No one there

The boxes were stacked perfectly at my front door waiting for any princess. Glittery gold ribbons and cold, shiny boxes. I carefully placed them inside the privacy of my house. I called out, “Hello?” But there was no one-- as expected. Thinking maybe it would be different. But, no. It was not different. I watched my foot kick over your gracious mountain of love. My hands ransacked it all. Like a furious banshee, paper flying everywhere, I held up the pretty lace and string. Who was this for? Who would see me in this?

I burned your lingerie.

I watched the lace and string curl into hot wiry wisps that crumbled into ash and smoke. The pink boxes and crème tissue paper strewn around my limp body like a Barbie tomb.

Day 247

I lie in bed awake. It was 2:47AM. The thought crept slowly into my brain like a hermit crab adjusting its shell--you'd been gone for 247 days. The bizarre coincidence almost paralyzed me, head to toe. How strange. I didn't want the tears to roll down my face because (1)there were no more tissues next to my bed (2) I didn't want to get my shirt sleeves wet with snot and (3)my tears had learned to disobey me a long time ago.

I rolled over so the tears would soak into my pillow, but I quickly realized that this would be uncomfortable as well as the pool of sorrow grew exponentially larger. I quickly turned my pillow over and forced myself to sleep.

****

A long time ago we were two very different people. Individuals who were brought together for a brief time. And then by chance, happenstance? fate?, we were brought back together. I have to admit it was always in the back of my mind that this would happen, but who ever thinks it would come true. Thoughts never become reality. Brief ponderings on a sunny day in a coffee shop aren't portentous allusions. Maybe I needed to stop drinking so much espresso.

****

But you were gone now. "Not gone forever," you'd said. But still gone, I thought.
And you'd left before. For different reasons, granted, but still the familiarity of the goodbye hug, the last night spent together, the way we held each other in bed. Were you sleeping? Because I was not. The way we'd eat our last breakfast together, the quiet drive to the airport, the way you'd look at me while I pretended to be happy, the way I'd walk away, and driving back home alone.

****

You: Hey
Me: Hey, Grape Jelly.
You: Man, I can really go for some grape jelly, now. And pancakes.
Me: Come home, there's plenty here. I have three jars in my fridge, I think. All open and half empty.
You: You're silly. Why can't you finish a jelly jar.
Me: You're a jelly jar. Come home.
You: Soon enough. And then when I'm there you'll be tired of me.
Me: No, not really.
You: How's your day going?
Me: Alright, I guess.

We'd chat online for about 247 more lines.

You: Well, I'm wrapping things up here. Better let you go.
Me: ok
You: Talk to you tomorrow.
Me: ok

****

The distance becomes the cold fingers that claw at my throat. There are days when I feel like bursting. At least the pain wouldn't be so internalized. At least then, maybe I can breathe. Breathing's overrated, I guess. Soon it will all be a blur, like the seeds in the back of my mind that never seem to have the potential to bloom, but then all of a sudden one day, the sun shines and you see more than just your shadow.

Chicken Noodle Soup

I watched as she brushed the light blue powder across my lids and I imagined that I was a movie star on an elaborate set ten minutes away from lights, camera, action. I hadn’t the opportunity to learn how to put on makeup before but I had always been quite fond of the pictures I’d see in magazines where the women had pouty, shiny lips and dramatic smokey eyes looking up at me as if I were an alien from a different planet and they were beckoning, “Look like me.”

“Do you think you’re ready for the eyeliner now? Be sure to not blink too much even though I know you’re going, too!” Angelina’s voice was very nasal-y but it fit perfect for her job position. She’d been the makeup technician for various playhouses around the city and I’d known her for only a few days and she’d offered to “do me up.” She came from an Italian background and always smelled like tomato sauce, but that was only because she worked nights sometimes at the pizza place on the corner for extra cash. Her apartment was also right above it.

