Like I said in the last post, I had a date on Thursday (and not with the girl that felt me up).  I would tell you the back story, which is just as interesting as the date, if not more so, but I'll save that for another time, should I feel that it is relevent to my life.  Here's a quick breakdown of the date.  I picked her up at 1945.  Dinner was excellent.  We had such a great time talking, that we had no idea how much time passed.  We were both very surprised at when we went to leave the restaurant, and realized that it was 2345.  On a related note, I have another date with her this Friday.

More important, however, is what happened to me today, which blew my mind.  Because it was very hot, and I had a few minutes to kill, I decided to head over to Baskin Robbins to get a smoothie like drink (I think it was called a fruit swirl or something).  Something nice and cold.  So I walk up to the counter, and ask for a Medium Strawberry Citrus one.  The girl rings it up, takes my $5, puts it in the register and hands me the receipt.  Then she looks me in the eye and says:

"We're out of Citrus Ice cream.  Do you want a different ice cream?"

WTF?  Why would you allow me to complete the transaction if you cannot provide me with the item advertised.  So I say I'll take a mango-lemon one instead.  She again informs me that there is no citrus ice cream.  "Right, I don't want Strawberry-Citrus."  Again rebuffed, I ask for the third and last flavor, only to receive the same response.

I repeated the cycle once or twice, repeatedly being rebuffed.  The fact that I had spent the whole day in an office without airconditioning had slowed down my deductive reasoning.  Eventually, I realized that the flavor was dependent on the syrup that they used, yet ALL OF THEM, in their advertised form, required the Citrus ice cream.

By this logic, this woman would not have been able to provide me ANY of the items advertised, at least not in a form that wasn't somewhat bastardized.  Why the hell would you not stop me BEFORE the exchange of currency?  "Hey, the thing you want.  Yeah, we don't have it."  It's as simple as that.  If I ask for chocolate ice cream, don't take my money and THEN inform me that there is no chocolate (reminds me of a funny joke).

A woman walks into the ice cream store, and asks the clerk for come chocolate ice cream.
"We don't have any chocolate," says the clerk.
"Well, I'd like some chocolate ice cream," replies the clerk.

This goes back and forth for a while, until the clerk as had it.
"Listen, ma'am.  Can you spell the 'van' in 'vanilla'?"
"Sure.  V-A-N."
"And can you spell the 'straw' in 'strawberry'?"
"S-T-R-A-W."
"OK, now, can you spell the 'fuck' in 'chocolate'?"
"Wait, there is no 'fuck' in 'chocolate'."
"That's what I said, there no fucking chocolate!"

Black 6, out

Before I start the main entry, here's an interesting idea along the idea of remembering names:
 

On the last post, some of you might have gotten the impression that I was chasing after Engy.  Let me assure you that this is not the case.  In fact, you could say that I am doing anti-chasing, in that I am doing things that make me impossible to get.  It's not as though, once she learns my name and remembers to call me, I will suddenly accept her as marriage material or even girlfriend material.  I'm not trying to hate on her.  I'm just saying that I am not easy.

Moving to more recent events, I get hit on more and more.  I mean seriously.  For example, a few months ago, I was purchasing groceries and was checking out, and my cashier happened to be a woman that I had seen around post.  It's actually hard to miss her, due to her endowment in the chest area.  Anyway, I made small talk like I normally do, paid with my credit card, and was signing my slip, when she said something in Italian to the girl bagging my stuff.  Thinking that she was talking to me, I said "Excuse me?", as I was unable to hear it.  She asks me if I speak Italian, to which I reply "Un po", which means "a little".  Apparently, what she said was enough to make her blush as the idea that I had heard it.  I can only imagine what she wants to do to me.  She's cute and all, but I'm just not up for trying.  Also, if I walk by her which happened regularly because she also works somewhere else on post, I can feel her eyes undressing me.

In more recent events, on Thursday I had a date, so that day, I was at one of the barber shops waiting to get a haircut, when I saw this girl working there whose face I had seen somewhere before.  However, I could not put my finger on it.  At some point, she walks over to me, squeezes my right bicep and says, "You're a strong guy."  Suddenly it flashes back to me: I saw her in the gym the previous day, and I was talking to her personal trainer for a few minutes.  I reply, "Oh right, I saw you in the gym yesterday."  She lightly pinches my right cheek and says "You're kinda cute," and then walks off.

Yes, people, I get randomly felt up.  Not just on post either.  I was at the club the other night, and I was talking to one of my buddies who is a bouncer, when one of the waitresses tried to pass us.  This is one that has made it a point to smile at me a lot, as far as I can tell.  Now, there are many ways to squeeze past two people.  Even more when you consider that we were standing in a Quadruple doorway, which although lightly populated, still provided a lot of space.  However, I'm not sure that the method required placing both hands on my shoulders and running them down my arms to the elbow, as you passed me, with enough room to not brush up against me or my buddy.

Now the point of my post is this: why do women get upset when viewed as a piece of meat?  Men don't seem to have this problem.  In fact, it's like living the dream.  We know we have brains, be just appreciate the fact that we are being chased for our sexy, sexy bodies.  It's only human for you to want us.  If a cute guy looks at you like a piece of meat, go with it.  I mean, I would if a girl did it, as long as she proved to me that she had more than good looks and a working libido.

