Chicken Soup for the Abroad Student's Soul.

The Definition of Abroad:

Being abroad is about taking some of the most interesting and hands on courses, visiting and learning the history and culture behind the greatest monuments in the world, and really experiencing and appreciating a whole new society, leading you to have one of the greatest educational adventures of your life.

lolz. not really though.

Being abroad is...

• consuming more wine in a semester than water in a year.
• turning your bathroom into a rainforest because you have to do laundry in a sink for three months straight.
• hating everything about pounds. gaining pounds, british pounds, #pounds. knowing that pounds suck and will always suck.
• gauging how great a flight will be by if they serve free wine or not
• asking the critical "are there cobblestones" question before every trip to see if it's worth the risk to pack your stilettos or not.
• staring blankly at any flower or umbrella man who approaches you because you will never want, need, or buy a flower or umbrella from them...ever. 
• being sucked into a restaurant solely because it has free wifi.
• being unable to stomach nutella anymore because you've eaten it drunk too many times.
• knowing that no matter what city you're in, you can always find solace in an irish pub.
• getting funny looks from italians because apparently running outside is a completely foreign concept.
• pushing your beds together at night so that six girls can watch a movie on one 18 inch laptop screen.
• listening to enough celine dion and phil collins to last a lifetime.
• laughing at the concept of jet lag because literally nothing is worse than touring around all day after a nine hour flight.
• being in more churches in three months than you will ever be in, in the next thirty years.

Being abroad is...

• rocks. lots of important rocks.
• over drafting your account because of the euro conversion rate
• never unpacking your suitcase because you're in a different city every thursday.
• realizing you have to pay for towels at hostels...and realizing how much you hate hostels.
• knowing that nothing in your life will ever compare to a nutella banana crepe from Paris, and being haunted by that knowledge on a regular basis.
• believing you are fluent in italian after three glasses of wine...or one glass of wine.
• changing the lyrics to thrift shop to "having 20 euro in my pocket"
• never having euro in your pocket
• spending the day wondering when the next abroad album is going to drop
• having register workers open your wine bottles for you when you don't have a wine opener on hand
• thoroughly enjoying the fact that open container laws are non existent 
• smiling whenever someone mentions the pope like he's a great friend of yours because you were there when he was elected.
• scouring the world for a chipotle

Being abroad is...

• attempting to show your friends around your city and realizing after three months you still don't know where you are
• casually eating lunch on the pantheon and complaining about the american tourists because you're obviously not one of them. 
• realizing that zara will never be the same.
• labeling cities by the food that you ate there.
• knowing how to fluently yell "basta!" and "figlio di punta!" by week two. 
• coining the name "nightshift nightmare" by your favorite desk worker who works on the weekends.
• snapchatting cool abroad pictures and realizing that everyone must hate you for it. 
• listening to your electronics sizzle because of your converters
• finding discrepancies in the Lizzie McGuire movie but still scouring the country for Paolo.
• being in a constant state of owing people money and having others owe you.
• reading everyone's drunk tweets when you're sober and getting up for an early class. 
• creating a secret group online because you have too many embarrassing abroad pictures that can never see the light of day.
• forgetting you're underage at home.
• waking up to your room smelling like pizza on saturday  mornings because of the V.I.P. pizza box in the corner.
• being stopped at security every time because apparently no one understands that a curling iron is not a weapon.
• jersey chasing international rugby players but still getting a better table than them at the club.
• being convinced that you study better when you've had a couple glasses of wine than without.
• singing more american karaoke than you ever have in your life.
• landing in a country late at night, immediately going out, and still waking up at 9 to tour a new city the next morning.
• hoarding Pascucci money because it's the only thing that feeds you when you've run out of euro.
• learning not to ever, ever look at your bank statement.
• power showering on a regular basis.
• being on the precipice at all moments of the day.

Being abroad is...

• realizing that coins are legitimate currency and loving them for it.
• having more scarves in your closet than actual clothes
• listening to the ryan air flight completed song and silently thanking the lord for making it safely
• ordering wine for the table because it's cheaper than water
• illegally downloading all movies and tv shows because the fact that Netflix doesn't exist is a scarring realization.
• forgetting what dollars look like.
• never knowing exactly what's going on with your friends at home no matter how hard you try
• strategically packing every outfit for a weekend so you can make it fit in a ryanair briefcase
• somehow ending up with more carnevale costumes, rave wear, spacesuits, and thrift shop items than actual souvenirs.
• seeing some of the most amazing sights and architecture on a run around the city than on an actual tour
• sharing every article of clothing with your roommates to make one suitcase last three months.
• spending more time trying to split up the check than actually eating
• getting dirty looks when you go out without tights on but doing it anyway and having no shame. 
• knowing all promoters and bartenders by name to get the best deals on the weekends.
• being best friends with a man named Alfredo. 
• getting your heel stuck in the cobblestones, leading to a Wedding Planner traffic-stopping moment
• going over your pit and peak of every day and realizing that most days are pretty damn peaky
• getting sent home from the Vatican because your skirt is too short.
• being woken up by the ghost that lives in your wall every morning (we'll miss you Julius)
• eating more gelato than you'd think is humanly possible...and still being unable to refuse the Fridge. 
• collecting shot glasses from every country because it's the most stereotypical college collection you could acquire
• creating the most dysfunctional twerk team known to man.
• laughing when someone says your life is a joke, because honestly that's exactly what it is.

being abroad is having a truly messed up family dynamic with your five best friends and realizing you've spent, from the very first night together, ninety days at each other's sides.  It's about drinking too much, studying too little, seeing more than you ever could've imagined, and falling in love with every country you set foot in. It's about listening to Forever Young and knowing you're on top of the world. It's meeting your friends for the first time in January and wondering how you're going to function without them come April.  Being abroad is claiming a city for your own, and wondering how you're ever going to leave, and planning exactly when you're going to come back. It's listening to Bittersweet Symphony and having the intro describe your city.  It's being an orphan, and loving every second of it. 

The Definition of Abroad: the best ninety days of your life. 

MRS Dropout.

It's finals week.  I don't know why I think finals week is so funny, but it is. At home it would be early May hinting at summer, but in South Bend who really knows, it could honestly be snowing and I wouldn't be surprised.  I would be locking myself in Madeleva, filling up the whiteboards, turning the room into a wallpaper of definitions, concepts, and charts.  Charts of everything.  Charts for school, countdown charts, charts of all the boys we think are cute.  We'd write down these charts over chips and queso and endless cyber combos because at this point does eating right actually matter at all? And we'd laugh because we'd spend more time watching Friday Night Lights and charting exactly how hot Tim Riggins is than actually studying.  Finals week is spent stressing out because it's fun to complain about how much work you need to do and then not do it.  It's spent taking shots in Madeleva because the added bonus of drinking in a classroom building is just to great to pass by. And it's spent listening to Disney Pandora because literally nothing is more motivating than Hercules' I Can Go the Distance.  Study breaks are trips to Fisher, the Wikipedia Game, and watching How to Train Your Dragon. Finals week is spent focused on relearning the classes I've worked so hard through and being so excited to finally be done, finally have summer at the tips of my fingers. But right now, for once in my life, I don't want summer one bit.