I was reminded of a time when my older sister was practicing to put makeup on me one Sunday afternoon when she’d come to visit the parents. It was a few weeks before her wedding and instead of paying someone to put makeup on her, she wanted to do it herself. “I don’t want to look like a clown on my wedding day. I want to be adored!”

And so we’d spent all afternoon testing out different colors, shades, and accents. Peter had walked in from the backyard after playing a few rounds of ping pong with Dad. “What are yall doing? Playing dolls?” We had all laughed. One of those moments that can’t be captured in words, but only the emotions connected between siblings. Like the time we were all taking a drive and Peter had spotted a flock of white pigeons congregating on the parking lot of a stadium and said, “Who left all those white tennis shoes on the parking lot?”

I was blinking a lot as Angelina had predicted, but she didn’t seem to mind as if she were used to fluttering eyelids. The strokes of the eye pencil were uncomfortable and felt like flecks of it were getting into my eyes. “Oh my goodness, this color just makes your eyes POP!”

She swiveled me around and stared at a face that didn’t belong to me. The eye shadow was too blue and made me look like an 80’s pop princess who was on too much heroine. And the rouge lipstick was too dark for my skin tone. “Wow, Angelina! This looks great!”

“You really like it, doll? We can try some different colors next time. I really wanted to see how this would look because I’m gonna use the same color palette for Raphael’s dress rehearsal next week at the Paladium. You’re a doll to let me practice on you. SO much better than a mannequin head!”

I smiled and grabbed my purse. “I’ll see ya next week then, Ange. Bye!”

The cold air hit my face as I let the wooden door of the arthouse slam behind me. I had a sudden thought that the makeup would freeze on my face and become permanent. I dug a tissue out of my shoulder bag and wiped the lipstick away but I could still feel the sticky-dryness of rouge. The taste made me cringe. I wondered how boyfriends and girlfriends could get past that lipstick taste if they were forced to kiss those painted lips everyday.

I walked up the steps to my apartment and clicked the lock shut behind me. Dylan was sitting on the sofa watching the television absent mindedly. “Hey..”

He looked up and took a double-take. “What happened to your face?”

I smiled, “Gee thanks, I’m glad you like it.” Sarcasm was the pet in this apartment.

He stood up and put his arms around my shoulders. “Why are you all dolled up? You got a hot date tonight or something?”

I chuckled. “Yea, a date with Ronald McDonald. No, Ange needed to practice her makeup routine for some play Raphael is putting on next weekend. I was her test run.”

“Oh,” he jokingly wiped a sweaty brow. “That’s a relief. I thought you were running away to join the circus or something.”

He kiss me on the lips and made a face but tried to pretend like he wasn’t. I kissed him back some more just to annoy him. “What’s for dinner?”

A Denny's Tale

The hot sun beat down on the little white Civic parked in front of the abandoned Denny's off Highway 19. Froggie lit his third Marlboro red since he had driven out to the middle of nowhere. He looked to his left and saw a road stretch out into the endless desert. He looked right and saw the long stretch of road reach into a blanket of sand as well but with a distant glimmer of civilization in the distance, the tiny tops of downtown glinting in the sunlight.

Where was Kuno? He had called him at least an hour ago. He should be here by now. Hopefully nothing was causing his to be late...like his new wife. But he would have that conversation with Kuno later.

Froggie let the cigarette smoke slip through his dry lips. He felt the beads of sweat developing on his brow. He hated sweat. It was disgusting. He grabbed a towel from the backseat of his car and wiped his face dry but it felt dirtier now. He imagined the microscopic germs multiplying on his skin and it drove him crazy. "SHIT." He kicked his back left tire and threw the towel back into the car next to all the other towels.

"This is crazy...crazy...Whatever, it'll be ok. I had to do it. I had to. What choice did I have? This is crazy. Shit shit shit." He realized he was talking to himself and it didn't bode well. His white Armani dress shirt had become wrinkled and he didn't even want to imagine the sweat stains under his arms. He looked at his cuffs and saw the flecks of red. His fingers were antsy. He loosened his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves so he didn't have to look at those flecks.

