Wanting to Be...

Sì, vivo ancora / Yes I'm still alive

2005-12-26T23:23:00.000-08:00

And I'm at a new location: http://velvet-star.com/blog/

So come on over!

Happy Birthday Mom! Tanti Auguri!

2005-11-14T01:00:00.000-08:00

Mom, this letter won't get to you on time, but I'm going to post it here in hopes that you can read it here instead.

Dear Mom,
It's hard to express the wealth of love between us. It's not your everyday run-of-the-mill love. Instead it comes from understanding what we've been through, seeing the hurdles we've crossed and knowing that we'll always be there for each other.

Mom, I love you so much and I owe you for all the sacrifices I've seen you make and those I haven't. You've taught me so much: to have fortitude in the face of hardship, perserverance in the face of failure and pride in the face of a good job. It's the lessons we take from life that shape us. Mom, without a doubt, I have you to thank.

I don't know how I can repay you for all you've given me, or even if I'll be able to, but I wanted to let you know that I love you. Not just today, because it's your birthday, but everday. I don't say it enough. I love you Mom. Happy birthday to you.

A daughter who loves you,
Tiff

A Good Daughter

2005-11-13T10:36:00.000-08:00

Well, I promised to define everything on the list and this is the last one, thus far.

A good daughter... well you won't find my picture beside the word in the dictionary.

It's my Mom's birthday on Monday and I've had her birthday letter for ages without even putting it in an envelope because I wanted to keep it out and be sure I didn't think of something better to write along the way. See, my Mom is very special to me. Without getting into history, let's just say our relationship hasn't always been easy, but that's why I cherish it all the more. I'm very worried about it being perfect especially since she read my father's birthday letter and teased me that she fully expected me to best myself when her birthday letter came around.

Anyway, as you may know, I had jury duty last week and then worked late at work on Thursday and Friday to make up some stuff that absolutely had to be done. Well, guess what? Bad daughter I am, I forgot to mail her birthday letter!

::Sigh:: I know she going to think I forgot, but that's not true! Anyway, I put her letter in the mail this morning, after getting desperate last night and calling Fedex to see if "same day" delivery was possible on Monday. Of course it is, they answered, for a tidy sum beginning at 173 dollars. At that price, my letter should get its own airline seat. Needless to say, I didn't do it.

Being so worried that the letter wasn't perfect, I interrupted My Italian last night just before I sealed the envelope and asked him to listen to me read the letter to him. I wish I had taken a picture. Or better yet, video. His face dropped at my request. I mean, literally, just dropped.

Me: "What's wrong? You don't want to hear it?"
Him: "No, it's not that. Ok, let me hear it."

I am immediately stone-faced. You have to understand he frequently asks me to read things he writes because he is insecure about his English. I ask him to read one thing and he looks put out.

Me: "No, forget it."
Him: "No really, I want to hear it."
Me: "Then what's with the look of dread?"
Him: "It's just going to be so... cheesy. You know cheesy letters. They make me want to..."

He feigns heaving and then throwing up.

Me: "Ok fine don't read it.
Him: "No really, I want to..."

Pause as I huff and reread my letter, not looking at him. How could he want to when he had just feigned violently losing his lunch?

Him: "No, read it to me. It's just that... A few years ago my Mom found a letter that my Dad had written to her while they were still dating. We were all in the room and she was readng it to us. My Dad was turning red and of course my sister was just sighing and sighing, saying bella. I had to leave the room. I still wanted to be able to look at my Dad with some respect. But I still want to hear your letter."

That was the last straw and I walked out of the room. He's trying to convince me that he wants to read it while telling me this story? By implying his respect for me is at stake? Is he out of his mind?! He must be because there are many things I can deny him and he would not be a happy camper, if you know what I mean.

Unfortunately, I cannot stay mad at him for long. He came running over to me, with puppy dog eyes, biting his lower lip and pulled me into a tight embrace. Honestly, he looked confused as to my anger. When I finally relaxed enough to shake his shoulders and explain my anger to him, we had a good laugh because he swears he did not know how he sounded, but I still think he was temporarily insane.

