Hey kids, it's April fools- early!

In case there was ANY doubt remaining as to the validity of my earlier assertion that I have some of the worst luck of anyone I know (refer to post 12.13.05), allow me to submit into evidence the following:

It turns out I have been waitlisted (I didn't even know this was a possibility) for the masters program. On January 3rd, they will announce who from the waitlist (if anyone) will have a spot in the program. They have also decided that the program will commence at the end of February rather than the beginning. This means that, were I to be chosen for the program via the waitlist, I would not leave until early February to complete the language training in Florence.

Now, this evidence of my penchant for misfortune is fourfold:

(1) I already gave my boss my two weeks' notice and began my exit interview today.
(2) I had announced to friends and co-workers that I was leaving and my farewell dinner was scheduled for tomorrow night with reservations at my favorite St. Louis restaurant.
(3) My cell phone contract will automatically end on the 1st of January in part because since I knew I was leaving anyway, I finally got bold enough with Sprint to tell them what I really think of them.
(4) Ironically enough, I just sold my only car {post 12.15.05}

It's got to be some kind of omen...

It turns out that Simone actually exists. He is a real flesh and blood human being. Due to some freakish twist of fate, the two of us had never met despite having the same circle of friends for nearly four years. He'd come up often in conversations and such, but somehow we'd always managed to miss each other at parties and get togethers and stuff. I'd show up and someone would say, "Oh, you should have been here earlier- Simone was here." Or I would be invited to his house by one of our mutual friends, and I would be unable to go because my car broke down, or I had to fill in for someone at work. Always something very last minute. For never having met him, I knew a lot about him; in fact, people often forgot that the two of us were really complete strangers. About two years into it, this became a bit of a little private joke in my head. Someone would say something about Simone, and I would say out loud, "Oh, that Simone," like I knew him personally. And people would laugh and agree that Simone was really a character, all the while ignorant of the fact that I had no idea who I was talking about. Then at some point I became hesitant to actually meet him. I'd formed such a clear picture of him that I felt it unecessary to actually meet him. I liked him a lot- he was stylish and charming and friendly and intelligent and gay, so he was basically the perfect guy (not in a romantic sense, of course, just in general). I didn't want to ruin it by meeting him, so I didn't. But alas, last night there was no escape. I went to Gianluca's graduation party at Brennan's in Clayton, and Simone was there. I attempted to avoid him, and at first I thought I might succeed. I told everyone I wasn't going to meet him, and that if I met him I would die in a fiery plane crash on my way to Italy because actually meeting him at this point would be very bad luck. But then some punk (ANTONELLO LODDO) went up to him and told him that I was afraid I would die if I met him, so he came up to me laughing and introduced himself. So what was he like, this person I'd crafted from countless conversations and stories? Well, after I spent a little time talking to him, it became evident that he was stylish, charming, friendly, intelligent, and gay. Now I'm a little nervous that I'm right about the bad luck thing, too.

Goodbye Durango Dear

Dearest Durango,
When I first met you, I had big dreams. Together, we would go places my decrepit Saturn could never take me. We would haul and tow like the big boys. We would travel off the beaten path while mocking less equipped,"wimpy" vehicles. In you I felt safe and warm. You kept me entertained on long drives by channeling NPR into my ears. You hauled my stuff time and time again without complaint. You were my portable house as I traveled from residence to residence, and within your dark windows, I always knew you were keeping watch over my beloved possessions. True, we had our difficulties- you were always obnoxiously loud, and you absolutely insisted on checking out each and every gas station we passed. But we came to really care about each other. You accepted that I started our relationship as a "user" (I only wanted you because I needed to pull a horse trailer), yet you never made fun of me (as some did) when that dream was not realized. You tried to talk me out of a more economic replacement, then stood patiently by through weeks of benched driveway time until the replacement failed me miserably. Instead of mocking me for such a poor decision, you were simply excited to get to be with me again. But I have to tell you that our time has come- I have to give you up. This is hard for me to do, but I made sure you have a good home to suit your personality. You're going to live an exciting life with a police officer who will love and cherish you as I have. I'm sure that with him, you will go places we never could have gone. Trust me that this is for the best. Be well, my friend, and know that in the future when I hear the loud roar of a power muffler, I will think fondly of you.
Yours in hauling,
Laura

Time zone humor...

