Bonjour! I’ve been back from my European extravaganza for a week now, and while I do miss eating chocolate bread smothered with Nutella every morning, I’m glad to be back in the land of toilet seat covers and gay men everywhere. I would like to take this opportunity to share some observations/pointers from my experiences:
♦If I told you I didn’t experience any jet lag whatsoever would you believe me? It’s true. Nobody understands how that happened… Including me. But then again, I’m also the person who runs a half marathon and then waits tables for 5 hours after. And the kind of person who does strenuous exercise, then gives blood, then drinks margaritas immediately after. (I’ve also been known to have a slightly mild case of narcolepsy.) But when all else fails, chase a Benadryl with a nice glass of red wine and zzzzzzzzz…
♦The fact that I survived 4 cities in Italy with SO MANY TOURISTS and managed to come back without a foreign criminal record is an accomplishment I’m extremely proud of. I love Asian people, I really do. In a perfect world, I would produce an adorable set of boy/girl twins, and then adopt myself a future United Colors of Benetton catalogue with two different types of Asian babies. But the world isn’t perfect. And neither are Asian tourists. They travel in large packs, they walk ridiculously slow, and they stare at things FOR. EVER. If you see a large group of them, do whatever you can to walk as far ahead of them as possible, or kill yourself. On the upside, if you need someone to take a picture of you, always ask an Asian. They are eager to please and always happy to help. (Which oddly enough is what also makes them great massage therapists.) Also, they are the least likely to take off running with your camera. God bless Asians.
♦Europe seems to operate on a different “gaydar” frequency. I learned that the hard way when I was fondled by my waiter in Rome. I still thought he was gay until he made animal noises at me and demanded I meet him by the toilet. Fortunately, I was able to resist his romantic advances. From that point on, and thanks to my brilliant little sister, I decided to assume no man was gay for the duration of my visit. It turns out NO man was gay anywhere. Just European and, at times, just plain creepy. Nevertheless, I managed to return to LA with my vagina unscathed. Hooray!
♦All of that being said, it never really hurts to show a little cleavage. Cleavage is a universal language and it can really get you out of a bind when you don’t know how to buy a subway ticket in a foreign country.
I hope these little tidbits of wisdom will help in the success of your future European endeavors. Until next time.