New House!

So, we’re all moved in. Yay!

And my transfer went smoothly, so I’ve been working for the last couple of days at my new department store, though I still have every plan in the world of going somewhere else. The money thing isn’t going too swell, but we’re working on it. I think it’s taking J and M a little more getting used to than me, ‘cos J still gets on craigslist to do random shopping, and they both get a little titchy when they see something they want and the money thing comes up. I don’t think they either of them notice. (Will now that I’ve written that. Or will when I post it.)

Tomorrow, the internet gets turned on, hopefully. J has an appointment to check on L, and his arrival. Which is imminent. Yay! And I work. And then I have to go to my mom’s house and collect shit, and need to get a hold of my aunt’s ex boyfriend thingie and get the dish strainer, and my pillows and… Stuff. Maybe the giant hamper-thingie in the back of Mom’s house. Everything in here is so crowded already, I might skip out on furniture.

We got the washer, today, too. Yay!

We’ve been watching a lot of TV, lately. It’s okay, I suppose. A bunch of movies that are fairly ancient that I haven’t seen, so that’s fun. Yippee.

So, M called me gorgeous the other day, and I contested this, because it annoyed me that he would bother calling me that. And so I said I wasn’t, but then he mentioned later an exercise he heard about, listing reasons one thinks one is attractive. And I had to explain that it wasn’t about that I think I’m ugly. It’s that I think my looks are the least important element of my attractiveness. I have nothing to do with my looks. I don’t put any work into it. With the occasional diet. But anyway, I don’t like the focus on the physical. The question occurred to me, though, the automatic compliment for a girl is about her looks. I mean, I guess you can’t get too much more of an impression, but hell, just wait for me to open my mouth, you’ll get a new one to go with.

But my point was, it’s like, “Hey, great tits.”
“Yes, they are great tits. Can I help you?”
“You have beautiful lips.”
“Yes. Ask me about the scar in them, that’s a good story.”
“I didn’t even notice.” Because it would be assumed that the scar is a bad thing, and as such should be dismissed. You know, like the event that caused it should be dismissed, too, I guess? I don’t know, I like scars. Although, some do have some stupid stories. Cat scratches, a trampoline spring in my case, fell down some stairs, but most of them are pretty good.

But my appearance is one element of a million that makes me attractive, and it’s the least important one to me, because… mostly because I don’t really get to look at me all that much. I think. I don’t know. Just not my favorite thing about me. I’m witty, intelligent, knowledgeable (These are all three different ways to be smart.), literate, thoughtful, a natural handiwoman, physically and mentally powerful, and I can engage in philosophical conversation, and even (especially) drunk, I’m pretty happy, if a little edgy, but that’s just paranoia and there’s nothing for that.

Anyway. K is pretty much used to our new place. J seems to be pretty miserable with the whole L thing, and we’re eagerly awaiting him. K has been a little too hyperactive, lately, because he can’t go outside due to weather suckage. Bloody rain, bloody hot, bloody humid. Two of three. So he’s been hopping and running and jumping and such, and just been so cute and annoying. Right now he’s standing on the end of the couch and falling onto his butt enthusiastically.

I’m going back to former home on Thursday, I suppose, Going to see family friend and grab stuff. J’s appointment and internet tomorrow, and stuff.