No Place Like Home

I came to St. Louis, MO to visit my family over the July 4th holiday weekend.  It’s always nice coming home.  Before I arrive I always have lofty goals of writing, catching up on sleep, exercising, basically rejuvenating myself before I return to the daily urban grind.  Instead I just wind up overeating and watching Asian porn.

My mom tells stories by starting every sentence with, “I said…,” “Then she said…,” “And I went…,” and “I’m going…”  You’d think with that level of detail I would be able to follow, but I still don’t know who said what or where they went.

Missouri is known as the “Show Me State.”  They should amend this to, “Show Me Your Passive Aggressive State.”  Everywhere I’ve gone I’ve witnessed moments of passive aggressive awkwardness.  My brother said to my mother, “I guess I’ll just wait for coffee.”  I heard somebody say, “Wow, that’s a great parking spot, I was going for it, but I’m glad you got it!”  Probably my favorite is the bus signs all around the neighborhood, “Service terminated due to lack of funding.”

There’s no place like home.