Black 6, out.

This one starts off with a story, and then becomes more
philosophical.  Last weekend, I went out to the club, and
while I was there I ran into Engy,
who is a dancer at a club I went to not long ago.  For those
of you that are thick, she is a stripper at a strip club that I was
dragged to.  As previously stated, she seemed to take a liking
to me.  When she met me previously, she told me that she was
traveling to Hungary for a week, and would call me when she got
back.  I quickly nodded, not caring, and understanding that
the promise was probably empty.

Needless to say, she
didn't call.  Fast forward to last weekend, when, while
walking through the club, I see her there.  I have never seen
her there before, and now she's seen me there.  I continue on
my way, only to be followed, and this conversation
ensues:

Engy: Hey.  How are you.
Me:
Good.  You?
Engy: Good.  You never call.
Me:
You said that YOU would call ME when you got back from
Hungary.  This is like tennis, you have to hit something
back.
Engy:  Oh.  (I don't think she
got the idea)
Me: By the way, me chiamo (Italian for "My name
is)...?
Engy:
.....
Me:  Me chiamo.....?  Se
chiamo "Engy".  Me chiamo....?
Engy: ....
Me: Well, you
can't seem to remember my name, so, bye.

Somewhat put
off by this, she goes back to her friends, and one of her friends
immediately comes over:

Friend: Hey, my friend likes you.  What
do you think of her?
Me: She seems cool and all,
but she can't remember my name.
Friend:  Oh... Well, hi my name is (I
forgot the name, mostly because I didn't
care).
Me: Well, nice to meet you. 
(There's a pause while she looks at me, expecting me to
continue)  I'm not going to give you my name.  I'm
not drunk, and I know that trick.  (She laughs and goes back
to Engy).

My big gripe is twofold.  First
off, I'm tired of chasing.  Women are lazy.  From my
perspective, they seem to do no work other than rejecting for normally
superficial reasons.  In the cases where you aren't rejected,
you normally end up in the middle of some sadistic game where they mess
with your mind.  In order to combat this, I have adopted a
more tennis-like approach to things now.  I will hit the ball
over the net.  In the case where the ball isn't returned, I
may lob another over.  If nothing comes back at me, I'm
leaving the court, and finding someone else to play
with.

The next night, Nick went to the strip club
(without me) and Engy was working.  Interestingly, he also
used the "what's my name?" thing on her, having not conversed with me
at all.  I'm not sure if she asked him about me, or if he just
brought me up in conversation in order to get her to leave him
alone.  If there are no significant events, I'll talk about a
game we played the other night.  I will call it "Avoid the
Stripper".  It's not a fun game, although it is a funny game,
full of backstabbing.

In closing, I leave
this piece of advice:  Ladies, if you want to hit on a guy, at
least remember his name.  If your mental Rolodex is that full,
maybe you should not try adding cards.  And if you've
forgotten the name, make that the FIRST thing you clear up. 
Don't try and play it off, hoping that his driver's license will fall
out of his pocket, or that a buddy will walk up and mention
it.

Black 6, out.

Waking up late the next morning, mostly because we had to check out by a certain time, we left our bags at the hotel and headed for the Cathedral so that I could meet up with Maia.  We arrived a bit early in order to get something to eat, and saw a small restaurant that still kept the area in view.  At some point we ended up talking to a couple sitting next to us.  They were on a trip for their 20 year anniversary, and the husband was a retired Army Colonel.  Interestingly, he had the same views on the war that we had (essentially, we were justified in going into Afghanistan; no real business with Iraq, however we can't just abandon it.  He called Iraq a "tar baby".  Basically once you pick it up, you can't put it down because it sticks to you).

Now he writes speeches for CEOs of big companies, and gets to work from home.  "I step over the dog to get to work.  It's great."

On a sour note, Maia never showed, but she did email me later apologizing for missing our rendezvous.  I can only assume that she hadn't fully developed the skills necessary to stay up late one night and then wake up with small amounts of sleep and do things as if you were fully rested.

Nick did have me take some pictures of the cathedral:

This picture does not do justice to the sheer size of this thing.  If you think it looks big from the front, you should see it from the side.  We were not able to go inside, however, because of the Easter rush.  Essentially done, we grabbed our bags from the hotel and walked a route back to the train station that was much shorter than the one we took to get to the hotel.  The train going back to Vicenza was essentially devoid of people, so it was a quiet ride home.

Black 6, out.

Leaving the Red Garter, we followed our guide from the Pub Crawl to what I believe was an Irish pub.  I'm not too sure about the Irish part, but it was definitely a pub.  Nick, our guide and I were behind the group since we had to  ditch people at the other bar, so the rest of the crawl was already in full drink  As we approached the entrance, I saw something that I definitely didn't need: an ACU backpack.

For those of you that don't know, ever since the War on Terror began, and actually, ever since the US put a base in some other country, locals aren't normally highly keen to soldiers, unless your actions directly result in them making more money.  For this reason, soldiers are typically told to travel in small groups (or at least with a buddy), stay low key, and we are not allowed to wear our uniforms off post unless during the conducting of official business, or in order to obtain basic living essentials, such as eggs, milk, or bread (that list is actually in the regulation).

