Dangerous Nights on the Town

I'm about to dedicate this post to all of the nighttime excursions from the entire month of January. Buckle up, pop some popcorn, and get ready to be on the edge of your seat, because this blog entry has more drama than all seasons of Laguna Beach and The Hills combined.

First Night Out:
As expected, we quickly made friends with the apartment of boys across the hall.

Back from left: Kevin (Tex), Grant, Joey, Matt
Front from left: Seamus, Mike

Matt is a degree seeking student at JCU and works as a club promoter, so he took us to the "happening" club of the night, Gilda.  He pulled some strings and got us a VIP table and bottle service. (I really wish I could attach music to this blog because Lil Wayne's Pop Bottles would be jammin in the background right now).  We all had a really good time dancing and getting to know each other.  I even got to dance with a butt face! No seriously, a man with a butt face. Towards the end of the night, we met some creepy old guys that spoke English and had the "exclusive" VIP section reserved, so OF COURSE we accompanied them to free champagne and mildly awkward small talk.  This ended up being a blessing in disguise because one of the old guys happened to be THE person to know, Alfredo. He's some kind of rich drug lord or something, who knows everyone and plans all the club events in Rome and buys me lots of expensive drinks. Overall, it was a fabulous night until I decided that in order to save money (stingy & betchy), I would opt out of the cab ride and walk the hour walk home... in heels... my first night in Rome.  I ended up taking my shoes off after tripping on the cobble stone and ripping a hole in my knee after the first block, and I don't think my feet have been properly clean since.

Second Night Out (The Most Insane Night of My Life): 

Preface: I write this post with trepidation.  Even though I don't know who my readers are (likely only myself), I still feel the need to handle this story delicately with respect to all those involved.  

But whatever, this story is about a birthday bonanza, a drunken ship, an irate taxi driver, and the CIA.  If this sounds like your kind of story, continue, but be warned: there will be blood. 

It all started when we discovered it was one of the neighbor boy's 21st birthday, Special Agent G*. (*name has been changed).  As is traditional of American 21st birthdays, we knew that as Agent G's new friends, our only goal of the night was to make sure he was sufficiently hammered and had a fun, but not so memorable evening. Little did we know that this evening would end up being one of the most memorable evenings we'll probably ever have... 

We started out our night with a little wine and dinner at a local restaurant before heading to the "American" bars.  Our first stop was G Bar, where (god knows why) many tequila shots, or as I like to call them tekillya shots, were consumed. We then walked to Campo to the other American bar, the Drunken Ship where more alcoholic beverages were willingly poured down Agent G's throat. All was well until it was time to leave...

Classic Agent G at G Bar

Agent G was having a litttttlee trouble walking, so being the good friends we are, Mike and I took either side of Agent G and helped him stumble walk home. Halfway through the walk, Agent G got feisty and decided he didn't want to go home (drunk logic, go figure). He refused to follow us, but as it was our first week in Rome, Mike and I couldn't leave him alone, hammered drunk, in an unfamiliar city. Our attempts at persuading him to come with us turned into a wrestling match between Mike and Agent G in the middle of a piaza. Knowing we wouldn't be able to make the walk with him, I hailed a taxi.  Mike forced Agent G into the cab and had to pin him down in the back seat because Agent G kept trying to escape the moving cab.  The driver was rightfully upset by the scuttle happening in his back seat, and began yelling at us in Italian.  I begged him to continue driving whilst saying "come si dice I'm so sorrryyyyy?" and gave him 30 euro for a 5 euro cab ride.  I think that probably pacified him. 

Back at the apartment, the drama continued. With the help of the security guard, we managed to get Agent G into the elevator and into his apartment. Mike and I escaped to my apartment to debrief and calm down... and then we heard a loud bang and glass shatter.  We ran into the boy's apartment to find the balcony glass door in pieces on the floor and Joey and Texas struggling to constrain Agent G. Agent G was throwing punches and saying he needed to kill himself. He had tried to jump out and off the 6th floor balcony. The boys had to fight back to defend themselves.  I tried to intervene and stop the fighting, but ended up catching a fist to the face (don't worry, the money maker is unscathed).  They knocked Agent G out cold and carried him to bed. My (pre)nursing instincts kicked in once I realized how quickly Agent G's eye was swelling and that his cuts were bleeding profusely.  As I iced his eye, Agent G woke up...

He began to panic, and despite my best efforts to calm him down, he insisted that he needed to kill himself right now to protect all of us.  He began to sob hysterically and told me that he was in the CIA and that people were after him and he needed to kill himself.  He told me through tears that he had killed people and done terrible, unspeakable things. I talked him down for about 2 hours, and ended up persuading him to go to sleep with the promise that my dad was a Sargent (or something) in the military and was standing guard outside the apartment. My dad is a risk manager... 

All of this could be chalked up to a crazy 21st birthday and alcohol induced storytelling (who hasn't?) that would only need an apology, a fine for fixing the balcony door, and all would be forgiven and we could laugh about it. But then it took a turn for the crazy(er)... 

