"I Came To Italy For A Villa And Ended Up In A Big Brother House."

Photo by Patrizza

Photo by Patrizza

So I woke up one fine day in Bari, without much effort- construction workers ranting in their Barese dialect, language from another land, pounding walls and scraping cement, cars honking horns incessantly as "Disco Inferno" from Saturday Night Fever is blasting, vespas and mottos zooming by, Demon Diggler, the new flatmate on the block, arguing with a jealous ex-lover, Roddy snoring on the balcony, pink H & M headband with remnants of a sweaty napkin wrapped around his head, his naked body,(keg-like tummy and all), wrapped in a sheet, ball bags hanging out and KITTY, hacking up a hairball, tongue protruding and eyes big, like that of an Itchy & Scratchy cartoon character. A mosquito, aka JAWS, bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzing in my ear- just enough sugar to add to my Americano. The madness of the Big Brother House is punctuated by the slamming doors and screeching twenty-four black and black and white cats, a.k.a. "The Children of The Corn," the bright mustard yellow refrigerator WILLY, dangling five day old lettuce, off Roddy's food shelf, hair like that of a hippy chic. It needed to be put on a leash and that was an order! The Ice Age taking over the freezer- good enough for Roddy to chip off a piece of the iceberg and toss it into his wine glass and Laurendana, the menstrual washing machine, proudly named after a schitzo puttana, who's thug boyfriend attempted to stab Roddy because Charlotte, my British friend who proclaims everything is just a "bloody mess,"took 6 eggs(our food) from the fridge back at the dillapidated illegal hostel, the one with the "V wall', pulling in black money, so that we, including Loyd, the flatmate who left without saying bye on a three hour tour to Wales, could have a nice dinner. Charlotte, Roddy and I mentally castrated anything to do with Albergo Serena, Cosy Rox, Imbriani, Matteoti or Savoia, the hostels that put a cancerous dent in our plans of living abroad in Italy.

"I held my breath in as KITTY pissed all over me during customs inspection in Spain, as the security alarm just beeped too many times."

May 31st. Back at JFK airport, KITTY and I were ready to fly. The weight of my animal and luggage were just too much to bear. I was alone now- no Drea, no vets.  I was in charge of the journey awaiting me ahead. I invested so much time and money and hope- all for this one moment. Oh Lord. Please guide me. Please Mr. Xray Man, please let the 300 syringes that you are about to scan in my suitcase slide by without any hassle. I clutched onto the vial of insulin prescribed for Kitty- 1 unit twice a day to manage his diabetes. Lo and behold, the man at the xray machine scanned my luggage, 300 syringes, 400 lancets, gauges. Diabetic supplies- a drug addict's wet dream. He turned his cheek and resumed with other tasks as if he had just scanned a child's back pack loaded with Hello Kitty bubble gum. I had all USDA health papers and passports signed off by U.S. officials- just in case he decided to give me wholly hell. I remembered the poor goat trying to arrive to the United States from Germany and it was sent back. Who in the f---- brought a goat to the United States from Germany and umm-WHY? What was next? A donkey? The vets were certifiable lampnoodles in my book, apparently dropped on their heads as babies, making numerous errors when they filled out the lengthy veterinarian certificates and Italian passports, certifying that KITTY was a spayed female- NOT. He was a neutered male. Fear was magnified by the rapid beating of my heart, sweat beads rolling down my face, as emotional atrophy manifested worry. First thought came to mind that customs was going to detain and quarantine him because of a penis technicality- no time to put up with a crying game.

As we approached customs in Madrid, Spain, KITTY'S green eyes got big and I felt the wrath of his claws as they dug into my flesh. The sensation was far from pleasant and when I felt something wet spatter on my toes, legs warm, I bit my lower lip. "Helll NOOOO. Like Hell NOOO." I was not on a dreamy beach day trip, splashing and frolicking butt naked in the ocean waters, nor did I feel like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, tugging at a cord, tilting a bucket of cold water onto my body as I lay, arched back against a chair in scantilly clad clothing in a room. DIABETIC KITTY just pissed all over my feet, sandals, t-shirt and favorite pair of fashionably torn jeans. "Diabetic Piss," a bucket's worth, was enough to go through a half bag of cat litter in one sitting! I looked down onto the floor and saw the inevitable puddle. My eyes followed the trail that extended from it. Diapers and napkins were flying at me in all sorts of directions. The customs official threw me the evil "shame on you- you better wipe your cat's ass!" look.  As I stared at KITTY, my nose picked up the stench.