Now there is a guy, who is not only wearing this piece of issued equipment, but the name tape with "PATTERSON" is sewn on it.  He is also wearing a black trench coat on what would be described as a warm spring night. 

Walking past this guy, I bump into another guy who was a Specialist in my unit.  I did not ride the train for 3 hours to see these people.  I also know that this guy isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and only expected that trouble would follow him.  Amazingly, he would be the least of the issues, and, aside from letting his buddy go out while wearing an ACU backpack, didn't really do anything dumb that night, as far as I saw.  I was surprised.

The third member of the group is someone that I will call "All Fucked Up".  This is for two reasons.  First, "I'm all fucked up," were the first words he said to me when the Specialist said that he was part of the group.  Second, he truly was all fucked up.  Not just on the fact that he was heavily drunk, but also on the fact that he seemed unable to make rational decisions and act like a normal person.  Don't worry, there's evidence.

I'm inside mingling and talking and such.  Having a few drinks.  Chatting with people from England, and from the states, and I think Australia.  At some point, I go to the bathroom, and when I come out, I get stopped by PATTERSON who was talking to some other people form England (I think it was a guy and three girls).  At one point in the conversation that I have now been sucked into, he tells me "Guess how old they are."  I could care less, but then he proceeds to point at each of the four, and in each case, the number was between 15 and 17.  I decide that I should leave Jailbait Supreme on his own, and say "I'll be right back."  Obviously I did not return, choosing to step outside, instead.

I'm outside, throwing game like Nolan Ryan on opening day, talking to one of the girls that is in charge of the pub crawl (because I really wanted to know what type of girl puts together pub crawls), and two other girls (yes, I'm good at holding crowds).  I forget what we talked about, and what their names were, because it is horribly overshadowed by the rest of the story.  At some point, while talking, I think I mentioned something about the fact that I expected more tourists to have gone to Rome for Easter.  And then, behind me and to my right, I hear "All Fucked Up."

AFU: Fuck Easter!

It was really fucking loud.  I think it echoed.  It was enough to get me to completely stop in mid-sentence and break eye-contact with the girl I was facing, an my brain TRIED to comprehend what had just happened.  Obviously, I was stupid too, because I believed that maybe I could rationalize what had just happened.  All that came to mind was that he was someone who liked to rant about the idea that the current celebration of Easter has been combined with Pagan fertility imagery, such as eggs and rabbits, which was a result of Christianity trying to better overwrite old ideas in cultures that they were working to convert. 

I was definitely drunk if I thought this guy has any of that running through his brain.  I must have been out of my mind to even acknowledge his existence, but maybe I felt that the situation needed diffusing.  I attempted to ask if my theory about his thinking was correct, but as son as I got to the word "Pagan" I was suddenly interrupted.

AFU: Fuck the Pagans!

It was just as loud as the other one.  If you remember from Part 2, I talked about how Nick and I would attempt to hide the fact that we were in the Army.  This is one of the reasons.  I hate to shit on "Joe", but I seriously don't want to be associated with many of them, because this is the image that they send out to the population.  The fighting, the rowdiness, general ignorance, and inability to drink to a reasonable level.  It's not all of them, just the ones that people remember and use to form their stereotype of soldiers.  I normally do my best to distance myself from this image.

The girls and I decide to talk a few feet away from where we were currently standing, and, by God's good graces, All Fucked Up was too fucked up to follow us.  Something shiny probably attracted his attention.  Who cares.

After talking for a little longer, it was time for the Pub Crawl to head over to it's last stop, Space Electronic.  Not much happened at the club, except that I was generally sober, and I made a series of observations that I will save for a later post specifically on clubs.  After hours of dancing, it comes time for the club to close, and a girl that I was talking to, Maia, and her friend and I paid and exited.  Unfortunately, when we got outside, another of Maia's friends were standing there with All Fucked Up and PATTERSON. 

Son of a Bitch!

For the sake of the girls, and the fact that I am engaged in a good conversation, I decide to help walk them back to where they are staying.  Unfortunately, so do the other guys.  Somehow, I am now talking to Maia's friend, who I will call "Anti-War", because that's what she was.  For some reason, she wanted to start a conversation about the war(s) in the Middle East, and yet, her only argument was that "war was wrong."  Granted, I have my views on Afghanistan and Iraq, but they are pretty rational, and not emotion based.  At the same time, I notice that Maia is walking with AFU, and generally displeased.  Using my Jedi powers, I bring the group together, create a conversation and then separate the group, dumping Anti-War with AFU, and ending up with Maia. 

Yeah, I'm slick.

Walking and talking, Maia and I are behind the rest of the group.  And at some point reach a square near where she's staying.  She then says that we need to go in one direction, while her friends say they need to go another way.  Maia and I break from the group, arriving in front where she is staying, in about 5 minutes.  Unfortunately, she doesn't know which bell she needs to ring for her friend to open the door, so we have to talk outside.  At some point, I notice that she's cold, and offer her my coat.

Maia: Won't you be cold?
Me: I've got more clothing on then you.  (She was dressed in the typical uniform of the club-going female: a short skirt.  I think it was mid-thigh.  Needless to say, she accepted the jacket.)

