You know when you’re at McDonald’s post-clubbing?
Yes, yes you do.
Everyone pretty much looks like hell. Girls are walking barefooted with feet dragging across the filthy filthy linoleum floor, dudes are squinty-eyed and discussing the night’s triumphs and mishaps, and it is arguably one of the grossest places to be picked up at at the end of the night.
There’s always a few people who are still club-drunk and are laughing loudly, sputtering out their menu order with the coherency of a toddler, and are generally making a fool out of themselves.
That’s Winda and I, the morning after we’ve broken Fabrizio’s ancient key, missed our morning train to Florence, and are subsequently left wondering our purpose in life in an Italian McDonald’s. We buy 1 euro espresso shots.
We are so. Freaking. hHngover.
It is 9:00 AM in Rome — we had to leave Fabrizio’s apartment due to his checkout policy/we needed to get out of there ASAP before we broke anything else of his.
We are laughing-slash-crying because our heads hurt so much from last night’s escapades. We look like crap. We have our giant backpacks with us — of which is comedic in itself because our backpacks look like they could eat us.
Just to backtrack a bit, this was not our only drunk night in Rome. We also had the opportunity to party with some ridiculous Italians.
Lemme tell you the story.
We’ve set up at Campo de’ Fiori. We have our mojitos, our grape-flavoured hookah. We are basking. A group of Italian dudes at the next table motion towards us to join their table. We submit to their boyish timidness (derived from speaking in broken English) and yet, their Casanova calibre assertiveness. They literally move all of our stuff — our drinks, hookah, table, and chairs — to join their table.
Naturally, they begin introducing themselves. Here we have a lawyer, e-commerce specialist, accountant, and..
“Taxi driver!” They exclaim in unison, pointing out their most outgoing friend whom had initially approached us. He smiles sheepishly. They pause for a second, taking in his self-consciousness. “… And stylist!” They add with enthusiasm/thick Italian accents, pronouncing it stye-leest!
We chat. They are hilarious. One of them, named Francesco, has an amazing handlebar moustache — reminiscent of our friend Alessandro — and continuously strokes it. They talk about their jobs and the friends emphasize just how stylish the Taxi Driver-sash-Stylist is. They really want us to know that he is more than just a taxi driver.
The Stylist invites us to a club.
We get into a cab and head to a Roman club. In hindsight, was it a good idea to get into a cab with strange Italians? I’m gonna say no…
Bumpin’ is not the word I’d use for the club we’re at — maybe simply interesting. The Stylist turns out to be an amazing dancer. Really amazing. Winda steals his stylish hat. We booty bump with Francesco. The Stylist does the Harlem Shake a few times. The ratio between men and women at this club is way off.
I can’t really remember all the details of getting home, but we do. A cab takes us back to our AirBnb in trastevere and I remember him asking for a kiss instead of paying him in euros.
Hard pass, my friend.
Ciao, Roma! You were so good to us.
Sidenote: I come back again for another adventure later on in my Eurotrip — this second time we meet two Italian boys who ask us if we’d like to break into the Coliseum! God bless the Italians.
Foreign Exchange blouse
Forever 21 shorts
Reviving an outfit from last summer because unfortunately for me, I’m not one of those girls who enjoys knit leggings, cuddles with Starbucks’ red holiday cups, and loves fall with the power of a thousand autumn-oriented emojis. Instead, I have an affinity for wearing no pants (but who doesn’t, really?), and I find layers and closed-toed shoes restricting.. And that’s how a summer wardrobe emerges as my forte.
I will be forever entranced with loose-fitting blouses that billow through light summer breezes, denim cutoffs with an iconic destroyed pocket, sandals I can ruin at the beach..
Lizzie Velasquez’s TEDTalks video on agency. So important to remember every single day of your life. It’s not about dousing yourself in optimism or even being grateful for all the good things in your life, it’s about the fact that you have full control of your life–full control to chase the good things–and that’s the greatest blessing we could ever have.
I’ve always insisted my wardrobe is more Californian than Vancouverite, but I might be in over my head because dressing for fall isn’t so bad.. One simply needs to master the Art of Layering: layers are nice and cozy, but they are disgusting when you become a sweltering, hot mess after moving too much in them. Keywords: balance, and sweltering.
[Faux] fur scarf — Urbanoutfitters; canvas military jacket — Salvation Army; leopard print pants — OBEY; combat boots — vintage Aldo
One of my fav outfits because the pants are breezy and comfy, and everything was very cheap.. The scarf $10, pants $5, coat $3.99, and the boots were free, because to me, “vintage” is synonymous with “stolen from my mother’s closet.”
