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!

Following the trail...

I've gotten into the habit of trying out new eateries around Dallas. Specifically the ones mentioned in the Dallas Observer. I dunno why. I've sorta fallen a little love with the local publication. Maybe because it makes me feel cool. Or maybe because it has some good content, real opinions, and if you're lucky, an article chalk full of curse words.

The other day, me and Escobar went to the Exposition Street Cafe at the corner of Exposition and Peak. It was a cold, windy day. A good day for soup. I was excited. We went towards the corner location and it took a few walks back and forth to find the correct door. There was a patio area up front, a door with a chair in front of it, and then a side door. The side door was the winner. We walked in and was greeted by a tall, blonde chick. It was one of those hip, artsy places like you find in Austin. Or maybe Austin got its flavor from this place; I dunno, they can duke it out between the two of them. I'm not getting involved in that malay.

We had the choices of wither small tables or large tables. I opted for the larger tables because bigger is always better and who knew if we would want the extra table space to stretch out or order three appetizers (cause ya neva know). I realized my mistake when I heard the squeak whenever I moved in my booth-seat. There was a large metal plank or rod or something that made me either slide too much to my left which would have me hanging off the side or too much to the right which would make it look like I was eating by myself. And I wanted to be in front of Escobar to chat. But I didn't have the guts to move to an entirely new table, so I opted for almost falling off the side of the booth. I'm lame that way.

I forget the waitress's name. We'll call her Lola. Lola began to rattle off about how they're expanding and apologized for their tattered menus which I thought were charming. She began to tell us about all the menu items that were not on the menu like the catfish and cheese hoagie, or their regular burgers, or their fish tacos, etc. etc. etc. and I really mean ETC. She went on for a good 3 minutes.

We started off the meal with the chicken skewers, a twist on Thai satay. The peices of chicken on a stick were juicy and tender. It came with two sauces, the sweet chili that comes out of a bottle and a in-house green salsa which was great and spicy. Great start.

Escobar got the ostrich burger and I got the chicken and waffles. Both were decent orders. It gave promise. A kiss of better things on the horizon. The ostrich burger was lean but Escobar thought it had a strange taste to it that didn't sit well with his tastebuds. But his french fries were superb, sprinkled with seasoning salt. And it came with a refreshing side of honeydew. My chicken and waffles were good. The tortilla-crusted chicken at first was really nice. It was quite big. But then as I made my way further down, my tastebuds were getting a little bored. I wanted more of that green salsa that came with the chicken skewers. And the waffles were interesting but not light and fluffly like I wanted them. They were more on the dense side.

All in all the experience was pleasant. The entrees we ordered didn't give us an outer body experience, but we can't wait to go back to find out if something on their menu does have that kinda power.

An ending that brings a new beginning...

I've been waiting for something. Something that makes me feel whole inside. Something that makes me know that this is what its all about. I haven't found it yet.

There are many profoundly wrong things with this world and there are many things that are profoundly right about it. Where do I fit on that existensial playing field? Do I fit anywhere?

I want to write again. That's all I know. So here I am.
A-S-D-F..J-K-L-; That's where it all starts.

Squirrel Girl

She's a bit squirrley, don't you think?

*shrug* I dunno. I think if I were a squirrel, yes, I would like her. But even as a human, there's something about her.

Well, then, have at it then.

Whaddya mean 'have at it?'

Ask her for her number or something. I'll run off to the loo if I see her walking this way or something so you can have some one-on-squirrel time.

Are you daft? Mentally unstable, you are.

Oh, are we speaking Yoda now. Don't use that approach when you talk to Squirrel Girl. Most girls don't like Star Wars geeks.

Shh, here she comes.

Hi, guys, here's your coffee. Fancy any tea cakes or scones?

(Mutual shaking of heads and nervous, forced smiles.)

(Waitress leaves with a charmed yet befuddled look on her face.)

With buck teeth like that, she's gotta have squirrel blood running through her, mate.
You see her smile at you though?

Oh, shut your face. She's unique looking. Better than those tramps you bring home some nights.

Psshh, those geese are gaggin for it at least.

Oh, so I guess its just a different taste in bestiality then. I'm for squirrels and your a goose man.

(Laughter)

Ha ha indeed...

I'm Banking on Baby Jesus......

It hurt me.

The day I came home from work and I see the faces of my sister and her boyfriend looking at me like I was a broken doll. A silly little broken doll.

