home is where the chambered muscular organ in vertebrates that pumps blood received from the veins into the arteries is.

For most, going home is a brilliant way to feel safe and loved again. Home can be a sanctuary, a haven for lost souls and wandering thoughts, a fresh of breath air.

In my case it is also a really good way to make you happy you’re not a redneck.

In an effort to stay away from if not violently maim and torture Jeff Foxworthy and his pathetic excuse for a career, I will not reference redneck tendencies in a negative connotation as we all know and have certainly grown to love them.

In my continuing and self effacing advance towards normalcy I took a recent break from bars and parties to make a visit to the lands of whence I was born and reared. Good ole sunny Virgin-I-AY. I ate some home made beef jerky, rode on some motorcycles, went up in a cherry picker, threw bachi balls at cats and drank beers on the porch with my brothers.

Yee-haw I miss it sometimes. Especially when I’m sitting on a patio in a NYC restaurant having just paid $9 for a beer freezing cold in my attempt to be outdoors in the spring, hating the horns honking in my face, wishing I had remembered my metro card, worrying how I need to save enough cash for a cab so I wont have to go to the deli ATM where the Mexican sandwich maker looks at me like he’s going to kidnap and lock me in a hollowed hole in his basement, still waiting for the waitress to hurry up with my artichoke hummus. Damn.

Having said that, if I were to return home permanently I would be either constantly and dangerously annoyed by the stupids or likely take to throwing myself under pickup trucks when things like this happen, http://officerbuttbaby.blogspot.com/2005/01/tracy-goes-to-west-virginia-has.html. Although this did not take place in my home town, it is safe to say it could very well have as the aforementioned towns are similar in residential make up in regards to physical proclivity and mental fortitude.

heeeeeyyyy Tracy! what in the heeel are you doin home?

In conclusion, I believe that the reasons I like home are significantly proportionate to and do not negate the reasons I like NYC.

While they differ in every possible way this does not discontinue my wish to mash these places and feelings all together into a big ball of great shopping/ bars that stay open until 5am/ being able to see 12 different races in one city block/ eating the best pizza ever/ having beer cigarettes and liquor delivered to your door at any hour/ meeting possibly hundreds of new people in a months time and guys with mullets that have mullets because they are old rednecks and do not even realize mullets are actually back in style in most large cities/ driving on the country roads listening to loud music/people who say yall 4 times each sentence/ rolling down a grassy hill in the park and not worrying about the pile of drunk bums peeing on each other at the bottom/ trucks with tires bigger than the width of the truck itself/ kids with guns.

Well I guess kids with guns are synonymous.

Bye yall.