10 Novembre – Am I WHAT?

Had another frustrating and crappy day with trying to communicate. The telephone situation has deteriorated. My magicjack doesn't want to work when I'm trying to talk to my Mom, whether on her cell or landline, but hub-unit can hear me. I don't know. But a bunch of phonecalls where I can only hear my mother shouting “hello hello?” at me is disheartening. And this was AFTER I purchased a new phone and cord. Maybe it's just them... no, it's not, but I wonder why hub-unit can hear me.

Another day with Mamma. Cooking, eating and entertaining. Laundry, shopping. She bathed by herself and we changed her dressings . She's doing very well. On the other hand, I feel like an Italian housewife. Mister man is here to help of course, I'm not doing all the household chores on my own. He may speak out of turn when it comes to my cooking, but he is no stranger to cleaning up when his mother is out of commission. His head would be placed on a stake by yours truly, otherwise.

But he and I have been around each other too much and he's getting on my nerves. We're friends but we've never spent this much time together in a stretch. He can go back to work any time as far as I'm concerned. Got into a spat when having a conversation and he mistranslated what he was saying into English. What? Come again? You said what? He kept repeating the statement and I kept questioning it, trying to ascertain that it was what he really meant. He got irritated with me. I translated it back into Italian to be sure that was what he was saying and he got angry that I kept questioning him. “Kricka, my English is much better than your Italian. We know this.”

Turns out he was wrong in his use of the phrase in English. Hmm. Imagine that. But we had a fairly animated blowup nonetheless. Things were said. Ugh.

He still owes me an apology though.

Yeah, I'm happy I'm going back to work. I'm happy he's going back to work. I stopped in at the hotel to print out client dossier information for my group tomorrow. Sure, I'm coming in at the tail end of the tour, for just the last two nights, but I can still try and know names and relationships, etc for the short time I have them. Frank said he would send me some notes too.

Stopped in at the bar to see Aldo. There was a loud group of six Texans in the corner. If I am twenty-five feet away and can hear every word of your conversation, you're loud. You always know they are from Texas because every other sentence begins with “Well, in the state of Texas...” These folks were discussing medical marijuana. And none of them had ever smoked it in their lives. Ah, informed and authoritative discussions. Yay.

So when the one charming southern belle plaintively asked “Why can't the cancer patients just drink? Drinking makes you relaxed and feel better.” I piped up and said “Excuse me... cancer patients don't usually want a drink. When you're beyond nauseated from chemo and radiation and you can't keep anything down and you have no appetite whatsoever, having a glass of sparkling wine is not going to help the situation.”

“Oh.”

They got quiet after that. Gah. Shut up if you have no idea what you're talking about in public. Or just shut up in general.

Aldo smiled at me. “Ah, Kristina. You are wonderful. I have heard them talk for three days now about nothing. Now – they are saying nothing.” I told him I need to stop piping up in the bar and verbally assaulting paying guests. They'll throw me out eventually. “Not me. I never will. You are the security lady of the bar. Keep it civilized.” Ha! Thanks Aldo.

This darling couple ended the evening for me. Gay couple, from New York, just married. Honeymoon in Venice. Adorable. John and James. They heard the exchange with the Texans after coming in from the terrace from their cigarettes and wanted to give me an “atta girl.”

“Honey, they have been yammering forever about all kinds of things. Somebody finally shut them up. Let us buy you a drink.” No, that isn't necessary. But thanks.

They came closer and the younger of the two stopped and touched my hair all of a sudden. “Oh my, I'm so happy I came up close. You are so beautiful. Are you an opera singer?”

Ok, cue the sound of the record scraaaaaatch. WHAT??? (internal, of course)

Uh, no. I'm a tour guide.

“You're just so... full... of life. You're hair is so shiny and bright. Your eyes are gorgeous. Your makeup is flawless and I thought you had on a stage costume!”

My embroidered velvet jacket is now part a stage ensemble, I surmised. But hey, I have flawless makeup. Whoo for me! The opera singer thing though? I have a tough time with that. I guess “opera singer” is a gentler euphemism to say than fat lady. But it's not such a downer I suppose, no matter what size I may be, my hair is shiny and bright and my eyes are gorgeous.

Things could be worse.