Move over hot barman, there’s a new unwitting barman crush in town.

I’m normally pretty fucking clumsy as it is…

Today I let slip from my hand, slow motion, both my second-favorite mug which had previously survived a fall but lost its handle, and my muesli jar which was an old stylee sweet shop one. Not at the same time- there was an hour or two in between accidents. I had to sweep up TWICE.

In one fell swoop I lost: my only awesome sweet shop jar with screw top lid, my entire store of muesli (ok so it was like 3 bowls worth) and all the papaya I had bought at great expense, to add to my muesli because I can never find the one I like with the papaya so I had to buy my own and chop it up myself, and instead of keeping the huge excess of papaya for later purchases of muesli therefore decreasing the cost of having papaya in my life, I went and munched on the rest of it, uncut, in its massively fattening form, totally negating any benefits of eating muesli over say, any NICE cereal. Or bacon. Or cream filled tubes of pastry inexplicably ribbed (for her pleasure?)

Incidentally, you can’t get bacon here.

It’s probably a good thing, I don’t need to add bacon to the list of desirable groceries I wheel past on my dejected supermarket rounds. I do start my grocery shopping all buoyant and enthusiastic, picturing carrots with the green bits and sheaves of wheat emerging from my trolley as I roll past the salty sugary insta-meal-laden carts of my obese neighbours… I feel like Amelie on a marvelous quirky adventure in healthyland.

But soon I have rejected all the avocados as no use to man or beast (why do supermarkets that can’t do a proper avocado, still sell them? And what excactly are they doing to their fruits before laying them out at 1 euro a pop, green on the outside, and only squishy where they are bruised? Do the staff first roll them down the car park ramp, betting on the fastest? ) and then I have selected one of the TWO mueslis, and grumbled over the shitty selection of potatoes,

and I try not to look directly at the yummy convenience crap taking up most of the supermarket’s real estate, but after the third ailse I cave and buy salami, or if I manage to do the whole round without a single indiscretion, I’ll probably end up loading up with beer or martini rosso as a kind of calorific reward.

There are 6 metres of wall freezer just selling frozen pizzas. There are five different brands of coco pops, or choco krazies or whatever the fuck they call them these days, and there are 5 different brands of cola but there are no free range eggs. And there are 3 types of instant white sauce in the fridge, but no fresh cream.

I don’t even need or want fresh cream, but it is unnerving having three big supermarkets nearby and not one to supply me with fresh cream if I perchance need some. I will need some in a month when it is my sister’s birthday and I am making my twice a year cake.

Anyway these days I am getting quite bad with my eating habits.

Yesterday I spent the day with my sister and had coke and fruit juice and chocolate and tortilla chips and popcorn. I feel about a stone heavier today although I’m just sitting down to my coffee now so…


I should never have allowed salami into my house. I keep getting up for midnight salami eating munches. I wake up with a distinct ass flavour in my mouth and bits of salami carcass between my teeth.

I have to be good or I will slip back to my pre-diet size, and I was looking at facebook with my sister and saw some photos of myself, looking like a proper fattie, not just big for a normal sized person as I always told myself I was. I blame other people for going “not at all, you’re fine!” when I was starting to put on weight. They should have been honest. I did eventually figure it out for myself but at that stage I was quite porky and it took a lot of work to slim down.

I still feel like I’m carrying a spare tire but it’s like a city bike tyre, not a car one like I used to have. I received the ultimate acknowledgement of skinnyness the other day- actually it was the night I ended up in bed with my bum chum. The other guy who was there was Argentinian, and in South America it’s normal to call a girl “skinny” as a nickname just randomly, but if the girl is properly skinny. Anyway this guy shouted, hey skinny! And I didn’t turn around, and he’s like, “hey skinny! You! Hey can I put this one song on?” And I was so flummoxed and happy because I have hung out with South Americans all my life really, and never ever ever been called skinny before. Not that they called me fat either, but they would just say nothing at all.

