A few days ago, some sloppy sad arrived at my orbit, the emo-sphere that happens on occasion when we try too hard for this, that, or another. In my instance, an astronautical launch to attempt lesbian dating. Not for the feint of heart. NASA, we do not have lift off. Roger that, Houston.

A home fridge reminds me how long becoming real takes. All those hugs the young boy gives the Velveteen Rabbit achieves the goal. So is the fridge shown love by what food you place in there. Strategic choices of amor are going in the ice box. And flour tortillas are a staple of the heart to keep chillin’. Of course, I had one—and more than a few extra—ready to make a spontaneous burrito from Los Habaneros leftovers. This place has portions we honest food lovers always take with.