How to piss off an Italian....

This article is just far too honest not to repost..hope you enjoy!! For those of you who live in Italia ..sure you'd agree!!

How to Piss off an Italian
By: EVA SANDOVAL


Photo: Sam Sharma

What doesn’t send people from this boot-shaped country into fits of passionate yelling and hand-shaking?
YOU WILL HEAR THE ANGER: I don’t give a dick! Go up a rectum! But you are really a cretin. What a turd you are! I could kill you! Go give two blow jobs! You have truly broken my dick. Go take a shit! I couldn’t give a cauliflower!

And you will see the anger, both in the eyes and in the hands. Hands will shake. Fingertips will graze the underside of a chin. Thumbs will be raked across throats. Palms will slap biceps. Index fingers and thumbs will form Ls and hover above the hips to indicate just how large your ass will grow from the smacking you will get.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell if they’re actually angry or just really, really happy to see you. Either way, here’s how to get Italians to go from merely excitable to downright incazzato.

Exercise your right of way.
I’ve heard rumors that there are traffic laws in Italy. Indeed, I’ve even seen signs that attempt to enforce things like the speed limit and parking zones. But once citizens are on the road, all bets are off.

You’ll see morons driving 150km/h on unlit winding mountain roads at night — slowing down only when they pass the AutoVelox “speed-trap” machine. Cars parked on sidewalks — sideways. Semis passing motorists. Motorcycles passing cars on the right. Pedestrians darting across heavily trafficked roads whenever they damn well please, expecting you to brake for them — you’ll often find yourself braking every ten meters and if you don’t, what are you, an animal?

It’s a freakshow out there, people, and the traffic control officials do their jobs so sporadically that when, after a year of leaving your car in the same space, you actually get the fine for illegal parking, it’s like a double slap in the face.

So which traffic laws can you break? That’s easy — you may break any traffic laws you like, as long as you don’t get caught and as long as you don’t piss off the guy behind you. You may follow traffic laws as well, as long as no other motorists are in a rush.

The other week, I was driving down a main road, fully enjoying my right of way, when some dipshit snaked his car out of an alleyway and cut me off. I honked my horn and shook my hands at him, only to see that he had turned around in his front seat — while driving, mind you — to shake his hands and shout at me, as though I were the asshole.

Italian drivers speed, pass, park, and cross the street like cretins, but if you complain when they do it — or do it yourself — well, you’re just asking for a fight.

Skip the cheek kiss.
It’s customary in Italian culture to greet your friends and family members with a kiss on each cheek — il bacetto.

Sometimes you’re feeling awkward, or you’re in a rush, and you don’t stop to kiss everyone’s cheek. Expect a sour face and a reprimand later: “You didn’t give me the bacetto. I thought you were mad at me.”

Suggest that other cultures’ cuisines might also be delicious.
Italian food is loved worldwide, and with good reason. The Italians themselves are extremely proud of their food, which is why if you suggest other cultures also produce good cuisine, you’ll be setting yourself up for: “Maybe, but nothing is better than our own food.”

“Yes, but Mexican food is also delicious. In fact, I think it’s my favorite.”
“There is no food better than Italian food.”

“Have you ever tried Mexican food?”

“I don’t have to try Mexican food. I know that Italian food is the best.”

“Mexican food is really delicious.”

“Not as delicious as Italian food.”

Press the issue and see the sparks fly. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.


Photo: QuinnDombrowski
Fuck with their food.
Fine, you can eat the other shitty cuisines of the world if you have to. But don’t you dare — dare — fuck with what is pure and holy.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the world, there is an extremely stringent set of rules in Italian cooking. Traditionally, short pasta goes with meat sauces, long pasta goes with seafood sauces. Pasta must be cooked with a fistful of rock salt in the water and cooked until it’s al dente — otherwise it’s not pasta, but shit.

Case in point: a friend of mine cooked me dinner one night and, while we were chatting, he feared that he had overcooked the rigatoni: “If they’re overcooked, I will KILL myself!” (Happily, they weren’t.)

Time-honored recipes are not to be polluted with substitutions. Pasta must never be cut with a knife. Cheese and seafood must never mix unless, maybe, maybe, you’re adding ricotta to spigola fish or camembert to mussel stew, but even those pairings are so avant garde as to be terrifying to most Italians.

Nowadays, much experimentation is taking high-end Italian kitchens by storm — i.e., pairing gnocchi with seafood — but all experimentation is to be done only within strict guidelines. Therefore, when Italians are exposed to “Italian food” outside of Italy — bastardized to suit the tastes of that particular culture — they are not only horrified, but mortally offended.

Cheesy seafood alfredo? Chicken parmigiana? Chicken and meatballs in pasta?! Spaghetti “carbonara” made with cream and mushrooms, not egg yolk and pig’s cheek? Cottage cheese in lasagna?! What the fuck is this shit! Who do they think they are!

