House Rules


Not like I’ve been watching intently, or keeping a tally (let’s just say it’s 42… obviously because that’s the answer to life, the universe, and everything), but my next door neighbors spend less time at home than just about anybody I know. I am aware of this, of course, because I apparently spend more time at home than just about anybody I know. I guess it’s fair to say that I don’t get out much.

These days, “staying in” the majority of the time is partly a result of circumstance (home is also my workplace), but mostly by choice. Going out invariably means that regardless of the specific funtivities being pursued, a wonderama of aggravation and annoyance will also be on the menu. There will likely be roadway angst, and it almost certainly means that sooner or later I’ll have to deal with other people in some way, shape or form. So can you really blame me for frequently opting out of going out? (Answer: you cannot… unless you haven’t read those previous posts… in which case… go ahead and read them now…. no, really… you need to… we’ll all just sit here and wait for you.)

As to the nomadic neighbors, I know not where they go or what they do when they bolt our ocean-adjacent hood nearly every weekend, holiday, and seemingly a lot of the days in between… and in the grand scheme I don’t much care. Instead, I find myself wondering what they’re missing within their home, not what I’m missing outside of mine. And it’s not that I don’t understand or am incapable of appreciating wanderlust and all that it entails. As it happens, I racked up my fair share of travel, adventure, and nightlifery in my yute.


Just that at some point, I realized that I also had the ability to create my own space and place—a vastly preferable environment in most instances to whatever hideous event or public place you’re wanting to drag me out to. So while I have always been far too Caucasian to ever be deemed someone’s homeboy, I have absolutely no trouble at all these days being labeled a homebody. Instead of social stigma, it really should be a badge of honor. To me, the supreme comfort and utility of the well-appointed home simply can’t be beat as an entertainment and relaxation destination:

  • Home is where the coffee and drinks are reasonably priced.
  • Home is where Amazon Prime delivers all that stuff you didn’t know you needed until you suddenly decided your life wouldn’t be complete without it in your hot little hands in the next two days. (Imagine a world without homes, where we had to stalk and bring down UPS trucks like savages. Scary!)
  • Home is where you do that voodoo that you do to you (and we really don’t want any more detail than that about what happens when you’re alone and nobody’s looking).
  • Home is the one movie theater without screeching kids and annoying adults talking (unless of course you are the parents of vociferous offspring, and thus have to keep asking one another what you just missed).
  • Doesn’t matter how exotic or luxurious the locale, there is just no bed like your bed (unless your bed sucks, in which case get a new bed already Cletus… jeez).
  • Unless you’re stupid enough to use your computer at work, home is where your online porn is.
  • At home, the kitchen is always open (and even if you sometimes wish the chef was a bit better, the bar is always open, which makes you forget all about the chef’s shortcomings).
  • Home is where you don’t have to wear good clothes, wear the right clothes, or in some cases, wear clothes at all.
  • Seems like most human interaction these days takes place online anyway, so what are you really missing?
  • Home is where you don’t have to wonder what wild rides the toilet seat has taken (a more compelling reason, I cannot fathom).
  • Home is where naps happen. ‘Nuff said.
  • Home is also where you sometimes find people and pets who are actually happy to see you (and not just faking it like the rest of us).

And of course, home is where you’re really wanting to get back to whenever you’re out!


Main photo © iStock







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