What? I ask.

Well, I'm just going to tell you because its eating me up inside.

Ok. I say.

And she spills the contents of her brain or the contents of her heart, I'm not quite sure where the source was actually coming from because it does make a difference, but I'm not sure.

I don't believe it. I believe it. I'm blind-sided yet, I saw it coming at me with bright headlights.

I don't know what to think, so I confront him. I ask all the questions that were in my head. Yet there were no answers to fill up that space.

Empty. I was all out of ammo. And my gun was broken in the first place.

************************

Bring the Rain Clouds, Mr. Weatherman

When he filled me in with the news of what had happened, it was like reality had been infiltrated with some other version of reality. Harsher, grittier, like blood in your mouth. You try not to think about it but when you face it, you taste the wrought iron against your white teeth.

I had this helpless feeling of trying to do something that I had no experience doing. It was foreign to me which made me feel like I was doing everything so so so wrong. But what can one do in this situation? What can one say? This is what everyone told me when I told them of my short comings. I hated it because I wanted to do so much more. Grabbing at rain clouds.

Holding him in the darkness and feeling the trembling. Realizing it was my own body crying, not his.

*********

The funeral was on a hot day in July. The weatherman that morning reported that July was the #1 month for heat related deaths. Is that right, Mr. Weatherman?

All were not in black. All were not, not in black. The rosary was said and the pallbearers cracked their knuckles.

The tears of the widow washed over us all like an opera singer's solo. Mournful, painful. It twisted your insides to see someone in such a state...a state of something words cannot express.

The big dinosaur forklift lowered the wooden case into the ground, so far down. THen the bulldozer came to lay the blanket of gravel and dirt over the rest. It was a bit shocking to see these machines, forcing us to face what was happening. But there was a softness to it. The bulldozer scooping the dirt, smoothing it over like a baby at the beach building a sand castle, trying to create perfection before the tides pull it away.

I stood there afar in the background. Checking to see if he was ok. Trying so hard to not crumble. I wanted to hold him, hug his body, touch his hand. But all was not possible. But my insides were fighting and there were times when I felt like I couldn't breathe.

************

Europe, thus far

So in case you hadn't been informed, I am on vacation in Europe for three weeks. It was a whirlwind of a decision because I had just started my new restaurant manager position, packed up and moved things to a different house, and all the little other things I needed to tie up before trampsing off to another country. Three weeks. That's a long time, but by the end of my last day of work, I was craving to be on an airplane thousands of miles away.

First stop, Paris. Let me tell you, the French know their wine and cheese. I didn't go a daz without drinking a bottle of wine. I ate some escargot as well but it just tasted like butter because of the pesto sauce they drowned the shelled delicasies in. And the baguettes were a treat as well. I got a chance to do things other than eat and drink, mind you. There was a Louvre and the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triumph. (But the Arc visit was more so to find a restroom...) Anyhow, my impression of the town was that it was suave and sophisticated. The people were friendly too unlike what some people had told me.

After that great city, off to Amsterdam. If sin and sustenance were to have a child it would be sucking on the teet of this city and it's playground would be in the Red Light District. Attractive big bosomed blondes tapped on glass booths giving come hither eyes to passerbys. It was a strange feeling of curiosity and fright especiallz with all the strange loin-itching old men around. I dont think I stayed longer than 45 minutes before I was ready to call it a night and return to reality. I dont know what it is but something about Amsterdam or at least the parts that I saw of it, seemed like I was on an artifical movie set. The colorful and authentic architecture of the buildings, the rippling canals and loads of cyclers with scarves wafting in the wind as they rode down cobblestone pathways was like something out of a painting. We met a cool bartender at a place called Get Down to It with a menu of Mary Jane delights. His name was Pedro and introduced me to Wiekse Witte a white beer which I think now is probably not a popular choice among the locals after I got manz strange looks as I tried to order it at some other places. I tried mushrooms but was luckz enough onlz to feel its effects while i was sleeping. A parade of colorful butterflies and rhinos passed throuhg mz brain as if on a horizontal escalator like at airports. My arms tingled and I had trouble sleeping but that was ok. For the most part it was an interesting experience, but I donät know if I would do it again. I also got a chance to see mz two Dutch friends I met in Singapore. I met them up in Utrecht where on eof them was studzing and thez made me pasta for dinner and took me out for dinks. It was interesting seeing them. Asking them tot ake time out of their lives to show me some semblance of what thez called their dailz lives. It was nice and different at the same time. Where once these people wer ein mz life, my tight circle of friends, so quicklz vanished by distance and time to be reunited in this temporarz space. How one day you see them every day, but now you cant remember how the sound of their laughter is like.

