When in Rome

I'm getting ready to spend the next two months in Italy, "studying abroad" (drinking wine for college credit).  I'm living in Florence, former rage spot of the Jersey Shore and other less important historical shit, and staying with whom I hope is a fat old Italian lady who makes some bomb manicotti.  It's going to be two months of sipping cappuccinos, riding on Vespas through narrow cobblestone streets and any other activities I can partake in while emulating Julia Roberts in "Eat Pray Love."  Sounds like the life right?

WELL I DON'T WANT TO GO.  I hate change.  I almost withdrew from college the night before I went.  I hate having guests in my house.  I don't even like replacing my toothbrushes.  (I do it though...geeze I'm not nasty.)

As much as I hate change, I love complaining, so it's been a lethal combination for about a month.  I complain to everyone I know about going and they give me blank stares.  What would you do if some white bitch was whining about having to leave the Land of the Free [Frosty with Purchase of a Combo Meal] to go live in one of the most romantic and culturally rich countries on the planet while her dad pays for it?  Probably punch her, which accounts for my two black eyes.  So what am I so scared of?

There's No Target
Where am I supposed to buy my coffee creamer and mascara?  There's no Target (or Bath and Body Works, or Victoria Secret...but that's a whole separate issue), which is why 25 pounds of my 50 pound weight limit comprises extra essentials like Tresemme Curl Scrunching Gel and Venus razor blades.  I'm loyal to my products and have heard you have to buy your groceries and clothes in DIFFERENT STORES in Italy.  Since when was my convenience not top priority?

There's No Texting
Don't even try to appease me with all that Skype and emailing nonsense.  What am I going to do when I can't instantaneously text my boyfriend mundane details of my day or tweet my every thought?  Make up for it when I get back, that's what.  Brace yourselves.

There's No Gym
I love stereotypes, and as far as I'm concerned all Italians do is nom on pasta, drink wine and sit around hitting on foreign women.  While I plan on indulging myself in all of these activities, I'm not trying to gain five pounds a week.  I have a wedding to be in when I get back and I have already gotten my dress fitted.*  It's me versus gelato, and I hate losing.

*It's not my wedding.

I'll Be There During the Most Patriotic Days of the Year
My 21st birthday, for one.  I wonder if Italy has ever seen a bar crawl, because if they haven't they're about to experience American college.  Memorial Day, for another.  Do they even eat hamburgers?  And FOURTH OF JULY?  My favorite holiday, next to Flag Day.  I hope it's not illegal to set homemade fireworks off the top of the Duomo while drinking a Bud because I'm not trying to get arrested and have some Amanda Knox shit happen to me.  Regardless, I've packed my American flag that I like to wear as a dress and will represent until I pass out.

I've heard the Italians love shoes...I'll fit in fine...right??...

All My Money Will Be Gone
In two months, everything I own will be gone.  I plan on making the most of my time there, and that means two things: traveling and clubbing...both of which cost those monies.  Luckily, I plan on staying in Europe after my term ends and living as a nomad because I have gotten really into that show My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.

What If It's Not Acceptable to Wear Leggings and Cowboy Boots?
What if it's not acceptable to wear leggings and cowboy boots?

My only comfort is that I can call Italy "Bidd-aly" for two months and bring the biddie lifestyle to Firenze.  (Also I get to use the word "piazza" in regular conversation, and say things like "Let's meet at the Ponte Vechhio.")  If you have any other comforting advice (read: Euros) there is a comment box and the Help A Sista Out Foundation. 

Ciao, or whatever.

What I'll be doing as my plane takes off.