-FREEEEEEDOM!!!  After three months (that’s 89 days or 2,136 hours or 7.7 million seconds) of living at home with my parents, I’ve finally sprung loose and moved back to good ol’ New York City.  No more asking my dad for rides.  No more having my mom throw out my old, holey underwear against my will.  I’ve returned to civilization and I’m ready to experience the city in all of its glory once again.  Just as soon as I can replace those eleven pairs of boxers.

-You learn a lot about your parents when you move back home at twenty-five.  For instance, my dad’s advice consists of eight interchangeable catchphrases: “Don’t worry about anyone but yourself,” “Sometimes you gotta pay your dues,” “It’ll put hair on your chest,” “It builds character,” “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do,” “Go ask your mother,” “Always look out for number one,” and my personal favorite, “Show some class for God’s sake.”

-My mom, on the other hand, is incapable of remembering my email address, no matter how many times I tell her and despite the fact that she’s been emailing me there for four years.  I’m like, Mom, just email me@aaronkaro.com.  Which part can’t you remember?

-While home, I discovered that running on your old high school track is like twenty times tougher than running on a treadmill.  Especially when the girls JV lacrosse team is staring at your sorry ass.