So yea, finals week is hilarious, because let's face it, it can't actually be finals week.

Let me give you a brief description of a finals week Rome style:

Its sunny and seventy degrees. I wear sundresses everyday. I eat lunch on the Pantheon and study (people watch) on the Spanish Steps.  My study breaks include walking to the Vatican, getting gelato at Frigidarium and shopping down Villa Del Corso. I spend more time taking an Italian cooking class, brushing up on my MRS degree, than actually studying for any one final.  The only chart I write on is the Crazy Brian Kelly Drinking Game (yes, this is a real thing).  So in my mind, finals week doesn't actually exist. Rome takes away the stress and sanctity of South Bend finals week.  My reality at this point isn't the exams I'm supposed to be focused on...it's a different kind of finals week for me.

I only have five full days left here.  I can't even comprehend that at this point.  It's like when you're trying to read a paragraph from a book but your focus melts into the edges and the margins and the words just don't stick. No matter how many times you stare at one letter, you don't know what it means.  Five days. Five days until I leave a country that has been my home, and who know's how long it will be until I come back.  Five last Pascucci sandwiches, five last days in front of the Pantheon, five last nights sleeping in my orphan bed.  To make it easier I think I trick myself into thinking that I'm just going home for break.  I'm so excited to see everyone, my friends and family that I miss more than the world, but I'm just going to stop by, get my fix, and come back.  Back to the streets of Rome, the city that is all mine.  I think that's why I'm so attached to this place.  Rome is the first thing I did on my own.  It's my city.  It's where I learned how to start somewhere new, without any help or anything comfortable.  I was literally on my own and built a life for myself here, so there's no way I'm leaving, right?  I just have to repeat that over and over, "I'm coming right back."  Otherwise I don't know if I can bring myself to get on that plane early Wednesday morning.

Five days and tomorrow it'll be four, and still I feel like I have so much to do. Many things are jokes here. Orphans are jokes, Portia Prebys is a joke, classes are jokes, exams are jokes, my life for the past three months...joke.  But leaving Rome is not a joke, and no matter how excited I am to go home, it doesn't take away the fact that I will never be able to relive an experience like this ever again.  I don't think I've ever been so sad for an ending to come, and for that I know I'm truly blessed.

But on the bright side, I will finally be reunited with my many loves in South Bend in one week's time. Regatta week will be one for the books and seeing my friends and family for the first time in ninety days makes me so happy I don't think anyone can even understand.

So on that note, wish me luck on finals week, and no I'm still not talking about the exams.

London Captain Jersey Chasing.

You know how one of the scariest things in life is a blank word document? Or maybe you don't. I guess it may not be a universal fear, maybe just an English major thing...or just an MJ thing...but blank word documents suck. Everything about them sucks. You have all the words in the world, but you have nothing to say. It's blank. And white. And stupid. And you just keep seeing the curser blinking at the paragraph indent and it makes you cringe.  Imagine a person incessantly poking your shoulder, or even worse, a Facebook poke, its annoying and all you want is for it to go away immediately.  Well, as I'm trying to write about my past weekend in London, this blank word document in front of me is the most brutal thing conceivable. It's definitely a Facebook poke; stupid and I want to punch it in the face. I can't decide if it's because I'm still too exhausted to form words, mentally drained from finals week, or have so much to say that I don't know where to even start, but for some reason this past weekend is surprisingly hard to write. Maybe it's a good thing I'm going home in eight days...I don't know if I'm much of a blogger in general.

I figure that I like London too much to even know what to say about it.  It's like having a middle school crush.  You know when you liked someone in middle school and you'd see them in the hallway by their lockers and you'd blush and mess up all your words. You never could articulate exactly what you liked about them, but still, you put hearts around their name on the back of your trapper keeper and promised to love them forever.  Well apparently I have a middle school crush on London town, which I guess there are worse crushes in the world to have, so I'll struggle through it.

From our hostel, to the booze cruise, to eating an orange (thanks Joshua), London was a trip of firsts.  Erin, sitting next to me is now demanding that I start with our hostel experience...because for me and my bougie friends it was definitely...well, not so bougie. "Write about how much I HATE hostels and how I am NEVER staying in one ever again." Ok Queen Betch, I will just for you.

Hostels are like staying at summer camp...but without the summer, and the camp...and the fun. Creepy Brazilian men sleep in your room, the pillows don't have pillow cases, your feet are constantly dirty, and there isn't even a wine opener. That's not living. Even typing this out, I know the boys are going to roll their eyes and hate us for this paragraph. Yes G01, we know we're princesses, but you have a pink hair dryer in your room (ahem, Logan), so are we really in the wrong here?  But really, hostels should not be a thing.   I will probably be bougie till I die and I'll stick with hotels and apartments and other bougie places of the sort.  But the nachos were good there so I guess it wasn't all a complete loss.

Besides the hostel, my middle school crush called London treated me extraordinarily well.  Out of all of Europe, I haven't seen a city so eclectic and alive as London.  It was the beauty of an old European city integrated with the youthful vivacity of the New York streets...with a British accent bonus to top it off.  Between the out door markets, the flashy night life, and extremely diverse foods (for the first time in three months I finally had chinese food, thank god), London really has everything you could ever ask.  It's almost ironic that I chose the most Americanized city to visit the weekend before I go back to America, but I really wouldn't have had it any other way.  It was the best last trip we could have asked for.  With my orphans and G01 Direction at my side, this group successfully conquered three countries in three weeks together, London being the finale to the greatest study abroad experience I could've ever imagined.

While everything about London was amazing, from the pub crawl where...

1. Catie and Morgan crowd surfed in a pub.
2. we danced on couches and poles.
3. I was forced to carry Sharkbait from pub to pub.
4. Erin got head butted
5. the bougie betches (and JRodge) decided to take a cab because they got sick of walking
6. and Bait tried to sell me for 20 pounds

...to all the touristy sights where 

1. we learned all about art (thanks to Tammy and Dave)
2. took hipster phone booth and Big Ben pics
3. learned without a doubt that London only has one eye
4. had the best burgers and oreo shakes imaginable.
5. and joined a space suit crew (still no regrets about this.)

...the real highlight is, and will always be, the Booze Cruise. 