My goal this year (and for the rest of my life) is to stop complaining about Vancouver weather because everyone in this city is so fixated on the weather, despite the fact that Vancouver is KNOWN to be rainy! And I bet you anything complaining makes you ugly.
So let the whining end, and the appreciating begin!
I have a One Direction Erection–the huge, throbbing, and pulsating with passion kind. (A One Direction Infection is for the little ones.. big girls get the 1D Erection.)
I’m not going to go into the nitty gritty details of my fangirl obsession because 1) it’s annoying 2) it’s only slightly embarrassing that I stalked a group of five boys the same age as my brother 3) it would probably be the longest post of my life.
The concert was AMAZE. I have been to a handful of concerts, but it’s never been an artist I absolutely LOVE. Y’all already know I know 99.5% of their songs, and to be able to sing those songs in unison with a stadium chock full of people is BEYOND the beyond.
I can only imagine how it feels for them to stare back at the audience, listening to them sing along to every word they sing back..
These are my beautiful friends who came with. After watching me be near tears when I was without a ticket, and THEN seeing my full fangirl form before/during/after the concert–I am SO grateful (and astonished) they are still my friends. I was pretty much going through a multi-level meltdown the entire time the band was in the same city as me.
I’ve had so much backlash for being a fan of a Top 40’s boyband, but freal–sit down with me and I will tell you whatsup with One Direction…
Also they were giving out ice cream after the concert–it’s like they KNEW I was coming.
I may or may not have been double-fisting free ice cream.
And obvi, if you are friends with me, we got drunk after the concert and met a bunch of crazy people. We ended up rubbing this huge brown guy’s belly, meeting someone named Atilla [The Hun], and utilizing the Boris Theory for the first time. Um.. also, this guy introduced himself to me as Asshole, and said he’d give us his mardi gras beads if we flashed him–I am hoping (but not really) that he did not get beat up that night.
This is us post-bellyrubbing, but pre-dancing with two gay roommates.
And here is my fav member of the band being cute AF:
I’d like to think that Niall’s smile during his acoustic solo in “Little Things” was indeed in response to my “I LOVE YOU NIALL! MARRY ME!”
I should add that I wrote a paper on One Direction for one of my classes. And BOOM goes the dynamite, because I got an A-! One Direction always wins, y’all.
I’m sick. It’s literally the first week of school, and I am ridden with infection–a walking, talking, breathing 24-hour phlegm factory. All this phlegm has gotten me really curious as to how phlegm and mucus come about in the body… but I’ll save that Google search for later.
Crochet top — Marshall’s; yellow bikini — Walmart; destroyed denim cutoffs — Forever21; fringe sandals — Minnetonka; sunnies — Free People; backdrop — Waimea Beach, HI
Crochet tops are bomb because it’s like you’re naked. Hawaii is bomb. The shaved ice I got in this outfit is bomb (Matsumoto’s on the Northshore–WITH ice cream!!!!!). Phlegm, however, is not bomb.
Brb, while I get up all on my cherry-flavoured Benylin Extra Strength lean..
Went to lunch in this outfit with a friend from out of town (Oh my God, that sounds weird because it sounds so grown-up.) It was pretty funny resurfacing our really dumb stories from my last visit to the east coast.. Like sharing a futon, late at night and early AM subway rides, and I should’ve brought up the story of how said friend was there at my first 4AM movie premiere. They do NOT do 4AM movie premieres in Vancouver because forreal… who does?! I was post-club, walking from the nightlife district to the heart of downtown Toronto in heels, and in a drunk disarray to watch Iron Man–I can literally HEAR the complaints I must’ve going off with the entire way there.
Oh, and Lord help me if I’ve acquired a golf tan (pale feet, tanned everything), as my feet are looking mighty white next to my beige-ing legs..
Tank top — TNA; chambray button-up — Calvin Klein; destroyed denim shorts — Forever 21; shoes — Converse; purse — vintage Gucci; sunnies — the men’s section @ Nordstrom
No pants and barely a top for the hot weather. The chambray button-up in case it gets chilly. Converse chucks for enough comfort to walk around downtown Vancouver all day. Sunnies so I can get away with people watching. 1984 in my purse for reading in front of city skyline. Starbs iced coffee to keep everything on point..
I honestly think I live for leisure.. as bad as that sounds. I’m finally done summer school (cue an audible ugh) and being a newly freed academic slave, I planned a full day of do-as-I-please. Had a fondue date with friends, sauntered around Coal Harbour with a friend and iced coffee in hand, and ended the day on my own at Harbour Green Park with some George Orwell.. was seriously so relaxed, and somewhat heat exhausted.
Vancouver is just so damn aesthetic in the summertime..