Once, a friend of mine back home asked me if I had any simple Italian pasta recipes. I sent him a recipe for my Roman mother’s spaghetti al pomodoro — spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce. The next day, he thanked me for the recipe. I was pleased…until he told me he’d added chicken, corn, and cheddar cheese to the sauce. I ran straight to my mother and we had ourselves a good cry. And decided not to send him any more recipes.

Fucking with Italian food is one of the most powerful tools you have in your arsenal for pissing off an Italian, so use it wisely. Like so: my last trip home to the States, I picked up a couple cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs. The next time one of my friends really cheeses me off, I will show it to them. Treat me well, amici. Don’t piss off the American.

Keep your cards close.
Compared to people from other cultures, Italians are very curious — bordering on nosy. They also have strong opinions on what you should be doing. Within minutes of meeting you, they will want to know your life story — “How old are you? Do you have a boyfriend? Are you still in love with him?”

Once they know you, they will often bombard you with “helpful” observations such as: “You shouldn’t wear that much eyeshadow.” “Your skin is breaking out a lot lately — you should see a dermatologist.” “Why don’t you just go out and get laid? It’s obvious your girl parts are rusty.” “Those aren’t the right shoes for that outfit. You didn’t have white ones?” “Your kitchen is organized completely wrong.”

You might be tempted to tell them to mind their own damn business, but to be polite, you’ll just try to keep your cards close or subtly keep on doing exactly what you’re doing. This will get you labeled as “cold,” “closed-off,” “difficult,” and “rude.” And you’re left wondering how it’s not rude to greet someone with, “You look fatter than the last time I saw you.”

Say anything remotely negative about the patria.
Italy, in case you didn’t know, is the best country EVER. There is NO country like Italy. It has the most beautiful scenery. The most wonderful food. It is the birthplace of everything good in the world. It produces the very best shoes, clothes, music, cars, jewelry, technology, leather, textiles, ceramics, and art. It has the most exciting history. It has the most important churches. It also has the best leaves, the best flour, and the best-looking chairs.

Real quotes from my mother:

“Those shoes are beautiful. Oh. Made in Italy. Of course.”
“That’s a great store for gifts, you know? Products selected with taste. Just like in Italy.”
“We won the World Cup! I’m so happy! It’s because we are the best country. The most beautiful country. We have the best soccer players and now everyone else knows it!”
Just try telling an Italian that Italy isn’t the best country in the world. I double-dog dare you. Never mind that most of them are convinced the country is screwed: “This country sucks now. Let’s get out of this economic crisis-fucked hellhole! We’ll go someplace nice, like America.”

If you, however, suggest — whisper, hint — anything slightly negative about the patria, well, prepare yourself.

Make them wait.
I like to think of the Italian people as an intriguing blend of laziness and impatience. While they are all too pleased to take their sweet time doing most things, you can rest assured that if they’re made to wait — in line at the post office, on a stopped train, in traffic — the hands will begin to shake and the voices will rise.

I was on a train the other day, and it stopped between two stations. Immediately, wails began to ring throughout the train cars: “What’s going on?” “What’s happening?” “We want to get out of here!” “Why isn’t anyone telling us anything?” “We’re hungry!” “We’re cold!”

You’d have thought we were at a concentration camp.

North, South, same diff.
Italy has 20 regions and 110 provinces — each geographically distinct with widely varied cuisine, customs, accents, and dialects. Traditionally, the North — Alpine, industrial — is considered to be the “civilized” part of Italy, with shit just getting more chaotic as you go further south.

Italians really don’t like it when you mix up regions (carciofi alla giudia is a Roman dish, okay? It’s got nothing to do with Milan) or, I dunno, make sweeping cultural generalizations about the nation’s people as a whole.

Yep. I can just see it now — dozens of comments following this article bitching: “You’re talking about those boorish Southerners; we’re not like that in the North.”


Read more at http://matadornetwork.com/abroad/how-to-piss-of-an-italian/#gQ3hHqUEKO1dpYka.99

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una tempesta disastrosa

The thing about people who take pride in something is that once that thing has been take away from them a bit of their heart dies as well.

