My Little Blog

We're Not in Italy Anymore . . .

2011-06-01T02:18:00.003+02:00

Well, where to begin? First of all, Wendy is no longer in Italy. MOH (My Other Half) retired from the US Navy in May (after 30 years of service), which means we had to leave. Truly sad. This also means that I had to leave my job, which I loved and paid very well. We brought all four dogs and both cats back (I will not even tell you how much THAT cost) and though it was an ordeal, it was definitely worth it. Screw you to those who won’t even try to bring one pet back and dump them instead. If you need to ship your pets internationally, unaccompanied, let me know and I will tell you who I worked with.

We are now in the Pacific Northwest which is my favorite part of the country. MOH had already found a job (weenie) and I am looking. Thank God Washington allows military spouses who had to quit their jobs because their spouses transfer to collect unemployment – a true blessing! We are trying to get back to Italy. MOH is applying for government work there as a civilian, unfortunately I can’t because I was “just a spousal employee” which completely sucks. Apparently my four plus years there do not count as real government employment. Whatever.

So here I am, trying to figure it all out again. I hate the thought of starting over work-wise, but know it is a necessary evil. I am blessed that we are stable financially, and that my parent’s house was available to rent (who else would accept six pets?). I’m trying to appreciate my downtime because I know it is temporary. One of my goals is to start keeping this blog up-to-date again!

Off to the UK!

2010-08-09T18:48:00.002+02:00

Oh my poor little neglected blog! Where has the time gone? So much has happened that I have not shared: wonderful food and travels, wonderful job developments, and just wonderful life in general! I'll never catch all of it up so I'll just start again. MOH (My Other Half) and I are headed to the UK tomorrow for a two-week vacation. Many posts to follow!

A presto

Donna is an Angel

2010-04-10T20:13:00.001+02:00

Today our housekeeper asked me is she could do the yard work too. Are you KIDDING me??? Woo Hoo! MOH (My Other Half) has agreed to pay the yard work portion while I continue to pay for the housework. Donna is a fabulous woman - without her this house would be a disaster! Plus she puts up with the crazy dogs and cats who live here...

Screw you Parco gardener!

It's Already Starting

2010-04-07T17:08:00.002+02:00

One more day until MOH (My Other Half) leaves for a month and here we have it. The mystery leak from behind the wall in my bathroom is finally being addressed. There are two men here who claim to be plumbers. This is their second visit today, because as you know from previous posts, there is always a site visit first. They come, they look, they leave, and sometimes they come back. At least they brought their own tools this time (that’s directed at you useless electrician aka eye-bolt inserter).

My bathroom wall is being ripped open. They believe the leak is coming from the adjacent bathroom, but they’re going in through mine (behind the bidet). Who the hell is going to repair the wall when they’re done? These “plumbers?” I think not. I’m sure there’s another group that will be sent to do that. In the mean time I fear the cats with enter the hole never to be seen again.

MOH is on leave until his trip Friday so it’s easy for him to be at their beck and call. If this is not all fixed by tomorrow (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA – right) then we have a problem. I cannot afford to take leave from work to deal with house shit, especially since sometimes they just don’t show up. I’ll take a picture when they leave tonight and add it to the post.

MOH is Leaving Me

2010-04-04T15:29:00.002+02:00

Don’t worry! It’s a work thing. He’ll be gone for a whole month, though, and I really hate that! You’ll remember from previous posts that as soon as MOH (My Other Half) leaves things go to shit here. Last time it was the dead rat and the broken telecommando. He was only gone for a week that time. I dread the month long absence.

He’ll be back in the states and gets to spend a week with his daughter, which is wonderful!!! She’s almost 15 – really hard to believe. The other three weeks will be spent doing Top Secret Squirrel stuff which I am not allowed to discuss. On the plus side, I will send him back with a shopping list of items that I cannot find here, mostly cosmetics and girly things. He’s a good sport and will find the appropriate make-up counter and hand the list over. He brought me 10 mascaras last time and I’m still working my way through them.

He has another trip scheduled in June for a conference in Paris and I am sooooo tagging along on that one! He spent last weekend there being wined and dined by three hotel/conference centers. His recommendation weighs heavily on where they will hold it and the bonus is that they really set him up while he was there and will give him the same kind of suite and amenities in June. Oh I cannot wait to be pampered in Paris! We travel often here, but our accommodations are the least of what we spend our money on. I have to admit that I am looking forward to spending a week living the good life. I’m afraid I am a little shallow. I want to stay in a gorgeous suite and have a key to the executive lounge. I want to spend my days roaming the streets, shopping, and finding little out-door cafes where I can sip wine and people watch. But I digress.

He leaves in four days and I will miss him like crazy – thank God for Skype! He does a lot around the house so this will force me to get off of my ass and act like an adult when it comes to certain things; he spoils me. He’s also the main cook so I’ve been trying to prep for being responsible for my own meals. I don’t want to become a slave to pizza rolls and microwave meals (which I tend to do), but I hate dirtying so many dishes for one person. The dogs are also a lot of work, but I can handle them. I think if I get up half an hour earlier in the mornings I should be able to do just fine.

It’s all good because it has to be. This should be the last long trip, for which I am very thankful. I’m sure my posts will become more frequent again with his absence. I am asking for no broken down cars or sick animals. MOH, my love, travel safe and come home soon.

The OTHER Eat, Pray, Love Pizza

2010-03-10T18:11:00.002+01:00

I have lived in Italy for three years and four months and had the best pizza of my life today! Naples is the birthplace of pizza and I have had some amazing ones here (there are a couple other posts about pizza). But today, my loves, is the day I discovered THE pizza. I did a previous post on the Eat,Pray, Love pizza place, L’Antica Da Pizzeria Michele, that the author mentions in the book. She said that you must try the Pizza Margharita with Double Mozzarella. I did, and it is most certainly the best pizza margharita I have had the pleasure of eating.

