I can’t actually post this now, because my ridiculously expensive internet only works when it feels like it, but I can write it, at least. Yesterday I bought a gorgeous new leather jacket. I got talked out of the green one I wanted, but I’m very happy with the one I ended up with, and it was a good deal, too, a good enough deal that I might still buy a really cheap/fake green one. Expect pictures soon. The man at the leather store was the first Italian to comment on my name. “O’Hara! Come Via col vento!” and then when I told him that the S. on the card actually does stand for Scarlett, he got really excited, pointed it out to his colleague, and said he’d have to tell his wife when he got home. Men are always telling their wives my name.

Last night I went out and got appropriately drunk: not quite so drunk that I don’t remember how I got home, but drunk enough that I had the balls to ask an Italian guy at the bar why the hell Italian guys are so aggressive/rude. He had no explanation. We watched the Yankee game, and too many of you will be too happy with the outcome for me to comment further on it.

This morning I went running with my roommate, which was nice because she runs at the same pace/slightly slower than I do. We were talking in English, and she mentioned how she’d lost a sports bra, only she called it a “breast-holder.” I managed to not laugh out loud at her. I’m that mature. When we got home, the house was smoky and smelled like burning. Whoops! She left a pot of water boiling on the stove while we were gone! If your house is burning down in Italian, you have to call i pompieri. (We didn’t, but it was close.)

While I was eating dinner that night, the same roommate asked me whether “that boy who was here” (that’s you, Matt) was my boyfriend. When I said no, she asked whether American boys are respectful enough of women that they don’t “try to touch you” when you’re not together. I thought she was wondering whether Matt had tried to jump my bones while he was staying in my room, but in fact she was segueing into a story about how a guy she had class with spent the whole weekend trying to get her to “go to the hotel” with him. (For the record, I told her that there are assholes everywhere, but made you all look good by saying that my friends are respectful. Girls, feel free to comment about whether this was valid.)

Then after dinner, I taught Anna how to French braid. She’d always commented on my hair when I wore it braided, and I thought she was just commenting on my remarkable skill in French braiding my own hair, but apparently she’s actually never seen a French braid. She asked if it was an African style. I guess it’s not very common around here. Is this another of those things that isn’t as French as its name?

My landlady is selling this apartment, so my roommates are all moving. I can stay through the end of the semester (that’s June 15), but at least both of the girls are moving out May 1, because they found other places to live. I don’t know when the boy is leaving, but he’s never really around, anyway. So I’ll basically be living by myself for a month and a half. I may actually be living by myself for some of that time, depending on when he is moving out. Kind of creepy. Besides which, Aurelie has lived here for a long time, and apparently a lot of things that were in common use in the house are actually hers. The really cool garbage pail with different sections for recyclables and for trash disappeared from the kitchen. Half the spices are gone. In the living room, the big mirror and the English-Italian dictionary are both gone, and the DVD player is Anna’s so it will be gone as soon as she finishes packing. On the bright side, though, they’re both going through their things to get rid of stuff, which is benefiting me greatly. I got a poster and a calendar, and once Anna decides whether or not she thinks her coat fits her well enough to keep, she may or may not be giving it to me. (I’m keeping my fingers crossed; it’s green.)