They were trying really, really hard to speak English. I felt bad because I would just smile and nod and just there. During this time, I tried Limoncello for the first time and it was exquisite. The waiters seemed to like us, so they bought us another round of after dinner drinks. Delicious. 

 The guys sitting next to us invited The Blonde and I back to their hotel to drink some more. They said they had a magnum of wine and my ears perked up right away. We got to "hotel" which was a cross between a dorm room and a hostel and kept on the drinking. I know that the guys were trying to talk to me, but I admitted defeat with trying to learn Italian back in Milan, so I just wasn't having it. An hour into drinking that wonderful wine and talking, The Blonde and I were feeling restless. We were ready to dance!!!!

Except we didn't know where we were. I felt bad for The Blonde on the trip. Well, not too too bad, but slightly bad. I really depended on her to translate all the Italian that was going on around us. But, heey, when we were in Ireland, I "translated" for her. More on that later.

The guys that we were with ran into a big group of guys and it seemed like they were friends. The Blonde and I were over hanging out with them, so we asked one nice guy from the group where the discoteca was. He pointed us in the direction to go and we started heading off. I needed to go to the bathroom extremely badly and The Blonde just wanted to get rid of those guys, so we quickly walked into the first bar that we saw which happened to be an Irish pub. I entered into the bathroom, did my business, and when I came out saw that the guys had followed us in. Ugh...

We walked outside and started to head into the direction of the discoteca when two guys called us over. The Blonde and I gave each other one look and went over to them. They explained that there was a discoteca in the hotel and we should try it out. Excellent. We headed inside and this time, the two guys didn't follow us in. Finally, we had a break.

Not for long though. I swear, as soon as an Italian guy sees a girl, he "claims" her for the rest of the night. Enter Bad Dancer and his sidekick. We were at the bar getting a drink (like we needed another one) and they snake up to us and start trying to drag us into a conversation with them. I don't know about the rest of you, but when I get drunk I get friendly. So, I was nice to bad dancer, at first, but then I got over it. I remember him dragging me onto the dance floor and being horrified at his dancing "skills," him shoving his tongue down my throat (gag me), and them just not leaving us alone!!!!!

The Blonde and I had had enough. We said that we had to go 'cause we had to leave early the next day. As we were paying to leave, Bad Dancer and Sidekick were right behind us. Again, The Blonde and I took one look at each other and booked it! We ran into the Dublin pub and the bartender apologized that they stopped serving drinks. We said it was completely fine, we were just hiding from some sleezeballs and just needed shelter for a moment.

That's when I saw him. We locked eyes from across the bar and he was the typical Italian guy I always imagined. Dark wavy hair, glasses, cute smile, dressed so handsomely in his black coat and white scarf. I was swooning. He offered me a glass of champagne and then one to The Blonde. He introduced himself as Gianluca and then introduced the rest of his friends. One of them was Davide, who was very nice and friendly. They kept us in conversation and when we got kicked out of the bar and onto the street, we didn't even notice. The Blonde and I were relishing the attention.

"So, do you want to drink some more?," Gianluca asked.

I gave him a curious look and asked where. I was not about to go to anyone's house or anything like that again.

"My family owns a restaurant two stores down. Come have a drink."

So we did. The Blonde and I were surround by four Italian guys that gave us wine and feed us biscotti. Feed us!

There was a lot of dancing (including some on a table) and lots of laughing. It was a once in a lifetime experience to just hang out at an Italian restaurant in Italy just talking and laughing and dancing the night away.

Two of the guys left and Gianluca and I were dancing. He looked at me and said, "I like you." I couldn't help but beam. He kissed me then. The butterflies were back!

We spent the rest of the night kissing and talking. He actually whispered sweet nothings to me in Italian! He talked a little of his background and mentioned that he wants to move to America (uh-huh) and asked if I would be his girlfriend when he moved there (oh sure). I didn't believe half the stuff he said, but it was just fun to hear.

The Blonde was, um... occupied with one of his friends and it was getting to that point where she needed to go before something "bad" happened. We left, but Gianluca and I exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. The Blonde and I got back to our hotel at 7am. I passed out in my clothes. What a sign of an awesome night.

P.S.- Gianluca and I have kept in contact quite a bit. I'll keep everyone updated if he actually moves here. Ha!

Milan: The Land of Turned-up Noses

"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.

Miss me?

The vacation break was just what I needed. As soon as I have a moment, I'll break down my trip into 4 separate posts: 

Milan: The Land of Turned Up Noses

I Left My Heart in Florence

Freaking Roman Cobblestones

Prada Kicked My Ass in Ireland

Make sure to come back...it's gonna be good stuff.