The entire menu of this pizzeria is: Pizza Margharita, Pizza Marinara, Coke, Fanta, Water, Birra Peroni. That is it. When MOH (My Other Half) and I went a few weeks ago we both had the Pizza Margharita con Doppia Mozzarella. Sooooooo incredibly good! A gentleman at our table ordered the other pizza which has only sauce and sliced garlic. It looked and smelled sensational and I knew I would have to try it.
I took today off work to hang out with a friend and we took the train to Naples. She hadn’t tried this pizzeria yet so we headed there. We got there a little after 11:30 and were able to get a seat right away (score!). She ordered the margharita with the double mozzarella because, well, you just have to at least once. I ordered the marinara.

Oh, God! I mean, really. Best . . . pizza . . . ever! The sauce was so thick you could eat it with a fork (I know this because I did this). It truly puts the Margharita to shame. Tangy tounge-taesing perfection! Come to Italy; I will take you there.

Today I am 38

2010-02-16T04:47:00.006+01:00

It’s all good! I’ve never really been bothered by age (so far). I look at where my life is now compared to ten years ago and I wouldn’t go back for anything! I have learned so much about myself in the last ten years and good, bad, or ugly I got to where I am today.

Do you remember where you were when you were at, say, twenty-five? I do. I don’t long for those days at all. How stupid was I? I went out EVERY night and I partied EVERY night and I had no idea who I was. I made very bad decisions and didn’t care who I hurt (including me). I wanted to be liked and loved and didn’t care what I had to do to make that happen.

Thank God we get older! The decisions I made in the past have led me to the life I lead today. Thank you, Wendy! Do you remember the life you dreamed about when you were young and naive? I thought Prince Charming would surly gallop into my life, in my mid-twenties, and sweep me away to a life of perfection! Hah!

Then I turned 30, and 31, and 32, and 33 and realized life is not like the movies. I never thought I would meet someone and get married. Ever. I am not (too) ashamed to say that I picked MOH (My Other Half) up in a bar. I did, and four months later we were married. Best thing that ever happened to me (and him)!

Life now is flying by at an amazing rate of speed, but I am enjoying the ride – little wrinkles and sags and all. For me, being able to share this experience with the person who completely loves me, no matter how difficult I am, with the person who makes me want to be a better person, with the person who loves me on my best and worst days, with the person who is truly the other half of me . . . well . . . I am the luckiest lady around.

I am so thankful that I get to experience my life. Happy Birthday to me!

Good Deed - Unpunished? Maybe.

2010-02-12T18:49:00.003+01:00

So you know those neighbors that complained about our barking dogs? The ones who have four barkers of their own? I totally just rescued one of their dogs. You’re welcome.

They have this little mini pinscher that somehow broke out of their yard tonight. They, of course, are not home. They have a wrought iron fence like ours but have plastic up around it so, I assume, their little dog can’t get out. Well it did. MOH (My Other Half) and I were in the kitchen and our four were going crazy outside. Not really a cause for concern – it happens. MOH went out to shut them up and comes running in and says that there’s a puppy in our yard.

I experienced several emotions in a matter of seconds. First: dread. What were we going to do with it? I certainly can’t toss it out on the street! Second: fear. I was sure Max would kill it. Third: excitement. Ooh a puppy! Another little pup to add to our tribe!

We ran out in the yard and there it was. Sweet! Then we realized it was the neighbor’s dog. Max was sniffing it, but Caesar was going nuts. He’s my spoiled little one and I believe he decided he would not share any of Mommy’s affections with a new little dog. The pup ran back out of our yard (through the bars) and tried to get back in his own yard, but the plastic was blocking him.

MOH and I put ours in and went outside to find the rogue mini pin. He was in the alley shivering. He wanted nothing to do with MOH so I told him to stand back and let me try. I got all Dog Whisperer and got down on his level and talked to him. He shakily approached me and I snatched him up. I cooed to him and he shook the whole time. I dropped him back over his fence (it’s not that high) and he seemed happy. We can’t figure out how he got out.

I’ll have to visit the neighbors tomorrow to tell them, through a combination of my Italian and sign language, that their little one can get out. Do you think they’ll say, “Thank you?” I’m not sure. I feel that somehow this will be our fault – we’re so popular here in our Italian parco. I would have just died if our dogs had hurt it (you’ll remember the rat incident – it was about the same size).

Super Bowl Commercials? I Wish!

2010-02-06T14:28:00.001+01:00

I’ll be honest. The only reason I really ever watched the Super Bowl was because there was usually a party involved, and some pretty cool commercials. However, AFN does not run commercials of any kind, except, well, military ones. We’re not allowed to see product commercials (we can’t get half the stuff here anyway). I guess that makes sense. Sort of.

I understand that it’s a legal thing (they tell us that every year around this time). But really? Can’t we have a once-a-year exception to that rule? I know it’s a little whiney, it’s not like we’re in a combat zone here in Italy, although I think driving in Naples is pretty darn close sometimes, but that’s another story. For the men and women serving in combat, however, don’t you think someone could figure out how to make it work?

The Super Bowl starts here at 0030 here (midnight-thirty for you civilians). I’m not saying up (especially with no allure of commercials), but MOH (My Other Half) is. He’s taking leave so he doesn’t have to worry about work on Monday. This year AFN has decided to make it up to us by having people send in their own commercials to be aired. Sigh. Ok. That should be . . . interesting.

We always get up the next day and just watch the commercials online. It’s just not the same. It may be a petty grievance, but it’s a grievance all the same.

You're Watching AFN

2010-02-03T20:31:00.003+01:00

Ok. So here in Italy, being part of the military, we get AFN (American Forces Network). When we come here we get an AFN decoder (like a cable box). We get about 12 channels. We get some current TV, a little behind when it’s aired in the US, but OK. We don’t have a lot to choose from.

We are subject to a lot of propaganda rah rah military commercials (still OK with that). However, they are running a new batch of completely moronic bits that tell us, “You’re watching AFN.” Really? I’d understand if we had more than one network option, but EVERY channel is AFN. Do you need to keep telling me what I’m watching?

You have little kids playing instruments telling me, faces painted on hands (seriously) telling me, men running through fields telling me, and people eating other people’s birthday cakes (again, seriously) telling me. Guess what? I’m watching AFN. It’s all I get. What else can I watch?

Hey everyone I’M WATCHING AFN!

Morons.

I'll tell you about our Superbowl "commercials" tomorrow.