Men. Now their picture is beside "clueless".

Conclusion: Jury Duty

2005-11-09T20:53:00.000-08:00

The key virtue to doing jury duty is patience. I've heard expats talk about how inconvenient it is to do anything dealing with the government in Italy. My first run-in with jury duty and this leads me to believe the US government is no different. But they did apologize. Over the loud speaker.

Here's a (long) summary:
On Monday, after sitting around for a couple of hours, they finally called my "panel". A big group of us trooped up there and dutifully sat through a lengthy roll call of badly pronounced names. No hats, gum, books, writing implements, cellphones (and they had to be off), or other elecronic devices. This meant most of us spent our time twiddling our thumbs and picking invisible lint off our clothes. Then finally the judge came in and told everyone who did not have a language barrier or financial hardship to come back on Wednesday at 9am. Cue most of us leaving.

On Wednesday, I return, arriving five minutes before nine. You see, on Monday I had come in the afternoon and the line to get in and go through security was only about fifteen people long. This morning the line stretched out the door, into the courtyard and curved out far along the sidewalk. I swear, there were more people in this line than worked in my building at work. I'm going to be late, I know it and sure enough, I check into the jury duty room about a half an hour late. I'm very anxious because the judge had said 9am, but the woman at check-in barerly blinked and told me to take a seat.

So I did. For the next hour and a half or so. Finally, I hear my panel number and begin to get up. False alarm. It's the woman over the loudspeaker saying that the court apologizes for any inconvenience it may have caused us, but the won't be ready for us for at least another 30 minutes and we are free to wander til then. So I get up and wander around, return within 30 minutes and take my seat. I think you can see where this is going. Yes, it is another two hours before anything at all is said about my panel number.

Finally, the loudspeaker asks us to gather outside. We go and wait until one guy speaks up. I think he is a fellow civilian doing jury duty, but no, he introduces himself as the judge! And he says the sweetest words imaginable... "You're all free". Um, I mean "excused." But it sure as hell sounded like "free" to me!

I'm pretty sure whoever the defendant was, he/she pleaded guilty, as I saw the defense attorney coming out later, walking very fast. His face was unreadable though. Well, all in a day's work...

Jury Duty

2005-11-06T22:43:00.000-08:00

Bad blogger. Haven't blogged in a week!

I have jury duty tomorrow and have summarily spent the last week looking for ways to get out of it. I have come across some hilarious stories, by the way, including a story about one woman who was being briefed on a homicide/"crime of passion" case where a wife had shot her husband when she found out he was cheating on her and was claiming temporary insanity. The woman got up in the middle of this briefing and said, "You mean to tell me I could have shot that bastard [her husband] instead of just divorcing him?!" She was quickly dismissed.

Lots of, "He looks guilty!" posts too and an interesting one about why lawyers don't want you to know about "jury nullification" and how if you ask about it, you will be dismissed. I'm not sure if this true, but let's cross our fingers shall we?

I also came across a nice post from a guy claiming to be a government worker who told everyone to just "throw the notices away if you don't want to serve, because the government has more important things to worry about than whether or not you respond to letters about jury duty. Since it is only sent by regular mail and not registered, you can always say you never recieved it. Believe me, no one will try to dig up records." I think he has a point, but being the good citizen I am (read "scared shitless of being caught and fined/imprisoned in case he isn't right"), I replied.

And yes, it does say in nice big print on my notification letter that if I do not reply, I can be fined and/or imprisoned. Does anyone think I could get off if when asked, "Does anyone think they cannot fairly judge this case?" I stand up and say, "Yes sir, because I do not want to do jury duty, and I will spend the entire trial thinking of ways to end it quickly at the expense of both the plaintiff and the defendent." No? I guess honesty doesn't work as well. Maybe I should stick with the, "He looks guilty!" line.

