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February 12, 2008

This time of year gets me all sentimental. You see, I studied abroad in Rome my sophomore year. In Rome, wine is cheaper than water. And what happens in Rome… STAYS in Rome.

…Except I like to talk about Roman Renee who used to be able to function on 4 hours of sleep, still a wee tipsy from last night’s shenanigans, even if it were a Tuesday… the same Roman Renee who actually learned to live la dolce vita, experiencing each day as though there weren’t a care in the world… and as though wine and beer were going out of style. You see, friends, Roman Renee ate pasta and gelato daily. Her days started with a fruit filled croissant and cappuccino with cream. Her days ended at “Cheap Bar” with apple martinis and pina coladas. And she never thought of calories. She fawned over the bartender and made out with Welsh rugby players and didn’t think about love. She took afternoon walks to the Vatican and the Colosseum and didn’t think about school work. She bought fresh fruit and jewelry from outdoor markets and didn’t think about money.
When did I get so uptight?

But, that’s not the point of this post.

The reason Valentine’s Day reminds me of Rome is because of a little party we threw. It was initially called “Drink Away the Lovelessness” and consisted of champagne, strawberries, wine, an assortment of harder stuff, terribly sappy love songs… and my wicked juggling skillz.

The night progressed with Two-for-One Tuesday at the Drunken Ship, where I often double fisted Spankings. Yes, that’s right. There was a drink called Spanking… meaning, you walk up to the bar and say, “Can I get two Spankings?” It consisted of Sprite and peach vodka. I think.

I spent the rest of the evening dancing with 75% of my classmates, watching some make out with randos, and witnessing my roommate flirt with Bartender Dave. I have trouble piecing together the night, but I remember mystery shots that we later identified as Everclear.

A Penn State friend walked me back to the hotel, where I realized I’d locked myself out and had to beg “Mike OK” at the front desk to give me a spare key – in Italian… because we all know we speak better Italian under the influence. Once in my room, I spent the night on Armani tiles in our bathroom. Needless to say, I didn’t make it to my 8am Philosophy class the next morning, but that’s ok… very few people could crawl out of bed, and if they did, they were likely to throw up during class.

We now refer to that evening as V-Day/D-Day because of the near-death hangovers felt for a week.
And no, I have not had peach vodka since.

Don’t judge me.

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