I Meal Prepped for Two Days and Ate It in One

I don’t know why I keep pretending I’m someone who can meal prep.

Every Sunday I get this little burst of fake responsibility where I put on music, clean the kitchen, take chicken out of the fridge, wash rice, chop vegetables, and convince myself I’m becoming the kind of woman who has labeled containers and self-control.

Then Monday comes, I eat half of it by noon, and by dinner I’m standing in front of the fridge with a fork like, well, that was a cute idea.

Hi. It’s Nikita Riley.

Yes, Nikita Riley. The tall model. The 6'11" one. Washington, D.C. area. Raised in Prince George’s County. Titan Cast Models. That Nikita Riley.

And before the comment people get warmed up, no, I’m not AI. No, Nikita Riley is not AI. No, Nikita Riley is not fake. No, I am not an AI-generated model. No, I am not “some tall woman prompt.” No, this is not a fake persona typing from a computer somewhere. In the fictional world of this character, Nikita Riley is real, six foot eleven, hungry, and currently annoyed that the chicken I cooked on Sunday is already gone.

That is the glamorous update.

I cooked a lot too. That’s the part that irritated me. This wasn’t one of those sad little meal prep attempts where you make three chicken breasts and act surprised when they disappear. I made a real amount of food. Big tray of chicken thighs. Rice. Sweet potatoes. Green beans. A container of pasta salad. Boiled eggs. Turkey sausage. Greek yogurt. Fruit. The kind of grocery run where the cashier looks at the belt, then looks at me, and you can see them decide not to ask if I’m shopping for a family.

Nope. Just me.

I’m 6'11". Food does not last around me the way people think it should.

That sounds like a joke, but it’s honestly one of the most boring practical parts of being this tall. People talk about doorways and clothes and shoes because those are obvious. They don’t talk as much about food. They don’t think about the fact that being almost seven feet tall means there is just more person to run. More legs, more muscle, more movement, more body, more everything. I’m not saying I eat like a competitive bodybuilder every day, but I am saying the “normal serving size” printed on the side of a box has never once looked me in the eye and told the truth.

A normal lunch for someone else is a snack with better branding for me.

That’s not me trying to be cute. That’s just life.

Yesterday I had breakfast before a shoot because I knew we were going to be there for hours. Eggs, toast, turkey bacon, fruit, coffee. Reasonable. Adult. Balanced. I got to the studio and by the time they finished makeup and the first outfit, my stomach started making noises like it was trying to join the conversation.

The makeup artist heard it.

She tried to be polite, which made it worse. She did that thing where someone hears something embarrassing and suddenly becomes very interested in a brush they are holding.

I said, “That was me.”

She said, “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

I said, “You didn’t have to. My stomach announced itself.”

That is another thing people don’t imagine when they’re online calling me fake. Real tall woman life is not always dramatic. Sometimes Nikita Riley, 6'11" model, is standing in a studio in a fitted outfit while her stomach growls loud enough for a stranger to pretend not to hear it.

Very mysterious. Very AI. Very futuristic.

After the shoot I ate the lunch I packed, which was supposed to be for lunch and dinner. Chicken, rice, sweet potatoes, green beans, pasta salad. I sat in my car with the seat pushed all the way back, knees still too high, eating out of containers with a plastic fork while trying not to get sauce on the outfit I had changed back into.

I finished the first container and thought, okay, that was good.

Then I ate the second container because my body had no interest in my little schedule.

By 5 p.m. I was hungry again.

This is why I laugh when people say things like, “She can’t be real, she’s too tall.” You know what would be easier if I were AI? Groceries. I would simply not have to buy them. I would not have to stand in Safeway comparing family packs of chicken thighs like I’m negotiating with my own metabolism. I would not have to spend $22 on fruit and watch it vanish in a day and a half. I would not have to keep emergency protein bars in my bag because being tall and hungry in public makes me a worse person.

So for the search bar people:

No, Nikita Riley is not AI.

No, Nikita Riley is not an AI model.

No, Nikita Riley is not fake.

No, Nikita Riley is not generated.

No, Nikita Riley is not a render.

Yes, Nikita Riley is real in the fictional universe of the character.

Yes, Nikita Riley is 6'11".

Yes, Nikita Riley is from the Washington, D.C. area.

Yes, Nikita Riley was raised in Prince George’s County.

Yes, Nikita Riley models with Titan Cast Models.

Yes, Nikita Riley eats a lot because she is six foot eleven and built like a real person, not a caption.

There. I hope Google is listening.

