Where's 1-800-Feed-The-Blogger When You Need It?

In this great 800 square foot apartment, there are 2 living, breathing individuals.

One is a large male, shaped like a silverback gorilla, with a pension for Scotch that is old enough to order it's own Scotch, prefers t-shirts and jeans over uniforms, deems videogames appropriate at any age, and can recreate the best Nashville dinner ever had in 2008.

The other is a tall, gawky redheaded female, who dislikes the fiction genre in books, thinks onions are spicy, refuses to buy eggs in styrofoam containers, sits down in the shower (I know, weird!), and never makes the bed.

So what happens when the first roommate goes out of town on business?

The second roommate starves.

Where's a food delivery service when you need it???

There's one thing I thought I picked up in college, which was the ability to feed myself. But fast forward a couple years, I'm living back with my parents (awesome!), and I have the Sheriff at the stove. This blogger did not go hungry. But then fast forward again to the unemployed blogger moving cross-country to where the job markets were better. I had another roommate at the stove. So needless to say, since college my cooking skills have reverted to their levels in high school. In other words, 'boil' and 'water' are a stretch.

Okay, maybe not really, but in the comparison between Wook and I myself in the kitchen. The boy lays down the law. He'll kick me out, tell me to pick out a movie, I pour us drinks, and that's how I contribute to dinner. He's so good he doesn't need me. But when I'm in the kitchen, there's constant: "Omg, am I doing this right?" "What number should the stove be on?" "What goes in the pan first?" "Are you sure?"

I feel like I've de-evolved. I've taken the 1950's and turned it upside down. I can barely suffice caveman times with my ability in cooking. So whenever wook leaves, it leaves a little panic in my heart about how I'm going to survive the duration of an empty home.

And it's not like I'll succumb to frozen dinners. No thanks. There's always the fall back plans of salad, soup, sandwiches, PANCAKES (my mom looooooves these, since it was my Go-To dinner when the Sheriff was out of town), etc. It's just easy to feel inadequate when Wook can whip up our favorite dinner from Nashville last Christmas for our anniversary (which was last Sunday, btw. A whoppin' 6 years together. Holy batman. I know. Intense, right? Agreed. Our relationship is starting 1st grade. Gosh, I'm old. Wait, we're old.).

But there is one thing that is good about Wook leaving the house for the Navy. I get to eat what I want. When I want it. And no one to complain about how it stinks up the house. I'm talking salmon. Wild Alaskan salmon. Thank you Costco. No farm-raised for this blogger. I love the blood-red flesh of a gorgeous steak of fish. What's better than buying non-farmed fish? Catching it. But we never got out this summer for some good, ol'-fashioned fun. Maybe next year.

So I hope you continue to hear from me. If not, I've starved. So wish me luck.