Italy vs. USA

It seems like everyday I find another difference between Italy and the US. I don't go looking for them; I usually just stumble upon them. This past Saturday, Kevin and I were walking around the town center and stopped in Kevin's favorite butcher. We weren't buying anything; we were just looking around, checking out what people were buying, and eating the free samples. When we were leaving, an older woman (in her 60's) was walking out in front of us. She walked over to her bike, placed her purchase in her basket, and then hopped on. But what made this all shocking was the fact that she was wearing a dress, tights, and 3-inch heels. I can say that is something that is not a regular occurrence in the States.

Here, people always look presentable. In the States, people are slobs (me included). We wear sweatpants to the grocery store and put ball caps on over our unwashed hair. Last year in Fort Wayne, I had no problem getting up, grabbing my keys, and going grocery shopping in the same thing I wore to bed. Here, I feel like I would be stoned if I went to pick up a loaf of bread in that get-up. Tennis shoes are also nonexistent in Italy, except at the gym. People don't wear them out and about in their daily lives. If you see someone out in their ASICS, there is a good chance that they are from North America. I love that in Italy, everyone is dressed to impress.

Italy and the US also differ in their lunch breaks. Here in Italy, people leave work, go home, have a HUGE meal with their family, and then take a nap. In the States, you are lucky if you even get an hour to find something to eat, use the bathroom, and get back to work. When Kevin has a work lunch, I know he will be gone for at least two hours. It is also no big deal if you have a wine or beer with your lunch, even if you are going back to work. In the States, you would be fired if you came back from lunch with alcohol on your breath...no questions asked.

In our town of 6,000 there is not a fast food place in sight. The nearest McDonald's in located in Innsbruck. Their idea of fast food is going to the grocery store and having the deli make you a sandwich or grabbing a panini at a cafe.

Another difference is the coffee. In the States, if you are in need of a pick-me-up, you hit your local Starbucks and get a coffee the size of your head. Here, the coffee (even the bigger ones) are small. And I have yet to see a place that has take-away coffee.

You should have gotten the big one.
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Yep, that's right!

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For starters I am a horrible singer, but I know it and I am the first to admit it. But what makes it worse is that I usually only know about 50% of the words to a song, but I insist on singing them all. I either mumble the ones I don't know or just put in a word that sounds good. A lot of times, Kevin and I will argue over what the word of a song is and have to go to lyrics.com to find out who is right.

My new thing now is that I really like some Italian and German songs that are on the radio and TV here, but I don't have any clue what they are saying. I know the beat so I just go with that and make up my own words. But I'm pretty sure the words I'm singing aren't really words. Here is one of my songs that I love, but, again, I don't know what they are saying.

All My Friends!

After a week of company and only one trip to the gym in 9 days, I've been trying to get back into my routine of working out this past week. I actually really missed my trips to the gym and seeing all my friends there. Okay...so I've never talked to anyone there and I have no idea what their names are, but I refer to them as friends and have come up with nicknames for most of the regulars I see.

First off, there is my best friend; I usually see him at least once a week. He speaks Italian, but always gives me a smile whenever he comes, goes, or walks past me and this is a big deal because people here aren't very friendly. I also like that he doesn't smell like body odor or wear spandex. Then we have Ab-man. He is a 50-something year old man with a sweet moustache, a gold hoop earring, and abs of steel. He likes to look at them in the mirror at least 10 times a workout and I have to admit they are impressive abs for an older gentleman. My least favorite person is Wife Beater and I don't call him that because of the tank tops he wears. Him and his gf/wife actually got into an argument one day at the gym and he grabbed her by the hair. She likes to comes watch him workout...weird. I just want to tell him what a douche he is with his spandex shorts and homemade tank tops, but I'm pretty sure we don't speak the same language. There is also Grandma, Smokey, the Three Amigos, Disney, and Austin.

I'm waiting for the day when someone tries to talks to me and I can't answer in "ja", "nein", or by using hand motions. But I've been practicing "Ich spreche kein Deutsch" (I do not speak German) and "Non parlo Italiano" (I do not speak Italian) so hopefully I can at least get one of those phrases out. For now, I'll just stick with "hallo" and "ciao" when seeing my friends.

Sensory Overload

I came to the rink with Kevin this morning so I could get the laundry done (we don't have a washing machine/dryer at the apartment). The team just got a new Latvian player in the other day and he is here because he has to figure out his hockey transfers. In the process of calling the different hockey federations, he has had to speak Czech, Latvian, and Russian. Then, I have the head coach and the GM here throwing some German and Italian into the mix. Of course, I only speak English so luckily they are translating some bits and pieces for me. Thanks guys for making me feel included, but my head still feels like it might explode!

And in regards to the laundry, I am so nervous that I'm going to leave a pair of my underwear or a bra in the washer or dryer. All I need is for the guys to be talking about Frau Reiter's (Mrs. Reiter's) underwear.

On another note, I got offered the secretary job here at the rink. All I need to do is learn German and Italian. No problem...I just hope the job is still open in about 10 years!