Cheers to the Booze Cruise and the captains that organized arguably the best night abroad ever imagined, you all deserve to be sailer jersey chased after that one of a kind experience known as the junior-year freshman dorm party. For one night, we dressed to the nines, looked like a wedding party, and raged on a barge while passing underneath the London Bridge...so I label that as a success.  I don't even think I can put in to words the visual anomaly of such classy looking 20 to 21 year olds reverting back to their freshman year debauchery phase, but it was unreal and we loved every minute of it. So many DFMO's, so much Blink 182, and so many captain hats circulating around the dance floor, made for a night we can (hopefully) remember and put down in Smick/Domer history. Between the unbelievable view of the River Thames at sunset and the tuxes, dresses, british flag sunglasses and bow ties donning the dance floor, a prettier picture really couldn't have been painted. So cheers to classy pictures, paparazzi, cosmos and appetizers, dougieing, arrests (the greatest story known to man) and the elevated surfaces that made up booze cruise 2013. May you go down in Facebook album tag history (you're welcome for the documentation). 

Now sitting here, procrastinating through finals week, facing many blank word documents, and trying to recover through the shambles i've put my body through for three months, I couldn't imagine my last trip any other way.  I already miss my middle school crush named London and the boys that made it so memorable. I'm jealous that you guys have a couple weeks left abroad while I'm currently facing the challenge of trying decide whether to pack or wear my spacesuit on the plane ride home, but we'll see you all soon enough. Can't wait to take on our fourth country together, America we're coming for you.

Now it's time to sleep through my last religion class, suffer through hell week, take on the no carb left behind challenge and eat the twelve euro gelato at Giollitis. Get ready for the last week of the best semester of my life with my forever love, Roma.

Barca Betches meet the Boyband.

So what do you get when you put four Romans, one Grecian, three Londoners, a Tammy, and a Janjanproblem in a four bedroom apartment in the middle of Barcelona?

You get a struggle to survive, the Barca Betches versus the city. An endless fight against the tapas, disposable cameras, 8 am bedtimes, sunny days, hours of beach time, and of course tequila. And while we struggled through our weekend, fast forward four days and let me just tell you now,

Barca wins.  Barca always wins.

Let's run down the daily Barcelona routine:

Waking up around one in the afternoon we'd put on some Phil Collins and get ready, the girls taking significantly longer than the boys and the boys yelling at the girls for taking significantly longer. After about an hour of this, ending in the boys leaving until we can catch up, we'd stroll around the wide streets of the city, scouring for breakfast in our shorts and skirts, while unconsciously making our way towards the spot where we would decide to lounge around, doing nothing for the remainder of the day.

Forgoing any touring to watching the sun set behind the coast, we'd eat baguettes and brie, talking and laughing at each other, and drinking wine straight out of the bottle.  I think that's one of the things being abroad has taught me, when you're young you can drink wine straight from the bottle and make a day out of sitting around doing absolutely nothing, and it's perfectly fine. It's even good. Wine straight out of the bottle is good because it's what you aren't supposed to do, and people will look at you and think you're just a bunch of reckless, ridiculous college students. And that's what we are, so its ok. It's ok to be lazy and irresponsible and drink wine out the bottle because we won't be able to forever. So while some may not (sorry any parents out there), I complete condone our lazy days sitting in the sun in Barcelona and our bottles of white wine, uncorked by the laughing register workers in the grocery stores, because even though it's stupid and carefree, it's exactly how we should be acting and how i want to spend my time while i still can. And anyways, glasses are expensive and plastic cups are bad for the Earth so really we're just being good citizens.

After the best hours spent doing absolutely nothing, we'd head down for dinner around eight, sharing tapas and sangria around the table until we're so full the thought of going out makes us cringe. But do we go out you  may ask? well yes, yes we do, and after another long struggle to get us ready to go in time and scaring the boys out of ever living with five girls ever again (sorry about that guys), we'd head out to the Barcelona clubs to dance with our London boy band and make friends with multiple bartenders, DJs, and Edward Scissor Hands. Fast forward to six in the morning, we'd stumble home with iPhones full of pictures and the sun trying to rise before we're even ready for the night to end.

Wake up repeat. Barcelona wins.

Some of Barcelona's bests:

• The day spent sitting around on the beach was exactly what being abroad should be about.  Remember those long summer days in high school where you'd sit around a bonfire with your friends doing nothing and yet, at the time it all seemed so important? Well thats what the beach was.  It smelled like summer and easiness and while we sat with our feet buried in sand and our heads on each other's stomachs, singing acapella songs out of tune (really out of tune), and getting lost in the hours we really couldn't be any happier. It was an escape from everything for an afternoon. Like we were in our own little world where no one could bother us until we were done being high schoolers again for one last time. And even though it was a nothing sort of day, it was one of the best I can remember and we have the endless concert videos to prove it.
• Milk was one of the most amazing breakfasts I have had. If you ever go, order a breakfast burger, wash it down with a couple mimosas and make sure you eat every bite because hungover brunch really doesn't get any better than that.
• Family dinner is amazing for a number of reasons. 1. we proved our domesticity with, what I'm still convinced is, the best meal ever cooked by tipsy college kids. 2. wine, cooking, and wobbling in the kitchen with your best friends while the boys try to sleep is always a fantastic thing. 3. Tammy became one of the betches, and what more can you really ask for out of life than that?
• The best drink definitely goes out to the 13 liter Pippermints creation.  good work on finishing that team, good work.
• Spontaneous boat rides should always happen, especially when free champagne and 70 degree weather is involved.
• Giant rocks are good for sitting on for hours at a time, especially when you just want to be lackadaisical with the afternoon. You may not believe me, but I want you to trust me on this. Also, if you have the chance play Forever Young while you're up there, it'll be like you're on top of the world and someone will undoubtably almost cry (ahem Tara). So it's worth it.
• Stock Market bars + spotlight makes for quick best friends and embarrassing confessions and so it's basically the perfect combination.
• Staying up all night listening to The Gambler by Fun and looking at old pictures before a 7 am flight may sound like a bad idea at the time (and seem like a bad idea when you're about to die in an airport from exhaustion) but its not a bad thing at all, take Tara and I's word for it.

So in the end Barcelona won, and we couldn't be happier about it. It was a great trip with too many pictures, too many drinks, and too many memories to even try to write about. So shout out to the Orphans, Londoners, Tammy, and everyone else who tried to conquer Barcelona, because even though we failed, we had a hell of a time trying. 

FSB '13

An Open Letter To FSB 2013

Dear Fake Spring Break,

You did us well FSB, and for that we salute you. Many important lessons were learned this week, and I'm definitely not referring to what was said in the classes we literally dragged ourselves to every morning. For example, we now know that British boy bands can easily begin their careers with karaoke in an Irish pub, Combine Harvester is a top notch musical number, 21st birthdays are a celebration/dance party for all, Domers travel in packs, and just because you live in a city doesn't mean you can't get lost in it...twice.

I would just like to say, you've successfully left our lives in shambles and for that we thank you.

So cheers to the Londoners who brought on FSB 2013. Based on photo evidence and social media alone, it was a pretty great time. Hope to top it soon in Barca/London.

