http://www.myspace.com/artemisbutterfly

and shoot me a friend request so that I can add you.   I think my profile & stuff is public for now, but I may change that because I keep getting requests from Italian garage bands.   Or you can also view my blog at:

http://blog.myspace.com/artemisbutterfly

Thank you  to everyone who has been reading my blog and taking time out of their days to see what kind of shenanigans I get myself into.   And a special thank you to Pat for hosting my blog, and first introducing me to blogging when I was a dumb little lieutenant 5 years ago or so.   Please keep up with me via myspace, and I look forward to seeing yall on the web or in person.

Love always,

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In other news, I am trying to join the rest of the free world (and parts of the not-so free world too, if fark forums are to be trusted) and sign up for myspace.  Yeah, I finally gave in to the craze.  I still don’t own a computer though.

Here is a little tidbit about life in Italy.  Most of the autostradas (the Italian equivalent of an autobahn, or if you don’t know what that is, it’s basically the interstate highway) are toll roads.  The tolls can add up quickly.  For example, I have made at least 15 round trips to Venice in the last 8 months taking people to/from the airport.  That means I have spent at least $100 simply on tolls for a commute that is less than 60 miles each way.  So Italians will go to any lengths possible to avoid the expensive toll roads, which means if you are willing to pay to use the roads, they are generally uncrowded in my region.

For frequent travellers, you can rent a special device that goes on your dashboard and use the “telepass” lane.  This means you bypass waiting in line for a toll booth with an actual person or an automated machine.  Instead you drive straight thru and the toll eventually deducts from your bank account.  Italian banks give me a bad case of heebie-jeebies thus I choose not to use the telepass.

I figured that at 4:30am last Friday, it would be easy on the autostrada to take 2 friends to the airport.  However, when I got my toll ticket, there was no timestamp.  It didn’t print.  So I had to backup and bang on the toll button until another ticket finally printed.  Hmmm.  Didn’t look so good.  When I exited the autostrada, the only open lines were an automated booth and a telepass line.  Since I can’t use the telepass, I went to the automated booth.  The ticket device immediately ate my ticket, rang up the toll, and then quit working.  It wouldn’t accept any money or even a credit card.  After the 3 of us tried to get it to work for a while, I played frogger running across the lanes looking for an actual employee.  Naturally, no one was working at this hour.  By this time a line had accumulated behind us.

Great, I thought, now a whole line of Italians will have more not-nice things to say about us American ex-pats.  We couldn’t even use a toll booth correctly.   However, the man in the car behind us got out and was as pleasant as can be, even though it was 4:40am.  Another guy from another car joined us and we were able to tell them in broken Italian that the machine had malfunctioned. 

Finally, after many more awkward minutes and many more attempts at banging on the booth, the coin compartment finally opened and accepted my money.  The bar lifted, and then a security camera flashed brightly and took a huge photo.  Not good.  This usually means you get a ticket or fine in the mail a few months later.

I got my friends to the airport with no further snags.  Upon getting to work, I called the vehicle office for assistance.  They were mystified as to what to do and said to call back the next week.  I did, and they said they talked to the company that operates the toll booths.  Apparently, I should have called them for assistance while at the malfunctioning booth.  No, that wouldn’t have worked, because no phone number is posted anywhere, and we had 5 people looking for it.  Did I have a receipt?  No, the machine was not working.  Did the bar raise?  If so, that means everything is okay.  Yes, the bar rose but still took a photo.  Okay, then, well just pay a fine if you get it.  Thanks signoro.

Gotta love it here.

Instead, he rang my doorbell today around 3pm.  It unnerves me when people ring it without calling first after the unpleasantness of the smelly creepy soccer player (he kept trying to talk to me for several months over the summer and would ring the doorbell relentlessly).  I nervously answered the intercom and recognized his voice.  I said I was leaving for church soon and would be late, but then he asked for his DVD player.  I brought it down to the entry door right away and he started saying stuff in Italian, like “I’m sorry” and “I don’t speak English” and the poor guy was looking at his shoes the entire time.  I tried to say that I know English is hard (so is Italian but I digress) and that I understood.  So at least the problem solved itself and I was able to give him his DVD player back without too much awkwardness.  In fact, I even began to think I’d start answering the doorbell.

So I started to leave for church but forgot to blow the candle out.  I went back inside to blow it out and left the apartment door open to the common stairwell.  Next thing I know, some Italian guy is walking into my apartment.  After getting so startled I dropped my purse, I screamed.  Turns out he was a handyman and had walked into the wrong apartment.  Since my door was open, he thought it was mine.  He must have been pretty dang confused because I am the only apartment on the TOP floor so he’d climbed an extra set of stairs.  Anyway, he apologized profusely and ran back down the stairs quickly and hurried into the correct apartment.  But it still shocked me enough to the point where I will most definitely be using caution once again with the buzzer.

