Lei e' stato la mia profressoressa.

Vorrei che io so a scrivere in italiano molto piu che io so.

That is basically as well as a two year old Italian baby might speak and it took me about eight tries to get it right. Sadly. Although there was a time when I could carry on entire conversations in Italian, though timidly and usually with a non-Italian speaking mate, with definite competence. Thanks to Ginevra.

[caption id="attachment_485" align="alignnone" width="500" caption="A giorno io sono Gin. "][/caption]

I remember when she walked into the classroom for the first time, her iridescent white shell Chanel glasses, her tall Kate Moss like appearance, her cool demeanor, and her scarf the size of a blanket. Cue immediate girl crush. I hung around after class in my bell bottoms and tee shirts, with my unwashed hair and my dark rimmed glasses, thinking up ways to spark a conversation. We would walk around campus, back to her office, while she smoked cigarettes, talking about Italian culture, literature, life. It didn't take too long for us to become friends. I had bagged a TA. Success.

[caption id="attachment_486" align="alignnone" width="500" caption="Ciao Ciao."][/caption]

I am wearing black suede boots from Urban Outfitters, grey skinny jeans from H&M, white tee from Ann Taylor Loft, a multicolored striped scarf from Spain, and ONE feather fringe earring.

Now, those memories seem long ago, foggy, and almost surreal. I savor our intellectual debates, our mutual respect for varying opinions, but more often than not, our agreeance on cultural issues and sociological trends. We both love culture and counterculture. We both hover on a fine line between normal and absurd. We are both at once laid back and extreme in our views. Mostly, though, we are just friends. We get along. We enjoy each other's company.

Ginevra's fashion has always made me feel overworked and overdressed. Similar to how the Italian's handle their food, with simplicity, elegance, and more flavor packed inside few ingredients than American's can squeeze out of twenty, she wears her clothes without fuss. But yet, she always makes a statement. She is always her own person. Even in jeans and a teeshirt, she stands above the rest. If I could pull it off, I would. But me, I am more the throw a vest over it, stack the bangles, wear two earrings, and roll my boots. Maybe I just like to make things a little more complicated.

[caption id="attachment_487" align="alignnone" width="500" caption="Uno."][/caption]

Gin, however, makes jeans and a teeshirt into a statement. It's about something. Because she is about something.