(I suggest playing this quietly in the background to add to the suspense) 

Agent G came to my room the following afternoon to apologize for his behavior the previous night and told me he had some explaining to do.  He began to tell me this elaborate story about how he was recruited by the CIA after high school graduation and was taken to some unknown location (he suspected maybe Virgina) that they called "The Farm." He spent his entire freshman year at "The Farm" and the CIA fabricated his grades at UW Madison and covered his alibi so well that even his parents didn't know he was gone.  At "The Farm" he was trained to be an agent, but he wasn't allowed to disclose what the training entailed.  Agent G decided to drop out of the CIA because he "actually likes people, and loved his family and friends too much." Needless to say, I was stunned and didn't really know how to respond.  As humorous and far fetched as the whole night may seem, mental health is never a joke and we didn't know how to handle the situation. 

Agent G ended up going to the hospital the following day and had to get surgery because he had a broken cheek bone.  The boys met with the Dean and told them the whole CIA story and shared their concerns about his mental health.  Agent G's parents flew out immediately and took him home, leaving behind only blood soaked sheets, towels, and blood spattered walls. 

The Apartment for Ants

To preface this post, please watch this video:
CLICK HERE

I like my smaller than twin sized bed.
I like my linoleum floor.
I like my 2 watt red lightbulb lamp.
I like my weird bidet toilet to wash my butt.
I like having to hand wash my dishes.
I like not having garbage disposal.
I like having to separate my garbage.
I like my cardboard sheets.
I like my space shuttle washing machine that takes 2 hours/cycle (seriously, you should hear this thing).
I like my clothes drying racks.
I like the janky elevator.
I like my pillow/rock.
I like my IKEA everything.

J chillin on the balcony

All joking and sarcasm aside though, the Trastevere apartments are actually very nice. It took a while to get used to the Italian way of living (which is way more inefficient if you ask me).  It's all about "using less" and "conservation" in Italy, which is great, but it definitely is an adjustment coming from an American lifestyle where everything is excessive and convenient.  For example, you bag your own groceries and have to pay for the bags unless you bring your own.  It's obviously not a big deal at all, but it came as a shock the first trip there.

My room, far right bed. 

Back to the apartment... We have a cute, spacious balcony, and a big living/dining/common room area.  I share a 3 bedroom with two of my Kappa sisters, Maddy and Megan.  There are 9 girls total in the apartment and let me tell you, it is an estrogen overload. Haley, Sarah, Maddy, Megan, and Liv all go to UW Madison, and Alyssa goes to school in NJ.  We also have two other roommates, Rosalie and Shannon, who are really sweet girls from a small school in Connecticut.

From left: Sarah, Yours truly, Alyssa, Liv, Maddy, Megan, Haley

The Melodramatic Departure

So as is Classic Emily, I started packing at 11pm the night before I had to leave.  While I'm very accustomed to dealing with my procrastination and disorganization, my mom was not as pleased with my entire wardrobe strewn across the kitchen/living room/dining room/laundry room/entry way floor. But alas, I finished packing 2 suitcases with both suitcase space and time to spare (and I didn't forget anything!). 

I had to say goodbye to my mom before she left for work. We made it through without any tears, which is quite an accomplishment if you know Lynn.  Fortunately, my dad and sisters were able to deliver me to the Minneapolis airport.  Abby and Ally were very stimulating road trip company. 

PTFO

Saying goodbye at the airport was not the soap opera-esque send off I had envisioned.  Someone always had to wait in the car, as my dad was parked in a "Drop off, absolutely no parking" zone. They came to say goodbye in shifts while I waited in the security line. Of course my departure was not complete without my Dad running in one last time....because I forgot my laptop in the car (is anyone really surprised?).  I managed to hold it together until my family left, and then reality set in that I wouldn't see them for the longest amount of time thus far in my life.  It got pretty awkward when I had to present my boarding ticket and passport to the security guy as I cried and had to wipe slobber off on my sleeve. 

Overall, the flights were nothing too dreadful.  I slept and read the majority of the time, and the in-flight meal was actually pretty tasty. I did have to sit next to an elderly Muslim couple though who must have had anxiety about flying because every time the plane went through the slightest turbulence they death gripped the arm rests and began muttering "Alllahhhhhhhhh Alllahhhhhh."  The lady also snored. 

I arrived safely in Rome and everything went smoothly besides an instance where I thought I could drag my two suitcases to the designated meeting point, which would have been impossible, if not for a nice Italian man (sans English) who sensed my naivety and purchased a luggage cart for me. Seriously, bless his Italian heart. 

The taxi took me straight to my new home for 4 months where I coincidentally found Maddy Kenny (my friend and new roommate) crying her eyes out, locked out of our apartment. Good times. 

Oh the places you'll go

I came to a strange realization on Sunday that I have been in Rome for a full month already.  It feels like last week that I was wandering around the airport with lost puppy dog "help me I'm poor" eyes. (Seriously, if you get nervous going through airport security at home, imagine getting yelled at to take your boots off in French).  As I reflected on the fact that my time abroad is already a quarter done, I realized how fleeting the time and memories are.  

I never wanted to make a blog because 1.) I hate writing 2.) I'm lazy and blogs seem like a lot of unnecessary work 3.) The only people who care about what I'm doing is probably my Mom and Dad, and maybe my Aunt and Grandma.  I'm still hesitant about starting and I don't think I will share the link, but I wanted something for myself to capture every moment I spend here before they get erased by time. 

SO, here we go, future Emily (and maybe some randos who have the misfortune of stumbling across this pathetic attempt at a blog), I'm about to divulge every boring and sometimes interesting detail of your trip to Europe so maybe one day you can look back and get a good chuckle.