San Giggliamo

San Giggliamo

"Aspettate autobus ventinove?" I asked a group of young italian punks near my bus stop. Bus 29 was the bus to TNX, and I overheard the punks talking about it. "Cinquanta minuti." We began the broken italian conversation; only one of them spoke english. I told them I was from Chicago; they murmurred, "Chicago, Sheecago!" I have learned it is easier than telling people I'm from Indiana because this generally leads to the wide-eyed look that lets me know they think I'm from India. Then a complicated explanation follows, in a mixture of italian and english. I figure Chicago is close enough.

Saturday was great but so much has happened that I just want to lay here on this couch in this little room and try not to hear my roommate and her friend giggling about suggestively named drinks - orgasms, blowjobs, sex on the beach. Ignoring this is impossible. They are going out tonight to a bar with the girl who is no longer my friend, and they are going to Amsterdam this weekend. I have been invited but I have declined because I don't really want to get high with a group of gigglers and I certainly don't want to spend the money just to wander off by myself.

I miss friends from home; I chose my friend base carefully - no drama, self-sufficient. It doesn't work that way here.

Gather 150 artists.
Plop them in a city away from parents and RAs.
Drama ensues.

It seems at times like everyone just wants to go out and get drunk every night. I am not one of those people, so I am at home.

I have no will to write now; I will update later. TNX was fun but my camera was stolen, and I don't want to think about how I don't have photos to upload.