so the desert is pulling me back...catch up at

www.mistressgita.blogspot.com

Pecora=Sheep in Italian
Pecorino=is the masculine diminutive of sheep, and refers to cheese, generally such as Pecorino Romano,Pecorino di Pienza.
Pecorina=the feminine dimunitive of sheep refers to a certain sexual position most often associated with prison sex.
why do I tell you this? a lesson in etymology? No, my friends,it is a cautionary tale.
Picture this...yours truly drinking wine, eating buffalo mozzerella drizzled in honey, with my girls, at a hole in the wall restaurant in Calabria, that doubles as a gas station.
the owner, wanting to be hospitable to all people, but being extra hospitable to the American, being in an area that rarely sees an American, is cooking up all kinds of food, pouring me glasses of wine etc.
now let me interject that all products that come from the sheep, have a distinct smell. If you ever had contact with lanolino puro, you understand.
I am an american from California, i didn't grow up eating sheep. My mother would make lamb every so often, but lamb doesn't stink like ewe. So I associate that distinct odor with Calabrian cuisine.
Now let's go back to the scene of the crime...I had been drinking wine, my italian was getting lazy and the owner brings out this rice dish...it hit my mouth and I knew there was something sheep in there.
I asked him about it, but I chose the wrong words. Instead of realizing my gaff right away, I read his face wrong and thought that he thought that I said pecorina( prison sex) instead of cheese (pecorino).So instead of letting it be, I said
" you know I said the rice smells like cheese not prison sex"
at that point I had really outdone myself.
he filled my wine glass and instructed my girls to toast me.
It is amazing how I can trash up a place.

I have had it. I am done. I need to sew my vagina shut. It brings me nothing but problemi. Anche se ci sono alcuni momenti di piacere, il male che viene dopo vengo, is not worth it.

I have always felt that you should keep your friends close and your ex boyfriends closer.

I am done walking on eggshells and playing nice. I am done.

I am sick of the naked and vulnerable becoming the cold and removed as I get on yet another plane.

I am sick of the righteous. The rigid. The toxic.

I am sick of the way I factor in to all of this.

Things you should know about stuff you don't care about

If you are ever in Italy and manage to work your way in to the home/heart/bed of a local, there are a few things you should know.

Do not count on common sense or civic familiarity when acessing simple indicators as sidewalks,traffic lights,large multi-generational families eating gelato...They are not your friends!!! People idle on the sidewalks and walk in the streets. Some cities have not much in the way of safe pedestrian passageways. Generally any place you find a walk way you find a glut of motorini and piles of feces that question ostentatiously " Was that left by a dog or a donkey?".Please also note, signs such as "walk,yield, stop, one way street" are looked upon as oppressive and somehow linked with capitalism,fascism,nazism,america, the white devil, poverty in Africa, Osama bin Laden, Mickey Mouse, Betty White and the Devil himself. They are frowned upon or rebelled against outright.

A four way stop is like an experiment in social darwinism.

Though free in the streets Italians are otherwise quite regulated. There is a specific time and a place for everything-unless you are in Vatican City and there is never time for pre-marital sex,gay-marriage,spilling of seed outside a woman's fecund womb, Betty White,You Can't Do That On Televsion, corn on the cob-due to it's un-holy implications...but I digress.Oh and Alan Thicke. The Pope hates Alan Thicke. Someone must have told him he was a jew or muslim or something like that.

Yes, for an Italian, to eat eggs in the morning or to do things when conventions dictate otherwise would be a mistake, an act against the Pope and somehow a silent vote for homosexuality. Here is a sample conversation between Enzo and I
ME : "Hey it's lunchtime, let's go now, no one will be there"
ENZO: "But it's lunchtime".

And so it has been for years.

Always wear shoes. To walk barefoot in the house is an equal offense to, lets say, pedophilia or exposings ones' genitals to strangers. Italians are totally freaked about bacteria transference, but drink shelf stable milk and don't refridgerate eggs.Go figure

Always blow dry your hair. ALWAYS!!! This is one of the major canons of being Italian.Leaving the house with wet hair in the middle of summer is still frowned upon. Somehow wet hair is associated with the Black Plague and is not tolerated under any circumstance. My natural abberation to the hair dryer has earned me the nickname "Donna Rana" or frog woman because I am perceived as green and amphibious
After a relationship with this country that spans nearly a decade, I still revel in the subtle differences.Leonardo, one of my roommies comments on my constant laughter. Well, yeah, DUH of course I am laughing. Here I can totally surrender to my role as observer. People are pretty funny,ecclectic, boring, beautiful,grotesque,smelly and self possessed in the most unique ways. We all seem to think we are snowflakes, and guess, to some degree, we are...but in the immortal words of this horrible drunk I saw trying to pick up a very un-impressed black girl

"Come on baby, you know we are all pink on the inside".