"Va! Va!" The official screamed at me, telling me to get the hell out of there with my piss-soaked body and stinky chocolate KITTY.

Now I know what it takes for an official to let a person pass through with a pet. I quickly took the diapers and used them to wipe him, cleaning out the inside of the filthy carrier. I wasn't mad at KITTY. Poor guy flew on two planes during a 15 hour duration, inclusive of lengthy layovers and customs inspections. Grateful that we made it this far, stinky chocolate KITTY and I finally landed in Rome in one piece, piss included- no handling fee required. "Senorina," the airport employee at the security checkpoint said to me, cracking a smiling, all yellow stained teeth and two missing. "Do you need help with your bags?"

It was Sunday. Nothing to do in Bari, Tamsin and I agreed take the long hike to Bari Vecchia. Bari is pretty boring, with the exception of Panna Pomodoro- the beach, where most locals and tourists flock to. One can bask in the sun along with criminals, thugs and unemployed people who steal. If you are lucky, take up snorkeling, see fish and watch a used MaxiPad float by. If that's not your cup of tea, stay on the shore, buy a 1 euro bottle of Peroni and lay out and soak your toes into the asbestos sand- why don't you? Regardless, this quite ecclectic town is full of surprises- kind of takes me back to my childhood days when my tiny fingers winded the handle on the colorful box as the music played, as I held my black doll with big afro, in the other hand. Yes, she was black- not white, mexican, but black. My parents refused to buy her for me, until I had my terrible two tantrum, throwing myself on the polished toy store floor and spitting up fake "attention  seeking" vomit. Her name was Tamu and when I pulled the string on her back she giggled and said,"What's happening sista?!" As I continued to wind the colorful box, the clown popped out-  red hair, white face with bright makeup, large smiling red lips looking at me. What a surprise!

"Entangled in the faux-pas fashion crossfire- I wanted to stab my eye out and throw it at the perpetrators."

The Bari women are something. They flaunt their 80's hairdos, some scrunginized. I almost want to take a fork and stab my eye out and throw it at them. Impoverished Eastern block throwback faces- blue eyeshadow, bright pink blush, applied heavily like spackle on a wall. These women, with guts protruding from their 80's jeans, looked like they just walked out of a welfare office in trailer trash America, heading to the dollar store for a good time. I just went there for my 5 euros flip flops. Okaaaaaay... I also went there for cosmetics, cleaning suppplies, toilet paper, etc. I have seen a few hottie chicks here in Bari, but let's just say needles in a haystack. Men wear polo t-shirts with stiff high collars, hair gelled, pinkish lavender fitted dressy shorts, accessorized with a leather Versace belt, metrosexually well-defined waxed eyebrows, sporting their sexy manpurses. My eyes burned as I caught them adjusting the straps, holding onto them like gold, posture straight. Some were stunningly hot and some not. Some were graced with protruding manboobies, big enough to milk a child, ranting, "SSSSSSSSSSSS" sounds as I walk by. Do I look like your pet python fuckwit? Because I would squeeze you to death and swallow that stupid manpurse- hehee.  They all ask me the same thing. "Why did you come here from New York?!" I say calmly, lying through my teeth, "My plane crashed here."

"Love is like a timeshare. You stay in it, leave it, come back- wonder why you ever invested in it."

Tamsin and I walked endlessly and ended up at Faro's Cafe out of spontaneity around noon. Faro's Cafe was definitely THE HOT SPOT along Lungo Marina in Bari, especially at night. I must say, the beautiful people, perfect makeup and hair, money and all, sporting the latest Versace and Louie Vitton fashions, frequented this spot. Businessmen, lawyers, doctors, models, advertising and PR consultants paraded along the parking lot and park in front, leaning against the walls, sitting on sidewalk, benches, Harleys, mottos, vespas, BMW's, posing eleganting as if they were shooting a spread in Esquire Magazine in a posh New York penthouse.

