enough is more! basta pasta, the sequel.

I’m kind of starting to regret writing the BASTA PASTA blog. I haven't stopped receiving text messages and calls from friends and family that begin with the words, “you won’t believe what happened” and end, in one way or another, with the word “Italian.” Either they just met an Italian, or they’re eating Italian, or they saw something that in someway vaguely relates to something Italian. I’ve become sort some of customer service hotline: “call us toll-free to rate your Italian experience!” Take it easy kids, it was just a little blog not a season of Italian Idol. What I mean to say is, dear friends and family, I greatly appreciate that you read my blog, and even more that you enjoy it. But you really don’t have to tell me every time you have a plate of meatballs.

That’s the thing though: “Basta” doesn’t mean enough. It means “more, please.” As in when you say, “BASTA PASTA!” what you’re asking for is more spaghetti. We know that already. What I didn’t know is that when you write a blog called BASTA PASTA, what you’re asking for is...MORE ROCCO. (Again, technically, its not what you’re asking for, but it is whatcha gonna get).

Yep. I bumped into Rocco again. (Why I ever thought I couldn’t blog everyday is a mystery to me—there’s just so much material out there! Or maybe just so much Rocco?) “AnjaRELLLLLLAAAAA” he screamed from across the street. I’d just gotten the hang of not turning around to hooting cars and whistles damnit…now I have to start not turning around to my name?

“Where have you been!” he exclaimed as he ran across. What, like in the last 48 hours? Wherever I’ve been Rocco, I’ve been thanking God that its nowhere you’ve been.

“I’ve been waiting for you in front of your office everyday between 10 and 11!”

I really wish I could translate the expression this put on my face into words, but I can’t. Instead: !?

Wait that’s not enough.

!!!!!???????????????????

There. That’s better.

First of all, Rocco, that’s not my office (yet), I was just in there on that day for an interview. Second of all, doofus, if it were my office, I hardly doubt I’d be leaving it everyday at 10am. And third of all, I thought we agreed on “maybe bumping into each other again” and correct me if I’m wrong, but waiting, in front of “my” office, everyday, does not qualify as “bumping in.” I think the more appropriate term here would be…what’s that word again? Oh, right. Stalking. (Then again, who am I to talk about the meaning of words. I foolishly believed enough meant enough).

***

“Where are you going…the gym?”

"Yes."

“That one over there?”

“Yes.” (Are we done here?)

(Nope). “What a coincidence!” he said.

Considering you’re a stalker, pumpkin, I really don’t think the word “coincidence” should be part of your vocabulary. When it comes to me on the other hand, damn straight. My life is one big coincidence. One. Big. (ROC)COINCIDENCE.

“My friend just told me I should join that gym yesterday!” he continued. “And now…” and with one long look at every inch of my lycra he concluded, “now I definitely will join!”

***

Great. Just to recap, so far, I need to:

a) stop turning around when somebody calls my name in the street

b) stop going to the gym

c) stop wearing lycra

d) MOVE.

(I knew it! I knew my apartment was too good to be true. Perfect location, perfect size, perfect price. I’d been wondering since I moved in, where’s the catch? Rocco. Rocco is the catch. You know, like the weeds in your beautiful garden).

Oh, and one more thing:

e) if “my office” calls me to come back in for another interview, I’m going to have to say, “sure, but can you do me a favor? wouldya mind just checking if Rocco’s outside…?”

Or maybe I should just work at the gym? I could run some sort of referral service…and hey! I could call it BASTA PASTA! Basta pasta more stairmasta!

***

“So can I have your number?”

“Whaddaya need my number for!?” Don’t we see each other enough?

“Because-eh…..because-eh……I want to take you to the BEST ITALIAN RESTAURANT IN TOWN!”

I know I shouldn’t be thinking Benigni…but that, the way he said that, as though he were addressing the Gods, that, was so, Benigni. Then again, maybe I should be the one addressing the Gods: “Hi there, don’t mean to interrupt, but maybe my request wasn’t clear enough the first time:

BASTA FUCKING PASTAAAAAAAAAA!!!

KAAAAPPPPIIIIIISSSSHHHHHH?"

No wait, basta doesn’t mean enough. What I should say, is:

“Please sir, may I have some more?”

If I remember correctly, Oliver Twist never got some more.