On Our Own

I've been back home with my family for not even twenty-four hours and already, I want to be back in my own place. There's something unsettling about moving back with the fam after years and years of living on your own. It makes me lazy, really, and it's bad news.

Take, for example, this morning. I'm sick and I woke up freezing cold under my covers, so I go downstairs to try to procure a nice, warm breakfast. Except the problem is that I had forgotten that I had stepped back into an Asian household, so instead of being able to find eggs and bread to make myself a sunny-side-up-toast-dip, I found all sorts of weird meats and soups and vegetables in the fridge and a cassava cake on the counter. I couldn't even have cereal because there's only soy milk. I considered having cheese and crackers, but I couldn't do it because there was only processed cheese (Kraft Singles? ick) and No Name brand soda crackers in the cupboard. I popped a Ritz S'mores sandwich into my mouth. Oh no, no no no, not doing that again. So I was at a loss; I know you're supposed to starve a cold and all, but come on, a girl has got to eat. I was this close to having a bag of instant noodles, but you'll be proud to know that I didn't sink so low. I had a pizza pop instead.

Now, it wasn't exactly a pizza pop, it was a Hot Stuff, but I wasn't sure if saying that would have the same dramatic effect. Either way, it was a mixture of meatballs, cheese, and tomato sauce wrapped in some form of herb-y dough that I microwaved on high for one minute and forty-five seconds on a plate lined with paper towel (couldn't find any, used a tissue instead) and then let stand for two minutes before devouring. Mm, there's nothing like a nutritious breakfast to start the day, especially when I'm sick and leaving on tour tomorrow! Don't worry, I packed an arsenal of multivatimins and echinacea for that nice placebo effect, cough drops and throat lozenges so I can still talk to my kids, and packs of Neo Citran to zonk me out at nights. I take far, far better care of myself when I'm living on my own, I swear. You should see the meals I make, my roomie and I eat like Queens.

My brother, on the other hand, is about to embark on his very first living-on-your-own experience. He's being shipped to California for work and though he's only going to be there for six weeks, my parents are freaked out of their minds about how he's going to fare. I trust that he'll be just fine; of course, there's little to no doubt that he'll be living off frozen pizza, cans of soup and Kraft Dinner, but six weeks of that stuff won't kill him - it might make him grossly malnutritioned, but it won't kill him. I've been instructed to send him recipes. I think I'll just send reminders to eat some fresh fruits and vegetables. I've gotta start the kid out on this stuff slowly, one step at a time.

Take for example, the other night, when he and his girlfriend were going to make themselves and nice dinner. They bought some pork tenderloin and in her kitchen, she instructed him to just give it a rinse under the tap. He did as much, and then stood there, holding it in his hand and asked, "Now what?" She replied, "Well, you dry it." So he proceeds to wring it out. He tried to wring out a pork tenderloin LIKE A TOWEL.

This, ladies and gents, is my unfortunate brother who will be living on his own in Cali for six weeks. Send him recipes, my mother says? I think not. My emails will be more like: "Why don't you try eating an apple today? Or maybe buy some veggies that aren't pre-cut and frozen in a plastic bag?" Granted, I, his older sister who's been on her own for the past five years, just ate a Hot Stuff for breakfast.

I have nothing to say in defence of either of us.
12:38 pm