We plopped down onto the hard, plastic poppy orange-red seats at a table. I felt like shit. It was a bad make-up, hair and fashion day- not a good day to make a public appearance. The subtle dark circles and tired looking skin were all reminders of my fantastic night and many cocktails the night before. Umm. Heineken, screwdriver, screwdriver, heineken... I seem to forget the rest after that. Angelo, my "maestro" English teacher invited me to join him and his friends Gianni and Francesco for a night out. The original plan was to go to an Irish pub for a few cocktails and then somewhere in Monopoli. We sat around a table bullshitting and exchanging Italian and English languages. The boys all ordered negronis- Campari, gin, martini bianco with an orange garnish on ice. I ended up ordering a Nastro Azzuro beer. An hour had passed and Francesco's girlfriend, The Boss, arrived at the pub to meet us. It was decided that we were going to Capitolo to some random disco undisclosed at that time. I looked at my very casual outfit- a simple Debbie Downer brown summer dress with the dollar store flip flops.

"Angelo." I said. "I didn't plan on going to a disco and now-huh, I have no action going on without my super disco dress. If I had time to change, I could be Super Disco Hot Chick." He turned to me and placed his hand on my left shoulder with care, forefinger on other hand waving back and forth, lips slightly puckered, as he made a noise through his teeth, "Tzth-tzth, tzth-tzth. Patti, don't worry. You look beautiful- as always."

 We finished our drinks and stepped into two different cars, between the six of us. As we drove down the autostrada, Gianni took a few dvd's from the glove compartment. I picked one random one from the pile and he popped it into the player. It was good ole' Culture Club and we were ready to roll. As the music played, we bobbed our heads, waving our hands in the air in sync, like happy go lucky actors in a cheesy "feel good" Bali musical. "Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma... chameleon. You come and go. You come and gooooo." We laughed, bobbed heads, clapped and waved hands in the air, continuing on into the late hours of the evening, only to dance the night away amongst ecstasy induced strangers, jamming to the resident dj of the Portobello disco in the beautiful outskirts of Capitolo.

Back at Faro's I ordered some sort of orecchiette pasta with funghi and the usual pepperoncino aparte. "Un pezzo di panne perfavore e une bichere di aqua naturale." I added.

Tamsin played it simple and ordered some aqua gassata and a cafe. I took the straw and played with the ice in my coke, as we sat and talked pretty much about nothing, waiting for our food. Michele and his pet baggy blue eyes and grayish brown wavy hair entered the premises. Michele wasn't aware that I was a Cougaress. I wasn't ready to drop the bombshell. He was a bit too old in my book-younger than me- much older in looks. Michele was part owner in a family owned grappa distillery and obviously had money. Apparently hundreds of millions went into the company. He insisted I stay for free at one of his seven apartments when things were going terribly wrong back at the hostel, (where I was doing the work exchange and living at). I kept it in mind, but hated accepting invitations such as this. I was an independent woman living abroad and shyed away from any charity. Since Michele and I had a thing going, he visited me at Valentino Bar, where I worked one weekend during the summer as a bartender in Rosa Marina, while he stayed at his family's ten bedroom summer villa there. He sent me random texts, "Tonight with you I want to stay," or "With you a good night," using poor English grammar. I just love the typical male Italian's way- standing proud and tall, trying to seduce me with their manpurses and their Louis Vitton getup, accessorized with random comments I don't understand, circling the piazzas or street blocks a dozen times, offering rides in their cars and vespas doing the chasing, then running off and disappearing somewhere, but always going home to mama. Michele lived on his own- thank God. But, after he ordered his usual vodka liscia with Redbull and an orange slice on ice, he sat at a table, without greeting Tamsin and I, being a complete ass wipe- until he came over to us, followed by the thunder and lighting-then the rainstorm.