It's easy to forget sometimes that there is a 7 hour difference between Italy and the United States (Italy is seven hours ahead of us), and I'm evidently not the only one who has this problem. I had been scheduled to take the final "oral" exam this morning sometime after 9 am. The way it was to work was that I would get an e-mail from her which would contain the exam and once I opened it, I would have an hour and a half to complete it and mail it back to her. I decided yesterday to send an e-mail to remind Dr. Burlando (the coordinator of this masters program) to clarify whether she intended to send it when it was morning here, or when it was morning there (in which case it would be the middle of the night for me). However, I sent the email around 7pm our time, which I knew was 2am their time (I figured it would be there in the morning before she sent the exam to me, then). So this morning I get up at 6:30 am and the first thing I do is check my e-mail to see if she responded. I see a message from her, so I open it. Surprise! It's the exam, and I am now being timed. She evidently forgot that morning for her was the middle of the night for me. So instead of being fully awake and prepared, I am sleepy and in pajamas doing this test. Oh well- it was easy, and now I have the whole day ahead of me. I am meeting Tiffany and Anne (another friend and coworker) for lunch at The Emperor's Wok in South City, so the day will be a good one despite the rude awakening. Next week Gianluca and I are off to Chicago (hopefully by train) to apply for a visa.


Tiffany (left) and Anne at The Emperor's Wok

Luck is all how you look at it

For those of you who know me well, you know first-hand that I am just about the unluckiest person there is. I stopped fighting it long ago and now I and misfortune have come to an understanding: I live, and misfortune plagues me. For those of you who don't know me, I thought I'd give you a local taste of what I'm sure I will experience (in some form or another) abroad. The story is a simple one. On a relatively recent day off I'd decided to use a beautiful fall day to my advantage, and so I called up my friend and co-worker Tiffany to see if she and her dog Max would be interested in a hike at Pere Marquette State Park with myself and my dog Maddie. The park is 45 minutes away from Alton, so we meet at my house. Since she drove all the way to my house, I offered to drive to the park. On the way there my car breaks down. While we discuss our options, the Grafton police pass by as we stand (two women, two dogs, and a car which is billowing smoke) on the shoulder of a busy road.


True to form, they do not stop to help us. Two ladies walk by and they do offer to help us (although Tiffany remains convinced that their offer was simply an attempt to avoid the awkward silence of simply walking by and pretending not to see us). We shoo them on since we obviously have the situation under control (no more smoke at this point). Instead, we call a tow truck. Unlike the Grafton police, the tow truck guy is very nice and friendly. Then we continue to wait on the shoulder of the road for him to show up. When he arrives, not only does he agree to take our pictures for posterity, but he also feels bad that we have driven all that way for nothing, and so he unhitches a truck from the tow truck and offers to let us use it for the afternoon to go hiking. We did, and we had a great time.

Now, you might be asking yourself how this qualifies as bad luck. Yes, the car breakdown was unfortunate, but it happens to everyone at some point. And clearly we got lucky with the tow truck guy. But let me tell you the rest of the story: I had bought this car as a fuel efficient alternative to the Durango I currently drive. The plan was for me to sell the Durango and buy a cheaper car that would cost less to drive back and forth to work after I moved back home with my mom for a few months in order to save money for Italy. When I moved to Italy, I would sell it as well. Through an unfortunate series of events (or unlucky, you might say), the guy that swore he was buying the Durango backed out, leaving me with two cars. Try as I might, I could not sell the Durango. So now, despite the fact that the original intent was to save money, I was making two car payments and two insurance payments per month. If this was not bad enough, this stupid car then breaks down to the tune of $1350. I only paid $3000 for it! Do you know how much I had managed to save for Italy since moving home? $800. So all my savings for Italy and a good chunk of my checking were eaten up when the car that was supposed to save me money decided not to work anymore. THAT is how lucky I am.

The only things more impatient than me and Tiffany that day were Max and Maddie. Here's Max all ready to hike.

My nephew (pictured below) and my dog got their Halloween costumes from the same store. Besides being funny, it's true.

Cruel and unusual punishment... 

This is my nephew Grant, who will be approximately 13 months old when I see him again after returning from Italy. 

So it's official, then....