We were able to talk for at least 30 minutes before her friends arrived, without the soldiers.  As far as I could deduce, they either ditched them at a place that they pretended was their place, or the soldiers went home first, leaving the girls to walk on their own.  Either way, they did not seem to be in the best of spirits, and apparently either hated me because they associated me with the other guys, or were jealous of Maia because the guy she ended up with wasn't a total retard.  In any case, I recall one of them saying to her "Don't bring him upstairs."

Maia and I sit on the inside steps of the building, and continue talking for another hour.  She seems tired, so we decide to meet at 1300 the next day, at The Duomo of Florence, which is just across the street.  It is now 6 in the morning, and I hardly know where I am.  My first idea is to walk back to the River and follow it toward the hotel.  However, once I get there, I'm not entirely sure how far down the hotel is.  And then, in the distance, I see it:

That Stupid Building!!  Thankful, but upset at the fact that I was saved by this twist of fate, and the need to eat my own words, I get back to the hotel and crawl into bed.

Next post is the (short) conclusion to the story,

Black 6, out.

I actually have to stretch this out longer.  I can assume that by the lack of comments, the attention span of my readers barely lasted until the end of this sentence.  So here is part 3 of 4 (or 5).

Waking up from my highly interrupted "nap", Nick and I get dressed and head out to the piazza for the pub crawl.  However, nick forgot to get one piece of crucial information: where exactly in the piazza we were supposed to catch the group.  Time for plan B: ask people where the pub crawl is. Plan B sucked, and we never found the start of the pub crawl.

However, we did find a bar called the Red Garter, which was along the pub crawl, so we decided to chill there until it crawled to us, after one final attempt to find the starting bar.  On our way down the street, we ran into another lieutenant that had recently arrived in Italy.  Nick had told him that we were in Florence, but we made no real effort to meet with him and the 2 other lieutenants that were with him. As fate would have it, we bumped into one as he stepped out for a smoke during dinner. 

Stupid Fate.

We let him know about the bar we were headed to, and told them to meet us down there.  Nick and I arrive just in time to catch the end of happy hour, order 2 beers and a pitcher, and sit and watch a soccer game.  Some time would pass, and there was some live music going on, and a bunch of people from other countries, who all apparently spoke English, walked in.  Things were picking up.

Then the lieutenants walked in.  For reasons that will soon be explained, I shall refer to them in the story as Lieutenants Douche-Bag (you pluralize the rank, like in Sergeants Major, or Sergeants First Class). The came to the back and sat down with us, and less that a minute into it, one of them gets up and says he'll be back.  When he returns, he has a glass, and proceeds to POUR BEER FROM OUR PITCHER!!!  Didn't even ask.  I will refer to this guy as Beer Burglar.

It's one thing if Beer Burglar had walked up and asked to join in, and stated that he would get the next pitcher.  And it's a small pitcher, being 2 Liters, and therefore able to fill 4 glasses, 2 of which had been consumed my nick and myself.

While he's pouring, I shoot Nick a WTF look, which he returns, but also says nothing.  I guess we decided to see what happens, but in my book, that was Strike One.

At an adjacent table, some people had ordered something called the Rocket, which is a large, 3 Liter container of Heineken.  I suggest to the Lieutenants Douch-Bag that we get one, as it would cost the 5 of us 5 Euro each.  It was like pulling teeth, but they eventually paid in.

At some point, I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, Nick had gotten a girl to our table.  As I sit down, Nick says "Hey, Pat.  This is Victoria.  I'll be back," and then he leaves.  Not far either.  He pretty much did a wingman pass, which I was not expecting at all.  Anyway, I talk to Victoria, and find that she's from New York City, studying law in England, and when she goes back to the states, she will be working in the Assistant District Attorney's office.  Later on, when I talked to Nick, he said "she's a prosecutor," saying the work prosecutor with large quantities of disgust.

While I am talking to Victoria, one of the other LT's, whom I will call Big Dumb, is sitting next to her.  At some point, probably because he has moved a little, Victoria, while talking to me, glances over at him.  Apparently, he decided that this was an invitation to the conversation, because he immediately jumps in, violating the guy code of ethics.  Victoria is highly not interested in him, and when she starts talking again, directs her attention at me.  Big Dumb seems to have gotten the message, until he jumps in AGAIN!  Again, Victoria brushes him off, and we talk and exchange emails.  Before her group leaves.  Meanwhile, conversation jumping has earned Team Douche-Bag their second strike.

Some time later, our waitress was talking to Big Dumb.  Now, Nick and I had chatted her up earlier and found out that she was from Canada, and was in italy studying art.  Specifically, she was studying bookbinding.  I don't know much about art, but I simply assumed bookbinding was more detailed that I thought (a look at the Wikipedia link will demonstrate this), and kept my mouth shut on the matter.  Now, I can hear the convo between her and BD, in which she is clearly getting a little miffed.

Her: No, I told you, I'm from Canada.
Him: Oh, right.  So what are you doing over here.
(The look on the girl's face is one that says, "I've told you this already, so I decided to help)
Me: (enthusiastically) She's an artist, man.
Him: What type of art do you do?
Her: Bookbinding.
(BD gets this look on his face that basically says that sounds like a bullshit type of art.  The waitress obviously sees what I see)
Her: Choose your words wisely.
Him: I'm just saying.  Bookbinding?  That's not a real art.