The potential jurors for that week are assigned numbers. Most people are put on "standby", meaning they only have to call in for status. The court "randomly" selects numbers to physically go in. Oh, thank my lucky stars, they picked me number! Why couldn't this have been the lotto?! I've been playing that for years and I never get picked! This is my first time on jury duty!

There are a lot of numbers and I theorize that there are so many numbers because most people aren't as foolish as me and they take the advice of that government worker. I see a correlation between the amount of numbers called for jury duty and taxes in Italy. Apparently, they just keep raising both in hope of a decent outcome.

On the other hand, I have one more reason to want to be an expat - so I can tell them I am living overseas...with all the benefits of citizenship and no jury duty. Ok, I'd skip that last part, but I'm certain you all know that it's exactly what I'd be thinking. Jury duty... one more obligation. Oddio! Thank God I can't be drafted.

Happy Halloween e Buona Festa dei Santi

2005-10-31T22:07:00.000-08:00

Before I forget:

Happy Halloween to all you Americans. Not one trick-or-treater. I guess I'll have to eat the three pounds of candy still left in my house.

Buona festa a tutti in Italia! Non c'è una festa qui. Devo lavorare domani. Sarà una bella giornata per me.

Italy: Travel Destination

2005-10-31T20:47:00.000-08:00

It's dawned on me. For the United States of America, Italy is a travel destination... period. How do I know? Just look at all the resources available here to help you learn Italian.

Barron's Learn Italian: The Fast and Fun Way (Book)

I bought this for myself before I started Italian class. Didn't want to go in with nothing! It boasts that "The activity kit makes learning a language quick and easy!" These are the things I learned:

How to check-in at the airport
How to conjugate -are, -ere, and -ire verbs
The different rooms of a house and its furnishings
Articles
How to book a hotel room
How to ask and interpret directions
The names for staple buildings like the supermarket, the store, the movie theater and the drugstore
Various modes of transportation and how to buy tickets for them/hail/hire them: Buses, taxis, trains, etc.
Examples of common irregular verbs
How to ask the time
Pronouns
How to rent a car
Imperative
How to camp
How to comment on the weather

Instant Immersion: Italian Deluxe (CD set)

My Italian bought me this as a present because I told him I wasn't getting enough Italian input. It comes with things like Speech Recognition and goes all the way up to the "Advanced Level".

How to introduce myself to strangers
How to ask for things in the hotel
How to rent a villa (for the summer!)
How to order food and all about antipasto, i primi, il secondo, i dolci...
How to formulate questions and understand directions
Dinner Parties
Airports

I'll stop here - this was the advanced level of the software. I can only imagine what the beginning stages were like if this was "Advanced".

I've stopped buying the conventional resources they sell here that claim to teach you the language. I'm not sure how it is with other languages, but all these resources are obviously geared towards the tourist - and firmly so. Gives great insight into what it means to "learn another language" in the US of A.

From these resources, this is what I can say:
Ciao. Mi chiamo Tiff. Vengo dagli Stati Uniti. Mi può dare una camera per la notte? Non ho una prenotazione. Il mio volo è stato molto lungo. Sono stanca e ho molta fame. Può consigliarmi un ristorante? Domani voglio andare al museo. Può darmi delle direzioni? Penso di prendere il treno. Non ho voglia di noleggiare una macchina. E dov'è la stazione così che posso comprare un biglietto? È una bella notte, non è vero?

And I'm giving them too much credit since not one of these things ever talked about any tense but il presente.

Translation:
Hi. My name is Tiff. I am from the United States. Can you give me a room for the night? I don't have a reservation. My flight was very long. I am tired and hungry. Can you recommend a restuarant? Tomorrow I want to go to the museum. Can you give me directions? I think I'll take the train. I don't want to rent a car. And where is the train station so I can buy a ticket? It's a beautiful night, isn't it?

