Donkey Shot

I need to stop being polite and start getting real.

My evening started off well enough. I skyped with my parents, bought my plane ticket to visit Pleuve in Paris, and had a farewell dinner with some friends for Michelangela who will leave in a few days. We ate at a pizzeria called Donchisciotte (the Italian spelling for Don Quixote and roughly pronounced DON-kee-SHOT, which kind of sounds like "donkey shot" now that I think about it...). It's located next door to my apartment so it may make for the most convenient meal I've ever had outside of my own house.

The four of us shared crostini, artichoke dip, a bottle of Chianti, and we each ordered our own pizza. I had the eponymous Donchisciotte which comprised of mozzarella di buffala, cherry tomatoes, and basil. Yummy. The best part was that I could finish the whole thing since the crust was so thin. I'm still trying to decide if it was good or bad to try this pizzeria out since it's so close by. Only time will tell...

After dinner we had gelato at Gelateria La Carraia 2, my favourite gelateria's second location which is much closer to where I live. Of course I had cookies and pistachio. Then we went to Lochness for drinks. Before we went in, we sat on their patio and waited for another friend to join us. During that time, my favourite bartender came out to smoke a cigarette and smiled at me. I hesitated, smiled, and waved back and then looked behind me to make sure he had been smiling at me since I am very used to misattributing greetings, even with my glasses or contact lenses. And I think he saw my confusion. You can put a leather jacket on a dork but you can never full smother the dorkdom! (Just to make things clear, I was that dork.)

I asked our waitress what my bartender's name was (it's Francesco, along with 1/3 of Italian men) and ordered five sweet peach cocktails thinking that he would make my dream cocktail for us all. Instead we got 2 not-as-awesome versions of my drink, 1 very sweet wannabe, and 2 apple-peach purée drinks. I was disappointed since I had hyped it up so much. Serves me right for making people have high expectations!

Michelangela had to go catch a bus home so I walked her to the Duomo while the rest of our friends stayed behind. On a typical walk home late at night on a Friday or Saturday, I pass by piazze and bars full of chatting Italians holding drinks, so I don't feel scared because there are tons of people around and I live a block away from one of the most popular student bars. Tonight, as I walked home alone around 12:45am and passed by the first of two busy piazze, a guy stopped me and asked if I had a lighter and then introduced himself before starting a conversation.

I learned that his name was Alessio, is 32 years old, and is originally from Calabria. I told him I was on my way home but he stopped me anyway. He got us a bottle of red wine to share on the street (classy), asked me a few more times whether I had a lighter, and that's when I first thought he was out of it. At some point he had to pee so he found a quiet corner in a property by the street and did his business. A few minutes later, he got up again and said he had to throw up, and I watched in numbed shock as he collapsed and started to vomit for about 2-3 minutes while laid down on the floor. I stood with an obstructed view and then waited to make sure he was okay before telling him I was going. I speedwalked my butt out of there and was home within a couple of minutes, all the while wondering if it had all really happened. When I told Posh, she gave me a lecture about how I have to be more assertive and less naive. I was so distracted by the weirdness of my walk home that I never stopped to think about the danger I could have been in. Lesson learned. I have to say "no" and practice doing a mean face.

Today's expression of the day is passarla liscia, meaning "to get away with it". I'm lucky.