To Sleep

2010-02-03T17:01:00.003+01:00

Just a little bit of me:

Dark of night breeds restless thoughts
Where quite masks the storm within,
Cruel silence seeps from every pore
As the fight for sleep is waged again.

When balance falters doubts are stirred
By icy fingers laced with truth,
And smoldering embers of peace long lost
Greedily devour fleeting youth.

No vice can quiet the unsettled mind
That spins its riddles no man can solve,
Fueled by the light of a bitter moon
Perversely delighted as sanity dissolves.

Echoes unleashed from a haunted tomb
Cannot be silenced without facing the ghosts,
Resurrected nightly to tease and taunt
The blood rimmed eyes that won’t stay closed.

Heavy is the burden of the restless mind
And long are the hours that Luna rules,
Drunk with defeat I fall to my knees
And bow to insomnia, my dreaded muse.

Me

MOH is a Rock Star!

2010-02-02T17:53:00.003+01:00

That’s right! While we’ve been trying to come up with a good translation for our house issues so we can call the landlady and get the appropriate people here on the first try, MOH (My Other Half) came home early and fixed the heater!!! Rejoice! There is heat and hot water! I shed some tears of happiness. He did some more research and experimenting and all is well. Happy dance, happy dance, happy dance! I truly cannot tell you how excited I am about not wearing three layers of clothes to bed tonight and taking my little pseudo-showers. Sigh . . .

There’s still the leak issue in the bathroom, but that is a very small problem right now – at least until the floor caves in or something!

Not only is MOH a phenomenal cook, he can fix shit too. I am one lucky lucky lady!!!

Skipper

2010-02-01T18:55:00.003+01:00

Ah, my sweet little girl! Sadly, we are in the process of finding her a new home. A few months after we got Maxwell, she started fighting with Dolce. I mean fighting fighting – to the point of blood. I’ve tried everything and can’t get it to stop.

I’ve googled it and researched the whole alpha dog thing. Nothing I try makes any difference. It’ only when people are around so I think it’s definitely an attention thing. When we are around them it is constant growling (I mean CONSTANT) and posing with an occasional all-out fight erupting. This has been going on for months! I’ve had a couple of near adoptions, but something always falls through at the end.

She has zero problems with the two boys; it’s only Dolce and I know they both are miserable. When she’s by herself she is the sweetest, most loving dog and it breaks my heart that we are at this point. She deserves better and Dolce deserves better. I won’t give her up until we find a great home for her, and I have the stipulation that if, for any reason, her adopters are not happy then I will take her back and try again.

She’s currently listed under “Adoptable Dogs” on the Naples Friends of Animals website (link at right). Think good thoughts for us and hope that we can find her a good family soon!

It's the Little Things

2010-01-31T16:35:00.001+01:00

I haven’t showered in two days. Not because I’m lazy; because we have no hot water. Or heat, for that matter. It’s not freezing, exactly, but cold enough that I’m wearing my coat around the house. MOH (My Other Half) has being trying to fix the thermostat thingy himself. It’s giving a weird error message that could mean anything. He found the manual on-line, in Italian of course, and has been using babelfish to try and translate parts of it. The translations make zero sense.

MOH is going to call the landlady tonight and see if she can get someone here tomorrow. Looks like I’ll be sponge bathing it for work tomorrow. Nice! He also needs to get her to send someone about a mysterious leak in my bathroom. We think it’s coming from the bidet, or the wall behind the bidet. Water pools around the toilet and it’s a nice little wet surprise if you go in there barefoot. You also have to roll your pants up before you use the toilet, otherwise the hems of your pants or PJs get wet. It’s really a lovely experience.

After the Italian worker insanity we experienced with Telecom and the electricians, I’m dreading this a little. But I am cold and a little smelly and the bottoms of my PJ pant legs are damp. I don’t deserve this.

Nosy Neighbors

2010-01-24T17:23:00.008+01:00

You know what really chaps my hide? Our freakin’ nosy-ass neighbors. We live in an Italian parco and are the only Americans. MOH (My Other Half) and I love it! Who wants to live around a bunch of other Americans when we’re in Italy? It just creates what we call “Little America” and too many people glom together and pretend to be in the U.S. No thank you!

We moved in here in November and less than a week later MOH gets a call from our landlady who tells him she received a call from someone in the parco who says our dogs are keeping them up at night. Yeah. Our dogs sleep inside at night – every night. Every neighbor around us has a minimum of four dogs who are 100% outside dogs. And they bark all of the time, day and night. We wouldn’t think to complain because that’s just life with dogs.

We were pressured, when we moved in here, to hire the parco gardener to take care of our yard, but we declined. I asked our landlady how much he charged and she couldn’t tell me, even though she has been paying him to maintain the yard. That’s because we would be charged differently (read: MORE) as Americans. That’s just the way it is here. We pay more than twice in rent what an Italian family would pay because they know how much we are allotted for housing based on MOH’s rank. They max it out. We’re fine with that though – we love the house. Our yard it big, but nothing that MOH and I can’t handle, so we said thanks, but no thanks.

The gardener is not happy. He rang our gate one day when MOH was home and asked him to put the dogs inside so he could sweep the street outside our gate. Outside our gate! He said our dogs were dangerous. Yeah, only if you put your hands INSIDE our gate. Moron. We think he’s called the landlady as well; you’ll see why in a minute.

We’ve been trying to get an extra telecomando (see previous post for definition) for our housekeeper who comes on Saturdays (oh yes, my loves, I have someone who scrubs my big ol’ villa from top to bottom once a week). She’s worked for us for almost three years and I trust her with my house, dogs, cats, and possessions and she comes even where we’re not home. She has to take a bus now since we moved and the key to the walk-in gate only works from the inside lock. So she has to blindly reach around from the outside of the gate to get the damned thing unlocked. We want her to have a telecomando so she can just open the drive-in gate and walk through. MOH bought one from our NEX and was trying to program it at the gate when another Nosy McNeighbor (who lives OUTSIDE of the parco) wanted to know what he was doing. He told her and she called the landlady.

