Mi casa es su casa

Yesterday my friend had a Daytona 500 party. I volunteered to bartend for her. Did this for two reasons:
1- I really enjoy bartending. (I like the control you have, you get to talk to everyone at the party, its fun to make up crazy concoctions and experiment and then make people drink them, and it is a really good position for people watching)
2- I was still a good friend because I went to the whole party, but didn't really have to watch the race because I had other things to do.

Good times.

I asked my dad why they call it the Daytona 500 if it is only 200 laps... he took a deep breath and told me that it is because they race for 500 miles... then hung his head in shame. Sorry Dad.

After the party I hung out with my dad for a little bit (when the above question was asked) then headed 'home' to my mom's new house, my first time there. She gave me the grand tour. I don't have a room... her exercise equipment does... shake it off Holly... you haven't lived with her for 4 years.
I remember posting on my old blog that I was all upset because my little sister took over my princess room at my old house- and they moved me into hers. My mom had told me that I could decorate it any way that I wanted. I didn't have too much of an opinion because I am never there but I told her that I have always wanted red walls. That was my only request.

But I didn't get red walls. No big deal, took it in stride. Maybe my mom wasn't ready to be that wild. So imagine my suprise when I see my little sister's new room with its walls painted half hot pink and half lime green!
I know it probably sounds ugly, but it is really cute. But is that really better than red?

My little sister served me again...


I remember talking to Kait when I was leaving Egypt about how I did not feel like I was going home, but rather that I was leaving home. 'Home' is a funny concept when you think about it. What does it really mean? Is it where your parents are? Then I have 3. Is it where you grew up? Then I have 8. Is it where you can attribute most of your childhood memories? That's actually a place where I never lived... my grandmother's house. Does it follow the saying 'home is where the heart is"? Because mine is scattered over too many places to count. Or maybe "home is where you hang your hat". I guess that one might hold a little more true... I feel very 'at home' there, until my landlord shows up when I am walking around in a towel...

This whole concept can be rather tough to deal with- people attach a lot of emotions to their homes. I never thought that I would because I had so many growing up... but I experienced that for the first time about a month ago when I went on a date with one of the guys who is currently living in my grandmothers old house (I know, it seems kind of odd right?). Wow it was weird to be in there again... almost had an emotional breakdown... talk about a bad way to end a first date. ha ha ha.

Maybe home has to be thought of as a broader concept than a domestic dwelling. If I considered my home to be southern Minneosta that would be more all-inclusive. But shouldn't it be someplace where you always feel like you can go back to and be right 'at home'? I don't think this could be the case then.

I guess I would surmise that home has to do with the people who are around you. People who you consider family, whether there is a blood relationship or not. Then I know that I will always have a home somewhere around the world. And quite a few, as I consider myself fortunate enough to have many friends all over that I consider close enough to call family. That is a comforting thought.

And you are always welcome in my 'home' too.

I have to stop this blog now... or I never will... too many run-on thoughts.