I Should Have Spelled My Name Wrong

So it’s been a LONG time since I updated. 1.) I’ve been busy with school and travels, and blogging isn’t at the top of my priorities right now. 2.) I haven’t had as many crazy things happen to me, compared to my first month here. By this point, I’ve lived in Italy almost 2 months to the day. I am finally confident in the normalcies that define Teramo life. I no longer tick off the lady at the supermarket because I don’t know how to print off labels for my fresh produce. I can catch a public bus and take classes at the University without feeling like I’m flying by the seat of my pants. My nights are spent in the kitchen making dinner and at my computer chatting with people back home. The past 2 weeks have been…regular. Strange.

Who would have thought that I would run into creeper Jimmy 4 times out of a 7-day week:

Monday night: I go to the grocery store. Of the 10 or 12 groceries in Teramo I just HAD to choose this one. I was perusing through the tomato sauce aisle when I see someone coming my direction. Jimmy. CRAP. He asks how I was doing, comments on the new purple streak in my hair, and asks me out for another drink. I told him I had to study. “What about tomorrow?” “I don’t know,” I said. He gave me his phone number (I made him write in on a piece of paper so he wouldn’t know I had a cell phone) and told me to call him. I didn’t.

Wednesday night: ST. PATTY’S DAY! I call up Anna Giulia and tell her we must go out to dinner at the pub. It’s Irish (sort of) and it’s St. Patty’s Day and I can’t go another day without seeing my friend. I meet her friend Ada, who spent 6 months in California. Needless to say, she speaks very good English. We had burgers and waited for Davide and Greta to show up.

I decided that for some reason, American burgers are just better. Maybe they are infused with grease and could cause a heart attack with one bite, but the burger I had just didn’t compare. Even to my mom’s burgers at home…it must just be an American thing. Mom's burgers are AMAZING.

Davide and Greta arrived, and we all decided to go get a cornetto (like usual). After we downed those beautiful pastries, we had a photo shoot outside of the shop. As we were taking photos, 2 guys came walking by and had to squeeze by us to pass. Greta let them go by, and I look up to see Jimmy. He smiled at me and kept walking. I let out a sigh of relief…and told my friends, “We have to go. That was Jimmy!” I had told them about him at dinner, and they all turned to look. “Don’t look!” I exclaimed. “Let’s just go!” I was laughing, because at least I had 4 other people with me that time. Anna Giulia said his accent was funny; he definitely wasn’t Italian. Just as I thought.

Thursday night: I spend the afternoon/evening at Italian lessons and then in the library trying to move forward in the online class. The bus drops me off in the largest piazza in town, and I have a 10-ish minute walk back to my place. I made plans to drop of my computer at my apartment and run to the grocery store as I scrolled through different artists on my Ipod. I look up to make sure I’m not about to walk over some slow-moving Italian old lady when I see him walking my direction with HIS Ipod in. Jimmy.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

He sees me, beelines, and turns and walks with me. The questions begin. Where are you going? What are you doing tonight? What are you listening to? I made it a point to walk continuously away from being anywhere near him in proximity, but he would close the space between us. I probably switched 3 or 4 times from his left to his right trying to add at least 5 feet of bubble space, taking the chance to switch every time I hit a curb. I made it obvious that I didn’t want to talk to him.

“Why didn’t you call me when you were out with your friends?” “Uhhh….because I was with my FRIENDS. Why would I call you?”

“Well, when can we get a drink?” “I don’t want to get a drink with you alone.”

“I know, that’s why you go with me.” We probably went through just this part of the conversation six times alone. I finally realized that he understood me as saying, “I don’t want to go to a bar alone,” which is why he kept saying he would go with me. I decided not to walk back to my house and made a trip to the bread shop. I could say bye and go inside and he would be gone when I get back. Of course he is more persistant than that.

When I got to the shop, I said, “Okay, I’m going in here. Bye.” He said, “I’ll wait for you out here. If that’s okay.” Good gosh. I gave him a weird look and went inside. Too bad there wasn’t a huge bouncer in here that could tell this guy to lay off. But all the workers at the break shop are nice ladies. Darn.

I walk in the direction of my house and he keeps saying that he wanted to know if he was disturbing me. If he was, he would stop. We stop at the corner; I was not showing him where my apartment was. “So, am I disturbing you?” “Well, kind of!” I reply. Even when I say that, he said that he would give me time to think about whether I wanted to be friends or not. I’m not going to need that time, thanks.

I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to convince him (without knowing it) that I don’t have a cell phone over here. “You don’t have a phone?” he asked. It dawned on me, “Nope,” I said. “Why not?” “Uhh…I don’t need one? Who am I going to call anyways?” This entire time I am praying that my phone doesn’t go off.

“Well, how do you meet up with your friends then?” By now I’m just annoyed. And I’m making it pretty apparent. “Facebook.” “You’re on Facebook?” No buddy, I just said that for fun. “Yes.” “What’s your Facebook name?” “Anna.” “Surname” “Alderson.” He looked at me funny and said, “What?” “Alderson.” He held out his phone and told me to type it. I look back now and realized I should have typed it incorrectly. Too late. It actually worked out better this way, though. I’ll explain later.

“Okay, I’m going to go now.” He laughed and asked why. “Because. Goodbye Jimmy.” If he couldn’t tell that I was annoyed and freaked out and giving him the stay-away-from-me-you-creep vibe, then he is NOT the brightest crayon in the box.

I went down the street, passed my apartment and turned the corner. After a few minutes, I peeked around the wall. No Jimmy. Finally.

Friday afternoon/night: I was waiting for Beverley to call. I had booked our hotel in Pisa, bought 2 bus tickets, and was about to pack. I decided to take a waltz around the city, because for some reason they had the market running on Friday afternoon. I thought this was just a Saturday morning thing…SA-WEET! I spend about 20 minutes looking at the tables. It was more craft fair based, with woodworkers, textile people, baked goods sellers, and crepe people filling the piazza in front of the Duomo. It reminded me of the War Eagle and Applegate craft fairs back home. Funny how little comparisons like that in Italy of all places can send good memories of home. As I am walking through the fair, I see Jimmy and a friend walking my direction.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I slide my sunglasses over my eyes and pretend to be looking at my feet as I picked up my pace. “Please don’t see me,” I thought. Not likely. I have blonde hair, with a purple streak, and I am wearing a bright pink jacket.

By some miracle he didn’t see me. I wasn’t taking any chances, though. I powerwalked all the way home checking over my shoulder every now and then. That was close. Thank goodness I’m leaving for Pisa tomorrow. No Jimmy there for SURE.

I sit down at my computer to see if Bev had said anything about coming to Teramo. I had a friend request…from Jimmy. Only his name started with an X and was definitely NOT Italian. Who IS this guy? I’ll just let his Friend Request sit unanswered for now.