Home Is…

…where you can dance around without any pants on. I guess you could do this at a gay club in the West Village, or even on a Tuesday night in the Castro now that I think about it (and you don’t even need to be dancing). Gah.

Well home will always be in NY, where my crazy family is.

Me and my cousins and sister having some fun.

I find myself homesick sometimes. Living in SF is like living in a bubble. The bubble is really awesome, don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t ask for anything more. I mean there are farmers market everyday, nearby mountains for hiking or skiing, and homemade-organic everything. But it seems when I come back to NY,  I realize how much I miss it.
Plus I miss Kara! This is my idea of fun or torture depending on how you look at it:


My parents moved this past spring to a new house in the same town about 3 miles away from where we grew up. The new house is really nice (even bigger) but it’s not the same. My parents still own the other house and are renting it out to another family. We went there yesterday to fix the water heater. Seeing my old house was weird. I was standing outside a “home” that wasn’t there anymore. I had mixed feelings about moving. But should I even care? I haven’t lived at home in ages. I live in SF now. My parents could have moved to Del Boca Vista if they wanted. Would it really matter?

Family BBQ at the new house with new babies! (picture collage from my cousin)

I guess ultimately it doesn’t. (But don’t move to Florida, seriously.) Home for me is being with my family wherever they are, and I’m excited that soon Chris will officially be a part of my family. (There’s still time to back away!) We had a BBQ on Saturday and it was the same drill – lots of meat, egg rolls, Rockland Bakery goodies, and screaming babies. We ended the night going to Target to buy stuff we didn’t need. It was a good time.

And home is still a no-pants zone, that should just be a given. 


2 thoughts on “Home Is…

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