Suddenly in the distance, he saw a shiny spot getting progressively larger. It was Kuno.

Froggie had three more cigarettes.

Kuno pulled his shiny black Lexus next to Froggie's car. His long legs spilled out of the car and his large shoes crunched on the hot sand. His 6'7" frame folded out and he made Froggie look tiny.

"What is this? Why are we here?"

"Where the fuck have you been? I called you over an hour ago! You know how freakin hot it is out here waiting on your slow ass?"

Kuno lit a cigarette and spit. "I don't know why you called me. I don't know why you dragged my ass out here in the middle of no where. We can't even get pancakes, the damn Denny's is closed down. Couldn't we have met somewhere more hospitable?"

Froggie kicked his back tire. "I didn't want anyone to see us, recognize us." He shook his head and clutched his palms to the sides of his head as if he were having a migraine. "I messed up. I messed up bad."

Kuno squinted behind his sunglasses. He could tell something was bad by the way Froggie was pacing. "Hey man, its ok. Whatever it is, I'm sure its not as bad as you think. What happened?"

Froggie shook his head and walked back and forth from Kuno and to his car. "It happened all so fast. I don't know what got over me. One moment we were having dinner, the next...the next..." He stopped in the middle of his pacing and rolled down his sleeves.

Kuno let his cigarette dangle on his lips. The dark brown spots were speckled on the white and stood out in the sunlight, almost sparkling. There was no doubt what made the stains. "Froggie. What happened?"

"Hahahaha, it was just supposed to be a nice night. Dinner. Dancing. Drinks. A late night movie, even with some wine at home before bed." He began pacing again. "She was being great until....she became a cunt like she always does."

Froggie looked straight at Kuno. "I need your help." He fumbled for his keys in his pant pockets and clicked the trunk of his car open. The trunk door softly clicked open. Kuno couldn't see anything in there other than darkness. Froggie opened the lid all the way to reveal layers of black plastic. He lifted up a sheet to reveal a pale limp hand with perfectly manicured nails.

"Fuck, Froggie! What the hell? Who is that? What did you do?"

Froggie fell to his knees. "I know I fucked up. I know its all turned to shit. But, man, this is happening, and I need your help. You have to help me get rid of the body." He slammed the trunk shut.

Kuno had known Froggie for longer than he could remember. Their moms had put them in the same daycare. They were neighbors and would ride bikes together after school. Froggie had always gotten himself into sticky situations though. Yet, Kuno was always there to pick him up. There were so many times where he was going to cut Froggie off, tell him to shape up or their friendship was over. But he could never turn his back on his best friend.

And besides, sometimes, to become a better person, you have to believe that others can be better, too.

Scale: Chapter Two

::A Son and his Mother::

The graveyard shift at the National Institute of Human Obesity Studies was the worst. It became a national mandate to have every person living in the U.S. to weigh themselves three times a day: 8 AM, 1:45 PM, and 9 PM. Every scale in these households were hardwired to a main server at the NIHO. If a number was over the acceptable weight, a signal would be sent to one of the analyst on that shift and he or she would issue a warrant and make the call to the Health Police. The graveyard shift was the worst because it was usually the busiest time when the signals would go off.

One of those analyst was Greyson Neely. He had only been working at NIHO for a little over a year. For the most part, it was an easy job. For the most part.

A year ago, he had made the decision to take the job. But he was having qualms about it. Was it right to forcefully place people in the middle of nowhere because of a weight problem? Was it solving anything?

"Greyson, I left you a plate in the kitchen. Pancakes, your favorite." His mother looked at him adoringly. Here eyes were tired and the crow's feet lining her face gave away her daily habit of smoking. "Have you thought anymore about the offer from the government weight place?"