Michele, after being an ass wipe and giving me the cold shoulder for no apparent reason, decided to transform into some saint. As soon as Tamsin got up and headed for the bathroom, he came over to my table, giving me a kiss on my cheek, followed by a hug and a "How are you?" Was this the same man I saw earlier? Knock, Knock. Is ass wipe home? Ass wipe apparently was vacationing at the ten bedroom villa in Rosa Marina, so his alter ego Michele was keeping me company. He called over to Leo, the owner of Faro's, ordering drinks for the two of us, then another for Tamsin as she came back and sat down.

Time passed and it was obvious as staff at Faro's changed shifts and patrons started filling up the premises- drinks coming and going. The three of us talked about Michele's grappa distillery business, sipping mini samples of grappa, feeling the effects of the alcohol. Eventually we decided to move to the table nearest the opened window, so that Michele could light up a smoke. And then, a stranger walked in. He was tall, 6'0, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, tanned skin. Ahh! If only, I thought as we couldn't stop taking each other's eyes off each other from across the table. His name was Evy and he was the younger, hotter brother of Michele- I didn't know existed- until now. The tingles came, butterflies and their mommas and papas in my stomach. He kept commenting on my beauty. I looked like shit today and to him- Halle Berry. Keeper. These Italian men are charming and cheesy when it came to compliments. Best one yet, was my timeshare lover in Rome, Gabriele. His one liner was, "You are Native American Indian? Woowwwww! I have Indian posters ALL over my room. Have you seen Dances With Wolves with Kevin Costner?" Now, I have been with Gabriele long enough to know better that he didn't possess not even ONE Native American Indian poster on a wall in his room. Thanks to MSN webcam baby and the lack of tact of a horny 24 year old Italian man.

"You should never have to call a penis Carol Anne and ask it to walk into the light."

In the company of these two men, Tamsin and I took pictures, flirted, took pictures. Leo, the owner joined in and now- it was a party. The rain wouldn't end, so Michele stood up, "We go now." Tamsin and I had no clue what this meant. Michele settled the bill and paid for everything- his typical way of taking care of two women. All four of us stood up from the table and began walking somewhere- his apartment a few blocks away. As soon as we got to the apartment, I headed straight for the bathroom to fix my hair-frizzy from the humidity. I turned around and he was in the doorway of the bathroom. Evy closed the door, locked it- smiled. Meanwhile my cell started ringing off the hook in the other room.

"Patrizza, it's Roddy!" Tamsin yelled out. "He says he has two Couchsurfing buddies and wants to know if it's cool by you for them to stay for a night or two."

Caught up in the passionate arms of Evy we made out in the dark, working or fingers and hands all over each other, like two carnal animals in heat in the bathroom for a few minutes, Tamsin's voice faded. Then Evy and I  headed for the spare bedroom. The kissing continued, then the clothes peeled off slowly.

"Patrizza. Riccardo from Couchsurfing called your phone AGAIN. He also texted me AGAIN about meeting him tonite at Bari Vecchia at seven." She hollored from the other room. I ignored her voice and helped Evy take his shorts off.

Riccardo, was a guy on Couchsurfing that Tamsin and I both met and spoke to at different times- not knowing that we were speaking and making quote unquote "dating" plans with him on the same night, same time. Riccardo wasn't aware neither- I'm sure. We put two and two together and realized this earlier on in the day, while we were walking. Tamsin received a text around noon from Riccardo.I received one an hour after and so forth. We kept going back and forth scheduling and rescheduling our "date" with Riccardo, throughout the day as we were drinking with Michele and Evy.

