So I've applied for my residency here in Terracina. It. Has been. A wild pain in my ass. This, despite being an Italian citizen. This, despite speaking Italian. This, despite making the request with my native Italian mother in tow. Sorry, the man you need to speak to isn't here today. Oh, well, actually, he
It's 1 September, the night before I leave for Dublin. I'm having an arrivederci dinner with my upstairs neighbors, Maria and Eugenio - parents of the screaming Giada. Maria says it's her mission to find me a man. She says this over spaghetti alle vongole, as Giada grabs fistfuls of table and kicks her feet
Instructor: [slap] Why why why are you going to the left? Myself: Because there's a trash bin on the side of the road and I'm afraid of hitting it. Instructor: That doesn't mean you have to weave all over the place. Stay straight! You need to look straight ahead! You almost hit that oldie. Madonnnnnnnnnnnnna.