Always the Straniera, Always the "Other"

2005-10-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

Often, My Italian and I go to Barnes and Noble on the weekend. We spend great swatches of time there. I'm drawn particularly by the ambience and I'm not ashamed to say that just about every Barnes and Noble I've ever been to, I've liked. And I've been to a lot. I've been to many other bookstores too, big and small, chain and novel, but never with quite the same feel for me. Maybe it's the cafe... but then I don't even drink coffee. I love bookstores in general though. I was always one of those quintessentially bookish children - a breed that seems to be dying out, at least in America.

On with the story. This particular Saturday, I was in search of a book called, The Bilingual Family, that came highly recommended by swissmiss. Alas, they did not have it, but as I was wandering around, I came across a section that I had never noticed before. It was called "Culture", and being located in the good ole' USA, most books were on just that.

The book that immediately jumped out at me was one I had read long ago and had almost forgotten. Yell-Oh Girls!: Emerging Voices Explore Culture, Identity, and Growing Up Asian American (cover pictured at right). As I opened the cover, memories came rushing back.

I was not always the self-assured woman you see here (If you are questioning this, so am I). I actually had what I consider to be a huge identity crisis in my teens (which wasn't so long ago if I think clearly). You see, I am an Asian-American of Chinese descent (Yes, I know you are not blind and can see my picture full well) with little bits of other stuff that amounts to 25% roughly. I grew up in a place with very little exposure to Asian people. Therefore to the residents in my little slice of paradise, any Asian who lived in the same vicinity was related to me. This was hard to dispel as some of them were actually related to me (I have several aunts and uncles that live in the same neighborhood).

So I've mentioned that I am not full Chinese. However, growing up where I did, I always thought I was. Yes, the kids at elementary school called me ching-chong. It was horrible, but I guess understandable as my maiden name was Chong. They grew out of the name-calling (sort of), but "race" was always clear.

Like any other girl, I grew up worshipping supermodels and fashion, watching commercials for maybelline and reading seventeen. It was hard looking nothing like any of those lovely women and my friends seemed infinitely more gorgeous to me. Like any other girl, I had crushes, but none of the boys ever seemed to like me. My friends suggested I go out with the only Asian-American boy in my year named Martin. We were two out of a total of six asians at my entire school. I was crushed. (Side story: I had finally convinced my friends that I wasn't related to every Asian person they saw, but he was actually my second cousin! I had just never told anybody about him since our families were not close.) People would comment on my beautiful almond-shaped eyes, my thick black hair, ask me if I ate rice with chopsticks and show me if they knew how to use them.

Now I know they said none of this to be mean, but as a budding teen who wanted nothing more than to fit in, my efforts to blend in seemed thwarted by every feature on my face and for a long time (through most of middle and high school), I honestly didn't like who I saw in the mirror. To try and change this, I suddenly embraced my Chinese heritage. I figured if I couldn't fit in here, maybe I could somewhere else.

No, I didn't pick China. I set my sights on Toronto. Yes, it doesn't sound Asian, but I think Toronto is one of the most diverse cities in the world. They had the thing I was craving - a huge population of Chinese and new immigrants streamed in everyday. So that year when we traveled to Toronto (I mentioned that I'm a Canadian citizen right? Well, I have lots of family in Toronto where my Canadian parent hails from), I made sure to immerse myself in the Chinese culture there. In Toronto, it's not actually that hard. I swear, every half a block there is a Chinese store and restuarant and every other half an block, it's a sushi place (a lot of Japanese too). I'm not sure they've been informed that Cantonese is not an official language as there are signs and directions plastered everywhere in Chinese only, no English provided. Chinese all-around, you literally feel like you are in China. Finally, I thought, here is where I was meant to be!

Wrong. I was "gweilo". For those who don't speak Cantonese, that's "foreigner". And they weren't talking about the fact that I was American. I was Canadian too, like they were. But it meant more than that. It meant that I was a foreigner to their culture. Not one of them. A stranger that was as familiar to them as Joe Schmo in Texas. I was, my parents were, my siblings were. We were spoken to only in English, despite the fact that Cantonese was all around us. We were always handed forks and knives by default. Did I have something tatooed on my forehead that I just couldn't see? Well, lo and behold, that 25% of something else seems to stick out in the darnedest of places. Apparently, I don't even look Chinese. Perhaps I should try the Phillipines as I got a lot of "Are you Filipino?" questions. I left Toronto with a heavy heart. Would I always be the "other"?

