Italian Passion

"No, I will not go on a cruise with you" I told my grandmother.

It is hard enough, living in a house with an elderly Italian couple in love.

The worst is when my grandmother says, "I cannot wait until Bianca brings home a nice boy." So I started bringing nice boys home for dinner.

They usually like my grandmother’s food more than they like me. 

I just bring them to shut her up anyway. It is a win, win.

Italians in love are like dogs, loud and you can't get away from them.

I had to delete half of my friends from Italy on Facebook because they eat up my newsfeed with romantic pictures, quotes, songs and links. 

I do not care that you and your boyfriend of two weeks are "in love." In fact it annoys the shit out of me. It is better off that I am not exposed to your absurdity.

Know how many friends I have lost touch with because of "love?" (I am specifically referring to Italians here. Take this as nice cultural anthropology lesson for you.)

Right now, at this moment, I am going to let you in on a little secret.

 ITALIANS CHEAT. THEY ARE SERIAL CHEATERS, STAY AWAY. 

I don't know why. It must be that Italian passion. Everyone deserves a taste? Don't hold this against me. I never cheat… never. At least not according to my rule book. It isn't cheating unless you are married with children, and the children are under 10 years old. Now that is a reasonable rule, don't you think?

Anyway, back to the Italians. Every time I go to my small Sicilian town I hear a new cheating story.

Damnit, everyone in the entire town knows that child has another father, how the hell doesn't the husband know? The kid could be half chinese and the husband wouldn't have a clue. I find it quite amusing.

"How interesting, your daughter looks absolutely nothing like you. In fact she looks exactly like that man over there."

Now, this is exactly what I would say if I wasn't afraid of disappearing. So I keep my mouth shut and stick to gossiping about it with my cousins.

Thank goodness half of my friends can't read in English. About the other half, I would assume they are the educated half, open minded and accepting of my sarcasm.

For some reason, every time I visit my town, people know exactly where I am at any given moment.

I feel like a freaking celebrity every time I visit. Once, I found my picture on their website. I mean, I was getting milk from the store. Was it necessary to put up a picture of me holding a grocery bag?

One beautiful summer, I made the beautiful mistake of dating a boy from my town. I bet most of you know exactly who I am talking about.

He was not my boyfriend, just a fling. I stopped having boyfriends at 14 years old. I believe love comes once. The rest are for passing the time. 

I could be seeing someone for months, once they call me their girlfriend, I run away. Like, come on, who do you think you are? You need my permission to call me your girlfriend, stop acting crazy.

I guess I have commitment issues?  

Anyway, the two of us together was a bad idea. Neither him, nor I cared about what anyone had to say. We walked around the town holding hands like it was no big deal. Until people started asking if we were engaged. "Engaged? Please we haven't even slept together, gosh."

"YOU HAVEN'T SLEPT TOGETHER!"

Unless I wanted my grandparents to send me on a plane back home, and it to be written in the newspaper, I was not going to sleep with him. Small towns to blame that kid didn't get some.

Anyway, they did not believe a word of it. Probably because they are used to compulsive lying. With all of the 13 year olds running off with 24 year olds, you have to expect compulsive lying. My fling was only 3 years older than I. I had morals.

One night, a local restaurant owner offered my friend and I some beer and started conversation. He was a cool guy and I didn't think anything of it. Maybe because I was an innocent 15 year old. When my friend told me we had to leave because he was flirting with us I nearly cried. "Him, flirting with us? That is insane, we are 15, we know his daughter."

Now I know better.

His daughter was an acquaintance. We used to smoke cigarettes together behind the "office." You know, the secret place everyone smokes cigarettes, which is not actually a secret because everyone knows about it.

Just like the park. Everyone knows you are going to the park with your boyfriend for one reason, and one reason only. Just make sure you look in the mirror before you re-enter the piazza.

One night, I made the mistake of making out with this kid in the park.

When I walked back into the piazza, not knowing I had black shit all over my face, people began staring. To top it off, my entire face was red from his stupid half shaved beard. Then I remembered, I was wearing black lip liner. Mistake! Wrong time to be gothic, right?

Anyway, we were quite the couple. He was so bad ass and had the best blonde hair ever. It spiked up to one foot above his head. I have pictures if you'd like. He would also draw for me, and meow at me from down the street.

To top it off, he may or may not have been a distant relative and that kind of excited me. Good thing we weren't actually engaged or that might be a problem.

I miss that town, however, I am reluctant to go back. It is the strangest town.

There are no homosexuals.

No lesbians, no gays, no threesomes, nothing. It is like the twilight zone or a bad movie.

I come from New York City. You cannot fool me. Hop out of the closet and onto the bandwagon. It must be no fun stuck in that small closet, in that small town.

I will visit one day soon, to find everything just the same, crazy just the way I like it, and beautiful just the way I remember it.

Sexual Healing, Makes Me Feel So Fine

“Sexual Healing, Makes Me Feel So Fine”

If you ever want some sexual healing, you should head over to the “Burning Man Art Festival” outside Reno Nevada where self-expression, experimentation and healing is prominent. This year approximately 27,000 tickets were sold. That is a lot to work with if you are looking for a good time.

            After some relationship complications, one young couple decided to give “Burning Man” a shot. I would describe this couple as tree hugging, life loving and consciousness praising college students who should be looking for a more practical major than philosophy instead of experimenting at an art festival. If not for career prospects, than for their mental health.

