The Jersey Shore Fist Pump

This past weekend was lazy. And I loved it. I had nothing to do Friday. I woke up around 11:00, and got suckered into helping Romeo clean up the kitchen from the mess he and his friends left the previous night. Good thing I’m a decent person. Haha

Two of Romeo’s friends stayed the night in the apartment. Mossimo is a fantastic cook, so I didn’t mind cleaning up the kitchen if that meant that he was cooking breakfast. And Filipo, my admirer. Filipo comes into the kitchen and says, “Very, very beautiful.” I think that may be the only English he knows. Regardless he managed to translate, “Do you have a boyfriend?” When I couldn’t exactly say yes, he said, “I am your boyfriend over here.” I apparently didn’t have a choice. I guess that’s how things work over here?

Mossimo serves an amazing breakfast of peppers and eggs, and some sort of meat in a piece of bread. I can’t adequately explain it, but man do those Italians know how to cook! After we finished, we cleaned up and Romeo went back to his hometown, taking Mossimo and my new boyfriend with him. I had the place to myself. I spent most of that night on Facebook, and slept in on Saturday. Lazy weekends in Italy are wonderful.

Saturday night I went out with Greta and Anna Giulia. We went to Greta’s cousin’s 18^th birthday party. We danced between a bunch of teenagers, we three 20-year-olds. And I did the Jersey Shore fist pump with Italians. It’s not quite as dramatic as Vinny does it on the show, but we still fist pumped. After that moment, my night was complete.

Italians do not eat birthday cake, at least in the American sense. The birthday “cake” was a collection of round golf-ball sized pastries in a cold whipped cream confection. And a big 18 was made out of sugar and almonds. It was delicious, but pretty much everything I’ve eaten over here has been. I’ve come to expect nothing less. But, I’ll admit, I miss legit birthday cake. It must be an American thing.

Afterwards, we headed down to the club underneath where the birthday party was being held. Davide had arrived by that point, and our group was complete. We made it in, and found our way to the dance floor. But people weren’t up and grinding on each other…they were legit dancing. Like the salsa and tango and such. It was awesome. Davide and I went out to dance, and I think I did more of the leading than he did. He admitted that he wasn’t very good. That was okay with me. His two left feet made me laugh.

The four of us were hanging out on the side of the dance floor when I saw him…my perfect man. He was on the dance floor with a girl. And he moved so perfectly. I couldn’t tell if he was shorter than me. He was taller than his dance partner, but at the same time I tower over a lot of Italian women. Would I tower over him? That didn’t matter. He was tan. And beautiful. And single. How did I know this? He had a different dance partner every song. He did not come with someone.

Alas, I did not get my chance to dance with him. We left the club soon after that. But I think we locked eyes once. Goodbye my perfect man. It is probably for the best…Filipo would be jealous.

Once back in Teramo we returned to the same cornetta shop the four of us had visited a couple nights before. Anna Giulia tells me, “Stay by me, okay?” I guess a naïve American is no good alone on the streets of Teramo at 2:00 in the morning. At least I have 3 friends to accompany me! I got a croissant with raspberries and whipped cream this time. Still just as amazing. Afterwards, we called it a night. Anna Giulia and Greta dropped me off at my apartment, and I headed upstairs.

By this point, my feet were screaming in protest to the high heels I wore. I took them off and changed into my pajamas. My bed looked so comfortable. I didn’t even try to Facebook creep before I went to bed. Plus, I think I had already used my 3 hours for the day. Lousy Internet. Not thinking about that anymore, I curled under my covers and closed my eyes, hoping to dream of my perfect man that I locked eyes with on the dance floor. Sigh. :)