Start Spreading the News, I'm Leaving....Today!

Last night sucked. As much as a night in Italy, with 5 of your closest girlfriends, can suck. It sucked. Regardless, it ended with me lying on the tile floor of Amy’s bedroom in the crucifixion pose. Amy likes the puritan death pose but, I prefer Christ. It’s blasphemy, I suppose, but true. I sometimes picture, when I am feeling really sad, that I could yell to Amy, “Get the spikes!” But again, inappropriate. Is it bad that I think Christ was the type of person who would think it was a little funny too?



“Oh my, wait, let me take a picture!” I opened one eye, surprised that she thought I was planning on going anywhere soon and quickly closed it as she searched for her camera.

“MEEENNN SUCK!” I exclaimed, not even looking at her as she snapped away.

“You have to erase that picture if I have a double chin! I can feel it,” I said grabbing the skin that has slowly emerged during my stay in Italy, raising my arm and pointing a slow moving finger at her, “Erase it please!” as I positioned my scarf to cover up my chin.

“They do suck, you know? MEN!” I said, ready to think about all the reasons they could. But in the moment, I was lying on the cool tile floor, drunk from the red wine, I had consumed and to be honest, I was really quite jovial. For all intensive purposes, it HAD been a sucky night, but in reality, I had quite a fine time. No one had done anything to me personally, I was just really tired and certainly ready for bed, but it wasn’t for the reason that men sucked. I was not defeated by “world male domination”. The opposite was true. I was somewhat amused.

The night before had been spent with very decent human beings, and had, landed me home at 5:30 am. So, somewhere around 1:30 am on Saturday, I decided there was no need to belabor the night, which had inspired me to enact the pose I was dramatically performing now.

Trattoria Toscana, on Ticenese, was packed. So packed, in fact, that I couldn’t even make it back to the bar from the bathroom. So I sent a simple text message, “I’m out!” A phrase, which our group has made synonymous with Amy, after numerous times of her leaving rather abruptly.

But, before, I got to the door, Annie, walked passed me and said, “I gotta get out of here.”

“Wait, I am leaving too!” I said trying to catch up. Before we knew it, Amy was behind us, limping from her very high heeled boots. Jenna would be ok, Paul was there, and tonight, Paul would be exactly what she needed.

My Saturday had started at 3 pm, when, Annie and I entered the Aveda Salon on Via Carducci and treated ourselves to pedicures and facials. I fell asleep during the facial and left the salon feeling almost human.

Jenna, Annie, Lindsay and I met at “Gold” on Via Garibaldi at 8. I had picked out my outfit for the mere fact that I thought it looked good with my new “big white watch”. Amy picked hers for the boots, which, in the end, was a much better choice then mine.

It was decided that we would grab a drink at “Gold”, before heading out. Jenna had asked us to attend a dinner hosted by Alessandro, a lawyer, who had spent a significant amount of time in Brooklyn and who, according to Jenna, had been a decent kisser while dancing at Fitz Carrauldo, last Saturday night. He described a dinner, with singing and fun and told Jenna to bring friends. She had invited five: Amy, Annie, Jenn, Lindsay and me. Five girls who tend to be up for shenanigans, and five people that, even if the guy turned into the player he looked like he might be, would, at least, have fun. We drank Bellini’s, as we talked about outfits, apartments and sometimes stopped to wonder what the night would be like?

By 9, we were standing, in front of Brodo Di Giuggiole, a small restaurant, waiting for Alessandro to escort us down the stairs. I was somewhat surprised, he was certainly good looking but he was not really Jenna’s type, for he was “done”. Groomed, scarf-ed, and I have a suspicion his hair might even have been straightened and blown out. Jenna’s type is usually more of the hot Jesus type (Blasphemous, but play along if you will. We could sing Depeche Mode, “Your own personal Jesus”?) Jenna likes facial hair, and simple style. Alessandro looked us up and down, smiled and introduced us to the three friends, who were also hosting the party. My stomach turned, but I flashed a smile anyway and realized his friends were even more “done”, then him.




The dining room was packed. We were led to large table filled with girls. When I say filled,, I should really quote Jenna.