The stratosphere
And
I am on
Top
with you
Below
Smiling,
Scared
of heights
So my eyes are closed
with you
Inside me
Immaculate
naked,naked
beautiful
I
catch my breath,your breath
Then let them
go
now
This is us
wax limbs
hot melting into
each other
Far too close,
now
Far too close to
The sun,
like the desert outside
sweating
And this
is all you know of
me burning
mouth moving over
you
warm skin
this, that
me before
I started this
running
And this
is all I know
you nervous
Tumbling,
Fumbling over
hands,words
this,that
you
I crave,carried with me
On the road
I spent years
running
trying
to fill
holes,
empty
with holes
I dug
On my own
trying to forget
you
I forgot
myself
And now
I am on top
dangling,tangling
with you
your breath
my breath
the stratosphere
shaking,scared
eyes closed
I don't want to
let you
go
and I am
naked,naked
terrified
for the first time
in years
I am not
running
and this is us
skin,salt
left to say
what we won't
don't worry
or forget
I love you

march 9th 2007 rome

Laundry List:Vegas Edition

Las Vegas

Boundless

Emotional

A rally in solidarity

stolen kisses

something soft and without words.

vodka and blackjack

really good tuna melts

hookers who know where the condoms are at 2am

you.

desert dust meets casino glitz

a vengeful sun after a night of sexual insomnia

both loud and subversive.

my future.

mine alone.

Don't forget

I love you.

So, for those of you who have come into this show late in the game, let the Mistress give a you a little History lesson.

Most of you know me as a wild wine drinking traveller with an atlas and no sense of direction.
well, I always have been a victim of some serious wanderlust, but I used to have some sense of where I was headed.

Summer of 2oo1,I was dividing my time between northern and southern california, doing something I loved, dating someone I truly loved and res.ected...I was about to graduate college...everything seemed .erfect.

Then reality came knocking. We were young, I didn't want to bend my life to fit his, he didn't know what he wanted from me or from life. We divided.

I cried, in a beanbag, in my livingroom, while watching hours of "Law and Order" reruns.I couldn't eat or feel. Then I graduated and there was the attack on the towers in NYC. My direction was lost under a sadness I couldn't see around or my way out of.

I went to Italy. Then Guatemala.Then here. I decided I would avoid California and the life that I lost there.

Flash forward six years. I am offered a job doing what I was doing in 2oo1, by the guy I was doing 2oo1.

I fly to Vegas to begin the interviewing .rocess and he flys out to monitor the situation.

wow.

We met and found a similar rhythm and electricity. It was amazing. Until morning.

I didn't realize how much I missed him. I don't know if I believe that there is only one great love in our lives...but if its true,I bet he is it. Which makes me really sad.

I had a complete meltdown at work


We have a policy that large parties are automatically "service compris" and checks are not divided.

Educated diners don't have a problem with this. Idiots do. Ah, and this is a world full of idiots.

I was kind enough to divide the check for a table of overprivileged snot nosed kids. They were 19-22 with gold amex cards.

I made an error. And the girl told me to void off all the cards and start over. Well, I wasn't about to do that. Not for all the Karma that being kind to such vile collections of DNA would buy me.

Then a silver spoon dropped out of one of their mouthes long enough for her to insult me, my intelligence,the world at large...I can't even tell you what she said-the next thing I know I am throwing their credit cards in their perfectly corn-fed little aryan faces and screaming at them to, and I quote, "GET THE FUCK OUT,GO,GET THE FUCK OUT".

Man. My coworkers said that they saw me shake my head,rear back, and then that's when the yelling started. It is all really blurry for me.But they said all their customers were really,really nice.

Italians Only Blog


Ieri ho incontrato uno di Macedonia al lavoro. Lui diceva che americani non sanno niente delle altre culture etc...Ho detto " Ma non e vero, anche se non so molto di Macedonia, almeno so che avete una insalata di frutta molto buona". Lui mi guardava male. MALE! Ho s.iegato che in Italia la macedonia e una minestra di frutta.Che era una battuta.

ma una cosa che non avrai mai .ensato se non avessi incontrato quello...ma cosa e diverso fra una insalata di frutta e una macedonia? e come si taglia la frutta? se si mette succo di frutta? E non dico che la macedonia e vicino L' Albania e una insalata di frutta si mangia in Italia.

hmmmm

chi na via fa