Hello Austin.

I've officially been an Austinite for one week!!

I'm super excited about that, and while I still don't have pictures (I'll tell y'all that story later), I do have lots to share about the move and what's been happening since then.

Sooo....here is is.

Last Friday I woke up early after going to bed late. I was super exhausted, kind of frustrated with certain parts of life (ugh, boys), and not excited about having to pack and move my stuff again. After moving out of my house and into a friend's apartment, then moving my extra stuff from the house into the office, then moving out of the apartment, I was SO not ready to move again.

Beazley, one of the current interns for TEDRD, was crazy kind enough to loan me his '92 Ford Ranger for my maiden voyage. But I still had a ton of stuff in my car, so I headed to the office well before eight to arrange things and figure out what went where and when.

And that's when I set off the burglary alarm. See, we have this alarm system that recently needed to be re-set. And, in fact, was re-set. But nobody told me, and, as I normally come in long after someone else has punched in their code, was blissfully unaware of the change. So I unlock the door, hear the beeps, punch in my code, and...nothing. No response. I try again. Nope, wrong answer. Suddenly the system starts screaming with siren noises. Seriously. Loud as can be, while I panic and call Kyle. Voicemail. Twice. Then I call Beazley. Voicemail. Then I call Luke, who actually answers, gives me the code, and I punch it in, then run for the phone to talk to the alarm company who are calling me to tell me there's a potential intruder in the building.

Alarm Company: We're calling in response to an alarm.
Me: Yeah, sorry, that was me. I didn't know they changed the codes.
Al-Co: How'd you get in?
Me: I have a key.
Al-Co: How'd you turn the alarm off?
Me: I got the code from a coworker.
Al-Co: What's your name?
Me: Carolyn.
Al-Co: What's your code?
Me: ****
Al-Co: What is the airspeed velocity of a coconut-laden swallow?
Me: African or European?

Okay, the last part (and half of the other) might have been a slight fabrication, but you get the gist. I spent the next couple of hours being harassed by Luke for not having/knowing the code, packing up, and trying not to panic because I was, in fact, actually moving to Austin.

I proceeded from there to the bank, where I held up the line and made the teller's day a living hell by attempting to not only deposit, but also access a large amount of money to pay for my move-in expenses. Then I dropped in to Eatcetera to pick up lunch from the counter guy who looks remarkably like Elijah Wood and happens to be about the same height as a hobbit.

(via)

Just so you know, asparagus-and-blue-cheese-cream sandwiches are delicious, but not the best travel food. Half of it ended up down my shirt before I left the island.

You should also know that a '92 Ford Ranger in which the bench seat no longer moves forward the originally intended amount is not all that comfortable for at 5'0" lady to drive. Not only did I have a pillow behind my back, but I had my legs fully extended in order to reach the pedals. And there is no cruise control. So I was over it before I hit Houston, and still had three hours to drive. Thankfully, I had Starbucks to keep me going.

There are no cupholders in the truck. I had to improvise.

I stopped in Brenham for a rest, and got a Blue Bell ice cream bar. It seemed appropriate, and it was delicious. Then I hopped back in the truck, situated my pillow, and drove on into Austin, and joined the rush hour traffic on the I-35 corridor.

Rush Hour + Not My Truck + No Rearview Mirror + Full Truck Bed = TERRIFYING

Not to mention that my cell phone, often used as my trusty navigator, had died 20 miles out. Just as I was ready to compose my last words and phone in my goodbyes, I found my exit, departed, and landed at my apartment complex. Seventy billion signatures and a lot of things I didn't really read later, I walked in the door to my new apartment.

And saw brown walls.

Not all the walls. Just two of them. "Accent" walls if you will.

Now you have to understand that I'm a girl who appreciates brown. It can be nice. Lots of people like it. I just happen to not be one of them.

It just doesn't play nice with the silver/grey/teal/yellow/lime green world I choose to live in.

So I trudged BACK to the leasing office, pouting, and asking for a reprieve from the "Otter" colored walls flanking my new home. They gave in, and assured me they could paint over it sometime next week (thank you!). They're still brown, but I have faith that they won't last.

In any case, I left the office, went back to my new and empty apartment, sat on the floor, and cried.

I was just a wee bit overwhelmed, y'all. It happens.

Then I sucked it up, and started unloading the truck. I met a neighbor (Stella, lives downstairs), and an older man saw me moving in alone, took pity on me, and helped me out, piling my stuff in the dining room to be sorted out later.

I went to bed on an air mattress that night after a three-hour phone conversation with my dear friend Kali, exhausted, overwhelmed, but HOME.