We know the landlady was called because she and her sister came by yesterday to pick up the rent. MOH was golfing and I was supposed to be having lunch with friends, but was now going to be late because I had to wait for them. They couldn’t come at any other time the whole weekend except at 12:30 Saturday. When they called to be buzzed in the parco I walked outside of my gate to meet them. I already had my car out so I could make a quick getaway to my lunch date as soon as I handed over the ransom (I mean rent). I could tell they expected to come in the yard, but I had it locked up and the dogs were all lined up giving them their “who the hell do you think you are” glares. They walked up and down the gate peering in to get a look and reminded me that we had to take care of the yard. Duh! We’ve had wind and rain storms that have done a number with the pine needles and I hadn’t swept the walkways and tiles yet. I said that, yes, I know that and MOH and I would take care of it (thank you gardener – we’re not paying you a single euro). She mentioned the gardener again and I pretended not to understand. I do that sometimes.

She also told me that we could only have two telecomandos for this house and that it was impossible to get another one (true, MOH was not able to get it programmed to open the gate; it will close it though which makes it pretty useless). So unless she’s psychic she couldn’t have known about it without a heads-up from someone.

I feel like we are always being watched now (paranoid much?) and I think it’s pretty shitty. Our landlady made the decision to rent to Americans because she gets a ton of money to do it. If the other people in the parco don’t like it – tough titty! We’re not going to change the way we live because other people have a problem with Americans being here. We’re quiet and respectful and take care of the house and property. I’m tired of being tattled on. I really don’t want to dislike my neighbors but they are not making this easy. Sheesh.

37-Year-Old Suffers the Tantrum of a 2-Year-Old

2010-01-20T17:04:00.014+01:00

Sadly, I am that 37-year-old. Day two of MOH (My Other Half) in Germany. Rat drama yesterday, and telecomando drama this morning. Did I not say everything goes wrong when MOH is out of town? This morning started at 4:30 as it always does. Time for café and dog feeding and whatnot. I left the house at 6:00 as usual. I walked out the gate, carefully avoiding the rat carcass thank you very much, and headed to the car.

Oh – a telecomando is a little like a garage door opener. It opens the car gate to the parco we live in so you can get in and out (obviously). We have two of these and one is in Germany with MOH. I drove down our little road to the gate and pushed the button. Nothing. No little red light and no opening gate. Pushed again, and again, and again, AND AGAIN! Slight pause and then a full-on-ridiculous-I-should-be-ashamed-of-myself-meltdown. Banging telecomando on steering wheel, dashboard, whatever.

Then the primal scream; I mean the kind where my throat still hurts almost 12 hours later. The scream continues while I shake the steering wheel for no apparent reason. I am trapped in the parco. Seriously? Didn’t I suffer enough with the whole rat thing last night???? No, I did not. I know there is a back gate that we have a key to somewhere that you can manually open.

I power up the cell phone (which takes for freakin’ ever) and call MOH. Oh, yes. If I am going to suffer then so is MOH – up in Germany in a fancy resort for a conference – WHATEVER!

MOH groggily answers, “...Hello?”

Me all high pitched and whiney, “Mytelecomandowon’tworkwhereisthekeytothebackgateIhavetogotoworkhelpme!”

Pause. MOH, “There’s a key on your key ring.”

Me, “Oh – okI’lltalktoyoulater!”

Hang up. Power cell phone off so he can’t call back and call me out on my craziness. I will apologize to him later. MOH has repeatedly said that I am useless in a crisis, so I know he wasn't at all impressed or surprised.

I drive to the back gate at about 100 kilometers per hour. It’s dark, creepy, the lock is rusty and uncooperative. I finally get it open, drive out, and then have to get the damn thing locked again. Was not late for work (miracle)!

I've resigned myself to the fact that I will just have to deal with the back gate until MOH gets home Friday. It takes FOREVER. I appreciate that I live in a secure area but AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGG!

Am now enjoying celebratory "I triumphed over the gate all by myself" Bloody Mary. Can’t wait for tomorrow!

Wendy vs. The Rat

2010-01-19T17:12:00.007+01:00

God damn it! I should have known this would happen after the whole “Maxwell vs. the Rat” incident (previous blog entry). MOH (My Other Half) is in Germany and it’s my first time on my own in the new house. I came in the yard to my usual frantic greeting from the four crazies who live here. I unlocked the house and opened the kitchen door for them so they could come in and out as the pleased.

I got out four pup-peronis for treats and only three of them came running. When I called for Skipper, who was behind me in the kitchen, to come get her treat she growled. I turned around and saw it. A big . . . dead . . . flaccid . . . bloody rat hanging from her mouth. EEEEEEEEEEEk! I shrieked. Really. Repeatedly like a little girl and ran for the outside thinking for sure she was going to jump up on me with it. (Insert full body shudder here.) Turns out I don’t handle the dead rodent situation with any grace. So I run screaming into the yard and all the dogs think this is some wonderful game! Let’s chase Mommy! And me yelling, "Get away! Get away!" Thank God I didn't see any neighbors outside.

Skipper ran out with her big bloody prize and dropped it on the patio. I managed to get her back in the house and shut her in. I went running around the house making this “eeeee eeeee eeeee” sound and found a broom and dust pan. I went back outside, still making that noise, and managed to push it into the dust pan. Then I stood there. I couldn’t put it in the outside trash because (a) the dogs might get it back out, and (b) I would at some point have to take that trash out. We have to drive our trash out to a dumpster outside of our parco and there is no way that bag was going in my car!

I decided I would fling it over the gate. Hah! I got out there and then was afraid I would screw it up and somehow fling it on top of me. I gave a wussy little toss and it landed right on the other side of the fence. We have wrought iron bars and the dogs would totally be able to reach it. I shoved the broom through the bars and pushed it out of dog reach. Gross. I mean just really GROSS. Shit always happens when MOH is out of town. Can’t wait to see what’s in store for me the rest of the week!

Am now enjoying celebratory "I disposed of the rat all by myself" glass of champagne.

Caesar Doesn't "Get" the Cats

2010-01-18T16:43:00.006+01:00

My sweet little Caesar is baffled by the cats. He’s the only one allowed upstairs to hang out and sleep with us because he doesn't take up much room and usually ignores the cats. He’s about their size so they don’t pay too much attention to him either.