All I really did was have my mother buy me clothes, go grocery shopping with my dad, and eat barbecue.  I hung out with my sister some, but she’s such a nightowl/late sleeper that it’s hard to coincide schedules.

Hercules is driving me nuts.

I have some weird allergy in Italy that worsens every time I set foot in country.

The exchange rate plummeted, so up goes my rent for no good reason.

- climbed inside the Great Pyramid, completely worth the $20 entrance fee

- rode a camel.  It makes your ass sore and the camel smells bad but the ride is a blast

- felt sorry for the Sphinx.  That guy is in bad shape.  Stupid people tried to restore the Sphinx with concrete or cement and it failed miserably. 

- bribed our way into an off-limits area near the Step Pyramid of Zoser for $1

- wrote a break-up text message for an Italian guy to send to his Canadian girlfriend

- thought I’d lost my tour group at Abu Simbel (the closest thing resembling life is the Sudan border 50 km away) which diminished the experience somewhat

- had a shopkeeper tell me he hoped I died (not making that up)

- wowed a Korean lady with my 5 word Hangul vocabulary

- took photos with a good natured security guard at the Valley of the Kings

- was given possibly the sweetest compliment of my life by a heavily accented (and veiled) grocery clerk

I’d write more details but you really have to see it for yourself.

Afterwards, I went to a friend of a friend’s Halloween party.  This fellow and his lovely Italian wife really went all out with decorating.  His wife also has a very hot, albeit teenage, nephew.  Anyway, I still prefer Hercules.  The party was a blast and my friend Randy passed out goody bags…candy and condoms placed inside of Biohazard bags, the kind they put blood samples in.  Good prank on his part.  Even funnier when the older women at the party gave the condoms in their bags to the super hottie nephew.

Last Sunday, Hercules and I went to a dam near a small town called Vajont.  I thought we were just driving thru the mountains, not going to a dam.  But the story behind the dam was that when it was built 40  years ago, engineers were unaware that the mountain was too soft to accomodate the pressure of the dam.  Eventually, the water eroded the base of the dam away and the increasing pressure actually pushed the mountains alongside the dam apart creating a tidal wave that killed 2,000 people in minutes.  Anyway, there’s a nice memorial next to the dam and the drive was beautiful.  Afterwards, we went for pizza and he taught me how to make Italian coffee (what we think of as expresso).

He also came over Thursday night with some gelato.  Major points for bringing ice cream.  It’s getting easier to communicate, or at least I think I am understanding what he says.  My vocabulary is increasing quickly but I have trouble conjugating verbs properly, and using the correct one.  For example, if asked in English “How are you doing?” you would reply “I am well”.  In Italian, you say “I stay well”.  For example, in English you might say “We are happy” but in Italian you say “We have happiness”.  Sono molto confusia.

Egypt trip is a little over 2 weeks away, plus I have a ski trip planned next weekend and a ceramic shopping trip the following week (guess what everyone’s getting for Christmas).  Busy stuff but it’s fun.

So we had a nice pizza dinner at my favorite dive.  I don’t think the waitstaff in local restaurants are used to seeing local men dining with US ex-pat women, especially while speaking in an odd mix of English and Italian and of course constantly flipping thru dictionaries.  But anyway, all was good and I’ll cook a nice meal for him eventually once I figure out what he does and doesn’t like.  He is so polite I am sure he would have eaten the redneck food while saying “Eeez good, very good”.

The man in question was a tall, lean, blonde-haired, blue-eyed man who looked like he had just stepped down from Mount Olympus, perhaps Apollo in all of his sun-kissed glory.  I think we said hello but that was the extent of it due to our mutual lack of language comprehension (and I was embarrassed that I was more or less in pajamas).

When talking about him to Orlando, I referred to him as Achilles/Zeus/Adonis/etc.  Orlando kept calling him Hercules.  At first I thought he was playing along with my Greek god game but no, the man’s name really is Hercules.  Anyway, Orlando has mentioned him from time to time, saying he could call him up to meet us and other puny excuses, but I never took him seriously and instead preferred to just be grateful that there are such beautiful men out there to grace our eyes.

Enter Sunday night.  My sister and I went for a long walk while my best friend recovered from jetlag.  Then the three of us were going to Fred’s house for his birthday dinner.  Fred called to see when we were coming and I said “Oh, we’re about to leave the house.”

Fred said “Okay, great.  I’m here, and my daughter’s here, and Orlando’s here with his daughter, and some guy named Hercules.”

After I dropped the phone in astonishment, I had Fred repeat what he’d previously said.

Indeed, Orlando had brought along Hercules to Fred’s birthday party.  I told Fred I would be very late.  I was wearing mom jeans, fisherman sandals, and a tank top that would have looked childish on a 3rd grader.  That just wouldn’t do when meeting a Greek god, so after thirty minutes of my sister and best friend picking out clothes and giving me nays/yays on hair and makeup, I felt presentable.

