Well ladies and gents, here's the biggest news from the past couple weeks. I moved. Yep, AGAIN. The third house in six months. Ask me how stoked that makes me. Go on, I DARE you.

The old house was put up for sale. I was very sad. Tears were shed. I loved that house. But I was very fortunate to find a place to live literally right around the corner. So moving day came and went. My first day in the new house was spent putting things away and arranging my space. Assuming they were at work, I anxiously waited for my new roommates to come home. No one came. 

The next morning I woke up, and groggily stumbled into the kitchen. It was quiet. No one was home. I hate being alone. Hate hate hate, double hate, LOATH ENTIRELY. (Name that movie) I turned on the tv  just for the companionship of voices. 

On the third night, the front door opened. A ROOMMATE! Nearly bursting with excitement for human interaction, I switched off the tv, and readied myself for introductions. New Roommate A. had other plans. She shut the door, took off her shoes, went into her room, and shut the door. Hard. This sequence has been repeated every night since then. 

By the fifth and sixth days, I was basically on the verge of rocking back and forth. I began talking to the tv. Of course, I didn't make things any better by listening to the following:

Good thinking, Chantelle.

Then the unthinkable happened. Another roommate came home one night. She turned and said "Hi!" Part of me wanted to jump on her screaming "I'M CHANTELLE AND I WANT TO BE YOUR VERY BEST FRIEND NEVER LEAVE ME ALONE AGAIN LET'S WATCH MOVIES AND BRAID EACH OTHERS HAIR AND MAKE FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS!" Instead I composed myself and said, "Hey! I'm Chantelle." Then she went downstairs and I went to bed beaming.