And then he wouldn't shut up.  She looked like she wanted to kill him, and I felt bad because she had been pretty nice to us during the night.  That's Strike 3.  I want out.  We need to ditch these jerks.

Fortunately, the guy running the pub crawl is here, and he comes up to me and lets me know that they will be leaving in a few minutes.  However, I feared that he said it a little too loud, and that the Team had heard.  Now needing a reason to escape, Nick comes back to the table and tells me that he's going to have a smoke.  I don't smoke, but I'm desperate.  "I need one, too."  I don't have cigarettes, so I ask Nick for one.  He's become distracted, and I am panicking, so I snatch the one he's holding and head to the front of the bar.  On the way out, I make sure to find the waitress and apologize for what was said by Big Dumb.  She smiles at me and thanks me, and then Nick and I bolt.  All we could think about was the fucked up scenario that were had been in.  Little did I know that it would only get worse.

Black 6, out.

The sun was shining my eyes as I awoke in bed.  I remembered that the hotel served breakfast from 0700 to 1000, but I still wanted to sleep after the previous night's rendezvous with Absinthe.  I decided that it would be no problem to get dressed to run down and eat something, and then return to the bed.  Reaching over to the table near my bed, I opened my phone to check the time, and was appalled by what I saw.

As I did this, Nick turned over in the other bed and asked me the time:

Nick: Hey, what time is it?
Me: 1430.
Nick: 1430!!!  Dude, we need to get up and go do some stuff.
Me: Why.
Nick: Well, right now, if anyone asks us what we did in Florence, all we can tell them is "Got f**ked up and chased pu$$y!"

And so began day two of the Florence expedition.

Showered and dressed, we stepped out of the hotel and attempted to find the Piazza della Signoria.  During the previous night, Nick met a guy that runs a pub crawl that begins there, and ends at Space Electronic.  About a block form our hotel, we hit Arno River, which runs through the city.  Nick saw some building (a church) and took a picture of it.  This part of the story is actually very important for later.

Me:  Wow, it's a building. (He takes a picture of it).
Him: Now take a pic of me (I take the picture).  Now let me get a picture of you.
Me:  Whatever. (He takes the picture)
Him: Well, you can insult my stupid building, but I'll remember that when you're begging me for pictures since you didn't bring your camera.
Me: Sure.  (Secretly I'm kicking myself for not bringing it).

 
This is the stupid building, and a nearby bridge.

Nick and me.

The pub crawl seemed like the perfect way to ensure that we maximized fun and got back to our hotel.  Finding it during the day meant that it would be easier later.  Nick used the word "recon" when he described what we were doing.  I chastised him for his use of military wording as we were trying to stay low key.

One thing that we had established on the train ride down would be that use of the terms "military", "army", "Vicenza" and other related words would be banned from the trip.  If anyone asked what we did, or why we were living in Italy, our response would be "We work for the government up north."  Only if they really dug deeper would be eventually state that we were in the military, but only for the sake of moving on.

Girl: So, why are you in Italy?
Me: I work for the government.  Up near Venice.
Girl: Oh.  Top secret stuff, huh?
Me: No, more like Top Boring.

 
Finding the piazza and eating were uneventful.  The only thing to note was that Nick ordered this appetizer that consisted of a plate of various meats.  Since discovering this, everywhere we go, he asks for the same damn thing.  While walking around we (Nick) snapped pictures of various things:

This clock was completely wrong.  Strangely, when I saw it the next day, it was correct.  Might just have been stopped at the right time. 

This dude was acting like a statue.  Nick thought this was interesting.  I grew up in NYC, and didn't come halfway around the world to see more beggars.

If you remember my trip to Rome, you remember that I talked about the fact that when they erected statues to their greatness, they didn't "erect: enough "greatness".  Florence is no different.
 
 

A bit more walking, and we decided to stop for coffee.  Well, I had coffee.  Nick went for Wine.  At some point he also purchased a cigar:
 
That picture of him is just so, um, I can't find the word.  Help me out by leaving a comment.

He left early, and I sat outside and enjoyed my book for a while.  Afterwards, I returned to the hotel for my pre-outing nap.  Nick was already there, and kept giving me time hacks of how much longer we had left.  This would prove to be annoying, since a guy trying to sleep doesn't need reminders every 5 minutes.  Also, although I realized that there wasn't a lot of time, every time he interrupted me, there was less.

Part three will be the final night and day of the trip.  And will also solve the mystery of the stupid building.

Black 6, out.

The adventures of Nick and Pat continue.  This past weekend, we took a trip down to Florence, a place I hadn't ventured to for 2 years due to bad memories of something that happened there.  Originally, we planned to leave on Thursday evening, but Nick's coworkers all had to go to some dinner outing.  Amazingly no one actually wanted to be there.  All ready with nowhere to go, I went out and had an adventure that may be told at another time.

The next afternoon, Nick and I headed out to the train station, where I begin to give him a crash course in how the train system works.  It's not interesting, so I'll spare you the details.