Many things have happened since then (like COLLEGE) and I think I've learned to accept my differences (most of them) and know that I am beautiful, even if I in no way, shape or form resemble Barbie. However, my undying devotion to Italy (yes, this does relate to my "wanting to be" list) sometimes makes me question that. You see, I know I'd definitely be the "other" in Italia, but it would be different. In Italy, I am supposed to be the foreigner, the expat. I don't even care that I might not be recognized as an American at all. I will go to Italy to be a foreigner. It will my choice. Here, I'm nothing more than a hyphenated American, if assumed to be American at all.

Perhaps I'm overly sensitive, but it really irked me when my Italian and I would go to the immigration office and it would be assumed that I was the one looking for a greencard. I even got greeted in Spanish once and as I looked at the officer blankly, he apologized saying that he had thought I was filipino. I should have answered him, because I actually can, but at 7:30 in the morning, I was barely comprehending English. Incidents like these happen all the time.

The point is: I never chose to be different here. I never wanted to be anything more than your average American. But I'm not and through no effort on my part, I never will be. Do you see what I'm getting at? Maybe it's a state of mind, but the choice makes all the difference to me.

Arg. No wonder he thinks I think too much.

PS - Straniera means foreigner in Italian.

The Problem with Creativity

2005-10-24T22:52:00.000-07:00

Creativity... You all know that I want to be a designer of some sort. Haven't you read the list?!.

Of course I want it if I don't have it. Of course I want to keep it if I do. Ok, enough with the modesty. Yes, I think I have it. But I am a headcase about it at the same time. It's one of the things I'm afraid of most... that my creativity will run out. There, I've said it. The cat is out of the bag.

Ok, so it's really not that big of a deal... to you. I'm sure you've all heard of writer's block. Well, not just writers get it. But it scares me to death to think that I may have a three-day deadline, and not be able to think of something. I'm not scared that someone will fire me for it, and if they did, it'd be understandable. No, you see, I'm the kind of person that takes things in far more internally than should normally be allowed. And this will tear me apart because all my life I've wanted, aspired, dreamed of being a designer and here I've failed in the the one thing that kept me going: my dream. ::shudders::

Understand the nightmare?

//Update
My Italian thinks I worry too much about everything and I'm being silly. He also thinks I'm wildy talented, beautiful and smart. He's biased. But who doesn't love to hear that stuff? ::giggle:: Yes, I married him for a reason. I'm not saying this was the reason, but damn, it couldn't have hurt. ::wink::

Bilingual Baby Connection

2005-10-23T23:11:00.000-07:00

Today, I once again became obsessed with figuring out the best way to raise my yet-to-be-realized child. Happens every once in awhile.

Today it was bilingualism. I can't tell you how many articles I read today. I love languages, though I'm essentially still monolingual. Ok, maybe not exactly monolingual, but I fear I may never be fluent in Italian (which is another story altogether). Anyway, I agree with many of the positive articles on bilingualism in that the best gift I could ever give my child is the gift of language. Two in this case.

I've been talking on and off about this subject to My Italian for about a year now. Today, he responded! Even though it may seem silly to you, you don't know how ecstatic it made me feel. It made me even more ecstatic to know that he agreed with me. In the past, I was sure that I agitated him with my constant talk about how he must talk to our non-existent child in Italian.

Anyway, I think I just wanted to blog about this, because it makes me feel... somehow more connected, more understood by someone who means so much to me... My Italian. To know that we have a common vision (hehe, at least about a few things), brings on those warm fuzzies. I'll leave you with a smile on my face.

Buona notte e sogni d'oro!