Also, in other stuff I didn’t write about because… meh… some things get lost, between one non-event and another…

I don’t know what to make of this, if anything (but I’ll damn well think it out!) but I was in my usual bar (I have totally abandoned hot barman’s bar as it is too far away and depressing) and I think I may have been barman flirted with.

There are, in this bar, three potentially hot barmen. Two are new- one has been a vague object of my affections for a while, but he is not really that hot, so he’s just kind of background scenery as I knock back my morning shot of caffeine. Anyway he has a girlfriend because a petite little girly girl came in a couple of times and they kissed quickly.

Well he has always been very smiley and nice but the girlfriend kind of throws a dampener on all the previous smiles I have interpreted as declarations of desire, but now there are two new guys and one is particularly attractive and I can tell is much more confident and likely to follow up shy smiles and coyness. I believe I have a new project! Woo!

But he isn’t always there, I think he’s just the extra weekend guy.

Anyway on Saturday I went in for my coffee and girlfriend guy is run off his feet with all these slips of paper before him, making all kinds of effeminate looking coffees with chocolate and froth and different kinds of cups, and so I have a few minutes to bask patiently in his presence before he gets to my double espresso.

Then new hot guy (who is tall btw) appears on the scene and he doesn’t appear too stressed, and he says something sort of half to me and half to the other guy, but I don’t hear and I sort of smile because I never understand what bar guys are saying because they talk so fast and they don’t realise I’m not Italian because they have no reason to, I only say “coffee please” or “can I pay for a sandwich?” and those are phrases that at this stage, I pronounce pretty fucking well. So I just smile, no idea whether he said something funny or “my dad just got diagnosed with cancer” or “I hope you remembered to jizz in these coffees” or whatever, but then he calls me on it, he turns to me and smiles at me all lovely warm, mmmm I love him long time… and he’s like, “yeah, don’t you think?”

And so I kind of lose my “party to the joke” expression and I’m like, “uh sorry?”

And he goes “you know, these young guys, they can handle all this work…They’ve still got the good body for it, not like me!” or something along those lines.

You might think that seems a bit gay, but NO, it’s not gay for Italy. Italian guys will squeeze each others biceps and stroke each others abs and be like “ooh lovely, really good…” and that’s not gay, that’s just them being “men”.

Yet again, it’s a mystery to me what I could have said back to that and what it was he meant in the first place. He can’t be much more than 5 years older than the other guy. Although I am a bit shit at age-rating Italians.

So what, is this another instance of barman flirtation where he’s fishing for a compliment or something? I don’t have a quick wit in Italian. Damn it I could probably fire something out in English- it would have a 50% chance of being devastatingly witty, the other 50% being I said something extremely weird that I can’t recover from.

So I just mumbled and smiled, and the moment was gone.

But in restrospect, if that WAS flirtation which by now, I don’t even think so, but at the time the cocky eye-twinkling delivery seemed to imply it, what was I supposed to reply? What would have been a good answer?

I mean what can you say to that?

Is he fishing for a compliment?

If I had just lashed out with the first thing that came to mind, it is entirely possible I would have bellowed “why don’t you both take your tops off and I’ll see who has a good body?”

or “Ah come on age is just a number… like penis length.”

I am at least glad that I have someone in my sights again, it sort of makes me feel secure to know there’s a vague point in my looking nice every fucking day.

If there’s no one hot to walk past apart from sexy homeless guy, it just depresses me that I put on makeup and a dress every fucking day of my life.

At least with a new hot barman- I will call him sexy bartender to differentiate, starting NOW, then I can at least feel like there’s an audience to my effort. Even if he’s not there every day. It’s something to focus on. I just wish I had a little pocket book on flirting in Italian. And I wish I could tell if that was actually flirtation, because it’s fucking weird.

I miss Ireland, and the fact that you don’t need to flirt at all- you just figure out that you like the other person, wind up sitting next to them, and eventually you are kissing and then you go somewhere and the next day if his face doesn’t make you vomit, then you have found a good’un. Although to be honest I have not had a whole lot of awesomeness arise from this method of man hunting.

Anyway. I just work in the afternoon today hence the daytime posting.

I must shower and make my face look decent and then traipse in to town and see if sexy bartender is on today.

