If you want it…

So my favourite restuarant is recruiting. I’m about to put my application in, and my hands are trembling slightly. I’ve always wanted to work with Justin North, always. I’ve mentioned before how much i admire him, how much i respect him- I’ve always had a slight fear of putting my hand up to work with him/his teams for fear of loosing that respect and admiration, to find out he’s not that much different. But this time i’m going for it, because I’ve got nothing to lose if i’m turned down. I’ve still got a mildly entertaining job, and a strong respect for Justin.
so wish me luck ūüėÄ


yep, i’m cranky.

There are a few things I learnt in the kitchens as an apprentice, aside from the obvious cooking skills.

number one, and this counts in any industry, not just cooking, is this: If you’re not early, you’re late.
there’s no other way to put it. you get to work half an hour to¬†fifteen minutes early. time to fix your make-up, stow away your bag, say hello to everyone, get a drink and put your happy ‘I’m dealing with customers‘ face on.¬† getting to work at 11 when you start (or as is frequently the case, 5, 10, 15 past 11) doesn’t allow that, and then we have to wait patiently while you piss fart around doing exactly those thing¬†I mentioned. grow a braincell you retarded fucks.

number two, you only take a sick day if you’re dying- or not sick at all. you have a runny nose and a sore throat? harden the fuck up. get yourself some pharmacy medicine and get your arse into gear.

number three, don’t use a ‘headache’ as an excuse for ANYTHING. Panadol, neurofen¬†and panadeine¬†were invented mostly for that.

¬†number four, if you are going to call in sick, don’t wait until five minutes before your shift starts to let anyone know. two hours minimum notice is standard in most places. that allows the employer time to ring around other ‘on call’ employees, see who can come in, time for them to get ready and be there. on time. which you never are anyway.

now you may be wondering what has bought this on today. I had a meeting this morning at work. 9am start- which is an hour before we open, an hour before I start (though I am, always early; point 1). so of course I dragged my sorry hung over ass out of bed earlier than usual, got myself together- hell I even ate breakfast.
yep, I’ve¬†got a throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a serious regret for ever having started drinking again, but I¬†got up, and I presented myself 15 minutes early.
only to receive¬†a text message as I¬†parked saying that the meeting had been cancelled because someone wasn’t showing up because of a headache. a fucking headache. you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

this has brought me to question the work ethic of pretty much everyone I¬†work with. whats worse, is when I¬†look at¬†who is constantly late, sick or leaving early- it’s only the girls. Now, I¬†don’t work with them. I¬†work on my own, in the kitchen, I¬†run my own show, but seriously-¬†I am the one who listens to the boss when he needs to have an expletive laden vent at what goes on in his establishment.

it’s no¬†fucking wonder generation y has such a bad reputation, and its no wonder there are still places that will hire more men than women. it’s just sad that because of the half-dozen¬†slack bitches who can’t be¬†arsed ever doing things right by work, that the rest of us have to suffer.
I’m¬†really fucking sick of it. it fucks up my day. it puts me in a bad mood, and then the rest of you have to suffer even more because im in a foul temper.

so, there we go. I’m hung over, angry at the people i work with who have no work ethic, sense of time or loyalty/ownership/enthusiasm for their job, and I’ve had my expletive laden vent for the morning.

you’ve got a headache? harden the fuck up.

My week away (only a fortnight late)

So I’ve been promising¬†that I’ll write about my birthday party/ holiday/ fun times, and i hate not to fulfil a promise, so here goes.

29th/30th- Sunday/Monday. I worked at the pattisserie¬†for 5 hours, because Elsa wanted the day off, and¬†I haven’t yet learnt to say, ‘ummm, no’ so therefore, my month-without-a-day-off became a day longer. Luckily, Saturday night¬†I had gone to the effort of packing the car, so¬†I could just get in and go when the time was right. I finished at about 2:30, headed home and tried to have a nap. NO CIGAR. My body was all, ‘Ha! fuck you Alex, you’re going to have to drive 1247KMs¬†on adrenaline and caffine¬†pills alone’¬† so, 4 caffiene¬†pills, two neurofen and many impatient text messages to Kristi later, and 4:30 was when¬†I lost my patience and got in the car to go.
Boy, did I learn my lesson then. Never, EVER will I drive that far, alone, in the dark, after such an epic working spree.¬†I had to pull over in Coffs¬†Harbour (halfway) and nap for an hour, and then struggle onwards. 40 minutes from the finish line, I had to pull over again, because my vision was blurring and¬†I was beginning to swerve around in my lane. Slept for another 45 minutes, and finally got to the Sunshine Coast at just before 6am- waking Kristi up as¬†I arrived ūüėÄ
I spent the first day getting settled into the holiday house I’d rented (which was awesome) had sexy JOW¬†noodles (which is probably my most missed takeaway from the coast) with Kristi, and just chilled out in general.I saw¬†my brothers for the first time in 6 months, and invited them over for dinner on tuesday. ¬†I think¬†I was in bed at just after 8, and¬†I didn’t re-gain conciousness till¬†I felt Finley’s massive paw batting me in the face at 5am the next morning.