A Hop, Skip and a Leap Away

2005-10-23T13:01:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, My Italian and I were talking about his summers in England, when he was a teenager. He remembers them fondly. And he doesn't think England is as messed up as Italy. I'm sure you can see where this is leading...

Yes, the very next words out of my mouth were, "Let's move to England!" It's only an hour ahead of Italy, for godsakes! You can view it as... a step in the right direction. I certainly did. I know my requirements for ME being an expat were living in a NON English-speaking country, but I'd still be an expat in the real sense of the word and beggars can't be choosers.

Alas, of course, I am not moving to England. My Italian just laughed the way he usually does when yours truly exclaims anything related to moving (ultimately) to Italy, or in the vicinity of it. No, the only country on his mind recently is: Canada and I definitely won't be an expat there. Hold your horses before you start accusing me of classifying Canada as a suburb of the USA. It's just that I'm a Canadian citizen, so no dice.

I'm starting to think this is "wanting to be an expat" must be making me lose sight of what's important. Can't think of what that is at this moment though. It'll come.

Being a Graphic/Web Designer

2005-10-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

Well, I've gone and done it. Actually, none of you will know what I'm talking about, so let me backtrack. It's a long story, so continue on at your own risk.

The Back Story:
I've always aspired to be a designer of some sort. I like art, but I'm unlikely to be swayed by what I just don't think is aesthetically appealing. In other words, "pretty". By no means am I judging those that like to express themselves and proclaim their rendition of feces artwork, but it's just not my kind of thing.

That being said, liking only what is aesthetically appealing and having no big talent for drawing (yes, I know you beg to differ Mom), I've settled on designing for the everyday masses - web or graphic design. Really, it's quite appealing to me and I set my sights on a career in this long ago.

So I won't go into how vague the the term designer really is, but in any case, most people think this generally means "putting together elements to make a pleasing piece of work" - whether that be a photograph, a website, a poster, etc. I agree that this is a definition of what I would like to do, but would like to introduce that I am also fond of programming... left brain stuff.

I actually have a degree in Computer Science, not Graphic Arts. Despite my yearnings to be a designer, I could not sit through 4 consecutive hours of painting class 3 times a week in college. Not that I did any better at having to sacrifice my evenings at least two times a week to go to "lab" and program, but I'll rest on that subject for now.

So I want to combine my two passions, be a hybrid which isn't actually that uncommon in my generation. With the advent of computers, art sought to utilize its potential, and voila, the need arose for people like me who love art and computers. Or at least I think it did.

The Point:

I've mentioned that I work in a big gray building ten miles from my house. My job is not ideal and my official title is "Web Developer" though I was tricked into applying because the ad said "Web Designer/Developer". Seems a word disappeared and nobody noticed but me. Begin job frustration.

It's just not at the creativity level I want to be at. The job entails, in fact, very little creativity. I'm not long out of college and my dream job is hard to find when EVERYBODY wants two years of experience (at least). How are you supposed to get experience if nobody will give you a chance? Thankfully, I worked while I was in college, so I guess that counted in my favor.

Problem is that while I don't love my job, I am over the moon about many of my co-workers, two of those I like being my supervisor and my boss. Two days ago, I got an email from a Design Company relating that they had seen my resume and would I be interested in a looking at a certan position within their company. HELL YES and of course I replied with the like (though in a less emotional, more professional manner).

And now I am filled with guilt. My company, my boss, my supervisor - they believe in me. They gave me a chance, that first elusive, hard to find chance. And less than a year after they did, it looks like I may jump ship. Though this might turn out to be nothing, I know that I would do this again in a heartbeat. So while I may not actually jump ship today, tomorrow or next month, I know I will, eventually, when another opportunity arises.

Note: You understand now why I call myself a chatterbox. I also tend to ramble, but there's no noun that I know of for "a person that rambles", so I have to stick with chatterbox.

Movie Night

2005-10-19T00:08:00.000-07:00

As I said, we rented a movie tonight. I have four words for you. Batman Begins. Watch it.

