I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was my 20th birthday, the week before my second year in college, and it had been going swimmingly so far. That day, my best friend, Delia, woke me up by song and treated me to birthday brunch. Afterwards, we went to have a spa day and you won't believe what happened: I got a job! I didn't get just any job. No, I got my dream job and the one I had been lusting after for an eternity. By eternity, I just meant all summer since it was now August 22. Ok, let me start from the beginning because I know I can be a bit hard to follow and the last thing I want is to lose you before we even begin.

I'm Mary-Jane Quinn Rinaldi, but everyone calls me Quinn. Well, my friends and family-- and anyone who actually knows me-- call me Quinn. To the rest of the world, I'm MJ. I'm a bit of an Internet and local celebrity; I'm a comedienne. You know, a female comedian? Anyway, I'm super funny and I've been doing shows for about three years now. When walking down the halls of my university, however, I saw an ad looking for someone to hold a long-term position as the in-house entertainment of a comedy club on another university's campus. At first, I thought it was weird that I would see a flyer at my college, but then I realized that desperation could drive people to do crazy things. In this case, it was to snag talent from another school. Regardless, I applied and, needless to say, I got the job! I remember it like it just happened-oh wait, all of this really did sort of just happened.

Delia and I were sitting in a sauna, relaxing and opening our pores for the thorough cleansing that would soon follow. While we were in there, my phone began to ring. Honestly, I did not pay any attention to see who was on the other line of the incoming call before I picked up the phone. After all, it was my birthday and I figured people would be calling to wish me various birthday wishes. So, you could only imagine my surprise when I answered the phone to find the voice of a Karen Landry, Dean on Student Affairs, on the line. The nature of the call was to apologize for not calling me sooner but to alert me that I got the job as an in-house entertainer if I was still interested. Of course, I told her how happy I was to get the call and that I would gladly accept. From there, she discussed the terms of my hiring, which was quite simple: move into my university-owned apartment with some kid who really was 50 Shades of Irrelevant; bus tables at the comedy club during the weeknights, with the exception of Finals week; and perform a set each weekend, which could not be offensive, something else, and something or another. Upon completion of the school year, my credits would transfer back to my university and I would then decide if I wanted to renew my contract. I would get paid every two weeks for bussing tables; on the fifteenth and thirtieth of each month, I would get an extra check for my weekly performances. Oh, plus tips! I got to make and keep tips! Then, she said something about some rules and that my boss decides something because he would be in charge of advertising and doing things. As you can see, I was not really paying attention but I understood the gist of everything: don't make Boss mad. I was set to move in the following week and Ms. Landry told me she would email me a document about everything she just mentioned and to call her back if I had any questions.

Once I got off the phone, I spilled the details to Delia immediately as we shuffled our way to the massage room. We hiked ourselves up on our respective tables and waited for our masseuses. She was really excited for me, and began talking about ways she could plan an escape from work so she could come visit me. Delia is 24 so she actually had a life, responsibilities, and a committed relationship. We met in high school through the Big Sister/Little Sister tradition. Every year, seniors would "adopt" a little sister, either a freshman or a transfer student, and show them the ropes. Delia was my big sister and we've been close ever since. She was there for me and would come back to visit me when she went away for college. Sometimes I would visit her, but it was much harder when I did not have a driver's license and playing Hooky meant missing six classes as opposed to her missing one or two, depending on the day. After our massages, manicures, pedicures, and facials, we went our separate ways with promises to hang out again before I left for my new university. That sounds so great, huh?! Me leaving for my new university with a super cool job and whatnot. We would have spent the whole day together but Sebastian, Delia's boyfriend, was sick and she was going to tend to him. Meanwhile, I just drove home, baeless.