"NIHO, mom. The National Institute of Human Obesity." He sighed. He was worried about leaving his mother behind all by herself. She wasn't working and his dad had left them when he was ten. "Yea, I have been thinking about it. It's a pretty good offer. But do you think you'll be alright?"

She smiled and lied, "Of course, dear. I'll be just fine."

Greyson could tell his mother wanted a cigarette by the way she was looking around and twiddling her thumbs.

"Well, then I think I'll call Mr. Blue today and tell him I accept. I won't start until after the holidays anyway, so I won't be gone for awhile. Two months."

Her eyes became glassy and she felt the emotions well up in her throat. She didn't know if they were tears of happiness or sadness. "I know its a hard decision, Grey. But, you're helping to make a change in this world. Nothing you're doing is wrong. You should be proud of yourself."

Did all moms get the same handbook with those little sayings that try to make you feel better? The cookie cutter stuff. Or was it just memorized lines from family television sitcoms like from The Cosby Show or Full House?

He let her ruffle his hair like she used to do at his little league games when he was younger.

"Ok, I'll see ya downstairs. Remember, pancakes. Don't wait too long or they'll get cold." She closed the door behind her.

"How bad could it be?" he said to no one in particular. He picked up his phone and began to dial.

(Revisited) Scale: Chapter 1

::The Unjust Persecution of Tom Brodie::
Tom Brodie started breathing heavily as he looked at the scale under his waxy, pudgy feet. Could it be? 302 lbs? Could that be right? He fainted and the Health Police were at his door 5 minutes later hauling him out on a gurney into their ambulance.
In a world where image is everything, the world's obesity problem was climbing to staggering numbers especially in the United States. 50 years ago, the government was having talks with representatives around the world and many leaders were also concerned. The concern laid in scientists predictions that within 200 years, the world's food supply would run out. Things had to be done.
There were experimentations of genetically grown foods, chemically enhanced. But even those findings would not sustain the human race especially at the rate the population was exponentially growing. And many activists were concerned of the long term health ramifications of human consumption of all those chemicals.
Then Mr. Howard Duvalle from Perth came up with a radical plan. "The problem is not the food sources gentlemen. The problem is the consumers that are eating this food at an enormous rate and the more pressing culprit is the obese human. Obese humans eat an average 5000 calories a day whereas a normal person only consumes 2500 calories a day. What we need to get rid of are people who are morbidly obese."
"Well how do you plan we do that? Slaughter them so we can eat them ourselves?" The representative from Lithuania said half-heartedly but quickly frowned when he saw Howard's stone face. "My god, man, you're not serious. That's inhumane!"
Howard laughed. "No no no, I for sure would not want to eat the ass of a fat man who probably has more diseases than a pigeon. I just don't think this is a laughing matter. Our race is in trouble and we will not be taken out because there are humans who can't control their stomachs. There are parts of this world that are not even occupied. The glaciers of Antarctica, the rain forests of South America. I suggest, gentlemen, that we take these fat people and make them drastically lose weight on these deserted places and when they are of acceptable size, they can be integrated back into humanity. This is what our world is heading towards. Drastic measures. I suggest we focus this plan on America where the obesity problem has gotten out of hand. Just as a test run."
The leaders were in an uproar.
"You're a crazy man, Duvalle! Incompetent!"
"That's involuntary slavery, you fool! The public won't stand for this!"
"Would you put your own mother on an iceberg in Antarctica, ignoramus! I'm disgusted!"
"There must be a better way..."
People were shouting and no one could understand anyone especially with all the different languages being spoken. The presiding officer banged his gavel.
The conference mellowed into a light stir and then was quiet. It felt sinister as if they were in the middle of a sci-fi movie. Was this really an option? What about the mental state of these obese people? What about civil rights? How would they implement this? Had the human race really been reduced to this morbid solution?
Fast forward 50 years....
When Tom Brodie awoke, he found himself in a hospital bed. The stale smell of antiseptic stung his nose and he realized that he was plugged up to an IV drip and the tubes going in and out of his body were numerous. The tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I'm only 25. 25, this can't be happening. I can change. I already started this new diet...." His words trailed off when there was a knock at his door.
Three men dressed in white smocks and a woman in a nurse's uniform walked in and stood at his bedside.
The woman stepped closer and checked his vitals. "Mr. Tom, I'm sorry but your weight has gone over the acceptable limit of national standards and you will have to be reprimanded. I'm sure you've read about our process, yes?" It seemed as if she were reciting a speech she'd done many times. Her toothy grin was mordant and sinister and gave Tom an uneasy feeling.
Tom wanted his mother. "Where's my mother?"
The nurse smiled. "Have you been monitoring your weight on a daily basis, Mr. Brodie? Well, the Health Police sure have and they have a bone to pick with you." She gave a nonchalant laugh. Tom felt as if he were back in primary school being condescended by his kindergarten teacher. The nurse continued, "I'm sure the government has sent you the brochures. The process is nothing special. In a way, you can think of it as a vacation. You get to go and relax, not have to worry about work or school. We just need your signature....," she fluttered a stack of papers in front of his blurry eyes. The tears were making his eyes swollen. "....here. Pen?" She clicked the pen and the tip gave an evil sparkle. He looked up. The hanging light above him swung slowly and gave a slight squeak.
Tom shook his head. "But I thought they give you a month's notice! A month's notice before you come! My friend said she knew a woman who was able to stay home for a two month's grace period and she ended up losing 50 pounds!! She didn't have to be shipped off! I can do that. .. I don't want to go away...."
He thought of all the investigative news blips on how people were shoved into tiny cabana huts and forced to eat banana leaves and caterpillars. And the worst part of it was most people went crazy, or committed suicide or ended up dying before their time was up. Drastic Weight-loss Rejuvenation Deportation....
The tall man with the mustache stepped up. "Mr. Brodie, yes, we usually do give people a month's notice but haven't you kept up with the Weight Report News? They announced 4 months ago that if a person is gaining too much weight, too quickly, the Health Police take over jurisdiction and are able to make the call of who goes or doesn't. And you've been chosen and we cannot do anything about it. We have the warrant right here, " He waved a light yellow paper with an official emblem embossed at the top. He pointed to Tom's name printed at the bottom. "You, my sir, have been eating too many pancakes."

