Just to keep it all updated and whatnot, and to tell all my girls how the romance be going down Italian style... Here's the 411 on the italian dating scene:

Easy.

Step 1. Be an american girl.
Step 2. Meet someone through friends at aperitivo.
Step 3. See each other next time at aperitivo. Declare you are leaving this city (or country) soon. Give your email or phone number to him.
Step 4. Spend the next 6 days receiving 20 text messages saying how beautiful you are and how he cannot wait to see you again. You are american, you must revel in this forwardness. Be warned, however, that Baci (kisses), although seemingly meaningful, is actually commonplace in italia.
Step 5. Receive 10 more messages, write back, be a good girl.
Step 6. Cinema with Friends, Dinner, the after-dinner passegiata to be taken only with him.
Step 7. He is in love and dreaming of marrying you and going to America (when he's not entertaining the 3 other girlfriends you suspect he has...) Hopefully you are preferred.

It is great actually. I really hope he continues to see and write to me when i'm in Rome. I would be so happy. I am half consciously working/dreaming now. However, I will not tell you that he's 33, and that I don't think that 12 years is a big difference. It's unmentionable. Especially to my mother, who upon hearing i was dating an italian, hung up on me.

'MEGHAN. remember, you are coming HOME, after italia.'

that's just what she thinks. We have our differences now.

.....

Some other notes i wrote the other day on italian love:
//So I find myself in the 3rd phase now... After a good 30-40 text messages... i am really quite hooked. It feels a little bit like middle school, the nerves, the everything...but after being called ' my little hurricane' (which i loved...), and after being told to 'fai la brava', which translates to 'be a good girl! (dont look at the other boys!)', and after being given so many italian text message kisses, really--one can't help but feel a little a flutter.

//Here. It is expected that people should love each other. It is not a surprise. And the result is that all the spaces , unimportant whether private or public, can be used for the actions related amore...(American response: Oh my god! grosss! how disgraceful! who makes out on a park bench..!!?? 'GET A ROOM PEOPLE!!') I can't believe that we think so differently from the Italians and yet our TV is so much more explicit. I am convinced we are lost in confusion about our puritan heritage in the days of the scarlet letter.

//Yeah, but now my mother's words are ringing in my head...." remember, you're coming back...." [you're not allowed to stay there, and marry someone foreign] But at this point in my life, i find it audacious for her to continue to dictate things like this. especially in matters she does not know about---for instance, she believes that Italians are really terrible people. I don't know what i can teach her at this point in her life, except to keep repeating that really, it depends on which italian person you talk to. They really run the gamut of personality types. We have people who i love, and people who i can't stand...She only sees the bad.

When i was telling her of how exciting my life was , of how i have this really nice italian boy who sends me 3 text messages a day, and then emails, and invites me to play tennis, and to go out for aperitivo, and to go out to the cinema---she couldn't handle it. She went silent, and then i believe she hung up on me, on purpose, and didnt' call me back. I guess she is afraid of the things she doesnt know about. Like, she never had the same opportunity as me, where I have found that at my schools....my most interesting friends are the ones with parents from two different countries. Why? 1. they have the innate advantage of speaking 2 languages, 2. they have 2x the options when it comes to what they want to do with their lives, and 3. they are so much more worldly and broad minded, and politically saavy. Going to Stuyvesant HS then Cornell really has opened me up to that. I think of people i know, like Juan, like Sven, like Cayley, like so many people....people who i want to talk to.

Really, that's something that I want. There are a lot of obstacles, and then a lot more freedoms as well. The difficult part about finding a spouse abroad is your ability to guage what kind of person they are beyond the simple fact of different nationality. It's much easier in the US for me to guage, because I know all the brandname colleges, i can guage what kind of job a person has, i can tell if a person has the same amount of money as me, and what kind of family they have... i mean, the understanding of what is considered normalcy is so much easier to judge in the US, when you are among your own people.

Yesterday on the bus, i realized that at somepoint in my life i would have to decide where i want to live. I faced it while looking at a little girl on the bus, a baby, in a stroller, and then the line from The Bridges of Madison County floated back to me ...."When a woman makes the choice to marry, to have children; in one way her life begins but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move." Really, for this, i was afraid.

I am so young. I have realized it.

To all the ladies in the place with style and grace.

Well, it's finally here. Like a bad case of beer dick, I thought this day would never come. I'm out of Shawshank! I sit here before you a free man, mouth liberated from the dental confines I have endured for the past 6 weeks. I got unwired on Wednesday and have been as happy as the first time I discovered late night Cinemax. You will never know the simple joys of sticking your tongue out or eating solid foods until those routine, mundane abilities are taken away like Pinar's ability to form coherent sentences during an @ party (it's just too easy). And, against the backdrop of Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy," I reflect on the odyessy I have just completed and I ask myself that very same question. The answer comes up, invaritably, again and again: Oh yeah. With a somewhat reconstructed situation and my clean cut coiffeur (now there's a two dollar word), you might not even recognize me anymore.