Sincerely,

The Orphanage

P.S. to any adults reading this, never fear. We basically just sang karaoke four nights in a row. but really, because when it comes to Celine, thats what you must do.

Do You Hear the People Sing?!

I know this is a short post and a week overdue and yes, I am currently siting in my religion class with Father Mark in front of me, in his tweed sweater and Burberry coat talking about marriage (smick problems), so I’ll make this brief.

Last weekend I was in Paris, trying to dig up that old dusty box labeled high school French from the shelf labeled Useless Knowledge in my brain, and eat as many nutella crepes as humanly possible. Even now, a week later, I continue to ask myself if it is possible to actually fall in love with a city, because I honestly am convinced that’s what happened.  To quote first grade MJ, “if you love it so much why don’t you marry it?” well, sounds like a plan to me. I’ll marry Paris, eat crème brulee, shop down the Champs Elysees, lounge on Sundays in the Luxembourg Gardens, and be happily Parisian for the rest of my life. …sounds like a plan first grade MJ, sounds like a plan.

I was enchanted by it all.  I mean have you ever even heard French? It sounds like cursive, that’s really the only way to describe it.  It sounds like cursive and the steam off of hot chocolate.  Everything about it is beautiful, but I guess everything about France is beautiful too, so it makes sense. All I know is, when Adria and I were reunited on the streets of the greatest city in the world, everything was perfect.  If I could live anywhere, that’s where I would be; sitting in a café, eating crepes, and reading by the Seine forever.

So for some basic touristy information that I’m too distracted to put into paragraphs slash its hard to do this while pretending to take notes on the papal conclave (kidding mom, of course I’m paying attention in class…)

PARIS IN A NUT SHELL:

1.     There is nothing better in life than a nutella banana crepe, and this is actually not an exaggeration. They changed my life. Food will never be the same after the moment I took my first bite. It’s magic. … if you think I’m lying I dare you to prove me wrong. You won’t be able to, but you’ll get a French nutella banana crepe out of the deal so I’d jump on this if I were you.

2.     The Eiffel tower sparkles. And when it does it looks like a princess dress. So props to you Eiffel tower, you are a monument of my own heart. Plus perspective Eiffel pics are hilarious to take.

3.     I ate snails. From the girl who didn’t eat bread…give me some credit for this.

4.     Notre Dame is stunning, even when abroad.

5.     I think I could live inside the Louvre, never see the light of day again, and still not be able to see everything inside. But the Mona Lisa has a great smize (if you don’t know what this is, go watch America’s Next Top Model).

6.     If you want to go under the Arc de Triomphe, let me just tell you now that the entrance is across the street, through an underground tunnel …but apparently sprinting through the busy street works too, if you’re Frogger.

7.     At the bottom of the Seine, right off the Pont des Artes live thousands of keys, breathing beneath the running water.  I know this for a fact, for one is mine.  And all those keys are promises to people, mine for my best friend in the whole world.  Millions of promises, locked on that bridge, whispering to one another from the bottom of the river.  It’s pretty nice isn’t it, almost like magic.  And on that sunny day, closing my eyes and throwing that key, that’s how it felt too, and I graduated from wizard school in Schoolcraft, so I’m an authority in matters of magic. So Cori, cheers to you and I, cause we’ll be friends forever thanks to Paris.

8.     Singing, “Do You Hear the People Sing” around the streets of Paris may seem like it makes sense but people will stare at you, I promise you that.

9.     There is nothing like a sunset from the steps of Sacre Coeur, as the city blinks it’s eyes open to a million lights and the night stretches around you, that moment is perfect.

10. NUTELLA. BANANA. CREPES.

Paris, I’ll be back for you. One day, I’ll return, especially since you have Chipotle now, I think we can make this marriage work.

Orphanages Updates #3

Twerk Team (Sunday Edition)

1. White Houses- Vanessa Carlton --- theme songs don't die
2. Snap Yo Fingers- Lil Jon --- SNAP YO FINGAS
3. Hard Knock Life- Annie --- if you don't understand this yet, just go.
4. Coming Back to Me Now- Celine Dion --- there are two types of people in the world, people who jam to celine and people who are not our friends.
5. Boxer- Mumford and Sons --- nap playlist staple.
6. Colt 45- Afroman --- in honor of FORT WAYNE'S FINEST 
7. Chain Hang Low- Jibbs --- myspace song circa '06
8. Titanium- David Guetta --- Baby Spice jam.
9. Bohemian Rhapsody- Queen --- because that was an amazingly embarrassing snap vid.
10. Photograph- Nickelback --- WHAT THE HELL IS ON JOEY'S HEAD

to be continued...

John Denver Sure Knows How to Sing

so something strange happened to me today.  while going on my usual run around the river, crossing the bridges and weaving in and out of people walking home from mass in the noon sun, i think i tricked myself into believing i was back at home.  Beneath the cloudless sky my breath evened out in time to Country Roads, and my feet composed a rhythm, naturally leading me down my familiar tree lined path.  Maybe it was the mix of the sixty degree weather or the long-memorized country songs singing through my speakers, but i swear for that half hour I was in Schoolcraft Michigan.  I was taking a run around the track in the early summer afternoons.  Watching my feet lead me forward, feeling the breeze ruffle my sweatshirt, I was back home. And then I stopped.

It was weird, but it was like I realized all over again that I was in Rome.  Sometimes I just have to repeat the sentences in my head and standing on the side of the bridge, out of breath from my run, that's what I did.

I am not at home. I am not at school. I am in Italy. I am standing on the sidewalk. I am breathing. It's hard to breath. My heart is racing. I'm sweating. This Notre Dame sweatshirt was too warm for today. It is March 3rd. Why is it so warm? It's snowing at home. It's cold there. This is not home. I'm in Rome.

Rome. Rome. Rome.

It's like I forget sometimes, and I need to remind myself, and when I do I'm overwhelmed with a sense of ..."I can't believe I'm here," all over again.  Being here on a regular basis, you get caught in a sense of routine and become desensitized to everything.  The Pantheon becomes this thing you walk by when you're on your way to the store, the food becomes something you eat in a hurry when you're late for class, and the whole country becomes just the place you're living between traveling weekends.  In a way it's good. Every time I'm away, on those long weekends after touring around a new city, I get an urge to return to my routine and my bed. My little home back in the Tiziano. It's always there waiting for me, with it's easy familiarity and peace.  Rome is peace to me now, its no longer new but comfortable... and that's nice. But still, I have so little time left here that I never, not for a moment, want to forget where I am.  I need to constantly remind myself to take it all in. No one likes to hear the story of an abroad student who forgets she's abroad...

So after my run I went back, threw on a sundress, and went out by myself and let the day take over.  I shopped down the streets by the Spanish Steps and wandered around the stores crowded with Sunday shoppers. I let my mind wander over things.  Things that are trivial and don't deserve to be typed for all to see, things that just float in and out of my head like a whisper, and things that are important and you have no business knowing, I had time for all things today.  After hours lost amongst the clothes, strangers, and thoughts that made up my afternoon, I headed back to the hotel.  About a block away, I stopped.