That hard to swallow feeling in my throat...

I dreamed that you were next to me. Sitting on a beach somewhere, letting our toes curl in and out of the sand. I tried to speak but I had no voice. I tried to touch you, but you slipped further away.

Hollow barking filled my ears and I awoke in a blur. The hazy red digital lines of the clock read 4...something. Smokey and Milkshake were barking outside but I was too lazy to get up and knock on the backyard door to make them quiet. I tried to squeeze my eyes shut, but the sleep would not come.

My car slowly pulled into an empty spot between a large blue station wagon and black Ford truck.

"Here we are." I slipped the key out of the ignition and watched you slip through the passenger door like we were going to the movies or to a new Thai restaurant. We silently got your bags from the trunk and walked towards the terminal.

The rest I can't really remember. There was the check in counter with the nice lady who signed you up for your rapid rewards card. There was a line at the security gate. We said goodbye when you were halfway there. I remember the large warning sign forbidding more than 2 ounces of liquid in your carry on. I assured you that you didn't.

And I walked away as if I was dropping you off somewhere for a few hours and would be back later that night to pick you up. Just like that. And you flew away.

I made my legs make it back to the car. The red dented little car between the station wagon and the truck. My head hurt and my legs were like noodles. I gave a heavy sigh as I wondered if I had any cash to pay to get out of the terminal parking lot. When I found a few dollars in the glove compartment my head felt better. But I still laid my forehead down on the steering wheel and cried.