Poor guy was cuddled up with me yesterday watching season three of the Tudors (oh – I am addicted). I had one cat, Yak, at my feet, and the other one, Oochie, decided it was lovin’ time. She planted herself on my chest and demanded attention. All was well until she started purring. Caesar freaked – I think he thought she was growling and promptly decided he would save me from the vicious cat. Mayhem ensued! Cats jumped to the highest point in the room (dresser) and Caesar put on quite a show. He eventually gave up on the cats and decided my Snuggie would be an acceptable substitute. He managed to get down the hall with it, all the while shaking the shit out of it. Very comical! He’s learning.

Yak & Oochie Chillin' in Quieter Times

The "Eat, Pray, Love" Pizza

2010-01-16T18:39:00.005+01:00

My friend Jen told me I had to read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. She said that since I lived In Naples I especially had to find the pizza place she talks about, L’Antica Pizzeria Da Michele. This place has been doing business since 1870. The author says it’s the best pizza she’s ever eaten and if you get the chance to go there, you have to order the pizza margherita with double mozzarella.

Well today was the day! MOH (My Other Half) and I printed off the map from their website (one of my links on the right) and took the train downtown. It’s not a great map so we wandered for a bit and asked for directions twice before we found it. It looks like your typical little hole-in-the-wall from the street. If I didn’t know it was something special I probably would have never given it a second look. We got there just before noon and I took this picture before we went in:

It was already packed inside and you sit wherever there’s room, which means you share your table (no biggie). They only serve two kinds of pizza: pizza margherita (sauce, cheese, and basil) and pizza marinara (sauce only and basil). We were the only Americans and our theory is that if the locals are packing the place then you better believe it’s the good stuff! The waiter took our order and we both asked for pizza margherita con doppio mozzarella.

It came about five minutes later, and let me tell you – oh lordy, it was amazing! Like sit-back-take-your-time-admire-its-beauty-and-thank-God-for-this-perfection amazing. MOH and I have had MANY of these pizzas over the last three years, but this one was just . . . different. The crust was perfect, just the right thickness and charred a bit. The sauce had such a fresh tangy taste, and the mozzarella (oooh cheeeese), DOUBLE MOZZARELLA! They loaded it on. . . . I have to take a moment . . . Ok, really, if you ever come here this pizza cannot be missed! I will take you there myself.

The crowd really started coming in after 12:00. They were given numbers on a little piece of paper and asked to wait outside. As seats opened, one of the waiters would open the door and yell out a number. The lucky ones would then rush in and grab their seats. This is what the outside looked like when we left:

A man at our table ordered the pizza marinara (I have yet to try this) with garlic. It came out steaming with sliced garlic all over it! I was too embarrassed to ask to take a picture of it (I hate looking like a tourist), but it was beautiful and I want one. Next time – oh yes my loves there will be a next time – I am ordering that man’s pizza!

It was 13 euro for both pizzas, one beer, and a large bottle of fizzy water.

Jen, many thanks to you for enlightening me. I hope to take you there one day!

Feelings Will Be Hurt

2010-01-15T23:57:00.004+01:00

The content of this blog has been deleted at my father's request.

Bleh.

Dog Dumper

2010-01-07T14:43:00.005+01:00

This is an open post to the person or persons who dumped their little dog at the traffic circle near my house. Let me start by saying, “Fuck you!” Four days ago I noticed a little brown dog (Chihuahua mix?) at the traffic circle where we live now. It looked like this, but brown.

I was so happy to leave Casal di Principe thinking I would no longer have to look at the poor abandoned dogs, but apparently I was wrong. I was with MOH (My Other Half) the first time I saw it and I was mortified. The animal was obviously a pet. It was well groomed and cared for, and terrified. It stayed in the middle of the road. The only thing I could think of was that it had been abandoned. It was still there when we came back from our errands, right in the middle of the road. I told MOH that we had to do something. He told me, “What? Where will you put it? We have four, and three of them are big and probably won’t accept it. It will fit through the bars of our gate. You cannot save them all.” The problem is that I want to save them all.

The next day I was going on a road trip with the girls and it was still there, confused and upset in the middle of the road. For some reason I decided it was a “she” and talked about her on my trip. I was trying to figure out how to save her. I knew there was no place for her at our house, but surely someone would take her in. I came back home that evening and she was still there – in the middle of the road. She was so obviously waiting for the one who had dumped her. I talked to MOH and he again asked me, “What are you going to do with her?” We really don’t have room for any more – I know that. I named her Zelda and decided that if she was still there in the morning that I would have to pick her up and figure out how to deal with her.

I left for work the next morning and saw her in the road, run over, and cried the rest of the way in. MOH told me it was not my fault and not my responsibility but I can’t help feeling I could have saved her.

She waited for two days in the middle of the road, negligent owner, for you to come back and get her. Congratulations on getting rid of your burden. I hope you rot in Hell for letting that scared little dog die alone in the road waiting for you to come back for her. I will never understand people like you.

Lottery Winners

2010-01-07T13:18:00.006+01:00

This is what MOH (my other half) calls our four dogs. We’ve adopted them one at a time over the past two years. Each one was found on the street. MOH says that makes them lottery winners because of the massive amount of dogs that don’t have homes here. Naples has an enormous amount of strays on its streets and it is truly hard to see them and not have your heart break. I am an animal person. I like them more than most people I know. My next post is going to be very nasty, so I thought I’d start with my little tribe of successes. The following pictures are courtasy of a very good friend of mine who also occasionally dog-sits for us.

Dolce

Dolce was our first find a little over two years ago (she's my profile pic). She was found wandering the streets by an acquaintance of mine who already had two large dogs and didn’t have room for another. We had the room and happily took her. She is the sweetest, most loving, intelligent dog I’ve met. She listens and obeys so well that I don’t think she began her life as a stray. I think she must have been abandoned.

Skipper

MOH found Skipper in the alley where we used to live in Casal di Principe. He told me he had seen a little dog laying out there that didn’t look so good. We walked out there together and found her laying in a pile of trash. She was so pitiful and when I tried to stand her up she fell back over. I told MOH we had to take her home. He picked her up and carried her back to our house. We fed and bathed her and waited to see how she would do with Dolce. They were great! Skipper got her name because her two hind legs could not move independently of each other. She jumped along with a funny kind of hop, or skip, hence: Skipper. X-rays from the vet showed a shattered hip, most likely from being hit by a car. She has healed remarkably well, and though she may have some trouble when she’s older, can easily out run the rest of them.

