Tracie, you are too...

precisa: preh-CHEE-suh (adj) precise; for most Southern Italians, one of the most annoying qualities a human being can posses

I have quite a bit to catch up on. Maybe if I were a bit more precise, or simply owned a computer, I would have let you in on all of my little secrets by now.

I want to bring up this topic, because I've had the "precisa" discussion with many an Italian, many an Italian with his or her own unique sense of the passage of time.

Precisa, it turns out, seems to be one of the qualities that created such ill will between my last boss and me, that I will not be working at the yacht marina this year. I thought that arriving to work on time, and leaving on time were perfectly acceptable--perhaps even desirable qualities to have in an employee, but just in case I forget from time to time that I am living in a very different culture, something like precisa comes along to remind me.

I had a discussion last year on my last day of work with the boss's girlfriend (the girl who created our positions of yacht marina hostesses), and she confided to me that maybe if I hadn't left at precisely 8 pm every evening (never did it without asking if boss wanted me to stay), or maybe if I had just let one or two of those overtime hours slide when I scored a good tip (I was making at the MOST, 800 euro a month, but for two months I was making 400-600), that maybe things would have all gone more smoothly.

Right, maybe if I hadn't religiously written down every extra hour and half-hour (I made 10 euro an hour for overtime) that I was owed, someone may have been able to rip me off and wouldn't that have been fantastic?!! For them?!!

I may not be the sharpest tool in that thar shed, but I sure know when I'm swimming with sharks I'll kick their bums if they try to bite me.

So that brings me to my present status. As I was waiting to hear from the same people and whether or not I would have the same job (I should have chewed up that pride better before I swallowed it), my old friend Pierpaolo who owns the wine bar offered me a job. Ex boss and girlfriend finally told me that they hired another girl and that they weren't sure...whatever. I happily accepted the job at the wine bar, and couldn't be more pleased.

Now I have turned my life upside-down and my usual routine inside-out to accommodate my new work schedule. I'm not used to keeping late hours, but since I've accepted the brief change of lifestyle, I'm actually having fun. We have lots of English-speaking tourists who come to the enoteca and are genuinely curious about wine.

I am sleeping shamefully late (I mean, what sane girl can get out of her of bed before noon when she has worked until 1 the previous morning?). Getting out of bed I open my windows to the seagulls and take hours to get ready while listening to my new CDs. Sometimes, I go to the beach down the street, but that requires an earlier wake-up time, so my risk of remaining a mozzarella all summer is dangerously high. I spend no money on neither food nor wine, since my wining and dining takes place at work. I miss my kitchen, but it's just for the summer.

Being precisa has, in a way, shaped my short-term destiny and has put me in a work atmosphere where I am surrounded by good friends and opportunities to be more active in my wine education so things are definitely working out for the best.

There's another chapter to this incredibly tedious catch-up story which will explain my brief visit to Positano to see Nicki, but I'll get back to that soon...