Home Sweet Home

Hello, friends.

We're all aware that I de facto relocated to Southern State for college, and somewhere along the way I fell in love with this damn city. I had every intention of hightailing it back to the Midwest as soon as I walked across the stage (THIS MAY! ZOMG I'M ABOUT TO HAVE A BACHELOR'S DEGREE I STILL OWN A TEDDY BEAR AND HAVE YET TO FILE A TAX.) but like I said, the universe had other plans. So slowly and surely, I've been mentally preparing myself for a life with a 30331 zipcode for the time being, and rather enjoying it. And by "mentally preparing" I mean learning where the nearest Five Guys is and coming up with ways to convince my landlady to let me paint the walls, as opposed to, you know, finding a grad school program or studying for the GED or coming up with ideas on how to pay my own rent.

Priorities, I've got them. Avoidance issues, too.

My mother, predictably, is none too thrilled with her absentminded daughter fending for herself 700 miles away from her maternal, loving touch. My sisters either. Dad's okay with it, though, although he wouldn't turn me away (or, frankly, be surprised) if I showed up on our doorstep a year from now with nothing but a broken spirit and my iPod.

Barring the occurrence of some incredible, handsome Deux Ex Machina and I get married at my graduation party* or something, I'm guessing I'll be in a starter house of some kind for awhile by myself. Nothing excites me more than a place of my own that I can decorate and make my little sanctuary. It would be equal parts beach house, swanky loft, sports bar, and TAKE THAT, MOTHER.

*should I have it in Southern City or go back home? Dilemma!

There would be cheap posters on the walls, mismatched vintage furniture, and a refrigerator chock full of magnets and pictures. Every room would be painted, there would be framed pictures of neat stuff everywhere, candles. It would probably be a little cluttered, lip gloss would be in the kitchen, a collection of flip-flops by every door and mirrors everywhere. Mountains of books, CDs, and DVDs would stay perched on every shelf. Surround sound, duh. Maybe even a hamburger phone! I'd keep sweatshirts and cozy socks in the living room, and I'd have a big TV in my bedroom and an easy chair (the older the better) so I can watch The Office all day. Little Sister got me a Michael Jackson poster for Christmas, so that would have to go someplace prominent, obvs. Mismatched silverware, LOTS of wineglasses, with sunflowers or tulips at the table. All the lovely kitchen decor will distract from the fact that I cannot cook, see.

Every time my mom visits she'll bury her head in her hands and say what is all this junk? What is that writing on the wall above your bed? When's the last time you vacuumed? And I will smile and just be like, it's my house and it's perfect. And then I will win her over with this fellow:

Describe to me your dream house! Virtual housewarming!