Well here I am.

I am standing in front of the Pantheon. The sun is directly above it. The shadow falls across the square but standing on the fountain is warm. There was no need for a sweater today. The sky is faultless. I'm glad I brought my sunglasses out. There is a violin playing.  He's good, very good. The melody sounds familiar, but I don't know why. This building is so tall. If I could climb up and sit on the top I would be invincible. I bet I could catch a breeze up there. I'd put it in my bag and zip it in. It'd be a good souvenir, an Italian Sunday.  I'm smiling...I probably look ridiculous. I'm happy. Today was good. I'm standing in front of the Pantheon in the piazza, surrounded by people. Everyone's talking. The words are there but strange, and yet I recognize some. Lilting Italian. I'm in Italy. This is Italy. Not South Bend. Not Schoolcraft. Rome.

I probably sound crazy, but maybe people who've been away for a long time will understand. Lines between homes get blurry and confusing, but in the end it's not about which one is which.  It's about a feeling you get, a feeling of rightness when you are where you should be.

Today was a nothing sort of Sunday. If you skip this post in the blog, I wouldn't blame you at all.

 I still have Country Roads stuck in my head. I'll let it stay there for a while. Maybe it'll remind me of home, but then again maybe it won't anymore.

The Conflicted Clock

COUNTDOWN CLOCKS

is this real life?

σας ευχαριστώ? eff harry sto? what is this...

 So as you may know, here in Rome I have been completely surrounded by girls 24/7.  I live with all girls, go to school with all girls, and have thus far traveled like a small sorority around the world without seeing any familiar male figures.  So finally, after a month without seeing any of our guy friends, we traveled to Athens to spend a weekend drinking cheap beer and eating gyros with Mattimore and Angus…welcome to frat life. 

 After settling in to (aka taking over) Mattimore’s apartment in Athens we walked around the city, taking in the different neighborhoods and districts, from the neat balcony gardens and markets of the working class families to the young vibrant quarters electric with social protest and graffiti. Everything about Greece was new to me, from the illegible language to the weather that boasted of a southern Michigan spring.  All of us, following Mattimore around like a train of little ducks, were quite the sight as we wound our way through Athens and, looking back now, I’m pretty sure the Greek people were as confused about us as we were when trying to pronounce the word “gyro.”

The morning after going out to a rock and roll bar (yea that happened) and reuniting with Fisher Hall in the form of “nice Rob” (still confused by this and will always be confused by this), we woke around noon and ventured to the Acropolis. It was one of those days that hinted at summer and as we walked around in bare shoulders and sundresses it felt like a late April day that I would have normally spent eating ice cream on my back porch and reading in the sun to wash away the staleness of winter from my skin.  If I could live in the moments spent sitting on the smooth stones above the city, drinking in the sun in silent company with my friends, I probably would, because in those seconds everything seemed simple, and still, and unfalteringly perfect.

On the hills by the Parthenon, amongst one of the most striking views of the city, we met a man from California who had just graduated from grad school and was spending the day playing the ukulele in the sunshine.  Wondering why he was in Greece, we struck up conversation and when asked he simply answered, “I’m here on an adventure,” explaining to us that he has been touring across Europe for about a month and will continue until April, ending in Dublin.  Just listening to him speak of his adventure, completely unplanned and on a whim, he was inspiring and probably one of the most genuinely good-hearted people I have ever encountered.  He told us that his girlfriend was about to study in Ireland over the summer and he plans to arrive right before her, taking a day to bury treasure from all the places he’s been in the world across the plains of Ireland where they will stay and wait for her.  We then somehow discovered that he was flying in to Chicago on April 18^th from Dublin….on the same flight that Morgan was taking home.  So ukulele man, you are an amazing individual, and we’ll hear from you soon. Even whilst across the world, small instances like this make me realize how connected we all are and for some reason it makes me feel at home and…I don’t know, that just seems nice.

 After the Acropolis, we walked around the market and found a small restaurant for lunch.  Can I just say for a moment that Greek food is a completely new experience for me.  We ate a spread under the sun, savoring the tastes of Moussaka rich in potato and eggplant, fresh greek salads, hearty white bread spread with cucumber Tzatziki, Saganaki, the rich fried cheese, gyros and chicken souvlaki.  Greek food is amazing. I don’t think I can emphasize this enough…GREEK. FOOD. IS. AMAZING. Even now sitting here writing this I’m craving a gyro and some moussaka. while i'm sitting on my bed eating rice krispies...cool.  

Overall, I loved Greece. I adored seeing my friends, the food was incredible and the whole atmosphere made me think of summer. It felt as if we fast-forwarded time to June, where I didn’t have to worry about things like missing a flight or losing my passport or trying to study for a midterm on a plane.  So thanks Greece for bringing me a summer weekend in the middle of a Roman winter, it was just what I needed when I’m about to be traveling up to the cloudy winds of Northern Italy this week…..fun.

"She Like the Schnitzel"

I would just like to start off with three main points based on my weekend in Munich.

1. Train Stations are amazing.
2. any German beer tops any Italian wine.
3. I belong in Germany and yes, I will live there one day.

A brief introduction: We landed in Germany, filled with Lufthansa's complimentary wine and Valentines chocolate, to snow on the ground and German signs leading us into the heart of Munchen.  Upon arrival we dutifully dubbed our hotel Hagrid's bachelor pad (due to the rustic duct taped chandelier, broken lights, leaking shower handle, huge giant beds, and trickster ghost Hagrid who haunted us throughout the weekend) and spent our Valentines day eating our first (of many) train station hot dogs and drinking True Loves at a Spanish bar that really enjoyed playing Shakira classics.  Typical night for the orphans actually...

The next day we woke up early and headed to the train station for our first tour.  When planning Munich, one of the first things we decided on was a concentration camp tour, thinking that even though it wasn't on the typical "fun abroad student" agenda, it was something we were all interested in experiencing so in the frozen air of morning we headed to Dachau, the first concentration camp of World War Two.  After walking through the camp in the biting cold and falling snow, and witnessing the emptiness of the compound and the silence of the rooms, I'm so thankful that we took the time to visit Dachau. I can't really begin to explain what it was like to see the shadows of horror that mask one of the darkest times of humanity, and honestly I'm not even going to try.  I could never do any of it justice and, even now, so much of it is still so unfathomable that I wouldn't even know where to begin.  So I'm going to leave this part of the trip as something I can never talk about, and an experience I couldn't trade for anything. Just know this, I have never felt such a heaviness, down to the very tips of my fingers and nails of my toes, and I will never forget the stale fear and desolation that still linger in the air as a memory of a past most of us would like to turn away from.

