Aside from Fake Prada and buffalo cheese my favorite thing about Milan is the surprises.
Every year I have to renew my Permit To Stay and every year I forget it's annoying. You've gotta fill out a thousand pages of information about your name, birth date, marital status (thanx for reminding me), email address, weight, facebook account, tumblr password, sexual history, ex-boyfriend's hand size, and your deepest childhood secret. You also need a statement from your bank (depressing), copies of your passport (lost), health insurance (whatz that) and an official letter from your school or job which implies you aren't a criminal-and therefore have a reason to stay in this godforsaken land.
Because Italian criminals don't want foreign competition.
(Don't look @ my wrinkles)
When you finish you must send it all in with a 14 Euro stamp and your most prized possession and wait for an appointment with the police. A few months later you will be called in at Sunrise on a Sunday, on your Birthday on Christmas, so you can get assigned another appointment for fingerprints. Then you have an affair with a police officer, trade your firstborn for a television and get your Final Call-when, a few years later, you finally get a card that expires in a few days.
(Meet Mz. Fly, my only friend-aside from Mr. Spider) :
Anyway, today I started this shit again and headed to the Post Office. Only, after walking from the Duomo to Bovisa to Pta Genova to my Haus to California Bakery back to American Apparel and seeing that all the POs are closed, I realized what I should have assumed, which is Italy's striking again.
I swear every other day here either the trams, hospitals, police stations or government aren't working due to "scioperos"- and I think that's pretty chic. In fact, I'm scioperoing myself from now on-cuz till my school starts paying me more my ass ain't showin up.