            “Burning Man” was quite the experience for Tom and his girlfriend. After some dancing and chanting, they decided they needed some “sexual healing.”  Having insecurities about his performance, Tom sought higher guidance. There, he found the master, Dr. Love, and his girlfriend was along for the ride.

            “I am uncomfortable with the thought of being with a man,” said Tom while talking to Dr. Love and his girlfriend. They were taken aback. They were not, by any means, on the topic of homosexuality. Dr. Love did not take his statement lightly. In fact, he saw it as a green light to jump on the bandwagon.

 “I am sensing a lot of sexual tension,” said Dr. Love to the couple. “I think we should explore this further. We cannot ignore this problem.” Tom and his girlfriend were having problems, so they were all ears. Next thing they knew, they all went into bed together and began to cuddle.

“I am sensing some jealous energy,” said Dr. Love, as he pet Toms girlfriend. “Yeah, maybe I am a little jealous,” said Tom confusedly. As if being a little jealous that some man fondling your girlfriend is a serious issue that needs addressing.

            Part two of the healing process was the admiration of the penis. “You need to value the true power that the penis withholds,” said Dr. Love. “I want you to put your pants down, observe your penis, and recognize the power of its procreation and its power to please. The penis is a tool for pleasure, holding the deepest power of your consciousness, as well as its past traumas within it.” Dr. Love was obviously preying on their vulnerability. Tom and his girlfriend were deeply involved in his words. I don’t know how they fell for it, but they weren’t hesitant in trusting him.

“Now, go and use the power of your penis to help that girl,” said Dr. Love, pointing to an obviously depressed girl sitting on a tree stump. Tom looked at her and back at his girlfriend. After his girlfriends undeniably foolish, but expected consent to please the girl for the “sake of her healing,” he gave her some of that “unrestricted power of his penis,” with her consent as well. If all went as planned, I am sure the girl is floating around in ecstasy, relieved that all of her ailments were healed through the power of the penis.

Now, Tom and his girlfriend are in a “Polyamorous relationship.” A romanticized way of saying “I am screwing other people and we both know about it so it is ok.” Dr. Love convinced them that it is only fair they share their sexuality with others. “Since you give your love to one another, why shouldn’t you share that love with those who may really need it?” said Dr. Love. Tom and his girlfriend took this very seriously, being very enthusiastic about their newfound “Polyamorous” relationship title. There was even a sexual workshop run by Dr. Love later that day, and I am sure they are now his newfound poster children.

“I never explored my sexual energy with Emma from college,” said Tom. Which is basically another way of saying, “I want to get with this hot girl from school.” Now in days people either take sex too lightly or too severely. In their case, they are putting sex on a throne and bowing down to it. At least someone is getting some. Ill just sit at home and write about it. 

My Tutor is a Creep

“My Tutor is a Creep”

If you didn’t already know, the MCAT is that dreaded exam that future doctors need to ace to get into medical school. For some, it is the most important exam they will ever take in their lifetime. Acing the MCAT requires months of diligent studying and thousands of dollars in preparation materials. This is the exam that will make or break you.

I once went on a date with a guy who went all the way to Poland for medical school. Great MCAT score, decent grades. One screw up and you’re on the ship out.

Somewhere else in this pool of men was another studying for the MCAT. He was in the library two to three times a day while I was celebrating my last weeks of college. How do you think that panned out?

Anyway, one of my best girl friends from high school is currently studying for this exam. I don’t know what she hates more, the fact that she studies for 8 hours a day, or her tutor, an anesthesiologist who smokes hookah during their tutoring sessions. “Do these questions and I will be back,” he would say.

He is so comfortable with Pam, that he asks her to set him up on dates with her friends. Pam’s house is always filled with 22 year old girls.

“His students and their friends are potential dates,” Pam’s dad said. “But these girls don’t have the patience for old and overweight doctors.”

“He just made it difficult for me to function,” Pam said. “I had to fire him.”

Pam is so unemotional and blunt, that firing him was like brushing her teeth in the morning, simple and necessary. And luckily, I had front row seats.

“I don’t care what your argument is. I don’t need your tutoring services anymore. I am cutting inefficient things out of my life and you are one of them,” Pam said to her tutor.

“How can you say we don’t get any work done? We have come a long way,” he responded. He was desperate.

“I have reached a plateau and there is nothing more you can do for me,” she said coldly.

How could he question Pam? She is no joke.

“We are sitting there, studying, for 8 hours. It is astonishing how much we get done given how much I despise him,” she told me. “And he is unreliable, sometimes he shows up three hours late.
When I asked her how her tutoring sessions went, this was her response. “Sometimes, he will ask me to do a problem and I will reply with, “I want to take this pen and stab you in the eye.” Interesting, I thought to myself, he is actually eliciting serious emotion out of Pam. This is bad.

“Are you going to get another tutor,” I asked. “Not right now, I think I have PTSD, I cannot handle another tutor.”

When Pam’s mother came downstairs to talk about her decision in firing the tutor, she sighed and said, “Bee, can you pass me the chocolate?”

Rough times.

The man is clearly upset, but that is not her problem. Don’t get me wrong, she learned a lot, but how long did he honestly expect to stick around for? Now he can smoke all the hookah he wants, but on his own time.