Maxwell

If you read my post “Maxwell vs. the Rat” then you know his history. MOH golfs on the weekends and noticed a little black puppy digging through trash at a nearby restaurant both mornings that he went out. He said that on his way home the second day the puppy was still there and he pulled over. He opened his car door and called to him and he ran over and jumped right in. He knew a good thing when he saw it! Maxwell was a destructive pain in the ass at first, but won me over after crawling in my lap and going to sleep. 47 pounds later he still crawls in my lap to sleep and has the sweetest personality.

Caesar

Sweet little Caesar was found at one of our favorite restaurants in Villa Literno (from the Pizza Pizza post). We were sitting outside eating one evening and this little dog tried to come up to me to beg for food. One of the waiters quickly chased him off. He was in the parking lot (waiting for me I have no doubt) when we finished and came up to me when I bent down to call him. I grabbed him up and took him home. He was a challenge to potty train, but finally came around. I almost put him up for adoption with Naples Friends of Animals, but changed my mind at the last minute. I just couldn’t give him up! He is a little charmer who has me completely wrapped around his sweet, tiny paw.

I will never understand people who can just toss animals aside as if they are inconveniences. I am sure that at least two of mine were previously someone’s pets and it sickens me that they were treated like garbage. If you have an animal that you can no longer care for then find it another home. The odds of it making it on its own are zero. More on that in my next post.

Kauai Yummies

2010-01-01T13:24:00.014+01:00

MOH (My Other Half) and I just returned from a week on the island of Kauai. It was my first time there, and hopefully not my last! Besides lounging on the beach for a week with the latest Stephen King novel, Under the Dome, I also spent time discovering some delicious local treats. Here are my top three favorites.

The Puka Dog
The Puka Dog is the most delicious hotdog creation I’ve ever had - sorry Hillbilly Hotdogs! We found the little stand on our first morning when we went to breakfast. Here is their menu:

They poke a hole in the bun, not all the way through, just enough to hold all the wonderfulness you can handle. They then insert the sausage and all of the toppings. It’s warm and wonderful and just ding-dang-dog delicious! It’s truly a little pocket of Heaven. I strongly recommend the polish sausage with the hot chili pepper sauce, the pineapple relish, and the Lilikoi mustard. I had two during our trip. MOH’s favorite was the polish sausage with the hot hot habanero sauce, the mango relish, and the Lilikoi mustard (you MUST have the Lilikoi mustard!). He had four of these. I’m still kicking myself for not bringing home some of the mustard, but I suppose it just wouldn’t be the same. Behold the Puka Dog:

Ahi Poke
Ahi Poke is a tasty full-of-flavor sushi salad served on a bed of rice. MOH would sooner stick a chopstick in his eye than let a piece of raw fish pass through his lips, but I am a sushi fan! I paid about $3.50 for a little to-go container of this divine little treat. Besides the cubed raw Ahi, it had soy sauce, green onions, some dried seaweed, sesame oil, sesame seeds, and a hint of wasabi. I only had it once, and wish I had gone back for more. Maybe I’ll be daring and try to make some myself. MOH says my time would be better spent learning to make a Puka Dog.

The Loco Moco
I can only describe this as one of the greatest concoctions I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating. It’s a bowl of layered loveliness! One of the locals told us it was the best hangover cure around. Though I was very NOT hungover when I tried it, I can certainly see why it would be appealing the morning after having one too many. I also believe this can be easily replicated at home. The bottom layer is two scoops of sticky rice, on top of that is what tastes like Salisbury steak smothered in gravy (oooh graaavy), and finally topped with two eggs prepared any way you like. I mean just look at this.

It makes me drool just a little. Seriously. It’s all just so perfect together! Genius - there is nothing else to say.

We also attended the Smith Family Luau (yes, Smith – there’s a story there) and had some wonderful food. My memory is a bit marred, though. While standing in the buffet-style line a lizard that had been chilling on the ceiling fell on me and I just about peed myself. After doing what I’m sure was an extremely entertaining “get this reptile off me” dance it proceeded to crawl up another lady’s leg. Good times!

Bubba’s was also a treat! Good burgers and frings (a mixture of fries and onion rings). I love this sign.

I love to travel, and I love the food I get to experience. Kauai was a real food-tastic trip. We didn’t do any high-class dining, but we certainly discovered some beauties!

Pizza Pizza

2009-12-05T12:53:00.009+01:00

One of the things I love best about Italy is the pizza. Naples is the birth place of this perfect creation and it is truly an art form here. There are Ritorante Pizzarias on every corner, and while there are the standard pizzas (Margharita, Diavola, Primavera, Marinara, Nutella, etc.), they also have their own specialties. I’ll share two of my favorites with you.

The first one we discovered shortly after we moved here. I’ve only ever seen it on menus in Casal di Principe and Villa Literno. The ristorante that makes it the best is Locand di Nonn Rafel in Villa Literno. The Americans refer to it as “The Green Awning” because, well, it has a big green awning, or used to anyway. They recently changed to a maroon color, but it will always be The Green Awning. But I digress. Behold the magnificent Pizza Novantuno (91). It looks like a mess, but it is the most amazing tasting mess ever. The fries totally make it (trust me you doubters!). Besides the sauce and mozzarella, beneath all of those fries are pieces of hamburger, spicy sausage, and pancetta. It is not a pizza for the faint of heart! It should also be consumed only once in a great while – I cannot imagine how its nutrition label would read.

The second pizza is a new find from one of the ristorantes here in Castel Volturno: the Ristorante da Attilo. It’s called Pizza Fresca Voglia, and is the exact opposite of the Pizza Novantuno. It’s pretty much a salad on a pizza crust. No sauce, lots of lettuce, ruccola, pomodori, fresh mozzarella (grazie bufale), olives, corn, and tuna. Oooh it’s nice! I feel much less guilty eating this one – and isn’t it just pretty? MOH (My Other Half) insisted that I post the before and after pictures. Whatever, I’m not proud.