I passed the exam. What a strange feeling, though. Do you have any idea how long this whole process has taken? I started applying for scholarships to go to Italy back in 2003. It has been almost three years and I'm finally going (well, that's as long as the stupid consulate gives me a visa, which given our past relationship is a HUGE "if"). I only have a little over three weeks left in the States. America, I'm really going to miss you. Among the things I'll miss the most (people notwithstanding):

(1) Quick Trip. What a great place. Every morning before work I stop in and get myself a 60 cent coffee. Sometimes it's a Columbian Supremo with a splash of half and half then topped with the "original" steamer, other days it's a mix of coffee and hot chocolate topped with a caramel steamer. No matter how you do it, it's always good. And unlike Panera and Starbucks, a single coffee doesn't cost $3. And at Quick Trip, it's quick.

(2) American movies. Every once in a while, Europe comes up with a really good one. But nothing like the huge selection of good movies we have here. And over there I'll have to hear them in Italian and watch the little mouths move out of time to what's being said. And the voices will be Italian voices. That will be pretty funny at first, but I'm sure it will get old real fast.

(3) Choices. When I go to the store here, it takes me 20 minutes to pick out some toothpaste ("now do I want orange flavor with mouthwash and sparkles built in, or do I want the polar mint flavored super whitening with bleach, peroxide, and baking soda?").

(4) Walgreens Super Saver Club. If they would institute membership levels, I would be in the Platinum Club. Seriously, I was looking in my wallet this month and found $118 worth of Walgreens gift cards. Every penny of that was rebates for products I got for free.

(5) Internet access. It's standard here. You'll be talking to some grimy American with no teeth and he'll be telling you about some crap he read yesterday on the Promise Keepers (feels wrong to have to dignify that with capital letters) website. He can't afford to brush his teeth (well, when he had them), but he has internet access at home. In Italy it's still very much a luxury.

(6) Driving. You can bet I'm not going to even try that over there.

(7) Deoderant. Well, I'll have some. But no one else will.

That about sums it up. Can you tell I'm scared to death?

To go or not to go?

So I'm still here in Alton, IL with no word yet on whether I've passed the entrance exam that determines whether I'll be going to Italy or not. If I don't go, I'm gonna have some 'splainin' to do because every single time I go anywhere at all in any of the realms of my life (work, social, family, volunteer oraganization), people are always asking when I'm leaving or whether I've heard anything yet. It's been that way for so many months that if I don't go, it will be a little strange to not have all the questions anymore. But I'm sure if that's the case I'll be answering a different set of questions for many more months ("are you disappointed?", "it sure sucks that you sold your car already, huh?" etc).

On a different note, I went to a Christmas party last night. I volunteer as a secretary and diver for an underwater rescue team based in Granite City. Every year we have a Christmas party which typically involves lots of food and alcohol and people- pretty fun. I should have known by the events preceding the party that I just should have just stayed home. First of all, I was rushed to even get ready (read: I had five minutes before I was supposed to be leaving) because I was late getting back from lunch with my best friend Andrea. So I threw some clothes on, dabbed some makeup on, and was already 15 minutes late by the time I called Tim (my boyfriend) to tell him I was running late (we were going to meet at his house and then leave together). He made me mad (not hard to do sometimes, unfortunately) by saying, "I'll give you about half an hour to find them, and then I have to hit the road." Didn't offer to pick me up or anything. So now I'm rushed, late, AND mad. Then I remember that I have two people coming to look at my car tomorrow to see if they want to buy it. Hard to sell a car without keys. Now I am worried. I have looked everywhere and cannot find them. I call Andrea and make her leave the mall, go back to her car and see if I left them there. I did not. I call the chief of the rescue team and leave a message to tell him that unless I can find them, I evidently won't be able to come. Then I call the captain and leave a message telling him the same thing. I do not call Tim because I am mad at him. The captain (Keith) calls me to see if I've found them. I have not, but I do take the time to tell him that I am mad. I still cannot find them. I am still talking to Keith when I decide to check the spare keys box in the pantry even though I am sure I do not have a spare. But I have a spare after all. I tell Keith I found them and leave the house running. I still do not call Tim, because I am still mad. I forget how to get to the building even though I've driven there twice in the past two months (I am terrible at directions). As I am driving 45 miles an hour down a dark road, the Durango hits a patch of ice and starts spinning out of control. It stops finally when I hit a ditch. Thankfully it was a small ditch. I put it in 4 wheel drive and get out of the ditch fairly easily. But now I am scared. I begin to drive again, trying to keep myself and the car under control. Now this part is funny: As I'm driving down this dark road at 45 miles an hour (I'm late!), all the sudden the pavement ends and there's a huge crashing bump and I find myself in a field. The crash was so hard that a couple beer bottles of the six pack I was carrying to the party shattered. And I'm supposed to sell this car tomorrow. At this point I'm laughing because I feel kind of like I should have been driving a plane instead of a car- it would have made a great runway. The road just stopped with no signs or warnings or anything. But at least I know this is not the right way. I need to go the other way, then. I put the truck in 4 wheel drive again and make my way out of the field. Tim calls. After a couple rings, I decide I should probably answer it. "I guess you found your keys?" I think to myself, "Yes, Einstein, I did, no thanks to you." "So I'll just meet you there then?" Fine. I keep the conversation short because I am mad and he is lucky I even answered. I arrive at the party withing minutes of the meeting starting, and the chief looks at me and says, "why are your eyes so red?" Hmm, I don't know. Maybe because I almost died twice on the way here!!
The party itself was kind of a bust. Not many people showed- the two people I was hoping would come didn't show right away. When one of them did, it was without the other (his girlfriend) because they had gotten in a fight that night and broken up. The others were telling stories of their crazy alcohol related adventures (I've heard them all before- they tell them every year), so I sat a bit away from the group and just talked with Rick (the guy that broke up with his girlfriend) about random stuff. After two beers from the remaining 4 pack I decided I was not drinking anymore. So at midnight the "party" finally ended and my boyfriend who I had barely spoken to all evening walked me out to my car and we talked for a while. Not about me being mad though. When we have problems, we generally try to ignore them at all costs. Then I went home to bed.