So back to the brighter side of our weekend: we'll start with the train station.  If you would please refer to point #1 on my list: the train station was the best thing that has ever happened to us.  If you think I'm lying you are sorely mistaken.  This train station had every type of food imaginable. It had my future husband who worked at the hotdog stand. It had free wifi. We ate more than half of our meals at the train station, and within a day we knew our way around it better than most who live in Munich.  The train station is our home. I love the train station, the orphans love the train station, and even you, you should love the train station.

Another thing we loved, the "Let's Play a Game" game.  Have you ever read German writing? or looked at it?" It looks like some fake elf language. It's looks fake. It sounds fake.  I'm actually almost certain it is fake, which brings us to the "Let's Play a Game."game.  Any time we were walking around Munich or there was just a general lull in the conversation, someone would always casually say the words "so....let's play a game." from then on, we had to attempt to pronounce any and every German sign we saw, leading to the most culturally ignorant and hilarious display of the German language imaginable. We are big fans of this game...and in my mind we were also fantastic at it (and usually drunk while playing it).  So good work Munich. We salute you.  And for those we offended, I apologize, we're just the American stereotype at it's finest and dots above the letter A do not make sense.

Other highlights of our trip that I feel the duty to mention:

• Hofbrahaus beer is amazing. and I don't think I have ever tasted anything as fantastic as a pork knuckle in my life.
• Casual daytrips to Salzburg, Austria need to happen more often in my life.  Specifically so I can live my dream life (aka Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music). Plus I already have my home picked out there: the castle, for I am a princess firebender.
• Having a snowball fight down the mountain from the castle is the absolute highlight of my weekend/abroad experience/life.  Good work Morgan on nailing Catalina in the head and causing our thirteen year old selves to emerge in all of their immature glory, A+ for you.
• I belong in Germany. I look German. I am part German. I love everything about it. When I don't come home just know that I am in Munich and I am happy and just leave me there please.

So basically I love Germany more than I ever would've thought.  Mom and Dad, if you want to take me  to another country at any point of time (since I obviously haven't been abroad enough), let's go to Germany please.

So...now I'm back in the orphanage, still caught up on Munich and simultaneously preparing for Greece in 3 days.  ...my life is a joke.

Orphanage Updates #2

In case anyone forgot, even though I think it's pretty impossible to forget if you live around or in the presence of any female on Earth, but tomorrow is Valentines Day.  So I would just like to issue an early happy valentines day to all the people I love back home.  So here it is...

• To my smitches, I hope you're making me proud and getting shitty chinese and wine right now and end up cuddling on the futon all night watching horror movies. love you to the moon and back.
• Fisher hall, I miss you and can't wait to meet all the new Fisher Wives next semester. Have a quad movie night for me please, preferably How To Train Your Dragon. love you guys...and yes, I'll bring you all flank steak when I get back home.
• To The Family, you better be eating some good family dinner and watching Bob's Burgers, also tell Lobo I love him, even though he is still an asshole. Sidenote: I still call a bed in the condo when I get back, and yes Kevin I will fight you for the couch. 
• Boys of the 18088, I'm proud of you for not burning down the house, and for the fact that you now have a crockpot...and a crossbow, keep up the good work. miss you all.
• to my real family, love you guys. I'm here because of you and am grateful everyday. Eat some Qdoba in my honor please. 

so to everyone, Happy Valentines Day!  love you and miss you all so much. Now I'm going to be celebrating by drinking beer and eating sausage all day tomorrow.

I probably could've said that more delicately but whatever, us orphans are headed to Munich.

The Venetian Icebox

So, our weekend travel experience has come and gone and after our Venetian excursions I don't think we could've chosen a better destination for our first trip here in Italy.  I'll start with the train ride, because honestly that's when our adventures really began.

After commandeering the back row of the train, because at heart we want to be like the cool kids on the school bus, we immediately unloaded our food bag (yes we brought a food bag), and proceeded to drink our juice carton wine.  Now, this may sound unusual but let me just explain.  See in Italy you can find a whole liter of wine in, what appears to be, a giant amazing juice box. America really needs to catch up on this trend, because it is awesome. So obviously, we each bought a juice box and straws and continued to be typical drunken Americans drinking on the train and eating Nutella, cheese, and crackers...but mostly Nutella.  After finding, laughing at, and making enemies with the Italian police academy students in front of us (ahem, Kirsten), and having long, wine-induced heart to hearts, we continued to blast music, play "who would win in a fight" and pull out another entire bottle of wine and wine opener to prolong our drinking when are juice boxes ran out.  Needless to say, we were everyone's favorite train passengers and were in great spirits when we arrived in Venice for CARNEVALE.

Now if any of you know me, you may recognize my obsession with Disney and fairytales and realize just how in love I am with Venice and Carnevale.  First of all, Venice is one of the most magical places I have ever seen.  Between the soft pastel colored buildings, flower gilded bridges and the winding canals navigated by the rickety boats and gondolas of the Venetian people, the whole atmosphere is enchanting.  It feels like you were dropped into that scene from Tangled where Rapunzel first enters the gates of the kingdom and dances in the sunlit square beneath the streamers and lanterns of the festival, that's how Venezia feels.  Then add in Carnevale where everyone is dressed in fantastic costume and before your eyes is a land of masks and gowns, princes and princesses, fairytale characters and superheroes...I even saw Gandalf and a Harry Potter.  So yea... you can imagine how obsessed I was with this place.

The first day was spent sight-seeing.  Getting lost in the colorful crowds of Saint Mark's Square and the Rialto Bridge, staring in awed reverence of the mosaic stories of the Basilica ceiling, and trying to figure out our horoscopes from our signs on the clock tower (yea, our new orphan thing is horoscopes...)  The crowning moment of our day was our gondola ride.  After grabbing a couple bottles of Billini and flagging down our pal Dino the gondola driver, we glided down the intricate canals, waving at the masked faces from the bridge and drinking out of the yellow plastic cups in our gloved hands.  I don't think I could ever forget that gondola ride.  There wasn't anything truly extraordinary about it I guess, but I think it's just one of those moments that stuck.  Just the feeling of sailing throughout the sinking city, going back in time under the stare of masquerade masks and the crumbled homes of Venice, it was...I don't know, special.  I could've sat there for hours if time (and Dino) permitted, and when we docked I just knew that was something I would tell my kids and grandkids about.  Kids, one time I took a gondola ride with my friends, and we spent an hour floating down the Venetian canals during a crisp afternoon of Carnevale, drinking Billini and laughing at everything and nothing at all.  Yea that's probably what I'll say.  We headed back through the shops and festivities of the holiday to the hotel we lovingly dubbed the Venetian Icebox, after the revelation that 1. we do not understand Celsius temperature dials and 2. we're pretty sure our heat was broken (by Anne, the ghost in our bathroom).

