I Get Asked Out On Valentines Day

I celebrated Valentines Day proper: with magnificent odds. A group of us (six girls and three guys equals 2:1 - score) went to a bar called the Old Bell for our waiter friend, Taina. If you read like an American, she's the second after me. In fact, here's the rundown, left to right: Martina from Minnesota, June from South Korea, Esther from Switzerland, then there's me, then Virginia from Memphis, Taina from Finland, Hilary from Missouri, and Danny from Washington. Martina and June are with Iowa State, Hilary and Virginia with Arkansas, Danny a perpetual foreign exchange student, and Esther and Taina are here working. I'm an international bachelor, as luck would have it.

(P.S. We all came together through Rome Baptist Church. RBC has provided an instant friend set and a home, even if the pastor's jokes are cheesy, and they have to be to come across to an multilingual audience. So - go you, RBC!)

The Old Bell is one of those prestige establishments that require a membership in order to use the pool tables by the bar, so the whole group had to fill out our names and addresses, and we all got printed cards back in the middle of dinner. Mine said: Captain Cass Trumbo. When asked about it, I said that I though that the nautical aspect of the restaurant made me feel as though I needed to include my rank, as well.

But this wasn't the date. No, that came earlier in the day. After school, I was walking home from school when I popped into a chic boutique to peruse the new men's fashions, because, if you haven't been keeping up with my personal life, I have recently become fashionable (and not in the way that, women want to carry me in their purse. Well, actually, in that way too, but that's not the point). So, in a nameless clothing store, I was looking through the assorted blazers (by TOGS clothing, no less) when the owner/operator/only worker in the store Rion decided he wanted to help me. He kept handing me things to try on, and watching me flip through the stretchy pants. As I was leaving, he stopped me and struck up a conversation about my studies, complimenting me on my Italian. Then he said we should get coffee sometime. Eager to leave, I agreed, and then he said, "Okay, let's go."

I got asked out by a guy on Valentine's Day. After I had stopped running, I reflected and thought about how nice it is to be appreciated by someone, even if it's a guy. It's the thought that counts anyways, like Ned from Pushing Daisies says, "on a holiday created to sell greeting cards, it's still kind of nice to get a card."

I Make New Friends, II

This past Sunday was the second Sunday that I have gone to church. This time I went with friends, knew the surroundings, and was even able to greet people, but that did not make this church experience any less awkward. In fact, it was well more awkward than before.

The high level of awkward had nothing to do with the service: it was uneventful (except for the sacrifice; I still haven't gotten used to that). The Rome Baptist Church itself is pretty plain jane - and I love it that way. It's a church stripped of Christian tradition, of 2000 years of complications; it seems to me to be like an early fellowship, without the stylish togas.

No, the awkward time came afterwards. The pastor's wife invited the students from Arkansas to come to her house later that evening, to watch a movie. So we came - and happened upon the church's growing singles ministry. Wow. I've made a lot of mistakes, but I just did not know how to deal with this one.

I'll cut to the end: the jokes were stilted and tired, the food was mediocre, and the movie was okay, but it felt good. It felt real good, to be awkward, and to have that awkwardness met by more awkward people. It's just good to fellowship, no matter what the feelings. I even met a new friend; no, Mircea, to my disappointment, was not there, but an Australian named David was. He told me he liked my flannel, and we were fast friends. I told him to call me next time he goes to karaoke.

I Make New Friends

Today I went to church. It's called the Rome Baptist Church; it's an English speaking church in the Piazza San Lorenzo. On the bottom floor of an apartment, the room has three rows of pews. I think today it was at capacity, at around 150.

Not everyone was American. In fact, very few of us were. There were three students, beside me, and a couple of tourists. The rest were from any number of nations, people who, like me, can't understand but a few words of Italian but still want the fellowship. That's why I went, by the way: I was lonely. I always thought I could live alone, with only myself and the people I invent, but that's not true. In fact, inventing people is rather unhealthy, and you last less long in isolation if you have imaginary friends. It's called going mad.

The best part was afterwards; two girls and a guy, all about the same age, who work in Rome, took the new students out to lunch and toured us around town (to sights we had already seen). I thought they were just being nice, but after talking a little I found that they were just as lonely as I. All their previous friends had gone home at the end of last semester.

Taina is from Finland, Esther from Switzerland, and Mircea (Mir-cha) from Romania. Tania can speak three languages, Mircea four, and Esther five. If time travel is ever invented, or if I ever get stuck in some sort of black hole anomaly that sends me back to ancient Greece, I'll be able to speak two languages. I was most excited about Mircea who kind of looks like Rufio, but with an eastern block nose. He tried to teach me Italian pick up lines (ciao, bella! bionda!), and kept catcalling girls way too young for him, but I guess that's a culture thing.

If you believe in this sort of thing, I think God answered a prayer.