Home is not where the heart is, it's where the people holding onto your leash stay. The photo above is one of very few pictures where my family has actually stood still long enough not to bite each others' heads off in front of the camera.

This is my father. He was raised to believe that the man ran the house hold, the children behaved, and the women cleaned and cooked. Boy, was he in trouble when he stepped into this house. Lately he's been trying to shove a whole bunch of scholarship information down my throat. I know he means well, but he just doesn't understand that I just don't want so much paper in my trash can.

This is my mother. She was raised just like my father was, but doesn't show it. She, well, she just doesn't like thins to happen without her knowlage or "permission." She reads so deeply into things that her mind can take one word and paraphrase it into an entire book, and that is never a good thing, especially when she's angry.

As if my parents weren't enough to drive me out of the house as soon as I turn 18, this little brat is. Rude, obnoxious, a complete slob, lazy, and these are his good qualities.