Let the bunny boiling re-commence!



11 responses to “Move over hot barman, there’s a new unwitting barman crush in town.

  1. hey!
    no kidding… how does it work here? I mean obviously the “Roberto-s” are about as obvious as a siamese twin… but the other guys you kinda dig? Other problem being is being witty in Italian, maybe I’m wrong but they don’t seen to get ‘other’ humour very well. You just get them looking at you like a plank and you wait for a token fake chuckle if you’re lucky. (personally, I am dense – I only know a guy likes me if he is on top of me). I got a compliment from a spanish couchsurfer guy this summer who I spoke English and Italian with – he said “you are more sexy in English.” what can u do with that when you aren’t funny in Italian and live in Italy?

    • Hey hey, yeah there seems to be a massive gap where the normal approach should be- it’s either total slime or absolutely no interest whatsoever. I hate being a slow, dull person in Italian. I’m working with a watered down boring as hell version of my personality… Actually, I do tend to make Italians laugh- but not the italians I like, just the clingy jackrussel types I want to shake off. Yeah a get that about not being sexy in Italian. I’m sure I’m not sexy… my voice just sounds all rough and crude. Can’t wait to move to London… just a few more months!

  2. Oh Goldilocks…
    How can the country that gave us prosciutto not do good bacon?
    Avocados are a horrible fruit to get right. Damn things were the bane of my existence. They were either like rocks or mush.
    You say “sexy bartender” and I say “Uh oh! Here we go again.” Please just stick to the salami. :P
    Italian humour is easy. You just haven’t watched enough Terence Hill and Bud Spencer films yet.
    Why don’t you just Google “flirting in Italian”? There seems to be quite a few results.


    • Were? Past tense? Don’t tell me you have given up on avocados? I resent your cynicism – I am going to try a new technique with this one. I’m going to make eye contact with him and stuff. I have to do this with men in general, my friend said it’s my own fault for not even trying, she said I’m probably just sitting there avoiding the eyes of men. I was all indignant but then I realised I kind of do that… so next time I go out, I’m going to man up and start being more proactive. Anyway I’ll give google a go, thanks I hadn’t even thought of it, but sure why not? It’s entirely possible there’s a wiki out there…

  3. I really tried to read through this, but was distracted they entire time about a supermarket that has NO BACON?! Please tell me that’s just one supermarket and there’s just miles and miles of stores that sell delicious bacon.

    Why would anybody live in a country where you don’t eat deliciously slaughtered pigs?!

    I need to lay down for a bit.

    • I Know, right? I’m sorry but there is no bacon. Or actually, and this is even worse, there IS bacon, but you can only get it cut up into little cubes for making carbonara. And that’s how you can buy bacon. It’s bullshit. Sometimes I fantasize about tracking down the address of the factory on the packet and breaking in all drunk armed with pepper spray and steal a crate of uncut unadulterated bacon from the source. I don’t know why they don’t just sell the bacon intact and let us cut our own bacon if we desire it in cubes. Fascists.

      My eyelid is throbbing. I have to stop thinking about bacon, go to my happy place.. think of my power animal.

      AHHH no it’s a pig, my power animal is a tasty pig!

        • Are you trying to give me an aneurism here? It’s a country full of people who want their bacon pre-cut, a country of people so unimaginative they can’t even think of another way to need bacon in their lives than in carbonara. Italians. There’s no public outcry over ANYTHING. Can’t get bacon, can’t get cheddar, can’t get proper butter, can’t get decent potatoes… this is no place for an Irishwoman.

          • Can’t get… CHEDDAR?! Shitty POTATOES!!

            Seriously, how can an Irishwoman live without the basics of daily food consumption for all Irish people!?

            Man, now I just feel sorry for you, and totally disappointed in Italy for being so lazy.

            U.K. bacon… even better than US bacon mmmmm (*insert Homer garble*)

  4. Pingback: Hey barkeep, you know caffeine’s an aphrodisiac? No, it’s not… Oh, well I’m just horny. « More fucking opinions from someone on the internet.

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