|Good morning, Karl.|
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|Carrie and Fred from Portlandia... might as well be a pic of me and my friends.|
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Just one year ago I was one of those San Franciscans. My roommates and I woke up at eight to shower, fix our hair, do our makeup, and dress cute but not like we were trying too hard. Outfit checks definitely occurred and were definitely necessary.
(image via http://www.sfgate.com/)
An hour and a half later, we took a 30 minute bus ride down to the Marina district to hangrily stand in line for 20 minutes with a hoard of other hangry people until we finally sat down at the back patio of the Tipsy Pig.
|So casual. So cool. |
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|STRAWBERRY FIELDS. FOREVER.|
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One year later, living with my grandparents in Vallejo, Sunday brunch is a little bit different.
First of all, the "b" in brunch does not have the honor of being capitalized. It's not that my meal this morning wasn't a great brunch, it just wasn't a "San Francisco Brunch." Much like overpriced handbags, the label is everything, y'all. Hoards of people were not lined up outside of Grandma's kitchen to grab a plate. Although, people have been known to go crazy over her brownies and beef jerky. I'm one of those people. Luckily, I get first dibs as her (favorite) granddaughter. Number one out of nine grandchildren, twelve if you count her great-grandchildren. It gets lonely up here, but I've got much sought-after snacks for company.
Second, rather than waking up to shower and get dressed, I walked downstairs dressed in an oversized, stained Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince book T-shirt (that I got for free at Toys R Us of all places), gym shorts, and bare feet. I definitely did not look like I was trying too hard for this brunch. There were no outfit checks other than checking in the mirror for sleepy eye boogers and dried saliva on my face. Grandma was in a muumuu and Grandpa was dressed to head over to the yacht club to hang out on his sailboat. Oh, glorious retirement life.
Another difference was that there wasn't much of a commute or wait this morning. Grandpa and I just walked over to the dining table when Grandma said breakfast was ready. I really wasn't even that hungry, but Grandma insisted that I "just sit down and at least eat a little bit." The only hangry, waiting creatures were Taco and Pancho (my grandparents' dogs) who stared at us with longing puppy-dog eyes. Grandma gave in and fed them some leftovers.
No mimosas or Strawberry Fields were served today. I grabbed a bottle of Naked Green Machine juice out of the fridge to drink.
|Like they say, "Looks weird. Tastes amazing."|
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The fifth and possibly most important difference was the food at this morning's brunch. Grandma cooked Spam, smoked fish, scrambled eggs, fried rice, and a few Eggo waffles for Grandpa.
I wouldn't be surprised if I graduate this semester 30 pounds heavier. One of the benefits of having my grandma as my roommate is never-ending homemade food. Mmm... It's going to be a good semester.