We continued on with the kissing and foreplay and I realized it was soft. Blame it on the alcohol- shoot. I knew it. Too much fun and too much damn voda and redbull and to top it all off- the orange slice. It was probably the little innocent orange slice that stood there on the side waiting to cause trouble. Little bastard. Wo. Hold on a minute. This guy was thirty for Christ's sakes! Thirty! This guys' penis should be rocking and rolling and carrying me all over the place, throwing me up against the wall spanking me and making me write bad checks and scribbling graffiti all over the apartment walls and making me forget my own damn name. Clear! Beep beep beep beep _____________ (flatline). Paddles! No beat! Clear! Beep beep beep ____________ (flatline). For a moment I gave his penis emergency cpr- it came to. We continued having passionate sex sporadically. Spooning, doggystyle, frontwards, backwards, on the bed, on the couch. Clear! Beep beep beep beep ___________ (flatline). Paddles! No beat! Clear! _____________ (flatline). I gave his penis mouth to mouth (head) resuscitation. I grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the bed, back to the bathroom. He threw me onto the porcelain sink and away we went, then we scrambled into the shower stall- water off. Finally, I leaned against the toilet and his penis went limp again. _________ (flatline). The one eye stared at me, listless. Carol Anne! I placed my hands around its neck and shook it. Dead meat. Walk into the light! It did- halfway. We tried to open the bathroom door and it was locked. We were standing there butt naked in the dark- light off, (switch was on the outside), locked in. We banged and knocked on the door. "Umm. Michele. Michele. Yoohoo. Can you help us get out? Evy spoke. Michele finally came to the rescue and opened the door. I ran into the room, got dressed- walked into the other room to reunite with Tamsin.

My hair looked like someone just threw a grenade in it, ran over it with a car, electrofied- it was standing up and all over the place and tied up in handcuffs and having sex. Yep- it was mad- it needed a leash, muzzle, straightjacket. By the looks of Tamsin's cringed face and hysterics from laughing too much at the sight of it, I knew- she knew. I had sex, and I never went through so much wholy hell to revive a penis.

"I came here to chase my dream, not run from the deaf boy in the speeding wheelchair."

Sigh. Kitty and I have survived and lived some of the most dreadful days and sleepless, unbearably hot nights in Southern Italy. Getting bitten by the mosquitoes, left and right, I finally invested in a bottle of OFF spray. The original plan was to go to Balestrate, Sicily, do work exchange, get sponsored, have the job, be happy, live in a beautiful villa, fall in love with a cubby. NOT.

7:30 am. I strained my eyes, looked at the time on my cell phone. I had to pee but held it in because I was too tired from the night before. Although Vageegee was crying, I dreaded walking down the dark, dingy hall, just to get to the damn bathroom. KITTY was at my side, purring, licking his penis, JAP slapping my face, sticking his arse in it, throwing his paws on his hips attitude-usual hints here and there, insisting that I feed him. I pushed his black hairy "FEED THE CHILDREN" poster kitty body away and hollered, "Wait one hour dude and take a chill pill!"

8:00am came and I knew I had to throw KITTY some kibble love. He had to have a big breakfast consisting of one part carbs at 8:00am and one part protein at 10:00am, snacks of protein/carbs at 2:00pm, 5:00pm and carbs at dinner time (8:00pm). I specifically catered this diet to him, in order to sustain healthy blood glucose levels. Two months ago, he was diagnosed with diabetes and amazingly today, the disease has reversed. I still stare at the two bottles of insulin and 300 syringes collecting dust. I managed to care for my cat on my own abroad- no vets, especially after they insisted there was no way that my KITTY was free of diabetes.

"Kitty and I were ready to roll."

I cannot forget the sleepless night prior to the day of the flight, I must have gone over the list in my mind well over a hundred times. Insulin. Check. Needles. Check. Tampons. Check. Medicine. Check. Lotion. Passports. Check. Check, check, check. Everything was in order for the life of a single woman, such as I and diabetic kitty living abroad in Italy for a good six months. As I packed, the sweat just rolled down my face like fountain water. Sticky and hot, I had no time whatsoever to shower, get cleaned up and get pretty. Pack, get KITTY ready, go to airport. I was dirty and felt gross, but Dirty & Gross were my two best friends for now and we had to get our asses to the airport. Pronto!

Drea, a friend of mine, arrived at my ghetto apartment in Bedford Stuyvesant Heights in Brooklyn, (It was a temporary thing). White teeth, a smile, a look to the left, a look to the right- eyes got bigger as she glared all around the room. "What the fuck are you doin' living here gurl?" as she smacked on gum and grinned. I replied, "Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girls gotta DO." Ten minutes later, we were off like two bats out of Hell making our way to the airport via a car service driven by a Jamaican man who had no clue what Air Europa was.

