Evie

I am completely moved in to my new house.

As for the old house, I spent two weeks trying to pack and clean it, and even had help from the Translator's wife, who, in six hours, cleaned the entire second floor until it looked like new. I got video of this, and now know why Italian homes have tile.

Water. Everywhere.

She was particularly distrustful of Windex.

So anyway, we get to the 15th, all moved out, and our old landlord claims we only paid 2/3 of what we actually paid on the deposit...and said they were keeping half of that for repairs. Yes, we have the lease to show what we paid, but it's in Italian and no one can make out what the old landlords wrote in the "paid" bit. FUNNY.

By this point, I'd had enough of that house. We just threw up our hands and said "fuck it". The Translator, however, is looking into legal action. I'll be very amused if he succeeds.

So we move in here and we're all settled in for a week, when from next door comes REPETITIVE BOOMING ITALIAN FOOTBALL MUSIC. Shit was rattling in the cupboards. My couch was bouncing.

Now, I can deal with babies crying, men snoring, sex noises, televisions, or all of the above. I can not deal with having my internal organs vibrated. I was a bit worried that this new development from the neighboring house was something that would go on indefinitely. Well, it turns out, it was a saint's holiday of some sort, and things went like this for three days:

- REPETITIVE BOOMING ITALIAN FOOTBALL MUSIC for three hours.
- Fireworks.
- Shouting. Cheering.
- Fireworks.
- Everyone hikes up the mountain and people start cutting down trees.
- Fireworks.
- Everyone attaches chains to the trees and pulls them down to the main street at the bottom of the mountain.
- Fireworks.
- Everyone goes door-to-door and asks for bottles of wine. Like trick-or-treating. FOR WINE.
- Fireworks.
- REPETITIVE BOOMING ITALIAN FOOTBALL MUSIC for three hours.
- Fireworks.
- Shouting. Cheering.
- Fireworks.
- Drunkenness.
- Fireworks.
- Everyone TAKES OFF THEIR SHOES and pulls the trees back up the mountain. Barefoot.
- Fireworks.

And with that, the festival is over.

This is definitely one of the singers playing, but I can't find the song. Enjoy.

Let me pause for a moment to address the fireworks thing. You can purchase M-80s here on the side of the road before any holiday. They have the sort of fireworks that Disney World sets off every night at 8:00, and Italians buy them just for shits and giggles. They set them off for everything, and it doesn't matter if it's 1 in the morning or 3 in the afternoon. There are fireworks going off somewhere in my neighborhood.

Right. Fucking. Now.

Anyway.

Since then, it's been rather quiet. Even more so since Mike and I decided that, if they're going to be noisy, we're going to be noisier.

With sex.

On another topic, I had my hair done purple again and the guy I go to has taken to calling me "Allsorts". I suppose it's easier than trying to pronounce my name.

I have found my name (Kristina) is damn near impossible for Italians to pronounce. They either give up and assign me a diminutive (Kri) or try every other fucking variation they can possibly come up with (Kristian, Kristiana, Kirsti, and Kristia as of yesterday).

I'm still making out better than Mike, who is "Michelle" to the general populace.

There's a ton more going on, but most of it's annoying stuff to do with the house fixtures and the telephone company. Also, vacation coming up on the fourth!