Day 45 (Arezzo, Florence)

Don't you wish you could wake up to Derkey Baster every morning? I love you Derks, but you look like a chunky old grandpa in this picture. Ok so this is not what she looks like in the morning. No. In the morning, she wiggles around out of whatever body crevice she had snuggled into during the night, and proceeds to stare straight at your face until she sees the slightest hint of movement or eye-opening. By the general "you", I really just mean me. At first sign of wakeage, she attacks your (again, my) face with sloppy, smelly kisses. She particularly likes to aim for your mouth. I'm not that lonely, Derk. But I appreciate the thought. Then, I thought I tricked her into calmness by scratching her neck, but instead, that just prompted her to whack me in the face with her happy little tail.

At this point I become aware of the 43 bug bites decorating my body like pretty little constellations, and sleeping in becomes an impossibility. You win this round Perks. So I rolled myself out of bed, strapped some shoes on, and allowed myself to be dragged into the outside world. I apologize Arezzo, for assaulting you with my I-just-woke-up-what-the-crap-is-my-hair-doing-you-only-get-one-and-a-half-eyes-open self. No one should have to suffer that. But business is business, and Persey had hers. It was the only way to stop her morning tear about the house and on ALi. IT WAS THE ONLY WAY.

I eventually made myself a touch more conscious and presentable, and traipsed on down to the train station. I forgot this morning was the market! I loooove Arezzo's Saturday morning market.

When I was going to school here, I used to buy half a chicken and a bagload of candy, and take a weekend trip. It was glorious.

Another popular item at the market is their porchetta sandwiches. They essentially cook an entire pig stuffed with spices, and just slice it as people come, and put it on bread. See, you can tell it's good because the little flying pigs are so happy. Morbid? No. Happy.





But I was on a mission! It has escaped me before, but Yellow Bar was to be mine today. And oh how it was mine. I already showed you how to get there, so you can look it up on Day whatever-day-I-went-to-Florence-last.

First, I ordered Scamorza di Bufala. I was all like, Scamorza di Bufala?! I mean, it made sense, as Scamorza is very similar to mozzarella, but usually when you buy it from the store it's pretty much like smoked mozzarella. I ordered this, expecting just that, only better, because it would be made from water buffalo milk. We've already been over what that means. I was not even prepared for this

Wha?! WHA?! This is fresh, baked scamorza di bufala on top of some delicious version of Tuscan bread (I believe I told you about their bread), with mushrooms, and purple cabbage, and tomatoes, and they even put an anchovy on top! How fancy can a cheese get?! I had to stop myself from slamming my face straight into the dish. Which really only slowed it into a mild face mash.




Then it was on to what I came for:

Don't be fooled. What may look like a simple tomato sauce pasta dish is actually a taste attack from the Kingdom of Flavor. I got all up close and personal with this little prince. Yellow Bar hand makes their pasta fresh every day. From... flavor... babies... they have a contract with the kingdom. I don't know how I got here in this description. Basically, Heaven dropped a deuce in my mouth in the form of this pasta. Don't you dare make that face. You don't even know.

I was also productive today! YAY! I began writing a new canovaccio, and started like a chillion new episode outlines for my cartoon. I even created an new character

He's copywrited. Steal him and die! Plus, he'll make you feel really, really bad about it.

On top of my writings, I also got some of my gross typing job done (blegh), wrote important businessy emails, and am typing this blog entry ON TIME!!

If you were my laptop, this is what you would see. And you would be glowing with LED pride. That's right. Bask in my sweaty, bug-bitey (literally, you can see the bites on my face), productive glory.