As we approached the horrendous line and joined the other hundreds of passengers, waiting to check-in, I realized THIS WAS IT. HOLY SHIP! Drea and I looked like two pathetic women dragging 50 kilos of Samsonite luggage and a diabetic KITTY, trying to escape from his pet carrier, gnawing at the cloth with his oversized snaggletooth fang, like a wannabe savage beast. I carefully unzipped the top of the carrier, catching a glimpse of his BOYZ RULE doo rag. The combination of the weight and unbalanced luggage, caused them to topple over, so we decided it was best to drag them, all the way up to the check-in counter, including KITTY and his hyperactive fang. What were two chicks to do?

 "I wanted to chill, enjoy the fresh Italian breeze, bask in the sun, find my cub. Instead I had to shop for stilettos I needed to wear while I worked at the disco for 80 euros."

 I could have used the money to get by. So, now I'm bartending here and there at random American Bars and discos throughout the Puglia region of Southern Italy to survive- pay the rent for my room, food, transportation and bills abroad in New York. I just remembered that I needed to buy high heels for the disco job. The long hours, endless Americanos, Spritz, Mojitos, hard work and humble money disappoint me, until I see the sun rise and shine its new light upon the tranquil turquoise waters of Monopoli and Polignano. The white sands whisper, assuring me there is something else out there, waiting for me to discover, as I let the granules slide between my fingers and toes. I think of time as the they dissipate into the sand and create something much bigger. I realize that time is lost, only to be found and that I must document every moment of it because my jar of Oil of Olay is not going to preserve it.

 I fixed my rearranged face and disheveled hair, slipped on my 5 euro flip flops, I proudly purchased at a discount store in Bari on Corso Sonno and headed to the bathroom down the hall, getting ready to release myself. Let the river run. As I stared at my raccoon face and disheveled hair in the smudgy mirror, I took my forefinger and wiped the excess makeup from underneath my dark eyes. "Who is this woman!?" I knew I needed to get myself together- maybe slap myself a few times. "Get it together girl!" I felt as if I've let myself go- just a tad. I miss the pedicures, blue toes, THE VAGINA PROFESSIONAL, (Brazilian waxes, ouch), the GYM, weekly hair blowouts, monthly visits to the dentist for a good teeth whitening. Ugh. I also needed to get laid, pathetically gazing down at Vageegee and shaking my head back and forth. "Don't worry babes. I'm gonna buy you a new pair of stilettos and find you love, somewhere over the rainbow. Okay, maybe not the rainbow, but just beyond the bridge in Bari.

"He was like a speeding bullet."

This was the bridge where the deaf boy, who reminded me so much of Timmy on SouthPark, wheeled by one hot night, using his two feet to pedal rapidly, big head, skinny arms swaying in the wind, as my friend Tamsin and I strolled down Via Savoia, eating gelatinos. At first I thought he was a pedestrian or a person riding by on a vespa or bicycle of some sort. Tamsin and I both realized at that moment that he was the same dude who harassed and nudged us to give him money, placing the "Deaf Man Note" onto our laps, as we drank cheap Peronis in the center piazza of Bari Vecchio. We both gave him a cold look, turned our heads and carried on with our conversation, as if he didn't exist.

9:00am. Back at The Big Brother apartment, I walked into the kitchen and my Scottish and British flatmates Roddy and Charlotte both told me that Lloyd, another flatmate), just left abruptly this morning at 6:00am on a flight back to Wales. It was a bit odd that he just picked up and went, but I suppose it was normale for a person such as him to do this. Lloyd is a great guy, but he seems to never embrace things and people around him. For example, he lived in Italy for a year and a half and couldn't speak the language. He did make it known, however, that he he particularly didn't like Italians. And ever since he acted like Michael Jackson at a bar in Bari Vecchio, after drinking everything in sight including two mojitos, a screwdriver, two glasses of wine and a pitcher of water, I knew instantly his lanky body couldn't keep up. "Heeee! Heee!" Wtf? What was that sound? Was it a bird? A child giggling? No. It was Lloyd's impersonation of Michael Jackson. The moonwalk and body moves kicked in and I came to the conclusion Lloyd was a dork. A cute dork, especially when he proudly stuck he's stomach out, smacking it, then demanding that the owner of the bar "Spank it! Noooo. Spank it harder!" I placed my right hand over my eyes. Helllll Noooooooo. Like HELLLLLLLLLLLLL NOOO. Who is this person? Charlotte and I split a bottle of pricey red vine. As we drank it and watched Lloyd make a fool of himself, we commented on how it was not worth the 18 Euros!

