Jesus.... What the fuck, you'll know when you read this. Rome......

Sorry for not posting in the last few days but its been a whirlwind. A windy whirly wind. Saturday, day 3, I went to the Vatican and was pretty blown away, the art they have is amazing, also what should I say about the Sistine chapel, everything everyone says plus, St. Peters Basilica huge, and I paid a bit extra to climb to the cuppola, which is the very top of the Basilica, the tallest structure in Rome, 360 degree view of the entire city, sweetness. Also I had what was quite possibly the best sandwich in creation, appropriate next to the Vatican. Great day. Later I went back to The Yellow Bar for my last night here in Rome. And met a girl that sat down at the next table (we talked all night, she's a super cool chick from Kashmir named Imi, 21, and her favorite band is Iron Maiden, really? yes...Really...) The bar was decorated Happy B-day everywhere, and it turned out it was for the owner Francesco and his niece Claudia. Crazy nuttiness my friends. Loud music, Imi dancing on the bar, shots flying everywhere ("staff meetings"). I started talking to a drunk, but not as drunk as later, Francesco, he was really interested about my Vegas experience and asked me to have dinner with him the next day cause he wanted to see if I could give some insight into upping the ante at his restaurant, Mama Angela's, its a family run Trattoria, but he wants to upgrade to a Ristorante. I said cool why not (I hadn't seen the inside of the Colloseum yet and was thinking of staying another day anyway), I had planned to leave in the morning for Naples, and would need to get another night in the hostel, he said "Would you like to be more comfortable?" I said "I enjoy comfort." Not really, I thought it. So he gave me a free room at the hotel across the street. Nice. He also implored me to join him for an "english breakfast" (imagine that being said in a heavy Italian accent, silly) at 11:00am. Well the party continued late, and I got to bed pretty damn late. So when I woke up feeling pretty out of it, my roommates were loud assholes and were checking out that day, when they left I looked at the clock and it said 8:30, plenty of time. I layed back down for like an hour, looked over and the clock said 8:30, shit balls... I checked my phone and the time was 10:35, 25 minutes to check out, fuckin fuck. I flew up showered and packed like a raging maniac, dizzy, tired, and cussing loudly. I had to check out and be there for my "english breakfast" after all. Well I made it, Francesco didn't show, later his friend said they haven't seen him that drunk in ten years, and then dropped my shit off at the Hotel Romae, check in was at 1:00pm. Shit stowed I began my hung over trek in search of shorts, it's hot here, humid, and i've been walking eight hours a day in jeans, my sweaty butt sticking to them like a warm moist towel at Lucilles BBQ. You know how many pairs I found? Hmmm, do you? None... that's how many, why didn't I bring some?  dumb... Meanwhile i'm surrounded by sprightly assholes dancing down the fuckin narrow cobbled streets, light in their demeanor, big pizza covered smiles, laughing and holding hands, singing "We Are The World" in Italian mocking me in their cool short clad asses....dicks..Anyway I get back have a beer, and join Big F and his family for a free Italian dinner experience. It was nice, for five of us there were like three big ass platters of crudo, oysters, and grilled scampi, with bottles of Pinot Grigio and after, pasta, and tiramisu. It was Francesco, his wife, daughter, brother in law, and yours truly. We ate, drank, chatted, and when we were leaving, Francesco said he wanted to offer me a one month contract to work for him to change the restaurant, retrain the staff, and new GM, in better service and sales techniques and what to upgrade in the joint to make it snappy. Shit, didn't expect that, I was thinking a short dissertation on a bar napkin. I said I needed to think about it. He said he wanted an answer tomorrow at breakfast at 11. Afterwards at The Yellow I saw Tad and we had some drinks, after I swore never again, huh, I told him the story and he was like, the mans a millionaire, he likes you, people just don't have dinner with the family, and if you have a benefactor like that in town, could be awesome, but he can turn on you. Hmm. We went around the corner to another bar, and left the little, cute, sweet, Kashmiri Indian 21 year old muslim, who is also, it turns out, a chain smoking, alcoholic. Didn't expect that did you? So we proceed to go aroud the corner to "chat", Tads like ,take it dude a month in Rome, and i'm considering it. Sitting there is Zizi, the Roman born, raised in Rhode Island African Italian/American. Cool guy. I asked his opinion and he had one run in, but F apologized later, and its been cool beans ever since. In fact a lot of people had left and Z wanted more money for more work (Romans don't make much, 600-800 Euros isn't that uncommon) Z was making 800, and F said ok here's 12. 50% raise, not bad. We sit down, play some rummy, I meet more local expats, and then the no english speaking Italian bartender from Naples, who after several of their own version of staff meetings, showed me a handshake and proclaimed us brothers. Tad left, wasted, Z had to catch the morning metro, shit stops running at a certain time and first train is at 5:30 in the am. We're behing the bar watching Napoli gangster rap, and needless to say I got to bed at 5:30. I wake up in the hotel, to the phone ringing, its F and its 11, sweet. I jump up, similar shit to yesterday, and run downstairs. Since I'm running late we go to his office and (imagine how dazed I am, I mean really, consider it) sitting there is David, the Manchester England hotel desk clerk that F wants me to interview for GM of the restaurant. Ask heem qwestions Dave. Really, what the fuck is happening? I try to pull myself together and make some coherent babble, it sounded ok, suprisingly...He's there just minute then F excuses him. What do you think Dave? Uh, huh huh, uhhhhh (imagine this in a Beavis and Butthead voice.) He's just what we need, I proclaim. Good I thought so too, F says. Come on I need you to talk to the vendor. Vendor? For? Meat Dave. The meat vendor. The meat vendor? Of course. Am I in the fuckin twilight zone or what? Ok, I stammered. Good. Quick intro, starts walking away, uh what do you want me to do? Whatever you think (as walking away) you decide. Neato.... From now on i'll just say a person with a super fuckin heavy Italian accent and little or no english to be had will be known as sfhiaalonetbh. So the vendor with the sfhiaalonetbh starts trying to say trucks almost here for the meat delivery, and starts flipping through his book and showing me lovely laminated pictures of dead flesh. You know I love that shit, but you are aware of the condition i'm in at this point and he's not. Awful..Meat shows, i'm thinking of fleeing but I go in the kitchen meet the cooks instead and finger me some meat. Looks good, local, awesome. Which by the way is why I haven't updated in a few days. Because of turmoil, of oddness, Roman fuckin, what, I don't know? I do sometimes find myself in situations that are, well, just not normal. How do I do it? (to be continued)