Because sometimes you wish your heel clicks would bring you anywhere else.

Sure, New York has its moments, but whenever I travel I feel like I’m auditioning each city for a spot as my future home.

After schleping my prized possessions into a storage unit about two years ago, I reluctantly moved back in with my parents. In my mind this stint at home would last only a few months while I found a way to magically expand my bank account- so I brought just what was necessary to comfortably survive. I even endured a year of my dad’s poster of Paul McCartney hanging above my bed in order to reiterate the fact that yes, I had every intention of high tailing it out of there asap.

before you balk at the desperation of the situation and immediately transfer me to the basement in perpetual sweats with World of Warcraft, allow me to enlighten you on some of the oft-neglected pros of living at home.

I could just do the simple thing (avoiding all the worries of childbearing and later child-caring) and hit up MorphThing.com to just digitally figure this whole thing out, but I can’t seem to get myself to actually upload our pictures. Somehow, it seems like cheating.

In my mind I’ve gone as far as to start a list of baby names… knowing that I can’t exactly go too far off the beaten track as my guy HATES unusual baby names, citing that they only lead children to feel like “outsiders”.