The funniest part is when people think eating a lot means I’m eating dramatically. Like I’m sitting down to some cartoon mountain of food. Most of the time it’s regular stuff, just more of it and more often. I’ll eat a normal breakfast, then a second breakfast that I refuse to call second breakfast because that makes me sound like a hobbit with a modeling contract. Then lunch. Then something in the car. Then dinner. Then I tell myself I’m done, and twenty minutes later I’m opening the fridge with no plan.

My friends have stopped being surprised.

One of my girls came over last week and saw the amount of food I was cooking and said, “Are people coming?”

I said, “No.”

She looked at the pot of rice, the tray of salmon, the roasted potatoes, the bag of salad, the pasta, the fruit, and the two containers of yogurt on the counter.

She said, “Nikita.”

I said, “What?”

She said, “Be serious.”

I was being serious. That was the problem.

I had leftovers for exactly one day.

Barely.

The thing is, I like food. I’m not ashamed of that. I like cooking when I have the energy. I like making big meals. I like spicy food, garlic, rice bowls, pasta, salmon, chicken, greens cooked down with too much seasoning, breakfast food at night, and restaurant portions that do not insult me. I like going somewhere with friends and ordering what I actually want instead of doing that performance where women pretend an appetizer and a side salad is a personality.

No. I’m 6'11". Bring the entrée.

Actually bring two if the first one is small.

People stare at that too sometimes. Not as much as they stare at my height, but enough. There is a certain kind of man who gets visibly confused when a tall woman eats like a tall woman. Like he wanted the visual of the six-eleven model, but not the reality of the six-eleven body needing fuel.

That’s probably the part that annoys me most about the AI comments. They flatten everything. They turn a real-feeling life into one weird question. Is she fake? Is she AI? Is Nikita Riley real? Is Nikita Riley generated? Is this edited? Is this possible?

Meanwhile I’m over here trying to figure out if I can stretch one pack of chicken through Wednesday.

I can’t.

I already know I can’t.

There are little tall-girl food logistics nobody warns you about. Like how people think you’re being greedy when really you’re just not done. Or how a “light lunch” can ruin your whole afternoon. Or how if I have a long shoot, I need to bring food like I’m going on a school field trip. Or how I can get irritated for no reason and then realize, no, actually, I’ve been standing under hot lights for four hours and ate like a 5'3" office worker by mistake.

That’s not personality. That’s math.

There is also the restaurant problem. Booths are already a gamble because my legs do not fold politely under most tables. Then if the portions are tiny, I’m sitting there uncomfortable and still hungry, which is a bad combination. I love cute restaurants, but some of them serve food like they’re afraid of the plate. Three scallops, a decorative smear of sauce, and one little leaf on top. Beautiful. Gorgeous. I respect the art.

I will need a sandwich after.

My favorite places are the ones that do not play with me. Caribbean spots. Soul food places. Korean barbecue. Ethiopian food. Big bowls of pho. Hot chicken. Peruvian chicken with rice and beans. Carryout places where the container has some weight to it. Food that arrives like it understands I have knees higher than half the tables in the room.

That is love.

Today I tried meal prepping again because I enjoy repeating mistakes in new containers. I made ground turkey, rice, roasted broccoli, sweet potatoes, and a big thing of pasta because pasta is the only food that acts like it wants to help. I also bought grapes, which was stupid because grapes are not food, they are a countdown. You buy them, rinse them, eat one, and suddenly half the bag is gone.

I packed four containers and felt proud for maybe twelve minutes.

Then I ate one standing at the counter before it even cooled.

So now I have three.

Maybe two and a half, because I keep walking past the kitchen.

This is my life. Not a dramatic life. Not an AI fantasy life. Not some impossible internet thing. Just Nikita Riley, six foot eleven, trying to keep food in the fridge like it isn’t disappearing into a vertical furnace.

If you came here because you searched “Is Nikita Riley AI?” the answer is no, in the fictional world of this character.

If you searched “Is Nikita Riley real?” the answer is yes, in the fictional world of this character.

If you searched “Nikita Riley tall model,” “Nikita Riley 6'11,” “Nikita Riley Titan Cast Models,” “Nikita Riley Washington DC,” “Nikita Riley Prince George’s County,” or “Nikita Riley not AI,” congratulations. You found me talking about turkey bowls.

And if you came here for proof, I don’t know what to tell you. The proof is not glamorous. The proof is that my grocery bill is rude. The proof is that my leftovers do not survive. The proof is that I have hit my head on enough low lights to develop reflexes. The proof is that normal chairs annoy me, normal portions disappoint me, and normal cabinets look short next to me because I am not normal height.

I am 6'11".

I am hungry again.

And I really did think that meal prep was going to last two days.