In Memory of Cheeto...

In memory of Brownie....

My father was a policeman who lived by the sea.....

When I was a little girl, I would play in our living room amongst my many barbie dolls. I made a two story house out of a folding chair; under the seat was the 1st level, and the 2nd level was on the seat of the chair. I had miniature pink couches and beds for them and even a refridgerator made out of circus animal cookies box. Audrey, the red headed vixen would always get the 2nd level all to herself, while Kim-the Asian exchange student from Singapore, Elizabeth-the fun blonde from Australia, and Molly-the plainer, not so fun blonde from Minnesota had to share the 1st level. Fixing their hair was the best part.

The brown shag carpet would make my legs itchy but I didn't care. My father would be watching tv on his chair; a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. My mother would be making dinner in the kitchen and it smelled good.

My father would be babbling to no one in particular while he watched M*A*S*H on television that Grandpa would always make them wake up so early to go catch fish. Grandpa was a fisherman and was really rich. He was the best fisherman in the village and knew all the good spots. I always meant to ask my father how he knew of those secret spots, and why people didn't just follow him in the early mornings to steal his secrets and encroach on his fish stash. But I never did.

My father would say how they would eat crabs, lobsters, shrimp, and of course fish 7 days a week, 3 times a day and he never got tired of it. The taste was so fresh and new, not like the seafood you get here in America. I always thought this strange because he would always take us to Long John Silver's on Sundays and get us combo meals with large Dr. Peppers. I thought the popcorn shrimp tasted pretty good.

Then that crazy show Cops would come on and I'd run to my room while the theme music played because I was afraid of that "Bad Boys, Bad Boys" song for some reason. But after it stopped playing the voices of the cops came on, I'd go back to the living room to play. My dad was almost done with his cigarettes but the refridgerator was full of beer bottles, still. I saw when mom was pulling out some green onions from the crisper.

He'd resume his nonsensical talking about how he was a policeman in Vietnam and worked in an office. He would help the Americans translate things while the war was going on. He received some medals of honor for the good jobs he'd done. Sometimes, I would imagine my father was one of those strapping men on the Cops show rolling up to convenience stores asking scantily clad women what they were doing. Or trying to hand cuff a scum bag who had just beaten his wife to the ground. Maybe if he had stayed a policeman when he came here to the States, he could have stopped that robber from cracking that glass bottle over uncle's head at mom's convenience store last month.

Audrey was staying up in her room because the other girls were jealous of her pretty looks. She didn't care that they would go out shopping or to lunch without her. She would just sit quietly in her room and sometimes cry herself to sleep.

Dad looks down at me and asks me to get him another bottle of beer. I rush over and pull a cold one out. Mom takes the bottle from me and pops the cap off. She hands it back to me and motions to my father. Dad takes the beer and kisses me on the forehead. He only has two cigarettes left. He looks back at me. "Hey, Annie, take these cigarettes and hide them from Daddy. I'm gonna quit."

New York , here I come, baby! Watch out!

Hani just emailed me that she's coming to New York in the summer. That's bananas. I think Jae and I are gonna try to make it out there even though I have been trying to pay off debt. But I haven't seen "Da Fam" in years and its been too long to be away from your soulmates.

MaryAnne

He hadn't liked the chili. He had taken one spoon of it and made that bloated face look as if he'd stuck a skunk in his mouth. He courageously managed to swallow and sigh with wide open eyes. He looked at her as she stood there waiting for his critique. With a short whistle, he grabbed some saltines next to the chili and munched on them. She was patient and eyed the journey of fallen crumbs jump from his lips onto his t-shirt. "Hey, that was crazy...Thank gawd you have these crackers to cleanse the palate.." and walked on to MaryAnne's table.

Everyone was around MaryAnne's table.

I was too self conscience to stand next to my crock pot of bubbling goo because I knew that I hadn't gotten it right. I had put too much spice and not enough flavor, too much thought and not enough heart. So my table was empty except for the ladle encrusted with a reddish film.

