A few days ago during the ride home from work with my father, we had a conversation about my post Emerson plans. He was a bit shocked by my willingness to discuss such things since we can't talk about my upcoming move into my first apartment without fighting.

After a bit of bickering, I told him what I've been telling everyone who asks about such things. That although I enjoy going to school in Boston, there is no way in hell I'll stay after graduation. My plan is to move to New York City and do the page program at CBS (basically a paid internship). So I won't have to deal with paying for two leases, my grandparents have kindly offered to let me stay in my aunt's old room. This would also give me time to look for an apartment.

My father was fine with the plan up until the last part.

"You're not living with Gramma and Grampa!" he said with such conviction and disdain you'd think I told him I was dropping out of school to become a prostitute.

I proceeded to remind him of two things:

1. The aformentioned fact that I refuse to live in Boston.
2. When I was younger and discussing college was simply something I did to pass the time, I clearly remember my stepmom saying none of her children were allowed to move back home after college. I (of course) took these words for gospel. My father (of course) thought I was insane for doing so.

"No one is kicking you out of your home, Sara," My dad replied. "You'll live at home for the summer while we look for an apartment and in August you can move out."

Now if you're a loyal reader of this blog, you should remember a post from a few weeks ago in which I formally declared that after this summer I would no longer be calling New Jersey home or spending more than a week in this God forsaken state. My father however refused to accept my hatred of the state as a reason why I shouldn't live here and just like that my carefully constructed plan crumbled like a fucking cookie.

As my role model Michael Corleone would say, "Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in!"