Nick brought his camera with him, and the guy apparently likes to take pictures.  This is good for you, since you now get to see them.  The first thing that he did was bother one of the locals, and asked them to take a picture of us "starting our adventure" as he called it.  Apparently, there would be some "before and after" thing going.

Yeah, we're straight ballin'.  As a side note, I hate to just have my hands at my side in pictures.  It just feels stupid.  However, I now notice that bring my hand in front of my chest shows off my biceps.  Also, wearing a backpack shows off my chest.  Feel free to go back and check it out.

Two trains and three hours later, we arrived in Florence, and began step one of the mission: find a place to stay.  Since I knew of a club down here, the best idea that we could come up with would be to actually find the club first, and then find a hotel nearby, limiting the amount of walking distance that we would have to do later on.  I knew for a fact that the club was a 5 minute walk from the train station.  But I didn't know exactly where it was, since I had only stumbled across it, and that was 2 years ago.  Asking directions failed, since it was as though no one knew where it was.  Most people (store owners in the area, etc) could not tell me where this place was, and every time we got directions, they were worse than the previous directions we received.  We walked around for somewhere between 30 minutes and an hour before finding the place.

The hotels were a bit more booked than we thought.  We had expected the majority of the people to go to Rome for Easter weekend, but apparently Florence is another hot spot.  We found a hotel that was about a 5 minute walk away, later realizing that we passed a place that was right around the corner from the club, without checking it out.  The first hotel that we walk into is out of double rooms.  That is, they do not have any rooms that have two twin beds.  Just single queens.

Hotel clerk: Are you two friends?
Me and Nick: Not that good.

Checking the hotel across the street, the clerk said that he had rooms with twin beds.  We asked if they are separated. He said they were "separate" and nick and I both picked up on this, and he must have noticed the weird look we gave him, so he offers to let us see the room.  When we get there, our suspicions are correct.  There are two beds.

And they are pushed together.

However, they were not nailed to the wall or anything, so we did a little redecorating, and got some space in there.  We dumped our bags and decided that we needed something to eat.

As we walked, we passed by a couple of groups of women.  Being men, we kept our ears open.  After the first group or two passed:

Nick: Dude, they were speaking English.
Me: Yeah.  I told you.  This is a college town.  People come here to study art and stuff from pretty much all over the world.

Dinner was okay.  Overpriced, obviously.  Nothing like an Italian game of "gouge the tourists".  Meanwhile, we're both tired, and, using a trick that I picked up from Dave when I was in Liverpool, we decided on a pre-outing nap. 

The idea was to sleep for two hours, then get up, shower, and hit the club.  While we're trying to sleep, Nick's phone manages to ring twice, delaying the necessary.  So I tell him to turn his ringer off.

A bit later, Nick wakes me up:

Nick: Come on, get up.
Me: Ugh.  What time is it?
Nick: 1230 (AM).
Me: 1230!!  WTF?  Did you set your alarm?
Nick: Yeah, but I turned it off like you said.
Me: I said turn off the ringer, not the alarm.  I'm surprised that we didn't just sleep through the whole thing.
Nick: Hey you said...
Me: I did not say turn off the alarm.

Space Electronic (which gives a discount on all drinks to soldiers, and a few other groups), is a two story discotheque, which normally plays house music on the top floor, and hip hop on the bottom.   Tonight things were dead downstairs,  so I spent most of my time upstairs.  Unfortunately, tonight, this place appears to be populated by high school girls and shady Italian guys.  Oh, and there were the two parents that were there.  Suck out like sore thumbs, especially when they tried to dance.  You can put "tried" or "dance" in quotation marks, because it'll work either way.  Let's just say that I danced for the fun of it.  At some point, I get in with a group of, for lack of a better term, legal-aged people, and dance with them for a bit.  They tell me about a club called "The Blob", that they are all headed to.  Apparently, it's also one of the last things open.

As we all get ready to leave the club, Nick, who was off on his own, links up with me.  Being the good wingman that I am, I introduce him to Amy, who was one of the girls that I met in the group, but was not the one that seemed most interested in me (not that she didn't seem interested.  She just wasn't putting in the largest effort). 

Me: Nick, this is Amy.  Amy, this is my buddy, Nick.
Amy: How the hell did you remember my name?
Me: You don't remember my name, do you?
Amy: No.
Me: Pat.

Nick suggests that we head to the next club, since the girls will be traveling there soon also.  Unfortunately, getting into the place was somewhat like needing a secret handshake.  Nick and I had lucked out, because, while searching for it, we ran into a group of college students from the US on there way there.  They apparently knew the right people, and because we had linked up, now we knew the right people.  The group of girls that I was dancing with at Space were not able to get in.  Do to this mishap, I have created a new rule:

Rule # (TBD) - If you have gotten in good with a group, do not leave the group to travel somewhere all of you are going.

Nick is a volume drinker.  I am an Alcohol By Volume Drinker.  The difference being that I don't go drink for drink with people.  I just get the strongest stuff, and maybe have 3 or 4 drinks over the period of the night.  In the end, it's just cheaper, and I pee a lot less (less loss of water seems to mean less of a hangover).  I also don't get to drink much, since I drive a lot.  When I don't have the responsibility, I like to make the most of the experience.