31st- Tuesday. Got up at 5am and took Finley for a walk along the beach. I’ve never seen a more hypo dog, when it comes to wanting pats. He had his big doggy¬†grin plastered all over his face, and his tail wagging so hard his butt¬†wagged too.¬† and he got what he wanted too- so many buff, tanned, sunshine coast early morning runners stopped to pat him and give him a scratch. Where was mine?
I set up my new Nespresso machine, fiddled with it for a bit, then made Kristi a cup when she came over before work. Afterwards, I got ready and picked up Gabby, who is, sadly, mourning the loss of her soulmate and closest friend. We picked up Marissa, and went to Noosa. somehow, amazingly, Courtney from Noosa Junction Tattoo designed and fitted in a tattoo session for Gabby as soon as we walked in. Her tattoo looks amazing, and I think it will help, in the future, for her to feel closer to Paul again.



That night, Matthew, my 10 year old¬†brother, came to visit. We made pizza, watched TopGear, and laughed like we always did. It wasn’t until then I realised just how much¬†I missed the little fella’s company, and just how alike we really are. We’re close enough that he confided in my just how sad he was that on Sunday coming (Fathers Day) he was singing in the school choir at a Fathers Day festival, but his Father wouldn’t be going, because James had his football grand final.I understand that James, at 12, is a talented young player- But when your youngest son is singing, at a thing specifically for Fathers… well, my heart broke for him.

1st- Wednesday. I organised most of the food ordering, the butcher, baker and candlestick maker, as well as all that extra fun stuff, the softdrinks, lollies, cake bags and so on. I went to lunch with Arsenio and Finley. I also saw Jeremy, who¬†I hadn’t seen or heard about in 8 months. he gave me a free coffee.¬†I like Jeremy ūüôā I also visited Gabby again, because while my trip lasted,¬†I wanted to make sure she was still going strong. riding the waves like the amazing surfer she is.¬†
I had dinner with my mother, step-dad, and both brothers. it was… well, it felt empty. Darren, my step-dad, tried really hard to keep the conversation going. Because my mother and I were really struggling to find words for one another. James was his usual cocky self. Matthew, as typical, was as sweethearted¬†and loving as ever.¬†I couldn’t love and adore that boy more, if he was my own child. I got a Kitchen Aid for my birthday present, along with a pretty amazing scrap-book that my mother had made over the years, of photos of me from birth to 15. it’s quite stunning and¬†I will post pictures one day.

2nd- Thursday. It’s my 21st. I woke up to a message from Kristi, wishing me a Happy Birthday, the old sweetheart. also recieved¬†many happy birthday phone calls through the day, which was sweet. I had a chilled out morning, had lunch with Miles, got a manicure and pedicure¬†in the afternoon, then had a nap, and then, went up to Sunshine Plaza with Kristi and took this piss out of anyone and everyone. it was beyond amusing. something¬†I miss every day.¬† Then myself, Kristi and Aaron got Hungry Jacks and stole kids party hats from them, and some old lady¬†sung me ‘happy birthday’ when I complained about something and said ‘Yeah, but ITS MY BIRTHDAY’ then we went for a drive round the beaches (which was redundant at this hour-¬†in the pitch black¬†all you see is vague cliffs and distant ships’ lights) got chased for a little while by tarted¬†up sluts on crappy cars. laughed lots. and still, was home in bed by ten. Was a brilliant day ūüôā

3rd- Friday. i spent most of today organising things for the next days party. had lunch with kristi. Dad and Pania arrived about 2. did more party organising. the whole of dads family came over for dinner. kids, finley and adults alike all had fun. it was a good catchup before the actual party.

4th-¬†Saturday. its a¬†blur. it was an insane mix of organising, moving food, and then the actual¬†party. which, if i’m¬†completely honest, i¬†didn’t enjoy. i¬†felt awkward because both sides of my family seperated¬†quickly. there was one side and the other and i¬†was caught¬†going between them both. looking back, it was probably too ambitious of me to try to force them to co-exist nicely, considering all the bad blood between families. like romeo and juliet, but with only juliet.

then all of dads family came back for dinner, and we did it all again. it was nice.