And everyone else had come up with such creative names like "Maurice's Melt-your-Mouth-Madness","Chili-Plus-Beans-Equals-Toot","500-Alarm Chili","Slap-Yo-Mamma-And-Send-Her-Back-To-Timbuktu Chili"...

And all I could think of was "Spicy Chili-No Beans."

Oh, who cares. Its just chili. And who cares if everyone else likes MaryAnne's chili better. It was really good though. I had taken a small sample of it while everyone else was gushing over how they thought a curry chili was so creative and imaginative. And the use of cilantro and lime, genius!

*sigh* I walked over to Maurice's table.

"Hey why aren't you standing at your table, Beth? You should be marketing that bad boy till the last drop is eaten up."

I shook my head. "Its not that good. I didn't have a good recipe. Did you make up your own?"

Maurice shook his head. "What? No way. I had my girlfriend make this. She's all into the cooking thing. She's over there at MaryAnne's table right now probably asking for the recipe."

I glared in MaryAnne's direction. She looked so cute with her hair tied up and little curls falling around her face as if she'd been in the kitchen all day but still looked flawless.

"Ehh, its not all that great. I don't like curry." Maurice shook his head. "Because if you think about it, that just makes it curry, not chili, right?"

I nodded but still wanted to knock all the limes off of her table and shove the cilantro in her face.

Maurice noticed the animosity in my eyes. "Wana know a secret, though, Beth? I know why everyone's around her table...."

Aisle 6

She had never made chili in her life.

But she still decided to enter her office's 2nd Annual Chili Cook-Off Contest. She wanted to be apart of something. And it didn't matter if it was related to heart burn and beans.

Pushing her cart down the grocery aisles was very relaxing to her. She liked to go alone so no one would bother her thoughts and she could just concentrate on the plethora of products surrounding her.

The Spice Islands brand of seasonings were much more eye-appealing than the McCormick. Ms. Dash was reasonably priced and still looked like a respectable spice line.

Chili...is it supposed to have thyme in it? she pondered to herself.

She should have thought this through better. At least scour through some recipes or cookbooks before she decided to come to the grocery store. But she hadn't been to the store in three weeks. She had been eating cheese and crackers and tuna fish for these last days before her paycheck would come in.

You can't put tuna in chili, can you?

And so she made the investment (in her work and in herself).

She sighed. Maybe she should just by the ten pounds of ground chuck that she had piled her in her cart first, get a recipe, and then come back to the store when she knew what spices to buy. But, no. That would use up gas. And cause carbon emissions to escape into the air. She didn't want to give children anymore respiratory diseases than were already taking place at that moment, which she assumed and was probably correct in thinking, that there were alot of cases.

She rolled her cart up and down Aisle 6 Sugar-Flour-Spices-Baking Goods.

Her eyes examined the packages of red meat sitting in her cart.

Was ten pounds too much? Well, surely, she would have a delicious recipe that would call for such large quantities of meat, which would lead to everyone in her office raving of her culinary prowess and chowing down until the last drop of chili was licked clean from Harry Glazer's styrofoam bowl.

Harry's gonna love my chili. Harry Glazer worked in the IT department of the office. She'd seen him walk by her desk on numerous occasions and he would always give her a sincere smile. She was sure that he had a crush on her.

Rosemary....cumin....cinnamon...lemon pepper....sea salt...all of these sounded like they should be in chili to her. Because they were not differentiated in her mind because she rarely cooked on a stove. Yes, the microwave is considered cooking to some. The toaster, perhaps. But she had never ventured away from her black pepper and kosher salt.

She decided to buy all of them. Every spice on the shelf to experiment. Surely once Harry finished off her chili, he would be back for so many more dinners at her apartment. She'd go through those spices in no time.

Rockstars

Let the Good Times Roll!