Living at home comes with major perks (ie. endless crates of of Kirkland bottled water), but there have been a few moments when I really felt like grabbing the apartment classifieds.
Example:
[At the dinner table]
My mother: Got the mail today. Michelle’s pap test came out normal.

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I’m so happy for my girl, Jordin Sparks. Perhaps I’ll soon get sick of that enormous smile plastered on billboards everywhere, but for now, let me have my moment. American Idol is so wholesome and manufactured — there are no limo-ride sobs, racist tirades or obligatory skinny-dipping footage — and yet I still love it. [...]

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I just heard screams coming from downstairls. Sigh. I guess Apolo just won Dancing With The Stars. My life at home runs on a carefully-caculated TiVo schedule. (By the way, did you vote for Jordin? Did you? Did you? Did you?!?!) I look at my parents with their Dream Dinners and TV trays, testing out [...]

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When my grandmother used to take my sister and I to Chuck E. Cheese, she would sneak a few of those plastic play-area balls into her purse, just so we’d have something to toss around when we got home.
Grandmothers are so cool.

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