I've just experienced a bit of my heart washed away with a disastrous storm full of hail, cold winds and scary howls. The wind was loud and banged against our house so hard the cat went into a frenzy, Livvy jumped into our bed within a flash. The lights in the house were flickering and for a short second I thought to myself..if we died at this moment I need to tell my family I love them. So I did ..and Gareth of course gave me a strange look as if to say what is wrong with you woman telling me you love me at a time like this. Livvy of course responded with 'always' (her usual response when I tell her I love her)

Then the hail came banging at all the windows so hard we were afraid they might break and at that second the first thing we thought of was our beloved car sitting out side. Gareth ran outside no shoes and still in his pyjamas.. Wind blaring dust and leaves everywhere. Trees were bending over..all to bring the car into the garage. He then with his quick thinking closed all the shutters over the windows to prevent a possible break. We all then climbed back into our bed and waited the storm out..which was quick thank God....When it was all over  you could tell the entire street was in a frenzy as we all stepped outside  (everyone still in pyjamas..which is a big no no in Italy) everyone took inventory and had a glance at their houses, gardens the street. Minutes later things were back to normal with cars driving down the road and voice of people walking outside.  I heard my neighbours voices all checking to see if everyone was okay..and when they came to check on us I quickly said oh we are perfectly fine...then I heard the words I didn't want to hear..have you seen your orto (veggie garden)? No why???? 'its completely gone!'

I quickly ran out to have a look and the tears came to my eyes when I saw nearly nothing left. 3 months of hard work. Now you might say its just a stupid garden Jess...well for those who know me well..know that I cant grow anything..only thing Im good at growing are my thighs and belly. I've several cacti, sunflowers, inside flowers, and even the winter ones that you only water once a week and don't even need sunlight. Countless herbs have given their life to my brown thumb...but some how by the Grace of God....I grew a garden in Italy. One of the dreams I had was to have a huge house in Italy (check) and grow my own fruits and veggies in the backyard (check) ...
The plum tree had started to ripen the fruit, The lemon tree had 1 ripe lemon and several limes gorwing strong. The tomatoes had atleast 30 little green tomatoes on it. The peppers had 10 peppers and one was huge and starting to go yellow which I had waited weeks for since I hate green ones. We even had a bet going with the neighbours as he said that peppers don't change colours..I knew i was right..now we will never be able to show him. The zucchini was the prize of the Orto...I would retrieve atleast 5 or 6 zucchinis a week for the last 3 weeks. I was up to my neck in zuchinis and started giving them to friends..and they were a little  sweet even.

 the bigest pepper

 the lemon tree when she was young

 the plums before they went ripe

a few of the zucchini when they were young

  the tomatoes

the zucchini

Now sadly ..its all  gone..flatten..the hail stones ruined it all ..almost all the fruit have gone and the leaves are so damaged i doubt they will reproduce. There were 2 zucchini still remaining so Ive left them on but not sure if anything will come of them..and one small green pepper survived the storm. The good thing is the the plants are still standing strong so if they are strong enough we might get regrowth but will take several weeks to get anything I believe. The worst of it all are the zuccchini plants..they were completely destroyed and I don't have much hope for them. They are so damaged I don't know if they have enough life to continue on..
But not only the Orto....my rose bushes, flowers, picante plants, and even the magnolia trees have been hit hard..however they looked well pruned so not so much of a disadvantaged but their leaves are all damaged which isn't good.
Ill have to keep everyone updated of course..but for now..its a sad weekend.

a few photos of the damage:

trees

 picante gone

plums

magnola trees

 zucchini plants

 cucumbers

 tomatoes

 peppers

 patio roof

 flower

 cactus roes

 flower

 sage 

 the hail looks like actaul snow on the ground

 we had some leaking in the house  upstairs

 rose bush 

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Finger counting!

A few days ago one of my bestfriends (consuelo) asked me why we counted so strange? whatttt??
I had no idea what she meant until she pointed at Livvy counting to 5 in Italian but apparently using the non European finger counting.

Ive always been thought that 1 was the first index finger 2 followed by the second finger and 3..well the ring finger.



However its not the case in Italy, well all of western europe actually . Finger counting begins at the thumb and finish with the little finger. So 1 starts with the thumb and then so on. So showing the number 3 would consist
of the thumb and two first index fingers.


And apparently this was used during war times to distinguish different cultures who might have been spies....which Consuelo pointed out to be part of plot in a film she once watched ( Inglourious Bastards)

once I thought I had a grasps of this concept I was slapped in the face with another question.....
Why do you count down 1..2..3...go....when it should be 3..2..1.. vai!

Well who knew ...and this explains all the strange looks at the park when my daughter counts in Italian uno..due...tre...vai before she goes down the slide..everyone stares...well obviously she is doing it every so incorrectly.

Why is this important..well it isn't..just thought it was interesting..carry on with your day now! Im off to now change everything my 2 year old daughter knows about counting..should be an interesting day!

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Jess the famous

Just when you think things are starting to look up you realise you have two busted tires. I swear that I hate cars at this point in my life. Considering I walk everywhere during the day unless it’s too far or these days too hot. I wondered how life would be without a car, well last week my dreams came true as I put my car in the local garage for a week to fix two tires. It’s amazing how much of a celebrity I have become in this little old village of Viadana.