Taking my usual way home to the outskirts of town where the homes have more space and sit on more acres, I thought about what I would do for my sets. I had a whole entire year of comedy to fill. Each weekend had a new set, but I would just repeat the performance from Friday on Saturday. I thought about doing a continuation program, that way everything would make sense and be cohesive. At the same time, I would have to make it so that people would still find things funny if they were not at the performance the weekend prior. I've been doing stand-up comedy for three years now, so I started at the beginning of my junior year in high school. I got my start when my friend, Micah Jenkowitz, was supposed to perform a couple songs at an Open Mic night. He had signed up as MJ because he hated his name but loved his initials. When the emcee called his name, he had such horrible stage fright and could not leave his seat. The last thing he wanted to do was stand up to leave, letting everyone in the room know that he was bailing because he was so nervous. Instead, I hopped up on the stage and told the crowd jokes and the rest is history. It just so happened to work out that Micah's initials could be a shortened version of my legal name. I became a hit at that coffee shop and began gaining a little traction behind my name. By the time I left for college, I was pretty much a celebrity in our town and definitely high school royalty. I even have a Facebook fan page as MJ Quinn, separate from my personal one as Quinn Rinaldi. My Twitter followers easily surpass 500,000 by a couple grand or so, while my couple thousand Instagram followers are awaiting a single post. As for Micah, we are still friends, but he is constantly super busy. That moment definitely did not stop him Mikey from pursuing his love of music. He just took his music through a different route and, now, writes songs for local bands and artists.

Just as quickly as I had left the spa, I found myself pulling into the horseshoe driveway of my house. I could have pulled into the garage, which is off the side of the house but why? Getting out and locking my Range Rover SUV, I headed inside the doors of my family's $1.4 million dollar, Atlanta estate.

"Happy Birthday!" My parents exclaimed.

My dad blew on the cheap, purple kazoo while my mom threw purple and silver confetti on me. These are my parents and welcome to Rinaldi home-- where the food's good, the music's on fleek, and the parents are overbearing. I smiled politely and processed in a manner that was no different than I normally would have, had my parents not been bombarding me with singing. They followed behind me as I retreated to the kitchen and began cutting the cake, ignoring my parents' presence. I know that I'm supposed to wait awkwardly until the singing stops, make a wish, blow a little spit dribble on the cake, and then I'm allowed cut a piece. However, it was my birthday and I did not want to follow the rules today and began gathering a plate and knife to dissect my cake. My parents' singing was off-and I mean off in every single way: off-pitch, off-tune, and off-key-but it finally stopped as I shoveled another forkful of cake into my mouth.

They each planted a kiss on the sides of my temple as I mumbled "Thanks" and gave them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek. My parents are pretty awesome. My dad is a music producer and music supervisor. He basically puts music in the movies and shows. When he's not working on a big project like that, he's producing albums with other artists. One time, Mikey, you remember him, even worked with my dad on a song. Them working together is very rare though, since Mikey is just starting and Dad is more established in the industry. The one time they did work together was to make song to raise money for relief aid to some country where something horrible happened. My mom is definitely not musically gifted; she's an anesthesiologist so she makes a bunch of money for doling out legal narcotics to patients. Basically she's a well-paid drug dealer.

"So I got that job I was telling you guys about," I started between bites, not bothering even to take a seat while I ate. "The dean called me today and offered me the position."

"That's great!" My dad exclaimed as my mom did her signature happy dance, which included shaking her fists spastically in front of her chest as she hopped from one foot to the other, before reaching out for a hug. She squeezed my shoulders as I swallowed the remnants of cake left in my mouth.

"When do you start?" She said with a smile.

"I can move in as early as the week before classes start because I'm employed by the university. However, because I don't have any responsibilities or orientations, I don't have a set time."

"Well, you should probably find out about your roommate and see when she's moving in and what's convenient for your schedules," my mom suggested.

"I'll be in one of the off-campus apartments the university owns though, remember?" I responded.

"That's right," my mom sighed, obviously forgetting that I would not be in a traditional dorm. "Well, you should still email her just to be courteous."

"Yeah, you're right," I said, picking up my iPhone and opening the email Dean Landry sent me, which included the information I needed on my new roommate: Lennox James. I began swiping my finger and scrolling away absent-mindedly.

