God Bless America

   I just returned from a trip to Naples where we had a basketball game on the military base. I had a fun time with my girls and shared many laughs. One of the highlights for this expat was visiting the commissary. I walked over with a few of my players and they told me I wouldn't be able to get in without a proper ID. I told them I would try. So I flashed my passport and my smile and was granted instant access. Holla!!!
   It was a beautiful sight. I felt like I had just walked into Safeway back at home. American brands, prices in dollars...it was wonderful. At home, never had I been excited to see a pack of Fritos but yesterday, it was as if those corn chips were a long, lost friend.
   I started in the baking aisle. Brown sugar! Chocolate chips! Peanut Butter! They even had Goober Grape! Goober Grape is an important part of my childhood and serves as punchlines to many inside jokes between my brother and me. I then continued on and found...Tapatio! Kraft Macaroni and Cheese! Cheddar Cheese! Hot and Spicy Cheez-Its! Peanut Butter M&M's!
   Needless to say, I stocked up and spent about $75.00. I even lucked out at the check-out line and didn't have the proper ID but gave my SSN and I was good to go. It was meant to be.
   Funny thing is, in the states, I rarely bought this stuff...but you don't know what you've got til' it's gone right? And this homesick girl is momentarily feasting on hydrogenated oils and yellow 5 and loving it.
  

Super Bowl Sunday

   This is the first time in years I won't be watching the Super Bowl. I think the only other time I've missed it is when I was in Australia back in 2001. So, how does one American expat spend Super Bowl Sunday here in Rome? By going to a museum. I'm trading my wing dip and guacamole for images of Monet and Van Gogh.
   I met up with a couple friends at the Galeria Nazionale Roma. We spent a good two hours walking around. We saw paintings, sculptures and even a death star. We had fun interpreting some of the more "interesting" pieces...I swear one piece was made of bubble gum.
  While it was a good afternoon, a part of me wishes I was hanging out in my friends' kitchen cheering on the Broncos with my people. I'm there in spirit.....GO BRONCOS! (For you Lizzy!) 

Italian Inch

    There aren't too many things I'm incredibly particular about. However, like most women, one thing I'm pretty picky about is my hair. Leaving Brittany, my hairdresser in California, was a sad day for me. She has been cutting my hair for quite a few years. Not only does she know my life story but she knows exactly what I like and dislike about my hair.
     I inherited naturally wavy/curly hair from my mother and maintaining it has always been a struggle-particularly in rainy/humid places. For example, ROME.
   Going to a new salon is always intimidating but even more so when you don't speak the same language. My first time getting my haircut here, my friend came with me and translated what I wanted done. He did a really good job. Phew...my anxieties about my hair were relieved. Little did I know...

   So last week, I decided to go back as my hair was in desperate need of a trim. A TRIM. This time, my friend couldn't come with me so I went to our secretary and had her type out exactly what I wanted done. I was very specific about what I wanted.

• No more than an inch (3 centimeters) taken off
• Internal layering in the back so you can't see the layers but some of the weight is gone (I have pretty thick hair)
• Bang trim
• Some layers around the face

   I didn't get the same guy as last time, but gave him my list of what I wanted and with the limited Italian I knew, communicated what I wanted. I'm pretty sure he read my list of things but in his mind, didn't like what I had written so decided to do what he wanted instead. About 2 inches got chopped off, he LAYERED the back (I can't stand layers in the back), he didn't do anything in the front. The only thing he did on my list was trim my bangs. Plus, he finished cutting within 5 minutes and someone else came over to blow dry.

   I couldn't help but think of that scene from Troop Beverly Hills when Shelley Long's character is sharing her "scary story," with her troop. Always thinking it was slightly ridiculous that all the girls screamed after she gives her punchline, "He PERMED me," I, for the first time, empathized with her character.

   The next day, I was sharing this story with some coworkers and they all said that most Italian hairdressers tend to ignore what you want and do what they want. Ummm.....what the heck??? Where is Yelp when you need it????

  So, *sniffle, sniffle* I'm now stuck with this choppy haircut which I hate, nearly cry every morning when I'm getting ready for work and miss Brittany more than ever. Sorry, no pictures for this entry...