Today should be much less eventful- the only thing I have to do is wash the Durango after yesterday's off-roading.

Still in America...

For those of you who aren't aware, a very famous Italian author by the name of Beppe Severgnini once wrote a very funny book about the experiences of an Italian in a crazy country called America. The book poked fun at Americans and Italians both, and if you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend it. Anyway, a few years ago I went to Italy for a summer language program through the University of Missouri-Columbia. It was such an eye-opening experience for me that on the plane trip back to the States, I vowed to myself that I would find a way back (preferably paid for). Indeed years later I did just that, with the help of the Rotary Foundation (thanks guys!) and I am due to leave the US in approximately one month. I intend to keep this blog as a record of my experiences abroad. That said, I should mention that simply preparing to go has been one of the most frustrating experiences of my life (I'm sure this is just training for future dealings with the bureaucracy in Italy). Italian bureaucracy always leaves one feeling rather like a second class citizen, as though you could speed up the process if only you knew the right person. I am sorry to say that if you go to the Consulate's office in Chicago, the people there (whom I have never met) know me by name and I assure you that is no compliment to me. If you go to either of the Secretary of States offices in either Missouri or Illinois, they know me as well (in MO: hi Julie, Wilma, and Jackie; in IL: hi Vanessa). As it is, I have no set date yet for the Masters program I am supposed to start in 2 months. And certainly, then, no end date. In fact, I'm supposed to go to Florence for language training the month before classes begin, but since I'm not sure when they begin, I have a slight problem. Have you ever tried to buy a plane ticket with that kind of information at your disposal?:
Laura: "I'd like to purhase a plane ticket please."
Agent: "I'd be happy to help you. Where are you going?"
Laura: "Italy."
Agent: "That's lovely. Where in Italy would you like to go?"
Laura: "Well, first I need to go to Florence."
Agent: "And when would you like to leave for Florence?"
Laura: "Well, I'm not sure. I guess I could leave on January 7th."
Agent: "Umm, sure. I can book a flight for January 7th. How long will you be staying?"
Laura: "Well, I'm not sure. I need to leave Florence and fly to Genova at some point, but I guess I could fly back on the 1st of February Then at some point I'll need to come back to St. Louis."
Agent: "Ok, so departing St. Louis for Genova on the 7th of January, and then flying to Genova on the 1st of February?"
Laura: "Sounds good."
Agent: "When would you like to return to St. Louis?"
Laura: "I don't know. I guess the program probably shouldn't take more than 9 months. Anytime in October I guess."
Agent: "So when exactly?"
Laura: "I don't know. Just pick something."

You can imagine the look I would get for that. If I have learned anything about Italians in this process, it's that they have this extraordinary capacity to truly believe that things will just work themselves out. They believe so hard that then it happens. No set date for an masters program set to begin in less than 2 months? No worries! Things will be ok! No visa and you're supposed to leave in 2 weeks? No problem! La vita bella, here I come!