The strongest thing that I can regularly get my hands on is Bacardi 151, so named because it is 151 Proof, or 75.5% alcohol by volume.  Neither Space Electronic, or this bar carried it.  So Nick tells the bartender "give him the strongest stuff you have."  She reaches back and grabs Absinthe, which is only around 140 proof but strong and aromatic enough that people standing behind me, with their backs to the bar, turned around to find out what the scent was when the absinthe soaked sugar cube was set on fire.  I believe that this would be my last drink for the night.

I danced until the club closed, and then using drunken recall, we somehow got back to the hotel.  Actually, the next day, Nick had no idea how we got back, while I had made it a point to remember everything.  That's also the reason you're getting this story.  If anyone ever hangs out with me, they should remember this, because anything stupid that you do will not be forgotten.

Today there weren't a lot of pictures (I'm sure the oversleeping didn't help) but part two (and three if the story is long) will have more.

Black 6, out.

We now continue with the adventures of Pat and Nick.  First off, let's go to the quote that Sharon (aka justhopingnow) left:
"I would remember going to the O club and watching them
latch on the guys.  It was so funny.  Of course, you go back months
later and guess what they are still there."

So the day after our night out, Nick woke up late and went to the PX to get some food.  As he walked in, guess who he ran into.  The dancer for the previous night.  Se was on her way out, carrying Popeye's.  Like I told Nick:  If they speak English, they are probably used to dealing with soldiers, and have probably dated a couple.

Now, when Nick and I started the night out on Saturday, he asked me what I had been up to that day.  I told him that I had gone out to the Armani outlet store.  The things that I described to him made him think, as he would later tell me, that I was drunk, high, and on crack. 

Before I go any further, you need a quick economics lesson.  In Italy, everything is taxed.  The tax here is 20%.  However, for people stationed here, there's a process where you can have the tax taken off if your purchase exceeds approximately $200.  You have to go to the store, and get the items that you want.  They then put these items aside, write you an invoice, and you take this back to the base.  The invoice has the price on it, minus the tax, and how much the tax would be.  You then take this to the bank, and pay the tax-free amount, and get a check.  You take this to the UTEP office, and they do some paperwork, and give you a sealed envelope (which contains the check and teh paperwork.  You then take this back to the store, and get the items.  Aside from 2 trips to the store, the process can be done in 15 minutes.  Also, for people traveling to Italy, if the store participates in Global Refund, you can get the tax back when you get to the airport in the states.

I also told him about the prices.  A suit with an original price of 600 Euro was going for around 225 Euro (roughly $341).  Then they take the tax off.  Remember, these are Armani suits.  Suits that cost roughly $2000 in the states.  Like I said, he didn't believe me.  Since I had to go back out there to pick up what I purchased, I offered to take him with me. 

When we got there, I don't think that things had really settled in for him.  He didn't really believe me.  So we go to where the suits are, and he starts looking at them, and I show him where the price is on the tag.  He still thinks that I am lying to him.  He looks at a couple, and then he finds one that is labeled for $1995.  He shows it to me, and I stop him.
Me: Where are you seeing that price?
Him: Right here (showing me a price tag that is under the lapel).
Me: That's not the price.  The price is here (showing him the correct tag).
Him: You're f**king kidding me.

The suit was apparently originally headed for Saks Fifth Avenue.  It had all the "Saks" tags and patch inside.  It had a MSRP in dollars on that other tag.  However it was available here for 235 Euro.  And it fit him.  Nick developed somewhat of a nervous twitch while we were there.  He felt like this was illegal and crazy; entirely unbelievable.  I then showed him over to the ties (which go for 25 Euro), the shirts (which were around 40 Euro), and the socks (6 Euro a pair).  He had to stop himself from buying jeans (70 Euro).

Nick told me about the one time he went into an Armani store.  Said that he was there for about 3 seconds.  Prices so high, he thought it was a serial number.  We go up to the register to get my stuff, and ring him up.  He still shaking from resisting the urge to blow a paycheck in here.  And he's watching as things ring up at prices that seem sickeningly illegal.  Once taxes were removed, it came to 298.66 Euro.

When we left, he had to smoke a cigarette.

We got in the car, and he immediately called his brother in the states to tell him about this.  His brother hardly believed it.  Measurement exchanges and money transfers may be taking place in the near future.  Meanwhile, on the drive back, some interesting conversation was spawned:

Him: I'm going to buy a suit every month.
Me: Yeah, I'm definitely coming back here when we get paid on the 15th.
Him: Now I just need a place to wear it.
Me:  You can pretty much wear it anywhere and fit in with high society.
Him: True.
Me: You couldn't wear it to a job interview or work.  They would see that and give you a pay cut.
Him: I'm going to have to get renter's insurance for my clothes now.  I decided not to before, but now it's worth it.  I mean, to replace it would be the full amount.  Actually, if I bought 3 suits, it would be worth more than my car.  I'd need the insurance if anyone ever broke into my house.
Me: Yeah, that would be worth more than my car.
Him: I just can't think of too many places to wear it.
Me: You could just go and stand on Wall Street.
Him: Yeah, you would fit in.  Just stand there.
Me: If people ask you why you just stand there, you can say, "I made too much money today.  I'm taking a break to save on taxes."
Him: Women would be chasing you down the street.  "Yeah, why don't we get something to eat.  Maybe McDonald's (playing on the fact that we would not actually be rich)."
Me: "Yeah, I had steak and lobster all last week, and it gets quite boring."  How would you explain the car?
Him: "My Ferrari was stolen, and this is a loner."  "I get so tired of my expensive cars."  "Do you like to walk?"

