Everything has been transferred. At first I thought it was all too easy, until I had the closest thing I've ever had to a panic attack yesterday. Twice. Sometimes I confuse too much with just right.
Well, the mystery has been solved--I have finally seen my new house, and I'm slowly making it my own. err...our own. There are seven of us after all. Like the Real World, but we know each other. Now all we need is a confessional, cameras, and an image of us looking dorky and our names flashing across the screen. Oh, and someone yelling Can you get the phone? Of course, that won't happen for a awhile--We don't have a phone yet.
Tonight I have planned a Ratatoille feast, hopefully all my housemates (except David, who is in Rochester) can make it. Nothing like Ratatoille to bring people together.
My supposedly last night working at the Sunroom pissed me off. First, the owner waits until Saturday to post next week's schedule, so I'm not sure if I'll be working or not, and thus, do not know if it is my real last night. Also, a huge rush of people came after the other waitress left, spoiling my plans to get drunk on the job and even sillier than usual. Granted I came home with fairly fat pockets, but what I really wanted was blurred vision.
In other strange news, I have gotten a disproportionate amount of comments about my ass from random people. It used to be that strangers would yell at me and tell me to smile, hmm...maybe I've turned my back to them. These comments range from: Hey you in the back! In the red shirt. Damn! I want to stick it in your ass! to [after I said, Wow, there was a bug in my eye!] Better than a bug up your ass [note: this came from my boss at the Sunroom, which triples the humor value] to You have a Britney Spears ass. I think there are more. So I have some theories on the subject:
And in another tidbit of news, on Monday, I am leaving for Minneapolis to see Sonic Youth at First Ave. I am prepared to be rocked. Incidentally, on 9/12, I will be returning to Minneapolis to see Bright Eyes, after spending the last three weeks immersed in a Conor Oberst obsession that makes me feel awful for ever dissing Stephanie and her Conor necklace.