The 1,69 Euro wine we bought at the supermercati was a hell of alot better. We appreciated it so much, we took turns sticking it under our bunk beds-yes bunk beds, back at the hostels on Via Matteoti and at Serena, where we escaped from the poor working and living conditions. I will gladly use my blogger audience as a gigantic emotional sponge because that is what it is going to take to expunge the misery and fungus-like germs and scum Charlotte and I breathed in, as we cleaned rooms, made beds, mopped floors and moved furniture in and out of cat-pissed soaked rooms with dingy furniture, broken faucets, holey walls, wallpaper dangling off them, resembling a vagina on a one-legged chick, "The V wall" and sharing rooms with hostel guests from Slovenia, Germany, Brazil, Spain, Korea, Sweden and just about every place on the map. Our boss lured us to come here to Bari, with the promises of getting paid and provided good food every day. Instead, we worked for free, got little food, worked hard, couldn't sleep and this bastard named Francesco, who I gladly proclaim "STRONZO," a piece of shit, made black money running hostels he didn't own, profiting substantially as he paid no taxes, wasn't registered with the polizia, exploited us, moved us around to hide us from them, so they couldn't catch up to him. His day WILL come.

8:00pm. I spent most of the day walking 2 miles on average, walking past shops with Hello Kitty paraphanilia displayed in the windows, studying, doing laundry and all sorts. Roddy got home from work and headed straight for the kitchen. I decided to be social and say hello and see how his day went at work in Polignano at the real estate office. As Roddy went on and on about his day, I wondered why I still had not heard from my English student Angelo, who handles the finances for the European Funds, as well as Fabio, my sexy CouchSurfing friend who helped get me the disco job at Messeria Spina in Monopoli.

We talked about random things, such as the food caper who ate our food in the apartamento without asking for permission to do so. It was frustrating because many of us flatmates didn't have a job and we were hustling left and right. I didn't belong to Red Cross, so I really wasn't in the mood to move to Italy to feed other mouths probono a la carte! So, Tamsin decided to put a note on her cracker box, "DON'T EAT MY FOOD!" Roddy fessed up that an evil vortex power forced his hands onto most of the crackers and shoved them down his throat. He admitted to Tamsin that he sat down and prepared a note earlier that morning, then decided against it. We all sat there, shook our heads and laughed. Apparently, the food situation was handled and we all knew we each had to respect other's boundaries, including possessions, such as food, toilet paper, blah, blah, blah. Feeling a tad guilty and embarrassed, Roddy opened a bottle of red vino. "Who would like some wine?" I gave him my glass and replied, "I'll take just a little." Roddy and I always joked around with my comments, "I'll take just a little." A little more. Okay maybe four little glasses of wine.

"I wanted a sandwich and all I got was Sexting And A Panini."

The horny tingles came and my clitoris was shaking like Tina Turner on stage and I felt like a virgin all over again. I then froze and began to think. I was with the same penis and same man for 8 effin years. How could I even think of this other man’s penis? Maybe it was evil like Alien and a very very naughty Alien, trying to push itself into my world? Where was Segourney Weaver when I needed her to intervene and put Alien in place? A stranger putting his strange wandering hands all over me was unfamiliar.
As I read from my book, my flatmates were choking on their food, as they ate and laughed out of control. Tamsin was cooking chicken and rice Malta style, Roddy was sticking his nose in the air, taking in the fumes of her delightful cooking, Charlotte was slumped on the couch, with a cold towel on her head, trying to forget about the "one eye" headache, as I continued reading. Before I could get one word out of my mouth, Roddy spoke up. "I have a question about a vacuous vagina- Bulgarian Chick, Room 31." I looked at him and said, "Can it wait and is her vagina really that big?" From that point on, we talked about penises and vaginas and how humans respond differently to them. Was I the Penigina Whisperer and didn't know it? Hello Kitty...