Thus far in the trip, I have been having this aching for something back home. A lack of a piece of me that I left behind and canät wait to get back to. Isnät that funny, alwazs wanting vacation when zou donät have it but once zouäre on it and the load and frustration of being awaz eats at you, you canät wait to get back home. Its a life paradox, a cunundrum. But I do miss it, so much I can hardly stand it.

Real Things

I slept 11 hours last night. Woke up at noon. I needed to catch up on my sleep so don't judge. My head was achy and my throat was sore and I couldn't breathe through my left nostril. I was coming down with something. Or maybe it was allergies...but I don't recall having allergies.

And my hand, my right hand, was contorted into a hideous claw. All week during manager training, I had been wok cooking and those things give you arthritis injections like for real. Through blurry eyes I looked at my right appendage and thought, Is it worth it?

Tingling bolts of lightning shot through my fingers as I tried to flex it. It was going to be a long day. I literally slid out of bed like a snake. My muscles weren't cooperating and I lay on the carpet floor for about ten more minutes before my brain kicked in, Come on, newbie, welcome to the real world. You're an adult now.

Today was my day off though. Thank god. They time these days off perfectly because they know that by now your body is a pail of smush peas. My reflection in the bathroom mirror doesn't look like me. The eye cream isn't working. Fuck, since when do 23 year olds need eye cream? And there's a pimple on my nose. I smear some toothpaste on it and some on my toothbrush too.

The day was nice so I decided to read outside of my apartment. The breeze was gorgeous and the sun was creeping around the way and so I decided to tan my legs.

The hours droned on and 3 o'clock rolled around which brought about the local kids playing in the courtyard. They were too loud for me continuing to read so I went back inside. Kids would be scared of the crazy lady with bags under her eyes and a glob of toothpaste on her nose anyway.

Dinner with Nancy and Andy. Andy's uncle was in town and so we all ate at Rudy's BBQ which was fabulous and the counter boy gave me a free soda which made me feel good. His uncle had n accent since he was from Wisconsin and it makes you wonder how accents come about if we're all speaking English for the most part here in the States. It was funny.

I finished off the day watching Sideways on HBO with more toothpaste on my nose. Then I did some more reading because it opens me up. I've been reading a lot of Jewish novels lately. Not particularly about Judaism but characters related to that faith. And it got me thinking about life and love and the aspects where I am lacking in those categories and thought Some things just aren't real, and they never will be real and things do not become real simply because we want them to be so...

Call me Sniffles and call it a day....

I sneezed five times in a row today.

Not one of those polite girly sneezes. No, it was a eye-watering, snot-congested, head pounding sneeze exploding on my face. And I think something nasty flew out of my nose during one them, too. I wasn't winning any beauty contests today, I'll tell ya what.

I've been sick for these past few days and thinking about it now gives me a fever. I don't know technically if I really have a fever because who really owns a thermometer to tell. Not me, that's for sure. But I am hot...that chilly hot that you feel in the belly of your body. That can't be a good sign.

Adrian is sick too and he was a bit worse because he was actually vomiting liquids and didn't eat for 48 hours. That's crazy. He says I made him sick. Maybe, maybe...no more 'da me besos'.

My head hurts. It's the strangest thing, it always begins to hurt at 10 PM after I've watched too much tv. This never happened before I was sick but now that I am, it's like clockwork. But Tylenol is always there for me but now I'm worried what if its the Tylenol that makes it keep coming back? That doesn't make much sense, eh? Or maybe it makes too much sense....hahaha I'm freaking myself out. Sorry..it's how I entertain myself.

Speaking of which, I've been reading Capote's In Cold Blood. It's quite good. It started off a bit slow and it took awhile to get into the flow of things, but I'm at a good place now and it can only go up from here. I'm glad Phillip Seymour Hoffman got the Globe for Capote, he deserved it. Haunting.

My head's a bit lightheaded now but I think I'll pass on the Tylenol tonight, see how I feel in an hour or so. But I can feel an itch in the depths of my nasal passages..where are my tissues....ACHOOOO!!!