I know: It’s more exciting than the upcoming termination of the Sopranos. This blog will soon transition back to randomness/a series about the ever so charming Life Coach we got to know last episode. Yet I feel it appropriate to tie up some loose ends in the Capri saga.

First off, Bartok and Prince M.

Things were going well. I was green with envy, and Bartok was already trying to figure out how she’d properly hyphenate all the royal last names she’d be marrying into. Then a petite, slender, tan Neapolitan hottie showed up at Prince M’s dinner party the next day. We’ll call her Alessandra. She was introduced as Prince M’s best friend’s ex-girlfriend and a dear dear dear dear friend who’d be staying for a day or two. Uh-huh, yeah right. No woman in the room was going to believe that story. A superbly awkward evening ensued with Prince M wavering between Alessandra and my Bartok the entire night. Under normal circumstances, Bartok and I would have both given Alessandra our Mean Girls-perfected devil stare until she fled the island like Nefertiti. Alessandra, unfortunately, was so incredibly cute, relaxed, and easy going that it was impossible to hate her. We actually spend long chunks of time admiring her body when she’d lay out soaking up the sun on Prince M’s boat. We knew she was Prince M’s age (thirty) and yet she was still undoubtedly hotter than either one of us could ever hope to be. We had to give Alessandra props, which made it even more annoying when at the end of the evening, Prince M and Alessandra retreated back to castle, leaving a laughing, confused, slightly enraged Bartok in my arms.

But Prince M only disappeared for about two hours. The he was calling Bartok to meet up at around four am. This guy was the definition of euro-pimping. I was impressed at his ballsy-ness. So was Bartok. So for that reason alone, she went to go meet him. In private, Prince M explained to her that Alessanda had been his best friend’s girlfriend for seven years. The two broke up, and now Prince M and Alessnadra were seeing each other but keeping it on the Neapolitan royal gossip circuit DL. They hadn’t figured out exactly what they meant to each other (maybe because they were stoned ninety five percent of the time) so really didn’t want anyone (especially the ex/best friend, I’m guessing) to know they were doing the nasty. The fact that Prince M was fooling around first with Nefertiti and then with MY best friend, remained essentially unaddressed. I felt about ready to write a creepy novella about Prince M’s tastes/issues with women and then puke on it. This rant here is the abridged version.

Now let’s do one of those cheesy “where are they now” lists that I despise when used at the end of feature films.

Gianni: My guess is he’s still in Capri looking for his sunglasses which are on his head. Or in rehab. Either way.

Brad is finishing up university in Rome and still looking way too good for his age. He explained to me that he likes to have a girlfriend in the winter months, but be single when in Capri during the summer months (get on board everybody: Seasonal Dating. It’s a new concept). So according to my calculation, he’s probably breaking some poor Italian chick’s heart as we speak.

Boris I’m sure is off canoodaling with Vegas somewhere in their fabulous fabulous residence on the island which no one ever got to see. Perhaps a wedding is in the works? I wonder if that freakin’ small dog will be in the ceremony.

Nefertiti: I’m hoping she got lucky and is currently working as some other European prince’s/outrageously wealthy Arab’s muse. If she scored a personality along the way, that would be even better. (Sorry, that was mean.)

Prince M is still pursuing his passion for photography/his passion for photographing women. He resides in Naples during the winter months working in the ever so mysterious “music business” with his entourage. Bartok and I thanked him profusely for his generous hospitality. Prince M and Bartok parted an amicable terms and to this day exchange an occasional raunchy email.

Dr X, the wonderful creature who enabled all this insanity, is still in Milan. We’ll have some posts purely dedicated to his outrageousness at a later date.

Leaving Capri was one of the most depressing things Bartok or I have ever done. As Bartok put it:

“I just want to kill myself here so this island is the last thing I remember.”

We both considered purchasing white dresses and enacting her previously imagined virgin suicide hurling ourselves off a cliff scenario. We decided against it in the end and instead slouched miserably side by side on the ferry back to reality where we’d have to actually act like adults and live responsibly in the “real world.” We were nauseous already.

The good news is that unlike Venice, Capri’s not going anywhere. Unfortunately, Bartok and I both have an intense fear of returning. How could anything live up to these incredibly high and inappropriate standards? Nevertheless, discussions about a Capri trip 07 are in the works.

I’ll keep you posted.