Our Hot Date

A post with pictures!

The beginning of a post that I started a few nights ago:

Tonight Jim and I have our first date with two Italian ragazzas (a ragazza is an Italian girl, as far as we're concerned. Two ragazzas are technically called "due ragazze," with an "e" at the end, but we don't give a shit). These two ragazzas are the two prettiest girls from Marino. Have either of us mentioned that we were celebrities in Marino toward the end of our tenure there? One of these ragazzas is named Sabrina, and she was our usual barmaid at the pub. The other ragazza is Isabella (as in "is a bella ragazza!"). After taking a few shots with some friends during our "last night at the pub", we bid everyone our adieu's and left. As we turned the corner away from the pub and into Marino's main square, we heard our names called out. We turned around and coming up to us was Sabrina, the blonde waitress, who had the night off. Behind her were two of her friends, whom she introduced as Isabella and Georgia. They asked us what we were doing and if we wanted to go to the pub with them, there being nothing else to do in Marino at that time of night except for maybe see who can spit the farthest off the mountain. Going back to the pub would be a bit of an embarrassing concession, since we had left only minutes prior with much fanfare, handshakes and back claps and such, but fuck it. These girls were beautiful. Well, two of them were. The third was nice and cute, but much younger. As we learned later, she was Isabella's younger sister.

We had a round with the three of them and talked for over an hour only in italian. Everything we know in the language was put the test; since even that doesn't amount to much, the rest we left up to our natural charm and wit. Being a southerner in Philly is a commodity, being a southerner in Italy doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I have relied quite heavily on the fact that I'm from Alabama to make an impression when in the north (not because I myself find it particularly interesting, but because it always gets a reaction, and it's a good conversation starter), but with these ragazzas, they just nodded and blinked. A little while after these introductions, Isabella tells us she's going to Alabama. Well, ok. Where in Alabama? Non lo sa.

The night passed at a pleasurable slowness, culminating in a trip to a late night cafe in the next town over for cornetti. Feeling good about it all, Jim and I invited the girls to our house in Rome for dinner.

Now for what I've written since after the night of our "date."

A few days later we moved into our new studio apartment (which I will post more pictures of in a different post). For days our stuff lay strewn about the apartment. Piles of clothes, paperwork from our jobs, suitcases, etc. The place, as I've mentioned in another post, smelled horrendous. We got text messages from Sabrina and Isabella confirming our dinner date. The day came when they had agreed to come and Jim and I got our fucking acts together. Nothing motivates a couple of smelly bachelors who live like college freshmen to clean their act up like a couple of bella ragazzas. That morning Elena (the landlady/Jordan's girlfriend) came and painted one of the walls and brought some cloths in to add some color. Jim, Jordan, and I went to a restaurant in Re di Roma to eat lunch, and afterwards Jim and I went to Coin-- the Italian Macy's-- in San Giovanni so Jim could buy a 9 euro towel. As we were leaving we saw the men's cologne, and both of us sprayed ourselves down. We returned to our bachelor's den to clean ourselves up and prepare. The ragazzas told us they were going to come after dinner, so the pressure to pretend like we knew how to cook was off. That was a relief, since we only found out that our refrigerator didn't work that day.

We walked around the place preparing for a night of wild orgies and debauchery. Both of us bathed and shaved; we hung up sheets around our beds for "privacy", we borrowed plates and forks and glasses from Jordan and Elena for the cheese, wine, and meats we bought for snacks. When finally they called for us to meet them, Jim and I were acting like two 6th graders. We literally sprinted to the bus stop so that we could meet them at the Arco di Travertino Metro stop. They were in a car, but directions here are difficult.

For the first of our setbacks, Georgia, Isabella's little sister, came too. Heartily discouraged, we kissed them all on the cheeks and got into the car. This wasn't going to be an orgy fest with Isabella's little sister there too. The ragazzas sang loudly to Italian songs while Jim and I made fun of them in English in the back seat, with Georgia sitting between us. We made it to our place feeling slightly uncomfortable. Fortunately Jordan was hanging outside of his window above us, and Elena wasn't around, so we invited him down to have a glass of wine. His Italian is nearly flawless, so he was a good ice-breaker to have around.

Things started out awkwardly. I poured a round of wine for everyone except for Georgia, who preferred orange juice. After that glass I offered another to everyone. Only Jim and I took one. Isabella started calling me "la spugna" (spelling?), which means "sponge." Why she chose me to start making fun of for drinking, I don't know, but it didn't endear her to me. I told her in Italian that I could drink all night without feeling much of an effect, and that Americans drink all the fucking time. At this point Sabrina, the waitress spoke up and started making fun of my claim by reminding me of the ONE night where I got really drunk at the pub, when I ended up nearly passing out on the stool. Ok, good point Sabrina. I could have defended myself by telling her how much I drank that night, but that would have vindicated their case that I was a "sponge." Feeling all hope of making out with a ragazza fade away, I decided to do the next best thing, and one of my favorite activities in Italy: make fun of everyone in English. Cuz they don't understand a fucking word of it. Once I did that, I started to loosen up. It is a fun activity only if there is another English speaker in the room, because without one I just feel like an asshole. This tactic never fails to make me feel more comfortable. And eventually they warmed up to us and we to them, and finally I got on a long rant about Alabama and the beaches there and how they're more beautiful than the beaches in Florida; how the forests in Alabama are wonderful ; how the mountains are great for hiking. I felt really good.

Basically the night ended with them leaving and kissing us on the cheeks. Jim and I went upstairs to Jordan and Elena's place to retrieve our "Hell's Bier" from their refrigerator. They were put there just in case things didn't work out the way we had intended, just in case we needed an anti-victory drink. We came back into our apartment. It was covered in dirty plates with old olive pits, there were empty bottles and empty glasses everywhere, the floor had reverted back to it's permanent dirtiness. We sat down and got onto the internet to check out emails and myspace accounts. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened.