Guh. The apartment is empty now. It's been home for 11 months - feels weird seeing it like that. My dad's friend came over, with his two kids - they live in France with their mother, but come over here sometimes. I can't relate to them, and it didn't help that Tiva came to the house (I can't afford storage, so everything is being 'stored' in my old room). "Hi, this is my fiance..." is generally not the best way to relate to teens, and they ended up talking more with my parents.
My room is full of boxes, but thanks to Tiva the bed is set up. If I hustle, I can have the room looking proper by tomorrow night. It's cooler here than the apartment. If it isn't already apparent, I'm exhausted. Going to bed soon.
Also, the Ford F150 Harley-Davidson Edition drives like a boat - except that boats generally turn better. It's high up enough that it's hard to gauge one's relative speed, and the shocks are overzealous - any more than a 20 minute ride makes me nauseous. It's black, inside and out, but this is countered with a decent AC, its only saving grace. The body was not made for rough work, the steering is too limber for something its size - sneeze, and you're looking at a rebuild. Basically a truck for people who don't like trucks - you could paint the body pink and re-release it as an unnecessarily girly "woman's truck". I like the Volvo wagon ('94 940, silver, fabric interior) better.
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