When we drove up, everyone was waiting outside and there he was.  Mmmm.  He speaks a little bit of English, so with my pathetic knowledge of Italian we proceeded to have very mundane conversations, but who cares?  We were having a good time.  Everyone made a very serious effect to be very inconspicuous about leaving the two of us together and failed very badly.  Even the language barrier couldn’t block that.  We wound up going out for a coffee around 10pm, and he eventually had to leave because he needed to work the next morning.  But not without giving me a phone number.

And he called!  Yesterday actually.  I guess I am way too used to American guys calling a week later, if at all.  I guess we will see what happens because we cannot understand 95% of what the other is saying, but at least I have a lovely memory of having coffee with a man named Hercules who actually lives up to the name in my book. 

Okay, I am not trying to be gross here.  But someone on the Internet needs to take one for the team and address this topic.

For a few months, I was spending time with a fellow I nicknamed Jim #3 (he should be renamed Jim #2 based on his behavior but that would screw up my laundry list of nicknamed people).  I was unable to tell what he wanted from me, either as a friend or more-than-friend.  It was eventually made clear that he wanted an incubator or a traveling companion.  As anyone who has spoken to me for more than 5 minutes knows, I am most definitely NOT an incubator or potential mother, he seemed to place me in his travel companion category.

We took several trips together.  After a pretty good trip to the UK, he blew me off completely.  He had a tendency to blow me off every few weeks, and never once did he ever initiate a phone call, email, or trip.  So I figured at least I got a 50% discount on vacations with him and let it go.  He then emailed me weeks later, to which I responded if he had desired to spend 30 seconds to SMS “hello” to me, he would have made time to do so.  He proceeded to give me some psychobabble about how he does not want to get too close to anyone.  I told him that was crap; it’s possible to be polite without being an open book.  He eventually sent me a 1FCK soccer ball and a quasi-apology note, which I accepted, and he said he still wanted to have me as a travel pal.

He then blew me off again.

Was yours truly upset?  No.  See, I had already come to the conclusion that I could not travel again with him because of his atrocious bathroom etiquette.  So here are some tips for anyone who is taking a trip with someone else and will be sharing a bathroom.

1.  You gotta go when you gotta go.  We all understand this.  It’s like gravity; we know it is there but we would rather not have to be reminded of it.  Having said that, the method in which said activity occurs can be tailored to provide minimum nuisance to your travel partner.

2.  If you are in hotel, tell your companion that you are going down to the lobby for a few minutes.  Find the lobby bathroom, take care of business, and your companion will be none the wiser.

3.  If the hotel does not have a lobby restroom, try to go when your companion is not in the room.  I.e., while at the pool, exploring the hallway, whatever.

4.  If #3 is not possible, then give your companion fair warning.  Say that you are about to take a quick shower, wash your face, rinse your feet, etc., and ask companion if s/he would like to use the facility first.  Then while you are in, be sure to run the fan, and turn on the faucet or shower loudly enough to conceal any evidence.  And for crying out loud, be sure the door is closed completely (Jim #3 was bad about this).

5.  If you are in public, i.e., touring the Tower of London, tell your companion you want to check out something and will catch up with s/he in 15 minutes at the gift shop.

6.  NEVER take a bathroom break together when you know you need some extra time.  For example, if you are at the British Museum and last night’s fish-and-chips isn’t exactly causing harmony, see rule #5.  Do not wait until you are leaving the facility and your companion says “Let me hit the restroom quickly”.  This happened to me at the British Museum.  We were on the way out and I just wanted to dash into the restroom to wash my hands before leaving.  Jim #3 said he would too and would meet me outside of the restroom.  Well, let’s just say I wound up sitting on a pylon of sorts because I had been standing for so long waiting for him to get out.  This also happened at the Tower of London, but it was worse because I thought perhaps he’d left before me and gone elsewhere in the complex.

7.  Don’t make a joke out of it if there is no way to hide what you are doing.  For example, in Capri, Jim #3 and I were about to lock up the bed & breakfast room to go for a hike.  We started to walk and he said “wait, I’ll be right back”.  For 15 minutes I sat in the hot sun waiting.  I stepped back into the room  and could hear what was going on.  Gross.  I waited outside and eventually he came out and said “Well, I’ll hike a lot better now”.  Ewww.  I didn’t need to hear that.  Worst was when he noticed the tiny size of the bathroom in London’s EasyHotel (airplane lavatory size) and looked at me and said “No #2!”  How he could have the audacity to say that to me when he was the greatest offender of them all is beyond my understanding.

Okay, I’m done being gross now.  I just had to put the rules out there.

I am contemplating Egypt for Thanksgiving.  The travel agency offered to put me in touch with anyone else who is traveling solo in order to cut expenses, but I think presenting a random travel companion with a list of #2 rules might not win me any points.  I think I will just pay the single supplement and considere it quite worthwhile.