Yes, it was really good, which is very surprising for the movies that come along nowadays. What is even more surprising is that both My Italian and I enjoyed this film. We hardly agree on anything, except comedy which is not even an assured genre we share as I think he favors the comedies that are molto stupide (very stupid). I just can't laugh at movies like Super Troopers because they exasperate me, unless of course you love watching played-out caricatures like the token "type-in-minority-here" guy and the one who thinks with his other head and absolutely nothing else. Not to say that isn't ever true though....

Of course, I think most films that were once books by Jane Austin are very good, but they put him to sleep. I also love films like Monsoon Wedding and Amelie. I think I just can't stand anything without character development. I used to think he couldn't stand anything with character development, but I realize now that it is the action he can't live without. He just doesn't think anything HAPPENS in the "stuff" I like to watch.

Well, I guess subtlety doesn't work for him. If it isn't right in his face, he won't get it. Case in point, did I tell you that I had to ask him out first? I'm happy with the turn out though.

He now wants a batmobile, by the way, but what red-blooded male doesn't? I'd consent to a spin around town in it.

Definition: A Good Wife (really good)

2005-10-18T00:03:00.000-07:00

More defining: A Good Wife

Well, I've mentioned I'm kind of new to this. So it's getting old... about a year old. Yup, that's right: My Italian and I were married ten months ago. That's nothing you say, but I've had a lot of time since we were "living in sin" (as my mother says) for two years before. Yes, I'm ashamed to say I'm not very good at the traditional things wife is supposed to do, but I'm not horrible!

I'm not a great cook, but I can follow a recipe and I make a mean spaghetti, however with a twist: sugar. Lots of it. He makes a mean Penne al Peperoncino.

I'm kind of messy. My Italian is forever picking up after me.

I'm kind of forgetful. My Italian is forever remembering where my purse is.

To redeem myself, I do clean. Like most others, I clean when the mess gets to me. However, I've always said that My Dear Italian and I are at different levels of mess tolerance. His is much shorter, and as a consequence, he ends up doing most of the housework. I do, of course, try to help him when I see him doing it, but he works from home while I work in a big ugly gray building 10 miles from my house. It's not unusual for me to arrive home and to find it spotless.

::Hangs Head:: Mi dispiace. Mi sembra inutile. (I'm sorry. I feel useless)

But I try to make up for it where it counts: to let him know that I appreciate everything he does for me and to let him know that I always love him. I'm afraid of taking him for granted one day, because he does so much for me. I love you, My Italian.

Ok, I've turned into a ball of mush now.

I must say, in light of some stories I read, like this one on Expat Talk (a part of Expats in Italy), I feel I'm pretty lucky. If he goes back to Italy, is he going to revert to the men in those horror stories that can't even seem to tie their own shoelaces? Ok, that's it, we're staying here.

NOT! (And a big one at that.)

Reverting... EXPAT

2005-10-17T00:23:00.000-07:00

Back onto the subject of being an expat, My Lovely Italian and I were talking about it tonight. I've told him before I don't want him to feel pressured to move just because I want to be an expat, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that having a blog partly about it doesn't help. Yes, he reads it. And he feels horrible that he cannot give me the life that I read about on all these other expat blogs.

Tonight, I've made two observations:

I've married the only Italian on Earth that doesn't want to live in Italy.
I could never live anywhere without him and expect to be happy.

I've told him as much. There are steps in life. Mine went like so:

Was born
Got an education
Found love

What I am trying to make you (and him) understand with that list is that now that I've found love, I can't give it up and I refuse to. No matter where I want to live, what I want to be, my love must be with me at all times for me to be happy. Because if he goes, I've lost something very important and there will be a void in my life, an unhappiness that nothing could fill. So darling, My Italian, I don't want Italy without you. I don't want motherhood without you. I don't even want the US without you anymore. Now that you're here, you're staying.

And that wasn't an idle threat. ::smile::

Yes, I want to be a mother

2005-10-17T00:05:00.000-07:00

So I'm going to skip around a little and define being a mother.

