Ode to the Italian Keyboard

How I loathe thee, let me count the ways...But not in conjunctions, for all they gain me is cobbled-together words, and that only works in german.

Consider this my first inebriated internet session. I finally had wine in Italy, to celebrate actually getting my cell phone and a card reader for my camera. That, and the waitress talked me into it. She obligingly allowed me to speak in my atrocious Italian for ordering and asking questions.

No, I dont have pictures up yet. I would have to have my computer charged to do that, and I spent all day looking for a power converter with no fucking luck. The melted one is still sitting back in my hotel room, smelling like burnt plastic and the shattered engineering prowess of Brookstones employees.Last night I had dinner with Erin (the girl going to Florence) again, and walked around the Spanish steps for a while listening to people talk in a bouquette of languages. We made plans to meet up in Florence, ate gellato, and made out in front of her hotel. Some drunk 20 year told us we should fuck inside, and I told her to "piss off unless she wanted to watch." She flipped me off and I let her know I had no problem backhanding a stupid, drunk, American bitch.I meant it, too.

Nothing has made me hate Americans more than being in a foreign country overpopulated with them in the age range of 19-23. They are loud, obnoxious, and I almost felt compelled to choke out this one kid who was storming around via nazionale with his shirt off, slapping his chest and screaming at his friend in a drunken rage.

Va bene, Im being kicked out of the internet point now, theyre closing down.More tomorrow, if I can find a fucking charger.

-Sean