Do Italians Not Sweat?

I think this is going to be a regular thing, going out dancing on the weekends. My friend Greta takes me out on Friday with 7 of her friends to the dance club she, Davide, Anna Giulia, and I went to last Saturday. It was 40 degrees outside, but I donned a short-sleeved shirt. I knew I would get hot dancing, so there was no point in trying to wear a long-sleeved top. I notice that all the Italians, however, have long sleeves on. Great. Another thing to make me stand out, not like there isn’t enough already.

We dance all night, if you could call it dancing. The dance floor was so packed, that it was more of a communal swaying back and forth. I like dancing in Italy though. The boys don’t randomly come up behind you, grab your hips, and get with it. There IS a thing called a personal bubble! Plus, there wasn’t much room for guys to maneuver behind the girls. Like I said, one swaying mass of Italians (and me).

By the end of the night, more like early morning, my feet were screaming, and my hair was no longer hanging over my shoulders, completely straight. It was in a nasty ponytail, my bangs no longer bangs, but swept back with the rest of my hair. In short, I looked a hott mess.

But does Greta? Or any of the other girls I came with? Of course not. There is a slight gleam on their foreheads, but their hair is still as straight as ever. Ridiculous. These girls make my fashion look like a slob’s and now they don’t sweat. Perfect.

I get home at 4:00 that morning, and sleep. I set my alarm for 2:00 the next afternoon, thinking I could definitely use the 10 hours of sleep.

Of course I can’t. I have to wake up at 11:45.

There is this thing about Italians and car horns. Apparently, they like to honk them, no matter the time of morning, day or night. So, I am awakened by this inane car honking outside of my window. And it’s not just one time. It repeats, like each horn is communicating to the other. I squeeze my eyes shut and roll over to the other side of the pillow. Until the church bells begin ringing.

Are you freaking kidding me?

I haven’t mentioned it, but there is an old church right down the road from me. I am convinced that it is open to the public, because the bells will start ringing at random times of the day. And they never ring the time, like the main church of the city does. No, they just “DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG………” for what seems like an eternity, and usually during the times I am trying to sleep. I can just imagine little Italian boys, up to no good, hanging off the ropes of the church bells like Quasimodo, up and down and up and down, laughing the entire time. All the while waking this cranky American from her sleep. This better not continue, but I have a bad feeling it will.

I am up earlier than I originally planned, so I grab Confessions of Shopaholic and proceed to finish it as well. Crap. I am down to only 2 more books, and I’ve only been in Italy for 17 days. Amazon.com may become my new best friend.

That night, I was getting ready to go out with Anna Giulia and some of her friends to a concert. I blow dry my hair, cool off, and turn on my straightener. It won’t turn on. OH NO. Danielle’s straightener wouldn’t turn on in the hotel….MY CHI CAN’T BE BROKEN.

I push the reset button. Nothing.

I plug the straightener directly into the outlet, instead of through my splitter. Nothing.

I push the reset button again. And again. And again. Nothing.

I lay down on my bed, tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. This can’t be happening. I am going out tonight, my hair looks like a lion’s mane, and my expensive straightener is broken. FML.

I weigh my options.

Option 1: pull my hair back and go on with my night. There is no way that is happening. Even when I wear a ponytail it is sleek and shiny. Not a tamed lion’s mane.

Option 2: run to the nearest technology store, hope they have a decent straightener, and buy it. But then I’m spending money, and when I come back to America it will have those funky European outlet ends and I will have to spend more money on an adapter or even more money on a new straightener.

Option 3: Order a new one online and have it shipped here. But if it’s shipped to Italy, will they automatically give me one with those funky European outlet ends? Plus it will take WEEKS to get here. My hair cannot be curly for weeks.

Option 4: have my mom order one from America, then ship it here. Again, WEEKS to get here. Not a plausible option.

I plop back onto my pillow, dejected. Okay, maybe it’s the wiring. I know the cable going into the actual plug itself is kinda coming out. I’ll check the connection. I squat down to analyze the connection and notice something.

The cable isn’t coming out.

And it’s a lot thicker than the one on my Chi.

My hair dryer is still plugged in. Wow.

I plug my straightener in this time, and breathe a sigh of relief when that little red light begins to flicker. And I go to the concert with perfectly straight, silky hair. Still, every time my straightener doesn’t turn on, I freak out just a little bit. I check to make sure the tiny green charge light on my computer is on. And every time it is not…so the adapter has come loose. At least it’s not my straightener.

The concert that night was interesting. An Italian “rock” concert…complete with 3-part brass band. It was fun just hanging out with Anna Giulia and her friends, and I mostly enjoyed watching the Italians jump around and look like fools. Looks like moshing hasn’t changed either.

And today, another Valentine’s Day spent alone. Sigh. I should be used to this by now. I’ve spent 20 out of 21 Valentine’s Days sans Valentine. Actually, today didn’t even feel like Valentine’s Day to me. It is a Sunday, so the town is empty. Which made it a perfect day for running. No one was outside, no cars to nearly run me over, and a park to share with only 6 or 7 other people.

Tonight, I am spending quality time with chicken nuggets, iTunes and Facebook. Hopefully people aren’t busy at 1:00 in the afternoon on their Valentine’s Day in America. I hate spending Valentine’s Day alone. ;)