Rome
One of the girls at the Chique Terra hostel suggested a trendy hostel in Rome, owned by some fabulous American gay guys called “The Yellow.” I checked in and the front desk guy let me know there would be a pub-crawl that night. I had a big day planned of seeing the Pope at the Vatican the next day so I passed on the pub-crawl and crawled my ass into bed. I had the weirdest dream about the IRS coming to confiscate my brain like aliens. Nobody in my family had been to college, it was a personal goal of mine to break the cycle and finish school. During the big dot com boom in the late 90’s my mom got a job in the Silicon Valley for some start-up company. Her position as “Office Manager” included stock options. Mom didn’t know what stock options meant, her co-workers just said, “Sell.” She sold about a million dollars worth of stock. The money made her feel guilty and uncomfortable, so she gave it all away. She bought one of my sisters a modular home in a trailer park. The other sister got a van and band equipment. Mom asked me what I wanted and I told her about my dream of going to college. She paid my full tuition to Mt. Hood Community College where I received an AS degree in Radio Broadcasting. That’s as far as I got with my schooling before mom got a knock at the door from the IRS. She didn’t know the stock was taxable and by the time they caught up with her, all the money was gone. They repossessed everything but my degree.
Suddenly I felt something-wet land on my arm. I sat up and found a pub-crawler on the top bunk above me puking her guts up landing all over my bed. I went downstairs to the front desk and asked if I could have some clean sheets and told him one of his pub-crawlers had puked everywhere.
“Again!” he shouted as he grabbed a clean set of sheets and a mop. “I hate people who can’t hold their booze!”
The next morning I set out to see the Pope, he gives a weekly public sermon that really packs a crowd. I was surprised to see him in his bullet proof booth, which to me, shows a lack of faith in the Lord protecting you from evil and all that crap about God will take you to heaven when it’s your time to go.
Rome is a weird juxtaposition of really old and modern architecture. It’s as if when Rome fell, nobody bothered to pick it up. Walking down the street you’ll see a broken column that’s hundreds of years old just laying there now occupied by homeless people as a bench to sit on.
When I toured the Coliseum with my audio guide, I realized that life back in the Roman days was much more violent and barbaric than they are today. Here gladiators fought wild animals to their deaths for public entertainment, now that’s fucked up.
I had been warned that Italian men can be aggressive towards woman; however I grew up in a Latino community and found the assertiveness quite similar to the Italian men. Italians are Mexicans with better clothes and more money. I was used to the men who undress you with their eyes and whistle as you walked by. The best way to deal with this situation is usually to ignore and keep walking. Today I walked by a group of teenage boys who started in on the hoots and hollers, out of nowhere I reenacted in a monologue from a scene from the movie: “Dirty Love” where Jenny McCarthy grabs her breast and acts like a crazy person. The boys laughed and my strategy worked.
I worked my way to the Trevi Fountain to make a wish (to not be puked on again). I threw in my Euro coin, which legend says will ensure your return to Rome. A beggar woman came up next to me with a long bamboo stick with maybe a magnet attached to the end and fished out my wish. Tonight I will sleep on the top bunk.
from my book: Scars of Paris available at Borders Barnes & Nobles Amazon
