There’s nothing like modeling nude to make you lose weight. Modeling naked is one of the most interesting and physically challenging things I’ve ever done. Everyday I take of my red towel, step up onto the platform which is lit by soft light, and stand in an elegant yet insanely painful pose for twenty minutes at a time for a total of three hours. I spend my five minute breaks reviving my limbs by small amounts of stretching. Today I literally took one minute naps during my breaks, actually fell asleep, and was dreaming. I have had no sleep these past two weeks due to either 1) depression 2) working over forty hours a week 3) mosquitoes 4) going out and actually having fun (rarely). Those poor British students have probably had such a challenge painting my body. The first week I was red as a lobster from my sunburn. It hurt to shower, to move… it hurt my eyes to look at myself naked! I can’t imagine how they felt whilst painting me. The second week my skin was peeling so I felt like a snake. They said it didn’t bother them and they carried on. It’s now week three and I am no longer red, I’ve lost three pounds, and gradually their paintings have made me whiter and more slim. It’s quite funny. The thing is though I have about fourteen or so different viewpoints of my body from-almost-every-single-angle so if I see something I don’t like about my body not just in one person’s painting but in several I know that is how I am. It is a wake up call as to what you look like from every single angle. But at the same time, they are paintings which are perhaps not accurate. One of the Scottish boys said it’s like having a mirror at every angle but really fucked up mirrors that lie. So basically I am surrounded by a huge mirror that sometimes is forgiving and shows my skin in beautiful rich creamy tones but other times makes my ass look humongous and my face look angry.
So the thing that was missing in my life before was fun and excitement and I stumbled upon it this month. The other night I was crazy and decided to go out after I finished working at the pub at 2 AM. I met up with some of the British students at a cool outside lounge, drank negronis (I can’t decide if I love them or hate them), and then we proceeded to walk to the cool bar, Monte Carla, at 4 AM. This is what you do in Florence. We changed our mind after walking twenty-five minutes and ended up at the Ponte Vecchio, the famous bridge in Florence by the Arno. It was amazing at that hour. Florence wasn’t full of tourists. There weren’t motorinos zooming from every angle. Or screaming ambulances. It was empty. The sun was rising and instead of the mucky brown and green color the Arno usually wears, it was covered in blues and purples and oranges. So I think my favorite time in Florence is around 5 AM. I then was pushed back home in a shopping cart by a Scottish boy dressed in a 60’s costume and a big black afro. After my very fun night and morning, I stumbled around the next day, running errands for hours.
I went to the exhibit at the Alinari Museum of an Italian photographer from the 50’s and 60’s and it evoked all the emotions photography gives me. I started to cry from the simplest photographs and the entire time all I was completely in awe the entire time. After that, I saw a cute little pub that looked inviting. Curiosity brought me to the front door, and then the menu, and I was pleasantly surprised to see the cheapest hamburger I’ve seen yet in Florence… 4.50 Euro. I was ecstatic to spend an hour in between errands being the biggest American ever. I had my first burger in NINE MONTHS and it was AMAZING. I ordered the Americano burger (haha), had a pint of beer called Dragoon (isn’t that name awesome?), and the beer was 10% so it gave a sparkle to my eyes for the next hour as I walked home. Then I worked at the pub as the England vs. America world cup game played and I served tons and tons of beer to fellow Americans, who, for the first time, I missed.
Anyways, I have watched almost every game of the world cup. Watching the Italian game surrounded by Italians was another highlight of my week. All of the knots in my back, the clicks, pain, and lack of sleep, are some huge lowlights. Does that make sense? Lowlights. Shouldn’t it be highlights of the day and lowdarks? The 150 euros I get tomorrow for modeling nude is a highlight. The fact that I get to see my family in July is a huge highlight (!!!), and the beautiful ipod I got from my lovely mom is another highlight. I miss home so much, but I’m finally starting to like it here more.