Social Skills of a Peanut.

I never thought I would meet a true Racist.
Of course there are days where your friends make some slight about another colour which sort of puts you on edge, but you know they're joking because they're your friends. Sometimes we just say shit without thinking - It happens to the best of us.

But lately the comments that have fallen out of my co-worker's mouth have just been over the top. I think it started when he said, 'All black people smell funny."
I wasn't sure at first if I actually heard it correctly, or if I missed a part of a really bad joke, or if he was just being a distasteful 20 something year old, so I let it slide. When he started to say things about Asian people, and then Indians it was fairly obvious that this dude had very little tolerance for anyone but himself.

But what could I do about it? Tell my employer that he's being a douche bag, hope that he gets fired and go on with my life? Its not always that easy. I'm surprised by how many people at my work place sympathise with him... I'm surprised by how many people think that the shit that comes out of his mouth is funny and I'm mortified that I've actually been ridiculed for thinking differently.

Is this small town mentality or are these just small people? Needless to say, I am disturbed.

Being a young, white girl living in Canada you don't see too much of this crap. I can't say that I really know what it feels like to be discriminated against (except for the one time when I couldn't have a friend because my boobs were to big), and I suppose I am blessed for that reason.
But the other day this guy said something so overtly distasteful the look of shock that usually covers my face while he's yammering away, I'm sure, turned to absolute loathing.

He said, "I hate women with large appetites, they gross me out. All women should eat low fat wheat thins because eating is for men."

I didn't say anything at the time, but over the next few days my loathing turned into a blaze of absolute hate and I'd like to think that it was justified.

I'm not surprised that this came out of his mouth, I am surprised that a comment like that didn't register as something inexcusable or possibly damaging to any females, let alone ones with extra weight. I was floored and when he followed this comment with another explanation of his feelings about working for a gay man, I literally wanted nothing more than to staple his lips shut with an industrialized gun.

It eventually bothered me so much that I spoke to my employer about it.
The following day there was a rude message waiting for me from this individual that was fairly embarrassing. I don't know what will happen now, he may get fired. I can't say that I'm happy about this, I can't say that I'm sad about it.

The only thing that I am, is completely blown away that such ignorance could exist in a twenty year old in 2008.

Missing: Middle Finger & Butter.

I cut the side of my God damned middle finger with a mother fucking meat slicer.
When I decide to cut off portions of my body, I don't go small I go HUGE. Why be stupid and endure the agony of a painfully dull knife when you can have a razor sharp, rotating blade slice you cleanly and accurately? Seriously folks, if it wasn't for the intense throbbing and the asinine amount of blood pouring out of my digit, I never would have felt it. Go figure.

And just to prove to you all how fecking tough I am, I wrapped the bastard in a towel, delivered 15 pizzas to small children (while traumatizing them in the process), came back and made a hella-sweet bacon cake. That's right, a bacon cake.

Fuck you convention! I want fatty pig tissue in my desserts.

It was nice (for once), to work with the Chef.
It was nice (for once), that the Chef actually acknowledged my intelligence and opinion. It was nice (not so much for once, because I generally do have a clue, but for some reason I bumble a lot in this kitchen), to stand there with my brain fully backing me and it was AWESOME to actually have left a positive impression on a man who is so incredibly self-involved that he would barely take notice of a homeless man dancing naked through his kitchen.

*sigh*

Anyway, we made bacon cake which is (yes, you guessed it... You smart bastard), a cake with bacon fat in it.
Yeah, this probably sounds gross to you, but that's because your culinary knowledge is non-existent. If done right, a bacon cake can taste exactly like a stack of pancakes with a crispy side of bacon. Unfortunately, the chef has yet to master this formula.
So tonight I took it upon myself to perfect a recipe. I failed to accomplish this, but it was still considerably more awesome than the Chef's.

While the cake was very tender, it didn't have the taste that butter provides. It needs more butter. So I unfortunately have to find a way that will allow me to incorporate all the glorious wonder of bacon into a cake that isn't going to put the fat ratio over the top.

I'm thinking... Crisp up some bacon, throw it in a food processor and make some bacon powder. Supplement this for some flour and I'll have a pile of salty-bacon goodness... I wonder if it will work. Either way, it will be fun to experiment with.

Doing this today rekindled the pastry fire under my ass.
I think I need to start doing things outside of bread... I think I need to start creating my own recipes so I can have something to be proud of.

I think I need to buy some more bacon and change my Hello Kitty band aids.

Missed Phone Call.

I really wanted to talk to you tonight.

I know you say stuff like, "You can go one day without talking to me, its not the end of the world!" and I generally agree with this, but today for some reason, I just really wanted to talk to you.

I guess I'm feeling a bit crap.
There are some days where I feel so ridiculously alone and so unbelievably useless that just seeing a cook on TV struggling in a kitchen pushes me over the edge - probably because I know how he feels - The standing in his shoes sort of thing. Its in those moments when I wonder if being a Chef is something that I should have done. And then I generally just get angry at myself for being a pussy and ultimately just push through it. Its hard to do this sort of thing on your own, esepecially when you see no hope for any change, no consistent stability or peace of mind. I know you know this and all I can really say to you about it is: At least you had your parents support.

Today I just feel like crawling under a blanket and hiding from everything.

I try not to let this side of me come through too much - I don't want this part of me to become an overbearing and uncomfortable constant for you. But you make me feel better and because you're so far away, the emotions tend to come out more than they probably should.
Just a few moments ago I was lying in bed, crying and stroking my hair because I knew that, that is what you would do if you were tangible. One of the things I love about you the most is that you always touch me. For the first time in my life I don't need to seduce someone to be touched, and for the first time ever, a man is touching me in a way that conveys love and not lust. While this makes me disgustingly happy most of the time, knowing that it took 26 years to find that connection, breaks my heart on the bad days.

I miss you so much on the bad days.
I keep telling myself, 'six more months and I can move away. Six more months and I'll be closer to him. Six more months and on the days when I ask him to come over, there's a realistic possibility that he will actually come', and then I look at my empty bankaccount and that, 'dream is dashed' becasue even in six months, while working 61 hours a week, I still will not be making enough money to financially support myself.

And that's when my bad days become terrible days.

It seems like no matter how hard I try, the thing that makes me most happy is completely out of reach. Its pathetic I know and I hope it doesn't make you too pukey, I'm just in love with you and on the bad days, I become a bit more sap-tastic than I ever should be.

I miss you.