We proceeded to dinner in our feathered masks and colors, got harrassed in the drunken hoards of the Carnevale after party (imagine a Mardis Gras/rave where you can't understand what anyone is saying), and ended up at an Irish Pub singing 70's songs and looking for a place to get french fries.  Carnevale...we salute you.

After another day of strolling through the Murano glass stores and costume shops, drinking coffee at the famous Hotel Danielli, and wondering how the sunny day passed by, we were both sad and a little bit relieved to return to the Tiziano.  It was the first time that I said the words "I think I'm ready to be home" and realized I was talking about Rome...and it felt good.  I feel grounded here, and it was good to be back.  So Venezia, you are a love of mine, thank you for a great first weekend, and Roma it's good to be back.

Schoolcraft School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

So in case you didn't know, I'm from a place called Schoolcraft Michigan...and no, I'm not kidding, that's it's real name.  It's not something out of Hogwarts.  No I did not learn witchcraft in high school.  And yes, the biggest news in my town in the past ten years was the introduction of the new Speedway on the main road connected to 131.  So, ok I may have grown up a little sheltered and never really had to step out of my comfort zone many times, especially when it comes to things like food or shops or entertainment or anything in life actually.  I eat meat and potatoes, I shop at the one mall in the next town over, and I go to barn parties where we drink in cornfields...that's my life.  Or it was...and then came Rome.  So I just wanted to share a list of things that have surprised me about the city and about myself in general...so brace yourselves.

1. I like pasta.  This is weird.  I never liked pasta, and never ate it...actually I refused to even try it.  Along with bread, and pizza (I know, Italy was a great choice for me). Now, however, I have pasta on a regular basis...and guess what, most of the time I even like it.  So that's a cool new thing. but don't expect me to be down to go to Olive Garden when I get home because no matter what you say that's not Italian food. 
2. I miss my washing machine.  Never again will I ever take a washer and dryer for granted. After doing all of my laundry in a bathroom sink the size of a salad bowl for three weeks, I will probably cry the first time I see a washing machine again and be totally unashamed when I get down and hug the dryer.  On the bright side, I am finally getting good at this laundry thing, even though it probably takes me a good ninety minutes to wash a weeks worth of clothes. And for those of you who may ask (ahem, everyone in Fisher), hand washing clothes is not one of my major requirements, I do not get class credit for it, and no I will not do your laundry when I get back. But thank you for appreciating this newly developed skill.
3. cobblestoned roads are a great idea if you want to have the power to instantly judge who is intoxicated and who is not, other than that they need to die.
4. Italian pop music is hilarious. and no, I am not talking about Lizzie McGuire singing This is What Dreams are Made Of (even though I can not lie and say that I haven't listened to that song on repeat while here), but real Italian music is just fantastic. A+ work Italy. A+
5. I love wine. but I feel like if you've read any part of my blog already slash know me at all, you probably could've already guessed this.

so get ready to meet MJ-Italian Edition in a couple months. but really, never take me to Olive Garden. I'm being serious.

Meet Baby Spice

Today I realized that I have 72 days left in Rome.

That's 1737 hours until I pack my suitcase.

104257 minutes until I board my plane.

and approximately 6255433 seconds until I begin missing this city.

Though this is preemptive, I already often think about what it'll feel like to come back home.  When two weeks seems to pass in the span of a day and every hour in the city feels like a a second gone by, how quickly will 72 days go?  That's why, while sitting at Dar Poeta eating the best pizza of my life (which is saying something since I worked at Hungry Howies for three years) we decided over a liter of wine that we can't just sit around Pascuccis, waiting for Rome to slip by...

Which brings me to Baby Spice.

Saturday night Catalina decided that we were going to a David Guetta concert.  A sold-out David Guetta concert.  A David Guetta concert that we could not afford and had no exact knowledge of it's location.  A David Guetta concert that, under much Baby Giraffe persuasion, we were definitely attending...yea that one.  So, after hours of back and forth (aka 20 minutes of Catalina's Guetta playlist), Baby Spice was born.  1/5 of the Spice Girls, in pigtails and ray bans had to walk around the streets of Rome due to the loving coercion of her roommates.  Do you know what it's like for everyone to be dressed normally and you to be a 90's pop star? I'd hope not...but I'd also be impressed if you did, because it's an experience, let me tell you.  So, after finding a cab driver who played his own mix CD's of him singing Eric Clapton cover songs and scalping random tickets on the steps of some unknown stadium, Baby Spice took on David Guetta. 

skip forward a couple hours, David Guetta won...and it was awesome.

So back to my 72 days.  Talking to everyone from home, there are obviously things that I miss.  Going abroad was in a way a sacrifice, giving up everyone that I know; the places, the language, the Chipotle... and last semester I was absolutely terrified.  Now though, I can't even think about leaving yet.  There's too much to do, and too many David Guetta concerts to crash.  So I guess, if I can live every day like Baby Spice, I can 100% say I did Rome right.  All 72 days left.

P.S. this whole Chipotle thing is actually an issue though. send a burrito bowl...like now. please. 

Twerk Team Thursday

This post is specifically for Sebas asking me what the orphanage is.  So welcome to our home. Here's some background information...

• Note the two pushed together beds, yea those are Erin and Cats and they're literally never apart because they're actually in love. 
• We are the most dysfunctional twerk team ever. If you've seen the shoulder bruise picture then you can confirm this. If you haven't yet, then you should really check that out.
• We are literally listening to the Annie soundtrack...slash we do every day. It's becoming an issue when I have three things saved on a sticky note on my computer: My hotel wifi password, my blog account number, and a link to a website that lets us watch the entire Annie movie....

so welcome to our little slice of heaven in Roma. Hope this is sufficient in explaining where I live slash who I live with. so there you go Sebas! say hi to the family for me. and when I say that I actually mean I hope all of you are stalking my life via this. LOVE YOU!

Orphanage Updates #1

Orphanage Updates:

Welcome to Room 603 of the Hotel Tiziano.  Room 603 is a mystery in and of itself.  The 603 is not even located on a real floor. Halfway up the stairs to Floor One where rooms 100-200 are located, you will find our room at the end of a hallway in a little alcove all by itself. I'm pretty sure Harry Potter's cupboard under the stairs was located here, as was the wardrobe from Narnia. Why is it number 603 you may ask? We have no idea, and that is just one of the paradoxes surrounding our room we lovingly address as The Orphanage.

The Residents of the Orphanage are as follows:
1.Catalina Zalduendo, otherwise known as Cat Daddy, Tumblina, and/or Molly (the orphan that still believes in Santa Claus).
2.Erin Rocks Cole. She gives us Vitamin C before bed and refuses to push her bed away from Catalinas.
3. Morgan Carroll, who now is under a strict 5 o'clock curfew established by the other orphans.
4. Jerry Maguire the rhinoceros.
5. Julius Caesar, the ghost that lives in my wall and enjoys knocking by my head and scratching to get out and attack every morning.
6. Orphan Me.

