Moscerina & Me

Armed with an iPhone, ADD and insomnia, I am a writer and blogger. Moscerina was born five years ago because I needed an outlet to share my melodramatic love for all things in Rome and Italy at any given time to an unknown audience. Though a self-appointed know-it-all, I vowed to avoid finger pointing, but have no qualms about name calling. Nicknames, I vociferate. As a true moscerina, I act as a fly on the walls of Italy, spying and spreading what I love about being here from the perspective of resident and busybody.

Writing-- blogging, articles and substantial postcards-- has taken me around the world and back to Rome. Over the past years, I've written art in Los Angeles, finance in Singapore, food in Hong Kong, dating in Hanoi, lingerie in Paris, fine dining on the autostrada and housewives in Green Acres, only to lead me back to a tiny room in the corner of my Rome apartment where I write the in and outs of every of the Eternal City for websites, magazines and most recently a book. (Yay, me!) While recently and happily, I've had Rome-centric writing jobs, blogging-- my favorite release-- has become a battle with finding a voice, any voice.

The quintessential moi who runs haphazardly through traffic in heels took a time out.

To paraphrase Fiona Apple, I've been a bad bad writer, I've been careless with a delicate blog. Anyone who reads Moscerina knows that I have been schizophrenic in design and style, as well as presence. I blame my lack of consistency on baptism by fire into the all-consuming realm of stepmother and motherhood, an area which I have deliberately avoided treading with the proverbial pen.

So I've got a kid or two, so what? The concept of becoming Mommy Blogger by default irritates me as much as the term Feminist Artist and thus I have refrained from letting my blog evolve into Motherhood, Italian-Style. Ooops, I missed the boat and though I didn’t want to get caught up in Mommy & Me blogging, I got caught up in avoidance. With that, I'd like to go contro mano, first by heralding public education systems, babysitters and nap time. Second, I’d like to scold the Comune di Roma—get your act together quickly, the asilo nido (state funded care for 0 to 3 year olds) needs to work, read

Mother's Helpers

Pagine Baby

replete resource and listing of things to do for parents and friends of parents with kids 0 to 12 years old


English-language website/message board for mothers and fathers in Rome


<--- This was a day a work once

Work is just another four letter word that passes through my mouth with probably the same amount of vivaciousness as the others. For the past six years, I haven't had an office job, instead opting for the freelance write life-- which is a nail-biter but at least I get to pick my view. Today it's the corner office, with surround sound from the Lungotevere. Yesterday, it was the lazy-boy, i.e. my bed- a comfy option, though not so great a view.

Most of my LA friends understand this lifestyle-- they may find me "researching" for hours at a caffe or taking a nap after lunch, and it's normal. The East Coasters tend to get a little antsy with my hours, my lack of office, my lack of consistent work. I don't particularly care. I used to waste conversations explaining what "I did". Now, I just don't say anything. The Professor actually appreciates my somewhat schizophrenic lifestyle which alternates from completely shut in the house and at my computer, to completely out of the house and running around. And yes, every time I run around Rome, I am "working".

For the next six weeks, I am working on a Rome book project as one of two authors. Yes, this book will draw from my years of Rome expertise and knowledge. No, this book will not be filled with my stories about getting kicked out of cabs for declaring my love for Juventus or dying my hair red to see if my local "Sei la pìu bella ragazza di Roma" neighbor would recognize me. It's a traveler's book, and will talk about all of the wonderful things to do in Rome. So, dear readers, if there is something you know that I don't know (there are in fact many things, like word for peeler), I would love to know what you think must be included.

And if, dear reader, you are concerned that I really don't work. It's true. I don't work, I write which means I spend my mornings trying to tire out a 16-month-old monster so that my afternoons are quiet and mine. We dance to ol' school rap, which I find particularly inspiring when I have a block or need to tie fanciful words into an even more fancy sentence. Slick Rick is my favorite poet, next to Roald Dahl.