Being a mother means a lot to me. My parents raised me with the idea that though having children is difficult at times, it is not without its rewards. They never so much said this to me as displayed it in everything they did. Thank you Mom and Dad, I love you too.

Certo! Of course I want to be a mother! However, not now, not tomorrow, but sometime in the indefinite future, preferably before 27. Anyway, I have been planning for it ever since I can remember. This includes and is not limited to:

Keeping endless lists of baby names
Looking up schooling in different districts/countries etc.
Reading books on raising kids
Since marrying My Italian, also reading books on raising bilingual children
Discovering the latest products for children
Planning trips for them in my mind
Trying to predict and prevent every possible injustice that might be a part of their life

The list goes on. This is something I am passionate about. You will definitely hear more. Lists of names. Reports on schooling types. Pictures of booties. So be prepared

A horrible case of "The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side" syndrome

2005-10-16T14:03:00.000-07:00

So, I've decided that defining this is important. What is it, you ask? Just what it sounds like and many many other people before me have defined it. It's the over-romantization of something. In my case: living as an expat, preferably in Italy (but I'm not that picky).

In the US, it's easy to contract this syndrome. Have you ever been to a bookstore? Watched the Travel Channel? Even QVC is sufficient. In Barnes and Noble right now that are at least nine different calendars devoted to the beauty of Europe. At least two of those are devoted solely to Italy: Rome and Tuscany. What is a girl to think when she sees that? This type of beauty is scarce in the US, though Boston comes the closest for a city and Napa for country in my estimation.

What this syndrome doesn't convey is that life is life... in any country. Read any of the expat blogs I highlighted and you'll see. If you want to start curing yourself of this syndrome all in one go, read Romanus Yankeeus. Yet I still want to be an expat. Go figure. The syndrome is a tough one.

frickingodnabitt...EXPAT

2005-10-16T00:32:00.000-07:00

I've futzed around with the template enough for one night. Might do more tomorrow.

I've promised to give you lovely people definitions of things on my list. Let's start with the first one shall we?

I want to be an... expat

I'm unsettled with my life. I've found the love of my life (My Wonderful Italian), but I haven't found that place. You know what I'm talking about! Or maybe you don't seeing as I think I might be strange... At any rate, it's that place where I will feel contentment... yet that strange joy in life too. I figure... if I've found it in My Italian, I can find it in a place too. Understand? Good, you're following me then.

Well, I've also decided that this meraviglioso (wonderful) place can't possibly be in the US... since I've lived here my entire life and I still can't find that zen-like state. I've also decided that it can't possibly be in a place that speaks English. No offense to anybody who speaks English, including myself, but I take pleasure in learning and speaking another language. It's almost like I've explored English, so now I must get on with it.

So... I want to get out of here. Combined with the fact that I have a horrible case of the "The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side" syndrome, I feel it is imperative that I go experience somewhere else. My world, confined to the US, just seems so damned small.

The short story (yea, after I've already blurted out three paragraphs on the matter) is that I want to be an expat in a country that doesn't speak English. Preferably somewhere that speaks Italian since... well, I don't have to mention My Darling Italian again. And I am slowing (but surely and that's what counts) mastering Italian.

More on the "The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side" syndrome later.

Ciao a tutti/Good-bye all!

First up...

2005-10-15T20:47:00.000-07:00

I guess I should say a little something.

This blog is named, "Wanting to Be" because there are well... a lot of things I want to be. Mix that in with at least 3 random thoughts in my head at any given moment and you have ... drum roll please... a chatterbox. However, since I am a chatterbox that is happily married (most of the time ::smile::) to My Italian, he gets to brunt of it. To relieve him of some of the pressure, I have created this.

Ok, that was the "little something" part. It's just going to get longer from here on out.

Principally (ok right now), I am "wanting to be":

An expat
A graphic/web designer
A really good wife (hey! I'm new to this!)
A mother (someday)
A good daughter

The list goes on and is in no particular order. I'll tell define what each item on the list means in a bit. I'm off to customize this template...