Here's my VH1 "Behind the Music" third quarter drug addiction

Friends, it has been a difficult week. It began on Monday in regional Italian cooking class. We cooked a classic dish from Liguria, located in the folded over knee portion of Italy and most famous for the Cinque Terra area. Liguria is stunningly beautiful with terraced farms of grape vines and olive trees and steep cliffs diving into the Mediterranean. However, I can tell you from the traditional local dish of mackerel poached in a tomato pea sauce that we cooked, bring plenty of prosciutto from Lucca to Liguria.

Italians do much more home processing of their food than Americans, especially meats and fish. Because of this, the mackerel arrived complete and I had to gut and clean the fish. There are several reasons to celebrate womanhood. I never have to help anyone move. Actually I should, but I am excused from actual work if I bring brownies. I am not expected to maintain a car, and I don’t have to clean fish. This was always the rule at my house as a kid. The men cleaned the fish. My poor brother Geoff would twist his face up from the smell of the lake fish that we caught that morning. With guidance from my father, he would perform the disgusting task of removing the guts. I never fought for that opportunity. Let’s not take women’s rights too seriously.

As I cleaned the mackerel, I realized how terrible this particular fish smells. It’s the kind of fish you throw back or use as bait, not make into a local delicacy. I removed the intestines, but left the bones, head, and skin. Apparently, it’s prettier that way. As Victoria (instructor chef) and Addie (good sport) served each of us an entire mackerel, I was determined to be an adult about this meal and enjoy it. I really tried, but I found myself regressing to my 5 year old self, pushing fish and peas around my plate so it looked like I ate more than I did. God bless the meatball sandwich I had before I came.

Then, I lost my ATM card, and it is impossible to live in Italy without cash. I could have used my credit card, but it costs around 25% of the amount to get Euros from a credit card. That is insulting and I refuse to accept this usury. So I have been pinching my pennies until my new ATM card arrives, which was shipped to Mike in Dillon who FedEx’d it to me here. It has left Tennessee but that is all FedEx is willing to say, and I don’t blame them. I’m hoping it arrives on Monday, but Italian mail is as reliable as an architect’s paycheck in a building slump. Although FedEx does not use the Italian mail system, I believe the Italian postal system can impose its will on corollary delivery mechanisms, even a mighty international corporation like FedEx. The best I can say is I have hope.

However, since then I was robbed by the Duomo. Before I get overly dramatic, I should clarify that it was a pick pocket, and I didn’t even notice until later. Only my wallet was taken, but it included $200, credit cards, driver’s license, insurance cards, a Victoria’s secret gift certificate, and my checkbook. I promptly canceled my cards, bemoaned the fact that I can’t rent a car without a driver’s license, and closed my checking account. Now, even if my ATM card arrives, the new account won’t be available until Tuesday, which means Wednesday for me. The banker swears the card will transfer to the new checking account, but I’m feeling 60/40, not in my favor. If that doesn’t work, I may have to look into the local brothels for income. Don’t even get me started on how I’m going to get my credit card here before I leave and how I’m going to pay all my bills online when I don’t have a credit card or checking account.

As always, there is a silver lining to this tragic tale. I already lost my ATM card so it will be here sooner than if it was in the wallet. Also, I have carried around significantly more than $200 in the past, although I always remembered to zip my purse then. However, the really amazing thing about this week is that my friend Stacey decided on a whim to come visit me. She arrived on Thursday (mugging on Saturday). We have been wandering the streets of Florence, enjoying the good life together, and discussing our futures. We climbed the dome, strolled through Boboli Gardens, toured the Castillo di Verrazzano vineyards (yes Mom, it’s the same family as the NYC bridge), and prayed at mass in San Lorenzo church. Actually, I prayed. She sketched the marble relief on the wall in her service program. She is loaning me money so I have my very own sugar mama in Italy. It has been wonderful to have her here.