Fun Facts:

• White Houses is our theme song, because a Vanessa Carlton ballad cannot be topped.  We also like to jam to Celine and look up/sing the top karaoke songs of all time at one in the morning, because orphans sing through their hard knock lives.
• Since our arrival we have been through almost eight bottles of wine and the jug. If that isn't impressive I don't know what is.
• We have started Beauty and the Beast three times and have yet to get past the Be Our Guest Song.

and that's the update. Currenlty all of the other orphans are at an opera about a man who loses his nose and just sings "nose. nose. nose." for two hours straight, so I am home alone and scared because Julius Caesar is once again trying to escape and all I want to do is play Kings Cup with my orphans.

...I couldn't make any of this up if I tried.

Sunday With the Pope...but really.

My first weekend in Rome and I already have blisters on the heels of my feet, two plane tickets to Munich and Athens, and an album of pictures that look like they've been ripped straight out of a Rick Steves "Rome Top 10" book...so I'm putting that down as quite the accomplishment for a mere seven days.  From the ruins of the roman forum to the domineering heights of the colosseum, I don't even think I could describe how powerful this city now seems.  The blend of old ruins and ancient buildings next to something as simple and modern as an ATM or even a McDonalds is just amazing to me.  It reminds me of those old tessellations we used to make in grade school.  You know, in probably sixth grade you'd make a shape out of construction paper and then repeat it over and over using all these different colors and patterns, and back then you were always surprised that it all seemed to fit together into this big picture...well that's what I saw this weekend.  A tessellation of Rome, where every piece was different but somehow fit together and was the same.  It made one big picture, and if any part was missing it just wouldn't make sense as a whole. The ancient somehow goes with the new, and the city wouldn't be right any other way.  Sounds kind of stupid, I know, but so were making tessellations in sixth grade so I think the analogy stands.

Today I woke up at the ungodly time of 7:45 to walk to the Vatican City...ironic right? Upon entering, the first thing that comes to mind is how purely white everything is compared to the constant colors of Rome.  The stone of the buildings, the cobbled streets, the marbled statues, all stark white.  The city seems so clean and fresh, even delicate, and then you turn the corner and the bold domed roof of the cupola stands proud  and domineering in the square, and I must admit it was the most commanding and beautiful dome I had ever seen (sorry Notre Dame).  We sat through mass underneath the intricate ceilings of the Basilica, listening to the lilting Italian of the priests and trying to take in the sheer weight of where we actually were. It was probably the most visually stimulating and moving things I have ever experienced, and I've been to Fisher Hall Mass since freshman year so that's saying something.  So don't worry, I prayed for all of you in the Vatican for this and all the week(ends) to come in the bend (here's looking at you Smicks).   ....oh and then I saw the Pope in a tiny window...so that was pretty cool too.

So I'd say my first week has been one for the books.  I miss home and Qdoba (obviously), but I have the orphanage and Pascuccis which, right now, seems just right for me. So thanks family for telling me that you're eating drunken chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner, but I'm in the eternal city so I think I may win this one.

The Verve

What is it like living in Rome?

....Where do I even start.... I've been trying to answer this, but no matter how hard I try I just can't come up with a sufficient response to what is, basically, the most common passerby question posed by everyone and his brother from home.  People keep asking me if I like it here, but i've learned that just saying that I "love this city" or "am having so much fun" isn't nearly sufficient when trying to explain what I'm actually going through abroad. Maybe people who've traveled a lot can understand a little, and especially everyone who know's what it's like to study abroad...maybe they can sort of comprehend how hard it is to answer these kinds of questions. Am I having fun? Duh. Do I like it here? or course. What's it like?.........uh...the weather's nice....

Rome is cut from a different cloth.  There's something about it that's so unique it's almost easy to trick yourself into believing it doesn't actually exist. Being here is not real life.  You know the song Bittersweet Symphony? Yea, picture Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe circa Cruel Intentions... that song.  Ok well this is what I've learned in the past day: standing in front of the Pantheon or just walking down the winding cobblestoned roads of the city is exactly like the intro to Bittersweet Symphony.  Close your eyes and just try to imagine the violins and the melody...that's Rome. It's not the day to day stuff, the normal stuff. It's not what I eat, or the classes I take, or the normal route I venture to my favorite gelato shop...it's that song. Maybe that's what makes it so special.  As of now, I haven't exactly figured it all out...but I'm working on it, and I guess that's pretty damn exciting.

I'm Not Traveling or Anything....

Oh the Places We'll Puke...

Feb 2-3: Roma--- this is the way I live.

Feb 9-10: Venice--- CARNEVALE.

Feb 14-17: Munich--- I get to stay in a real Hau5.

Feb  21-24: Greece--- hey Mattimore.

Feb 26-2: Northern Italy---B-O-L-O-G-N-A. its bologna.

March 7-10: Paris--- euro eiffel pics and crepes and rusty year old french.

March 22: Sienna--- slash roma with the londoners.

March 28-1: Barcelona/Ibiza--- death. just death.

April 4-7: London--- hey Logan and Sharkbait. and booze cruise, hey too you too.

so yea...if anyone was curious as to what I'm doing abroad...I hope this gives you a clear view.

A Letter From the Orphanage

Dear Rome,

I know we don't know each other well yet, but from my brief day and a half I have developed a short list of things that I really enjoy about you...

1. Your wine is good. and drinking it at 10 in the morning is good too. so I like that.
2. A lot of people call us princess here, I feel like you really understand me.
3. Listening to Italians trying to understand that my name is MJ is really funny to hear. So that's cool.
4. Your buildings are really pretty. like really pretty. If I was an american building I would marry an italian building based on looks alone and be completely ok with it. 
5. Euro look like Monopoly money and it makes me laugh, so thank you.

So Rome, thus far you're great in my book.  Get rid of this whole cobblestone road thing before I fall and die, and you might just become the love of my life.

Love,

MJ of the orphanage 

 

CYA BYE

It's 6:55 pm and even now, after months of mentally preparing myself and attempting to learn italian via professore and rosetta stone, I still can't believe that tomorrow I leave at 8 am to head towards arguably the biggest adventure of my young life.  After saying goodbye to everyone in south bend and finally making my way home after a brief stay on the silly bus, my mind can finally completely focus on the place I will soon call home for the next three months-- Roma. So obviously, on the brink of my semester abroad, I'm sitting in my room watching Bob's Burgers in front of two very large, very empty suitcases... go MJ.

I've never had a blog before, or a diary of any sort since probably 4th grade, and hopefully I'll have more interesting things to talk about besides how cute Jeremiah was (hey bear, miss you too), but it is me so who really knows what i'll end up having to talk about on here. But if anyone wants to keep up to date on my journey to find my brunette doppleganger who happens to be an italian popstar then here it is, enjoy. Arrivederci friends and family, it's off to la citta eterna!