I have a different opinion of the whole ordeal having completed it. Rather than an memory to be repressed, like when my 4th grade teacher touched me in back of the school and told me it was "our little secret," it has instead become one of those experiences you know is unique and you'll look back on in years with a nostalgic smile. It's kind of like getting really drunk and taking a hot girl home only to wake up the next morning to find out she's not only not as hot as you thought the night before, but she's actually a dude and for some reason there's still a few used condoms in the trash. It may be painful, scarring, and will certainly change you forever, but you know you're going to go and tell your buddies about it. Because if you have to suffer like this, you're at least getting a good story out of it. You just might want to play down some of the details.

I'm quite happy with the results and happy that had it all done. I'd just never do it again. My recommendation to anyone reading this and considering such an operation: like wearing pants and telling your girlfriend "I love you," if it's not necessary, don't do it. It just opens up a can of worms you don't want crawling all over your genitles. I'm obviously not back to 100% jaw capacity yet, but my limited range of motion is a dramatic improvement over my previous oral confines. I can only open my jaw about an inch or so I'm still on the "wisdom teeth" diet of soft foods that are easy to chew. It'll be awhile before I can bite clean through a piece of 12 gauge steel, but let's face it, that wasn't one of my more useful talents. I just can't wait to get back into my career as and underground street fighter. Rest assured fight fans, The Strawberry Pimp will have his comeback fight before the summer has ended. Right now though, I'm happy enough to be able to talk and eat like a relatively normal functioning member of society, although parts of my face are still a little numb, including my bottom lip, which means I still occasionally drool on myself like the retarded 6 year that resides inside each and every one of us... well... at least me anyway. It's the little things that I've come to find I miss. I had my first cup of coffee since the surgery today and it was about as satisfying as letting out a fart after getting off a crowded elevator. I'm actually all jittery like a crack addict on the verge of sucking some dick for a fix from the reintroduction of caffine, but it's so worth it. With all that aside, it's pretty much back to business as usual.

It was an interesting 6 weeks of silence. While I could technically talk with my jaw wired shut, it never progressed much beyond a muffled cry, and being damn near impossible to understand, I generally refrained from it and stuck to writing down a list of what I needed. I somehow managed to keep "cigarettes" and "someone to hold me tender and tell me I'm pretty" from slipping out. It was a trying time, because as you all know, I, and those around me, love the sound of my own melodious voice. Like a soft moan from a beautiful woman I just can't get enough of it... mmm... Anyway, diverting from my sexual fantasies, it seriously was an interesting exprience not being able to speak for that long. It was a very reflective period. Besides amounts of self gratification that would put the Masterbating Bear to shame, I did a lot of thinking. I mean, really, there wasn't much else to do during these 6 weeks, believe me. But the whole experience gives you a new perspective on things, kind of opens your mind to everything else that is in the world. Don't worry, I'm still as egotistical as I ever was, and generally the most important person in almost any room. But once the entertainment the TV offered wore thin (I never thought I'd see the day), I started reading and thinking a lot about life. Here's the abridged version of the philosphical conclusion I've come up with in these 6 weeks. While they may seem depressing at first, like the breakup of the Spice Girls, they eventually morph into a skewed form of the idealistic concepts upon which we @ers base our world. Well... that, hookah, and blackout drinking.

Life is incredibly short. In the grand scheme of most benchmark periods of comparison, the human lifespan is merely a grain of sand on the beaches of time. Like a supermodel's IQ, a woman's opinion, or Fox News, our individual lives are basically meaningless to the world. The number of names pened by history is so increadibly small that there's hardly any chance we will do something noteworthly to leave our mark on the world in a profound way. Affecting a small amount of change on a few individuals, however, is not only possible, but much easier than inventing or revolutionizing something, although I'm still waiting for my Uranium Athletic Cup to take off. And if you believe the old 6 degrees of separation adage, then it shouldn't be long before the change you affect in others, or "impact" (woah!), ripples through the entire world. But departing from the wide-eyed idealism of a dirty dashiki-wearing wheat-greass-geating Deadhead child of the 70s hippy named "Vanilla Sunbeam Rainbow Starchild," the best effect most of us can hope for, and the one that is easily attainable, is affecting small change, but a lasting change, something that, like a good case of the clap, people will pass on to others. Bettering ourselves and, thereby, bettering those around us. This is the part in the sitcom of my life (staring LL Cool J as me and Marlon Waynes as Arthur... needless to say, the sitcom of my life airs on UPN) where everyone in the audience would say "aww" and we'd probably hug. But I don't roll like that.