“Is this an episode of the Bachelor? Where are the ten roses?” She said as she caught the eye of a very blonde woman, who was less than happy the six of us were being escorted to the same table as her.

There was music and a man singing at a karaoke station at the center of the room, while red and green light lasers shot dots at our foreheads, as if a sniper was putting us in their sights. We sat down, I was next to Amy and a man, who Amy would later call, “Waxy”. A person, I am sure Amy will never let me forget, I might have said, was sort of cute. (I am not sure what I was thinking!) We were all, immediately, on sensory overload, so distracted by the music, the lights and the fact that Alessandro sat down next to the angry blonde who seemed very much like his girlfriend, we could barely complete our thoughts.




The night was interesting and Jenna at times looked mortified that she was in the scene and had brought 5 friends too. We were all happy to be there, supporting her and knew it would at least be a good story, but, truly, we were really ready to leave. The dinner was thankfully ending and we started planning our escape. Ideas of walking out without a good bye were posed, but then I think Jenn said, we should sing a song.



I leaned over to “Waxy” and said as sweetly as I could, “Is it possible for us to sing a song?”

He smiled sweetly back and said, “I would love to sing with you, but my voice is really hurting me right now.”

I laughed, put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Oh, no, not you and I sing. I want to know if ‘we’ can sing?” I said motioning to the girls.

“OH! You want to sing?” He said, looking a little dumbfounded.
“Absolutely. Do you have any English songs?” I responded quickly.
“Sure. Tell me what song you want to sing and I will make it happen.”
“Thank you.” And I turned to the girls, “Pick a song!”

Names of songs were quickly said, and rejected, until Jenna’s face lit up and a smile came, as she slowly said, “New York, New York. Frank Sinatra!”

“Waxy” returned and I gave our request. Soon the microphone was in our hands and we were singing. We ended up on our chairs, as did the rest of the Italian girls at our table. We finished strong with jazz hands and rockette kicks. We were done, said, good night and came down from our chairs, grabbed our coats, and ventured out the door.

“Jenna,” his scarf now around his waist and his sweater wrapped around his neck. Did I hear Jenna laughing?
“Oh, hi Alessandro!” she said turning around.
“Is everything ok?” He asked.
“Yes, thanks, it was fun. “ Jenna’s smile can light up a room.
“Ok, well, can I call you tomorrow?”
“Alessandro, I don’t think you should do that.”
“Why not? Is everything ok?”
“Of course. It’s just that you are a very busy man Alessandro, and well, I am a very busy girl. Good night.”


A quick cab ride later and we were at Toscana not being able to move, as boys that were far too young for me were feigning interest, in order to learn if the American girl stereotype was true. I went to the bathroom, even though I didn’t have to go. After running into Pietro from Palermo, who looked at me and said, “Wow!” I realized I was done and not in the waxed and straightened hair kind of way.

Annie had run directly into Bret and I think her heart broke all over the floor. She was done.

“He told me he loves me. “ she said.
“He does.” I responded.
“He told me he loves me, but that we would never work. Why would he say that to me?”
She said as her eyes glimmered with pain, putting the mojito she had just bought down and walked toward the door.

“I don’t know Annie, Men SUCK!” I said, as I looked at Amy who was desperately trying to walk normally in her heels. I laughed.




“My feet are broken. My metatarsals are snapping. Right here. Do you know what I mean, metatarsals!? Where the bones meet the toe? They are breaking! It is very serious!”

“Take them off,” I laughed, “Oh, I forgot you can’t,” picturing the fact that she is yet, to get them off by herself. Removing them, involves a process of me on the floor tugging on the heel, while, she sits on her bed, pulling her body in the opposite direction. This pulling, is what led me to go into the crucifixion pose, in the first place.

With that, Annie offered her back and soon, Amy was riding in style up Ticenese to the cab stand. They looked absolutely ridiculous. Amy is so tall that her legs almost dragged on the ground. But Annie was willing to take the weight, keeping her mind off the fact that her ex-boyfriend told her, in one slurred drunken statement that he loved her, just not enough.

I didn’t want to think about love, I was so tired of it, that I decided to, instead, belly laugh at my two friends “walking” down the street as the people passed, asking concerned, “Stai bene?”

In which we quickly answered back with a shrug and a smile, “Si, high heels!”