Prelude: Bad things always happen in threes

Well, where to begin. The last couple days have been an insane ride and a compete emotional roller coaster. But before I get into any of the California excitement, you're going to need some background information:

Months ago, when my transfer from the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities (the U of M) to California State University-Northridge (CSUN) was confirmed, I booked my 9:30am flight to Los Angeles. I knew my transfer student orientation was September 2nd, and classes at the U of M usually start on the Tuesday after Labor Day (September 6th this year), I assumed that CSUN's schedule was the same. This is not so. The day before I left (two days ago. God, it seems like ages ago), I discovered that classes started today. Today, as in the day after I flew in to LA. Great. Cool. I had thought that I would have a whole week to get settled, find a job/internship, and explore a bit before classes started. Nope, not so. All I can say is my summer ended very abruptly.

As the saying goes, bad things always happen in threes. Number two in this series was terrifying. I realized that, in my excitement those months ago, I had mistakenly booked my flight for 9:30 PM. Not AM, PM. Meaning I wouldn't be flying into LAX until close to 11pm Pacific time. Meaning I wouldn't be getting to my campus until probably after midnight. Meaning there was no way someone was going to be working there to let me into my apartment/dorm (I will rant about the important distinction between these two housing complexes later). Holy shit. I can't explain to you how stressful this was for me, but thank god I was able to get on an earlier flight. However, this entailed Brian (my amazing boyfriend of over 2 and a half years) driving me to the lightrail at 4:15AM and then riding it with me so I could make it to the airport by 5 and get on that flight. Thank god I have a wonderful boyfriend who was more than happy to take that mini adventure with me.

BUT. This change in plans led to bad thing number three. After a final drink at Mannings (a dive bar a half block walk away from my house that serves super strong 2-4-1's after 10:00pm every night) with some close friends, Brian and I headed home around midnight to cook some food. At around 1am I decided it was time for bed. At around 1am was also when Brian realized he was missing his keys. We needed those keys to get to the lightrail in three hours. Sam and Matt (awesome roommates) and Tess (awesome fun friend) had gotten home from Mannings by then, so they helped search while I got ready for bed. After about 45 minutes of turning up nothing, Brian came to the realization that he must have locked his keys in his car, even though we couldn't seem them through the windows. Frustrated and exhausted, I 'went to bed', but obviously didn't sleep until a little while later when Brian walked into my room, jingling his keys. Crisis averted, I passed the fuck out for an hour or so.

After my little powernap, Brian woke me up and I put the finishing touches on packing up my room in preparation for my subleaser, and we were off. A small car ride and about a half hour on the lightrail later, I was standing in the airport with a ticket in my hand, a 79lb suitcase headed for my plane, and tears streaming down my face as Brian headed back to the lightrail.

That was yesterday, August 28th. It was a bittersweet goodbye, Minneapolis.

UP NEXT: What the fuck, do you think I'm 12 years old?! And where the fuck is LA?!