The second conclusion that I've come to is that the world is taking crazy pills and getting crazier by the day. It's not something that needs explaining, because I'm sure if you've watched the news you can see why, from the train bombings in Mumbai, to those Dong missles of Kimmy Jong (why does that sound like the name of a girl in one of those Asian sororities...), to the attacks on the Beirut airport and the continuing sack of cat puke the Middle East has become, just to name some things that have happened in the last two weeks. But like crime and minorities, my two pontifications go hand in hand. We are such a small portion of the world, one six-billionth of the population. You are 29/30 of one inch in the distance from the Sun to Jupiter (I have way too much free time and spent way too long figuring out that analogy, but it's true and it makes you think. Check it out. I dare you!). There are so many other people in the world, with much greater problems than our 9:05 classes, my drinking habits, or the hookers locked in my basement... actually that last one is a pretty big problem. But I'll deal with that once I buy a wood chipper this weekend and dispose of the bodies. Anyway, I digress from my recreational activities. The point I was getting to is that we need to start being more aware of the problems of the world and what we can do, not just as @ but as residents of this spinning blue orb. But you probably knew that already, or you wouldn't be in @.

Anyway, I guess that brings my entry to a thoughtful conclusion. Oh, and just to give you all something to look forward to, I'm coming up to Ithaca next weekend. I'll be up on Thursday and staying through until Sunday. I know people are heading off to New York City gritty, but that's no reason not to break out the good stuff and maybe arrange a little welcome back panouch for me. Just a suggestion. I leave you with the following misogynistic joke: How do you get your dishwasher to shovel snow? Give her a snow shovel and tell that bitch to get outside! I'm so witty...

Out like a boner in sweatpants.

who wants some candy...

Souvenirs anyone?

My co-workers asked me at lunch the other day what kind of souvenir I am taking home from Milano....I didn't know, but my amica did and she replied for me: A brazilian.

Yes. :) I've been spending a lot of time with these brasilians here, and I have to say they're starting to grow on me. One of them just left for Brasile yesterday, and I was really quite sad. He had taught me a lot about life. His consiglia , or his advice, was very open-hearted and saggio, or wise. Wholistic in a way. Down to earth. Without pretenses.

And I definitely have a brazilian boyfriend right now. He's a civil engineer. And he speaks portuguese, english, and italian. (Hot.) Now I'm learning all kinds of brazilian hand gestures and words, and ways of being. (Why get 100% on a test, when all you need to pass is a 65%? Maybe have a farm with ostriches that you can can sell for a lot of money when you get old ..... And when you speak, volume and tone are expected to be extremely loud when having a great time. Louder conversation = even better time.) Okay, as you can see, it's a little different there. I would have never thought of the ostriches before being with them. They've given me brazilian music, movies, coins and food. They're always ready to share. This is something i must practice more myself.

So, after living in the San Paolo corridor, I feel a little more wise about who i want to be and who i am right now.

Back to the italian conversation: Milan is pretty lame, the people are really stiff and kind of closed minded, but one thing's for sure... aperitivo is great. Very expensive, but great. And although my english definitely gets worse when drunk, my Italian gets way better. Veramente. It's funny to meet the Italian men who want to know the American girls, it's so typical here. They approach and always say 'Hi!' in English, because it's terribly obvious that i'm not italian. I could have tried everything to blend, and still, American would be written somewhere between being blonde and happy.

But blonde is an asset too sometimes. one of the sweetest moments so far was when my favorite brasilian told me very nicely that i was truly lora lora, blonde blonde. I love the way that sounds. I will miss these brazilians. Next stop, .....south america anyone??

Words you need to know in milano:
Caldo, hot. Zanzari, mosquitoes. Aperitivo, happy hour. Saldi, sales. Mamma mia, mamma mia. Carino, pretty/nice/friendly. Scarpe, shoes. Calcio, soccer. Montagne, mountains. Lagi, lakes.

These are the main themes of conversation :)

In fact, you could have a great conversation just like that:
Che caldo, oggi! Anche, quelli zanzari me attacano! Sempre! Especialemente ieri sera, quando io ho vato per aperitivo al fuori nella parca. Terribile.... Ma comunque, tu hai visto i saldi??? Mamma mia.... io ho comprato questi scarpe, carine, no? Oh, tu non hai visto i saldi perche tu hai visto la partita di calcio, [ah! Cazzo! Zidane! Che pale!!! Adesso, siamo d'accordi con Materazzi, fongulo a sua madre! .... e la sorella anche.] Allora, ma addesso noi dobbiamo andare per vacanze a montagne e lagi, perche Milano e troppo caldo durante agosto. Ciao, arrivaderci!

Yep. That will do it. Note the trash talk part about Zidane. Molto importante.

okay. 2 more weeks, then i'm done!. I'm going to Nice for a week after i finish work. Then the day after, i start school on august 7th in Rome. It will be both a relief and a sadness to be amongst people who I already know. relief from the homesickness, and sadness because undoubtedly we will revert back to english most of the time.

Ciao ciao, baci e abbracci.
--Meg.

Looks like we will recieve $500 for SSC from the dean of students. A good first meeting, and now to find more funding where that came from.

Arthur