5th-¬†Sunday. it was granny’s birthday, and fathers day, so again all of dads family got together for breaky. then i¬†went to watch my brothers in choir/footy final. Matthew sung beautifully, as usual. James’ team lost his grandfinal.
so then it was time for me to once again, say goodbye to my baby brothers. Matthew was almost reduced to tears, and it of course broke my heart. James didn’t want to see me because he was upset about football.
i¬†struggled during the drive back to the house, not to bawl my eyes out for missing my Matthew already. i still haven’t had a proper cry, over a fortnight later, and im in need of one.

3am monday morning, Finley and¬†I set out to come home. I’ve never been more releived¬†to see a stateline. i¬†don’t want to go back to queensland again. not anytime soon, anyway.

no protein for you!

I heard the best shut-down ever today. i almost wet myself with laughter

Customer: ‘I’m on a high protein diet’

Waitress: ‘You don’t need to be on a high protein diet’¬† there was a¬†pause, customer smiled thinking it was a compliment ‘I’m sure you suck enough cocks to get plenty of protein’

i was in stitches, and the customer was aghast. excellent ūüėÄ


I would  submit this open letter to the world wide web:

Dear SPS Company,

While I applaud your efforts in the universal key making business, I would like to point out, just a few minor issues I have with your 99-year-old product.

A¬†Hex-key, is something that should make the task of putting something together (be it IKEA furniture, or a dog house) altogether a much simpler, more pleasant task. YOURS DOESN”T. It turns me into a violent, expletive spewing chemical mass, ready to explode.
I just spent half an hour LOOKING for the damn hex-key to fit my dog bed.
Then, I spent forty-five minutes putting the damn thing together. 
A job that, with a normal screwdriver, would take me 10 minutes. (and I can prove this, because the other dog bed has NORMAL screws)
We’re talking four¬†pieces¬†of powder coated aluminum, with a stretched plastic-fabric sack to act as an ‘off the ground’ bed for my dog.

Not only is the Hex-Key fucking stupid, it’s hard to hold, hard to consistently have to jam back in the stupid Hex-Hole every time¬†I dropped it, hard to turn because of its stupid shape and angles, and just stupid in general.

Fuck you, Hex-Key, and fuck you, SPS Company.

I’m done ūüôā

Big Girl Pants…

Since I’ve¬†turned 21, I’ve¬†had so many people asking me what it feels like to be¬†a grown up now, that its given me quite a complex.

I’m a grown up NOW? because I’m 21?
how is what I’m¬†doing today, at 21, any different to what I was doing the day before, at 20?
for me, I grew up when I was 15.

that was where my own considering myself a kid was over. there was no middle point. I dropped out of school and went into full-time work. one day a kid in school, the next an apprentice pulling 90 hour weeks, with workmates ranging between 20 and 45.

I’ve considered¬†myself an adult for nearly 6 years. but because I’m¬†only now ‘adult’ in the eyes of society, what was I before?

is it now time for me to leave uni, move out of home, get a car, have a steady relationship…

so you all know, I’ve¬†been a chef for the last 6 years, lived out of home for 2 of them, have had a car since I was 16, and am part way through a business degree. the steady relationship thing… well. soon enough… maybe.

this is why I never tell people how old I am. the preconceived idea of what a 21-year old should be doing with their life. the ideas that I spend my weekends and nights drunk and disorderly. so many pigeonholes, only so much of me to be pigeoned.

why are we so defined by age? if I am to continue my accelerated burst through age milestones, then by 25, I should have 2.5 kids, a second husband, own two houses, be semi-retired and ready to travel the country in a caravan.

stop telling me what I¬†should be¬†doing based on my age. look at what I’ve¬†done, look at what I’m¬†doing, and ask me what I’ll¬†be doing tomorrow. chances are, your own¬†future might broaden a little, you narrow-minded¬†fucks.

To The ‘Nice Guys’

I found this online, and thought— OH, YAY. i¬†love nice guys. go nice guys. i love you ūüôā

Ode to the Nice Guys
This rant was written for the Wharton Undergraduate Journal

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn‚Äôt worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you‚Äôd ever orchestrated in GTA3¬†to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn‚Äôt have a date, so after numerous¬†vows that there was nothing ‚Äúserious‚ÄĚ between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: ‚Äúoh, but we‚Äôre just friends!‚ÄĚ And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you‚Äôre nice like that.

The nice guys don‚Äôt often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don‚Äôt seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can‚Äôt. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as ‚Äúoh, he‚Äôs too nice to date‚ÄĚ or ‚Äúhe would be a good boyfriend but he‚Äôs not for me‚ÄĚ or ‚Äúhe already puts up with so much from me, I couldn‚Äôt possibly ask him out!‚ÄĚ or the most frustrating of all: ‚Äúno, it would ruin our friendship.‚ÄĚ Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can‚Äôt figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I‚Äôm going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn‚Äôt last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.


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