"Are you listening to me, Mary-Jane?" My mother said sternly, slapping the granite countertop to get my attention. She only called me by my real name when she was upset.

"Yeah, Mom!" I exclaimed. "I'm pulling up the information packet now so I can find out the chick's email address so I can email her like you said."

"Oh," Mom started softly before giving me a soft smile to make up for her outbust. "Sorry, Quinn, I didn't realize. You can't blame me though. You are always on that phone, zoning out from reality."

"Oh, Lisa," Dad started. "You know, we're in the technology age. Everything is different from when we were kids, you know. Customer service representatives weren't automated and musicians actually had talent," he started. He was obviously throwing a little bit of shade towards whichever artist he was working with this week.

I giggled softly before piping up, "You mean-they had phones when you guys were my age?"

Mom and Dad glared at me for making them the butt of an old joke as I defensively put my hands up and backed away from the counter. They eventually turned away from me and went on with a different conversation. Mom was asking Dad how work was going since he just threw someone, probably Katy Perry, under the bus. When the glaring ended, I picked up my plate and fork and deposited into the dishwasher before retreating back upstairs to my room to draft the email to send to my new roommate.

Hey, the email started. The name's Mary-Jane Rinaldi, but I go by my middle name: Quinn. I'm going to be your rommate this year. I'm a Philosophy major from Atlanta and a transfer from Sykes University, which is about forty miles from town. Overall, I'm pretty easygoing. I don't know what to really say or what the apartment needs, in terms of furniture and communal stuff. I'm going to drive to school for move-in and I have an SUV so I can bring some big stuff without a problem, if that helps at all. I was thinking of moving in on the last Tuesday of summer break, since classes start on Monday and I want to look around to get know the area a bit first. My number is 404-555-5404, if you think of something or need to talk to me right away. -Quinn

P.S. It really is the same number forwards and backwards.

I sent the message from my phone before plopping down on my bed. I hadn't realized that I had been pacing the room as I was composing the email and my thoughts. As soon as my back hit the bed, the thought hit me: I need to go shopping before move-in. I grunted as I unlocked my phone and opened a blank note page to make a list of the things I would need for my return to university living: new bedding, definitely more clothes for my performances on the weekend, whatever Lennox needs me to bring, and some school supplies. I still had most of the other stuff needed from freshman year, like my teakettle and docking station. As I jotted things down, I soon received two chimes from my phone, one was an email and another a text message.

Hey, it's Lennox :), the text message read. I then checked the email to figure out what was going on and why Lennox just sent me a short message. The email mentioned that with off-campus, university-owned apartments, we are responsible for furnishing everything ourselves. Lennox figured we could split the common areas up between us. She would bring everything for the kitchen since she loved to cook and knew the perfect gadgets, while I was in charge of decorating the bathroom. In terms of the living room, she would bring the couch and armchair if I managed the TV and its stand, along with a coffee table. She said she would text me so I would have her number and would send pictures of the sofa and chair. She didn't have a Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram but she was a junior majoring in psychology. Deciding on a coffee table and TV stand would have to wait until I saw the other pieces of furniture, but I could start looking at nice area rugs. However, with the freedom to decorate the bathroom how I wanted, my mind began swirling. Immediately, my mind wandered to a tropical beach theme with palm trees and seashells but that was so cliché. Next, I decided on something less "barf" and more "bang." I thought about modeling the bathroom after the one in The Big Bang Theory with a shower curtain that included the Periodic Table of Elements. Eventually, I decided to scale back with my nerdness and dorkocity and settled for postponing all chances of my being an interior designer until I actually saw the space and met my roommate. Though she sounded super laidback already, the last thing I wanted was to come off as a controlling freak. Either way, I plopped my phone on the bed besides me, shut my eyes, and began thinking about my upcoming year and planning my opening set.

Everything had to be perfect and this year was going to be awesome.