Warning: to all of my friends with children, I apologize in advance...
Hey lady on the train, or couple on the plane, or grandparents on the metro, this goes out to you. You and yours love your child. Of course you do, it is a biological imperative. I do not love your child. In fact, I think your child is a narcissistic sociopath whose one and only concern is with their own interests and desires, with little to no concern for the happiness or comforts or even personal safety of others. Your responsibility as a parent or guardian is to rear them out of that state as they grow into fully functioning adults. When you allow your child to wield an umbrella with a point on the end a mere two feet from my face on a bumpy metro, you are not doing that job successfully. When you allow your toddler to spit on me on a train because she is not getting her way, you have failed as a parent. When you allow your whiny little brat to kick the back of my airplane chair for an hour and then proceed to put the burden on me by asking me to let you know if she is bothering me, you're an asshole.
Moral and legal standards dictate that I am not allowed to lay a hand on your child even if they assault and batter me, and I have accepted that. But my mother would have spanked the shit out of me if I had behaved this way in public when I was a child, and it is time that you let go of your PC, Dr. Spock bullshit and do the same. As a former child, I can attest to the fact that the one thing beyond love that will make you respect your parents the most is FEAR. Get your act together, or don't travel.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
10 Things I Hate About You-- Italian Edition...
To preface the scathing review of Italy in which I am about to indulge, I feel the need to say to all those Ital-a-philes out there that this was just one North Carolina girl's limited experience and therefore, should be taken with a grain of salt, laughed at and dismissed.
Now, let the Italiabashing begin!
1. Italians stare a lot, and when you catch them, they scowl at you.
2. Italians move like they drive-- on your ass. Excuse me sir, but there is a reason that the expression "breathing down one's neck" has a negative connotation. Now get the fuck off of me.
3. The doppleganger of Whitney Houston's assassin in the Bodyguard watched me struggle to haul my 25 lb. pack to the rack above my train seat, and then proceeded to scowl (this again) when I finally sat down... as if my struggle annoyed him. Kevin Costner's doppleganger would have helped me lift my bag. Punk.
4. Italians give directions like assholes. Period. The receptionist at my hostel told me that all I had to do to find the metro was to walk out the hostel and turn right. In the pouring rain. 20 minutes later, pack now weighing 30 lbs., two old ladies, driving like maniacs (albeit generous lovely maniacs) were driving me to the metro. Because it was NOT out the hostel door and down the street on the right. Not even close lady.
5. Italians treat you as if you are a stupid because you don't speak Italian. Newsflash, no one speaks Italian except Italians, and a few overzealous language students (Susanna, you are my favorite exception... or maybe the rule). You know how Americans have the annoying habit of just speaking English louder amd slower when they encounter a foreigner? Italians do not have this habit. They just stop listening to what you're saying and speak much much faster, in Italian, then they were before they realized that you couldn't speak Italian. And then they act as if you don't understand the most basic of instructions, even if they are given to you in English. Nothing funny about this, just terribly annoying.
6. Italians like to flex their proverbial muscle, especially train station employees. I have been bullied more by Trenitalia than all my childhood experiences combined. During the strike in France, my train from France to Italy was late, so I missed my reservation. When I asked the lady at the ticket counter how I should proceed from here, since it was not my fault that I lost my reservation, she replied, that is France's problem, not Italy's. Customer service must not translate in Italian. Another guy stole my ticket for no reason and with no explanation, and told me that I couldn't have it back until I gave him a 56 euro "fine". When I tried to find out why he was doing all this, he told me that because I am in Italy, he was not going to speak English to me, even though he could. Dick. Does that translate?
7. I have yet to encounter an Italian meal in Italy that is as good as Vivace. But I have had some great falafel.
8. Italian men are polite enough when approaching you on a romantic level... until they realize that you are not Italian. I may not speak the language, but I have worked in enough American kitchens to know when someone is saying crude things about you because they think you don't understand the language. And I do not appreciate. You hear me Jersey Shore?! Go back to Mama, and learn some manners.
9. The Italians put a damper on my Italian wine drinking experience. The wine was so cheap and delicious, and they ran me off. I think that makes me the most mad of all!
And finally...
10. There are McDonald's everywhere... but no Biscuitville. ;-)
Now, let the Italiabashing begin!
1. Italians stare a lot, and when you catch them, they scowl at you.
2. Italians move like they drive-- on your ass. Excuse me sir, but there is a reason that the expression "breathing down one's neck" has a negative connotation. Now get the fuck off of me.
3. The doppleganger of Whitney Houston's assassin in the Bodyguard watched me struggle to haul my 25 lb. pack to the rack above my train seat, and then proceeded to scowl (this again) when I finally sat down... as if my struggle annoyed him. Kevin Costner's doppleganger would have helped me lift my bag. Punk.
4. Italians give directions like assholes. Period. The receptionist at my hostel told me that all I had to do to find the metro was to walk out the hostel and turn right. In the pouring rain. 20 minutes later, pack now weighing 30 lbs., two old ladies, driving like maniacs (albeit generous lovely maniacs) were driving me to the metro. Because it was NOT out the hostel door and down the street on the right. Not even close lady.