MOH also wanted me to add a picture of his new fave. It’s from the Ristorante Da Attilo as well. He has discovered the Ripieno Fritto (much to the chagrin, I am sure, of his arteries). It’s a deep fried calzone. Seriously. They bake it and throw it in the deep fryer. It’s not much to look at but it is filled with melted ricotta and a little bit of tuna. It’s just not right.

Though I have recently complained extensively about the incredibly slow and frustrating way things get done around here, you will never hear a bad word from me about the food. Real Italian food has the freshest and most amazing combinations of flavors and ingredients. It is much lighter than I expected - current pizza post excluded. Someday when I have to return state-side I expect to experience a period of deep mourning.

Blacklisted!

2009-12-03T17:20:00.004+01:00

Oh Telecom . . . Telecom, Telecom, Telecom! I hate to be cliché, but it’s not rocket science. They showed up on Monday as promised bright and early at 0900. They installed the line (thank God for that eye-hook!) and hooked up the modem for our internet. The phone worked just fine, but we couldn’t connect to the internet. The technician called headquarters (which, quite frankly, I expect is located in someone’s basement) and was told it would take a day to work. Uh huh.

Tuesday – no internet! MOH (My Other Half) calls our good ol’ Quality of Life Office and they, in turn, called Telecom. Our modem is blacklisted. Yep – BLACKLISTED! The previous people who had it didn’t pay their bills so it was blocked. And they gave it to us. Without unblocking it. (Please insert dramatic sigh here.)

MOH, who is the absolute most patient man on earth, is finally getting fed up. I was fed up on day one, which is why I let MOH make the phone calls. I have trouble hiding my disgust with people I think are idiots – and that list is constantly growing. He called the QOL Office on Wednesday and was told that we were very unlucky. I prefer to call it getting hosed by Telecom. He was told surely it would be on by Thursday . . . or Friday. Gah!

Well we finally got it Wednesday evening – Hooray!! All things considered it could have been worse. Happy posts to follow!

The Eye-Hook

2009-12-02T19:33:00.016+01:00

When MOH (My Other Half) got the call from the Quality of Life Office telling us that Telecom would be at our new house on Tuesday, the day before we moved in, to install our telephone and establish our wireless connection I was ecstatic. It was unheard of. It normally takes a minimum of 30 days, if you are lucky, to get Telecom to come to your house. Many people go months without phone or internet when they move into a house here. MOH and I couldn’t believe our luck!

I came to the new house that morning with two of the dogs so that MOH would only have two to deal with while the housing people came to assess how much stuff we would be moving the next day. The Telecom guy showed up around 1000 in his little white Fiat with a ladder tied to its roof. As far as I could tell it was the only equipment he had. He came in, looked at the connection, pulled it out of the wall and announced that it was “impossible.” He said he would come back “domani” (tomorrow). Fine, whatever.

A representative from the Quality of Life Office called later to tell me that Telecom would NOT be back tomorrow, but that an electrician would have to come to install an outside line from the house to the telephone poll before we could have our phone and internet connected. The landlord would have to have this done and we could then schedule a Telecom appointment. Mmmm hmmm. Our landlord called two days later and said that the electricians would come Saturday morning between 0800 and 1000. They did. The four of them stood in my driveway for five minutes looking from the house to the telephone poll. The leader then announced that they would be back lunedi (Monday) doppo pranzo (after lunch). Fine. Whatever.

I went back to work on Monday and MOH rescheduled other housing appointments so that he could wait for the electricians. They didn’t come. We later learned from the landlord that one of them had a family problem. God forbid they send someone else. We were then told that they would come Wednesday morning. They didn’t. Another call to the landlord resulted in another promise from the electricians to come Friday – no idea what time, and no reason for not showing up on Wednesday.

The “electricians” came. And I am still in disbelief at what took place. The leader arrived with his elderly assistant. He got out of the car with a little power drill in his hand and promptly asked my husband for an extension cord. We only have American ones that we use with our transformers. I was more than a little steamed. Here we had waited seven days since the Saturday visit and the electrician doesn’t have any equipment? No, he didn’t. MOH’s solution was to let the guy use his own power drill which meant he had to haul a transformer upstairs and set it up for him. Once he did this, the guy then asked for a ladder. For the love of Pete! Seriously? Anything else we can get you? How about a nice café and some dolce?

After approximately 30 seconds of drilling, the leader and his assistant passed me in the kitchen and said, “Ciao!”

I said, “Basta” (finished)?

“Si,” they said. WTF?

“MOH, are they done?” me yelling.

“No!” says MOH.

“Well they’re leaving!” me still yelling.

I heard MOH talking to them from the balcony upstairs as they got into their car. And left. I went upstairs to see what the hell was up and saw this:

I mean really.

The electricians installed an eye-hook so that Telecom had a way to anchor the phone line to the house. I was actually speechless. Seriously. MOH could have done this himself a week ago. We waited seven days, rearranged appointments, sat at home waiting for them to show up twice when they didn’t, and this is what we got. It . . . took . . . seven . . . days . . . to . . . install . . . an . . . (insert very nasty work here) . . . eye-hook??! I could seriously cry. Telecom is supposed to come Monday (more time off work for MOH). Fine. Whatever.

Maxwell vs. The Rat

2009-12-02T19:25:00.009+01:00

On our third night in the new house things were going well. We were unpacking boxes and starting to feel like we were at home. It was getting dark outside and I opened the back door to call the dogs in for a little sofa time. As I called to them I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked down and it took a couple of seconds for me to realize there was a big fat rat skittering across our patio. It took me another couple of seconds to realize that Maxwell had seen it too.

Maxwell is one of my four dogs and he is my favorite. It didn’t start out that way. We already had two dogs when MOH (My Other Half) came home from golf one day with this scrawny little black puppy. I did not like him. He was destructive and a pain in the ass. His first morning at the house he jumped up at me and grabbed hold of the knee of my black velvet lounging pants (don’t judge me) and ripped them. He would escape the kitchen and eat my shoes and magazines. I was seriously trying to figure out how we were going to get rid of him. Then it happened. I sat down on the kitchen floor with him one day and he crawled into my lap and fell asleep - I fell in love.

