look, mom!

LISTEN UP MY HOST FAMILY IS AWAY ON VACATION AT AN EGYPTIAN BEACH RESORT HA HA I HAVE AN ENTIRE APARTMENT TO MYSELF THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE A GROWN UP

I’ve never really had a room larger than 5 square feet all to myself any night ever, so I’ve been taking full advantage of this probably-very-expensive space, doing things I never dreamed I would be doing until after my second divorce, when I finally resort teaching improv to rehab patients.  As it turns out, I’m pretty good at keeping my shit together when it doesn’t matter.  I wash my dishes directly after meals, wipe down the countertops just because, shut the curtains at night, lock the front doors…  I’m so adult that at this very moment I’m doing my laundry, specifically my linens and towels. LINENS AND TOWELS.  

Without the 3-5 pairs of judgmental Italian eyes around to stare at me cook eggs that “strange way” (scrambled, I scramble my eggs), I’ve been using this time to relax and *~~*~*be myself~***~*.   This means spending hours lying on the couch with my bare feet resting on a tower of couch pillows and watching a series of Justin Bieber music videos on full volume. Here are some gems I found in the comment section of “As Long As You Love Me”:

As noted in my previous post, these past few weeks have been really hard on me.  I’ve been somewhat of a sad monkey man, and haven’t really felt the desire to do much other than lie in bed, read Yelp reviews of McDonalds, and downvote comments from mustard-loving racists.  However, I was running out of things to talk about to my mom over Skype (our conversations were turning into forty minute opportunities for me to describe scenes from my favorite movies line-by-line), so on Sunday I forced myself out of the house to see Rome’s largest park, Villa Doria Pamphili.  I left around noon, not bothering to look up any specific directions, only to shove my well-worn map of the city in my pocket and test my sense of direction.  Obviously I got very lost on the way there and back, because that entire part of town on the map was covered by an advertisement for "Ciao Roma Open Tour Hop on and Hop Off Tour!"and my "sense of direction" is really just an unusual talent I have for finding the nearest 24 hour bakery.  

Though I eventually found my way to Pamphili through a series of lucky left turns, getting home wasn't nearly as successful.  You should know that Pamphili is huge, so the fact that it took me an hour to find an exit that didn't lead into a misty detergent-scented alley is only moderately pathetic.  I didn't have a watch, so I'm going to guess that somewhere between eight and thirty hours passed after escaping from the park before I found myself collapsed on the sidewalk, leaning limp-limbed against a Monday-Saturday bus stop in a neighborhood called "La Pisana".  Even then, as I threw off my shoes and emptied my backpack of it's contents onto the sidewalk, I knew that I was overreacting, but I was hungry and sweating through my t-shirt in places I still don't understand.  I had no cell phone and no cash- a cruel and absolutely effective way to keep myself from spending money. 

After I was through feeling sorry for myself, I wiped some snot on the bench beside me and continued to walk nowhere in particular.  I wandered into a little no-name park where there appeared to be one of those “You Are Here” maps by some volleyball courts, but I soon discovered that it was nothing more than a blank white sign covered in graffiti that read "the pills will control you".  Just when I was about to take shelter within the bushes and come to terms with my new identity as a homeless teen expat atheist with General Anxiety Disorder, a police car slowly entered the park’s gates, moving along the center path on patrol. 

I quickly patted myself down, making sure I wasn't carrying anything illegal like drug-dusted firearms or a human finger wrapped in pornography, and then ran up to the driver’s window and asked the officer if he spoke English.  When he told me didn’t, I looked him straight in the face and immediately started crying, somehow never managing to break eye contact - the poor cop was terrified.  I handed him my map and made a series of “Where am I?” shoulder shrugs, then pointed to Piazzale Flaminio, which was already circled in pen, to indicate that’s where I needed to go, home.

Officer Rossi ended up giving me a ride home, because when he tried to give me directions to the nearest bus stop I just cried harder, and started using my map as a kleenex.  I rode 35 minutes to Piazzale Flaminio in the back seat of a cop car, winking at passerbys and blowing flirty kisses to neighboring vehicles.  I figured the dried mascara tracks on my cheeks gave me an edge.  He dropped me off directly in front of my apartment, taking only my first name, birthdate, and “California” for his records.  I mean I guess I'm in the clear.

I was beyond relieved to see the apartment, but within one minute of stepping through the front door I managed to set off the home security system, sounding alarms across the entire 5th floor of my building for five musical minutes.  The keypad denied every one of the codes that Margherita had given me, and none of the sidewalk people on their cigarette breaks responded to my desperate calls for help out the window.  Since Sunday, the housekeeper and I together have activated the alarm three more times - so we've agreed to take our chances and shut the system down for a few days.

Here's to hoping Roman robbers are are also enjoying the Egyptian sun,

Kay

P.S. Congrats on the new mattress mom wow sounds great