There was a girl waiting for her little tires to be filled with air (wonder why she didn’t do it herself) who knows...anyway…
I suppose she thought I didn’t understand Italian when she asked the owner of the garage…is that the English girl who drives the BMW?
He said ‘yes’ ...
ahhhh she said...and then she looked at me and smiled. After she left Ceaser (the owner of the garage) filled me in that her friend had told her there was a BMW in Viadana that has the driver on the opposite side in the car…and was from the UK, and low and behold it’s a black lady that drives it.
He asked me what I did for work and I said ‘shopping, and playing with my 2 year old daughter …I’ve been a housewife for the last 5 years.
Well that got a shocking looking out of him...and then he said “ the girl asked if you were a TV star or rich, and I told her I didn’t know.”

It’s amazing how even a large village can have a complete story about someone like me. I told Ceaser the next time someone ask him...tell them I’m very famous. Hahaha. The funny thing is that this is not the first time that I’ve been mistaken for someone famous. Whilst having lunch with Gareth in Parma and another friend, the waiter said he recognised me from tv and he was convinced that I was that famous American actress…that one ..ummm the name escapes him. He wouldn’t accept my denial and insisted on an autograph. So of course I gave to him…and in which he gave us free food and wine. Perfect isn’t it! I did feel horrible for leading a lie but well I tried to tell him repeatedly and he wouldn’t take it, so it was maybe it was a God send for us to have a free meal that day. Shame it wasn’t tastier.
I know that I can’t play this role forever….surely someone will figure it out one day...but for now it’s fun. I never understood why I got looks whilst drying down the road or when walking with friends…surely some are of disgust but others of wonder…according to my friend Consuelo …I look so unusual that the only way to make sense of it is that I am famous.
But then that brought up a host of questions whilst talking to friends about this subject. I asked why would someone like myself who really isn’t that unusual looking, be considered different looking than any other person on the road…here is what they explained to me

1. You wear clothes that no one in Italy wears ...and if they did they would be someone in Milano or Roma. But never someone who is your skin colour would wear these clothes because they are too expensive.

2. You wear your hair in stylish ways ..which is the opposite of what most people do ..Most people just put in a ponytail for the beach yet you actually style it ...let alone people who have your skin colour usually don’t have hair like yours.

3. You drive a luxury new car…most people who drive this car are rich, or executive in the city….and we have never seen a foreigner let alone a black WOMAN …drive a car like this. NEVER…and its from UK..why would an normal person drive a car from the UK.

4. Your personality is very outgoing and confident and funny, and entertaining. Like someone on TV…most foreigners don’t have your personality.

So when it all boiled down to it basically because I’m black and a foreigner I’m breaking the mould…interesting. After this discussion I begin to watch others out there and sadly it’s true. I’ve never even seen foreigners attend the local festivals in our town, or go to the local trattoria, or even shop in the supermarkets that I go to. The only black women I see here are from Africa which is of a completely different culture and that’s fine but I never see them with other cultures, only together. But even after talking to two African ladies a few time after conversation class …they made it clear that they are not in Italy to integrate, they are not here to make friendly with the Italians (not that they are opposed to the idea. But they aren’t going to go out of their way to try), they are not here to look like them, dress like them or be like them...and they will do things the way they do in their home country, they do not want to eat Italian food or do Italian things (surprisingly they all like gelato though) hahaha
...they are only here because of the job their husbands’ have. I was shocked...and more so when the ladies from India in the class agreed (somewhat) as well with the others. One of the Indian ladies shared how she has her ingredients for Indian food imported to Italy every other month so that she doesn't have to eat Italian food and eat Indian food every day. Now I love Indian food lOOVEEEE. Don’t get me wrong but wow.
I moved to Italy by choice, not by recruitment force. These women made a choice to move their families because their husbands were recruited by huge factories who knew they could underpay them to overwork them. How sad. But if I moved my family to any country because of my husband’s work. I would still attempted to get to know the country’s culture, food ect. But I think Im just a different breed maybe. If I lived in India I would (happily) eat Indian food every day...if I lived in Africa I would eat whatever they ate everyday.. I’m not saying anything is wrong with importing you’re cultural foods that you love and reminds you of home on occasion...but I personally cannot think of anything from American, Australian, or English culture that I just can’t live without or ever have a crazy craving for.
So with all this said. I feel completely blessed that I made the choice to give up so much just to live here. We have less money and less privileges…we have more frustrations, completely confusions sometimes…. all so that we could integrate into Italian culture, so that we can eat REAL Italian food every single day of our lives, so that we can attend Italian functions and be a part of the Italian community. I feel completely blessed yet understand why I receive so many stares as we are in some Italian eyes out of the norm…and just plain odd…and I’m fine with that!

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