There's no place like it!

My trip to Houston last month left a bad taste in my mouth, and not in a good way! I must admit that it was nice to get away to warmer weather and to see my BFsF, but things were just so different. It was nothing like I imagined it to be. I had a picture in my mind of what was going to happen and what things were going to look like, but reality hit me like a ton of jagged bricks that were coated in dog poop. The thing I learned from my trip was that you can never go home again.

I first experienced that horrible feeling after high school. I left California to go to school in Texas and I was away for quite a while. Then my friend invited me to be in her cotillion there, and I was so excited to see my friends and hang out at the places we used to hang out. Much to my dismay, I discovered that they built a huge strip mall next to my favorite pizza joint - which closed down as a result of the loss in business. A lot of my friends weren't friends with each other. The people who moved into my old house painted it yellow. They even replaced my favorite San Francisco anchor man, Dan Ashley. I felt as if I'd become a relic... one of those nineteen year old relics.

I went back to Houston with the intent of making that place my home. Fast forward to me moving to Chicago and visiting Houston. Bah! The same thing happened. What I refused to acknowledge was the fact that the world is in a constant state of change. It's something that just keeps happening and I just have to live with it even though it's one of the most terrible things ever. It's kind of like when the president makes a speech. This doesn't just happen to me, either. My friend Shawn moved to Dallas and he came back to Chicago to see Wicked, only to find that Ana Gasteyer was no longer playing Elphaba.

Either it's some cosmic coincidence or someone up there hates hearing me whine. Just this week, I was walking down the street and someone actually asked me for directions. I proudly helped them and went along, waving to people I recognized like Tony the mail man and all of the people at the bank. Sometimes I feel like Fonzie when I walk into some restaurants. One of my friends at the gym who knew I was in Houston said to me when I got back: "Welcome home." Then I thought to myself that I really AM home. Home is wherever I make it. Home is also the palce where you're loved by people who matter, like when you have to spend Christmas on a military base with your military family who still give you a hard time about not remembering birthdays or anniversaries. GEEZ! GET OFF MY BACK ALREADY!