The height of Italian linguistic skills here.
Quick post to share the most awesome reader comment ever. Can you top it?
My tips about how to watch American men in spandex… with an Italian husband.
The super stealth detective skills of yours truly, put to the test in the ultimate question: “did my Italian man cheat on me?”
In an effort to stay on the happy side of life, I’ve decided that I should first point the finger at myself. So, let’s all breathe and take a look at some of the crazy crap we foreigners in Italy try to pull, shall we?
A cryptic, yet literal, ‘How To’ guide for the logistics of buying land in Italy. (By the way, we now own 0.000023% of Italy!!!)
Those of you expats who are particularly strong-willed (read ‘stubborn’) may be able to relate to this short, yet accurate, assessment detailing the three phases of submitting to the way things are done here in Italy – or, as I like to call it, “1,2,3, é così”‘.
In my vast one year of experience (but 6 years together, with 5 of them in Italy), I shall try to address and debunk some common myths about marrying an Italiano, with a concerted effort to artfully sidestep the stereotypes and generalizations that sometimes get me in trouble.
The most interesting discoveries can come from lack of reading material while you’re on the toilet.
Exploring my thoughts on tight versus loose, regarding men’s lower body garments.
This is the Hollywood-like (only not really) dramatic retelling of our persistent loathing of the vista from our balcony: ‘La Casa di Sand and Fog’.
What is sisso? Some would say it’s like gold. It’s the fuel of the regional agricultural industry. It’s the byproduct of the rich food culture of traditional Emilia. It’s a farmer’s most essential source of nourishment. It’s the smell that fills the air at dinner time in the summer. It’s the taste that lingers in your mouth after exhaling.
It’s pig poo.
How do you tactfully beg this of your fiance’s brother at their mother’s dinner table? This was the task I was charged with one memorable evening two years ago.
The second week after arriving in Italy, as I was knee deep in my attempt to nest in my boyfriend’s bachelor pad, our toilet broke… it was a Friday morning. This is the story of my naive attempt to have it fixed.
The architectural standards guide that answers all questions, both about architecture… and life… let’s take a look, shall we?
The story of an Italian husband saving his own hide with none other than… food.
The following story has been one of my favorites to tell and retell over the course of my time here in Italy. It was one of my first culture shock experiences, and it took place the first month I was in Italy – about 4 years ago. It exemplifies the understatement that Italian do all business by word-of-mouth and personal recommendations.
disclaimer: This is me just venting (ha!). I actually am not a big fan of air conditioning (ha again! I kill me.). Here’s what I really think helps indoor air quality: http://emuarchitects.com/2013/08/20/mold-and-condensation-problems/ ______________________ I am originally from a hot climate. My home state in the US regularly sees summer temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. I remember…
To “romp one’s palles“ is a fantastic Italian phrase that I have Americanized to the point of sheer embarrassment. In order to get the full effect, remember to use this with a heavy American accent… leaning towards Californian (think ‘surfer dude’). Keep in mind the added ‘s‘ is simply to make it sound plural in…
“F.I.A.T. = Fix it again, Tony,” was my uncle’s response to the story I’m about to tell. I was pretty sure that phrase was born out of some sort of prejudice against Italian-American immigrants back in the day (which would be funny since my uncle was one), so I went to check on it before…