5. Italians treat you as if you are a stupid because you don't speak Italian. Newsflash, no one speaks Italian except Italians, and a few overzealous language students (Susanna, you are my favorite exception... or maybe the rule). You know how Americans have the annoying habit of just speaking English louder amd slower when they encounter a foreigner? Italians do not have this habit. They just stop listening to what you're saying and speak much much faster, in Italian, then they were before they realized that you couldn't speak Italian. And then they act as if you don't understand the most basic of instructions, even if they are given to you in English. Nothing funny about this, just terribly annoying.
6. Italians like to flex their proverbial muscle, especially train station employees. I have been bullied more by Trenitalia than all my childhood experiences combined. During the strike in France, my train from France to Italy was late, so I missed my reservation. When I asked the lady at the ticket counter how I should proceed from here, since it was not my fault that I lost my reservation, she replied, that is France's problem, not Italy's. Customer service must not translate in Italian. Another guy stole my ticket for no reason and with no explanation, and told me that I couldn't have it back until I gave him a 56 euro "fine". When I tried to find out why he was doing all this, he told me that because I am in Italy, he was not going to speak English to me, even though he could. Dick. Does that translate?
7. I have yet to encounter an Italian meal in Italy that is as good as Vivace. But I have had some great falafel.
8. Italian men are polite enough when approaching you on a romantic level... until they realize that you are not Italian. I may not speak the language, but I have worked in enough American kitchens to know when someone is saying crude things about you because they think you don't understand the language. And I do not appreciate. You hear me Jersey Shore?! Go back to Mama, and learn some manners.
9. The Italians put a damper on my Italian wine drinking experience. The wine was so cheap and delicious, and they ran me off. I think that makes me the most mad of all!
And finally...
10. There are McDonald's everywhere... but no Biscuitville. ;-)
Monday, November 1, 2010
Hostel Bitch...
Yes, I spelled that correctly. Not hostile. Hostel. As in, I finally flipped out on one of these bitches at my Milan hostel last night.
First, allow me to present a foreword to put this post in context:
Women backpacking around Europe are rarely any different than women at any other point in their existence. They are just as self absorbed and vein as ever, just with luggage. Now, in fairness, there are always going to be exceptions to this rule. However, generally, they act as if they are in the privacy of their own homes, stomping about like elephants, taking hours in the bathroom doing their makeup, and coming in drunk and loud at 3 am, wanting to talk to their friends about the night they just spent. Problem is, they do all of this in a room with 6 to 10 other sleeping people...
Now, back to Milan.
This bitch. This bitch comes in at 3 am, and decides a druken beauty regimen is in order. Then she proceeds to talk to her friend, who is half passed out, while she riffles thorough her pack in the dark, looking for her cute pajamas, and her moisturizer, and her toothbrush, and perhaps even the lost city of Atlantis, while the rest of the room tries to sleep. And through no real fault of hers, I am tired of this shit. I am tired of these people who should have sprung for the private room because they have no idea how to respect other people.
So I sit up, and I stare at her. And she looks at me, and has the nerve to ask me what I am staring at. Needless to say, I felt compelled to remind her that while her cow ass stomps around the room, others are trying to sleep, and if she is going to insist upon being the center of attention at 3 am, I am going to treat her as such, and stare at her until she goes to bed. Because God knows, I'm not going to be sleeping. So, she tells me that I am the one causing the scene, and I should have gotten a private room. For the sake of any minors reading this post, I will refrain from telling you what happens next... What I will say is there is a moral to this story. Disrupt sleeping roommates at a hostel in Italy from here to November 9, and be willing to face the wrath of the Hostel Bitch. ;-)
First, allow me to present a foreword to put this post in context:
Women backpacking around Europe are rarely any different than women at any other point in their existence. They are just as self absorbed and vein as ever, just with luggage. Now, in fairness, there are always going to be exceptions to this rule. However, generally, they act as if they are in the privacy of their own homes, stomping about like elephants, taking hours in the bathroom doing their makeup, and coming in drunk and loud at 3 am, wanting to talk to their friends about the night they just spent. Problem is, they do all of this in a room with 6 to 10 other sleeping people...
Now, back to Milan.
This bitch. This bitch comes in at 3 am, and decides a druken beauty regimen is in order. Then she proceeds to talk to her friend, who is half passed out, while she riffles thorough her pack in the dark, looking for her cute pajamas, and her moisturizer, and her toothbrush, and perhaps even the lost city of Atlantis, while the rest of the room tries to sleep. And through no real fault of hers, I am tired of this shit. I am tired of these people who should have sprung for the private room because they have no idea how to respect other people.
So I sit up, and I stare at her. And she looks at me, and has the nerve to ask me what I am staring at. Needless to say, I felt compelled to remind her that while her cow ass stomps around the room, others are trying to sleep, and if she is going to insist upon being the center of attention at 3 am, I am going to treat her as such, and stare at her until she goes to bed. Because God knows, I'm not going to be sleeping. So, she tells me that I am the one causing the scene, and I should have gotten a private room. For the sake of any minors reading this post, I will refrain from telling you what happens next... What I will say is there is a moral to this story. Disrupt sleeping roommates at a hostel in Italy from here to November 9, and be willing to face the wrath of the Hostel Bitch. ;-)
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