My purchase consisted of a suit (I needed something that could be worn to a wedding), tie and cummerbund combo, and two ties.  Total without tax was 298.33 Euro.  I probably would have purchased more, but I was completely unprepared for what I found when I first got there.  I will be back a couple of times.  Now I gust have to get the pants tailored.  And so you don't ask, here are some pics:

Black 6, out.

Last night, I wingmanned with a new friend, Nick.  The guy recently came to Italy from Germany 2 weeks ago, and his sponsor was one of the married officers.  In general, this is a horrible idea, because the married people really have no idea how to have single-guy fun in Italy.  In fact, when someone I worked with introduced me to him, the first question he asked me is, "Are you married?"

A weird first question, but if you ask a married guy where the clubs and bars are, he will look at you with a blank stare.  Go to the zoo and ask a lion about freedom or Africa.  Same look, less growling.  Meanwhile, I needed a wingman, and an excuse to go out.  That's pretty much the way guys plan out a night.

However, my planning was still a little off in the time aspect.  There's a problem with society and nightlife.  No one likes to go out until really late.  Like around midnight.  In my head, if we started partying at 9 PM, you could be done by 2 in the morning.  Instead, things go from midnight to 5 in the morning, and by then, my body, being so used to waking up early, starts its awake cycle.

Since he's staying on post, we hit the on-post bar at 2130.  It was essentially empty.  We went to a bar that most people go to before hitting the clubs.  It was also generally dead.  So we got something to eat.  No reason to party on an empty stomach.  Normally, I just link up with people when I venture out on my own, so I didn't know that most clubs really don't open until 2300.  Back to post to kill time playing pool, and getting some info on a club that I had never been to.

The club is called Totem, and from asking around, I got mixed reviews.  Either people said that it was simply okay, or didn't know about it.  There were also one or two people that said that it was awesome.  It went to the top of our list of places.  Apparently, it was about 200 feet from 2 strip clubs, which also put it at the top of Nick's list. The most surprising thing about the place is that it is right down the block from a restaurant that I've been to on three separate occasions.  It is also about 5 minutes from my apartment.  Yet I never knew that it was there.  Or the strip clubs.

Totem was a nice club.  Unfortunately, I think there is something going on this week in Italy.  Like, that the high schools are out on Spring-Break.  We walked in and I felt that I had just walked in 9 years too late.  Nick felt teh same way.  I combined this with the fact that some of the songs were somewhat old.  Clubs here generally play stuff tht has been out for a few months in the states.  These songs were from 2003, at least.  Reminded me of a place called "Hole in the Wall" in Buckhead, Atlanta.  Played songs that were very old, however, it was a hit with the women.

At Nick's request, we walked down to the, ahem, strip club.  I have this things with strip clubs.  The fact that there are women dancing there wears off months before I ever walk into one.  In all honesty, I see them as a way to lose a large quantity of money.  It is also makes me tired.  Tired of dancers giving me their phone numbers.  It's bad enough that I'm usually there due to losing the vote to the rest of the group, but I can't even relax for 10 minutes without getting hit on.

As you can see, I'm very enthusiastic in this picture.  Also, taking a picture with your phone on very bad lighting is a pain.  And yes, I have her phone number.

Apparently, nick was getting hit on too.  At that girl had a sister who also worked there.  And the sister thought I was cute.  Now, the sister was cute.  I'm just not up for playing games.  Especially not with strippers.  Technically, that's bad wingman mentality, and I was in the wrong.  Later that night, Nick and I were talking about things:

Nick:  Yeah, her sister wanted you.
Me:  True, but I just had this bad feeling.  I have this way of just sensing things about people, and I think I got some bad vibes there.  She was definitely angry at me later.
Nick: She probably isn't used to getting rejected.
Me:  Yeah, probably knocked her ego down a point or 6.

It's time to leave, and I look at Nick, and decide to ask the question.  "Hey, you got a ride back to the base?"  "Yes."  Well, I was done for the night, so I roll home, happy that I don't have to drive across Vicenza to teh base, and then back home.

Back at my apartment, changed, teeth brushed, and I am about to lay down for bed.  Then I get this funny feeling.  Where's my phone?  It's in the other room, and something tells me to go get it and keep it nearby.  I walk into teh room just as it finishes ringing.  Nick was calling.

He was still at the club, and his ride had disappeared.  And the club was closed.  Dressed and back in teh car, I picked up Nick, both of us bewildered as to what happened.

Me: She ditched you?
Nick: I don't know.  She said that she went to get changed.  And then they started locking up the club.  So I was standing outside.  It's a good thing that you answered your phone, because I had no other numbers.
Me:  Weird.  You got her number?
Him: Yeah, but I really hate strippes right now.
Me: I see.
(The conversation concerning the sister's ego took place right after this.)

Later that night, he would get a call from here wondering where he was.  Apparently, she hadnt left.  She was just a bit slow. 

Black 6, out.