Maxwell still has his moments. He has grown into a beautiful 47-pound lap dog. He enjoys counter-surfing and has helped himself to raw meatballs and frozen meals that were waiting to go in the oven. He’ll destroy a book or magazine if I leave them outside on a table. He sits on top of my car; I have no idea how he even decided that was possible. He drank the oil out of the turkey fryer this Thanksgiving and spent half the day throwing up. But he will cuddle on the couch with me for hours at a time and has the sweetest temperament.

Anyway, Maxwell saw the rat at the same time I did – and pounced. Suddenly he was running across the yard with that fat rat body hanging out of his mouth. The other three quickly followed. I yelled for MOH to help me get the dogs into the house without the rat. He did and as they were anxiously trotting around the living room trying to settle down I noticed that there was blood on the floor, quite a bit. MOH and I started grabbing dogs to find out who was bleeding and from where. It was Maxwell. Blood was pouring from his nose courtesy of a rat bite.

I grabbed paper towels and Maxwell sat next to me and let me hold them against his nose. I sent MOH outside with instructions to dispose of the rat. He took a shovel, found the rat, and tossed it over the fence. He said it was still alive, but barely. Ugh. At our last house, our dogs loved to catch lizards. One of our females, Skipper, would sleep with their little dead bodies in her crate until I could get them away from her. We’re a little more out in the country now and it never occurred to me that my dogs would find bigger and better prey. I have visions of letting them in one night and not paying close enough attention. If I find a dead ANYTHING on my sofa . . . anyway, I hope Maxwell learned his lesson, but I doubt it. I’m sure he was extremely proud of his catch, bloody nose be damned!

Renter’s Insurance in Naples – The 5% Deal!

2009-11-16T15:08:00.002+01:00

We are two days away from moving into a new house here in Naples. This is not by choice. We’ve lived in a lovely house for three years now, but there is a ground-water contamination problem and most of the Americans living in Casal di Principe have been directed to vamoose as soon as possible.

We found a gorgeous house, though, so I’m not too upset. We lived dangerously and didn’t have renter’s insurance in the Casal house, but I decided we should have it in the new place. MOH said, “Sure, fine, set it up.” I called our friendly neighborhood Geico representative, Sam, to find out what we needed to do.

Here’s how the conversation went:

Me: “I’m interested in getting some renter’s insurance for our new house.”

Sam: “Yes, please come in so I can explain it to you.”

Me: “You can just explain it over the phone. I don’t want to take anymore time off work than necessary.”

Sam: “It is better if you come in.”

Me: “Please just tell me about it.”

Sam: “Okay. You need to write down everything you own and how much it is worth. For all of your electronic devices we need serial numbers.”

Me: Silence from me.

Sam: “That is all.”

Me: “Okay. I can do that.” Seriously – I was supposed to come in for that?

Sam: “Let me make you aware, though, that if you do not have receipts for every item you own, you will only receive 5% of its value.”

Me: “You need a receipt for everything.”

Sam: “Yes. Otherwise, if you submit a $30,000 claim and do not have receipts, you will receive $1,500.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Really. I mean I have SOME receipts. For SOME things. Not enough to make it worth getting this fabulous deal on insurance, though. I didn’t even ask what the rates were. MOH said we should just list every item we own as having a one million dollar value. Cute.

AFN airs several commercials regarding this topic reminding us of the importance of having this insurance. The commercials talk about the usual two options: covering the current value of the items (not encouraged), or covering the replacement cost of the items (encouraged). I know we had renter’s insurance in the states that didn’t require us to have receipts for everything we own. I guess I’ll start keeping receipts. For everything. Just in case. Now I’m researching on-line overseas insurance options.

Thanks, Geico Naples for taking such good care of us!!

A Ride to Sorrento

2009-11-15T07:50:00.009+01:00

Taking public transportation can evoke such a mix of feelings. I love the people on the trains – any trains. People watching can be entertaining, scary, and heart breaking all at once. MOH (My Other Half) and I went to Sorrento yesterday. We normally drive (it takes about an hour and a half), but decided to take the trains instead so that we could enjoy a leisurely lunch with wine and not worry about driving back. We parked at JFC and hopped on the metronapolitana in Bagnoli and rode to Piazza Garibaldi in Naples. We then transferred to the circumvesuviana which would take us to Sorrento.

People on trains are the same everywhere. We made many stops while on the circumveuviana and at one point a group of four teenagers (ages 14 or 15) got on the train and sat across from us. Teenagers speak the same language no matter what country they are in. All four of them had their cell phones out and were sharing music with each other. You don’t need to understand Italian to know that they were talking about the pretty young girl that passed them, or that they were discussing the big plans that they had for the day. They teased each other and carried on without being obnoxious. They were fun to watch and listen to, and made me smile (and feel a little old).

We also had the requisite disturbed rider. He seemed more harmless-crazy than dangerous-crazy. He changed seats frequently, all the while carrying on an extensive conversation with his hand - both of them actually. He would loosely cover his mouth with his hand and place his thumb near his ear (was it a cell phone to him?), and then proceed to talk and laugh. Every now and then he would switch hands. I wondered if this signaled a new conversation. He was happy and having a great time. I would love to know who was on the other end of this conversation. I wish I could have heard what he was saying, but it was pretty muffled (hand covering mouth and all). MOH said it gave a whole new meaning to the phrase, “Talk to the hand.”

Finally, on the way home, we had the rider who broke my heart. An old man got on the train at one of the stops. He looked dirty, and maybe homeless. He was on crutches and had a horribly swollen wrapped foot. He carried two plastic shopping bags with what looked like trash (empty bottles, used napkins, nothing of any substance). After he lowered himself into a seat he crossed himself and pulled his coat closer around him. A man sitting across from us reached up and closed the window, which was slightly open, and the old man thanked him. He then pulled off his knit hat to scratch his head and revealed an open wound about the size of a silver dollar on his forehead that looked awful. I could see a bandage sticking out of his hat when he coved his head again. He still looked cold and I asked MOH to close our window as well. When he did, the old man placed his hand on MOH’s shoulder and thanked him. He just broke my heart. I wondered where he was going. Did he have any family? Children maybe? Was there someone somewhere who remembered him and loved him? There I sat with my Gucci sunglasses on my head, several bottles of nice wine at my feet, a full stomach, and MOH across from me who loves me no matter how silly or difficult I am, feeling a little useless and embarrassed.