Hairdressers, more than they appear

Fuck Bones

It’s lunchtime and I am loving life. I mean absolutely LOVING life, I recently found out I was accepted into a job I had my eyes set on and I had chicken for lunch. Nothing and I mean nothing could ever and I mean EVER rain on my parade when there is chicken involved, especially juicy succulent breast fillet chicken covered in Golden Honey mustard sauce, laying on a bed of spinach and steamed rice. I eat this because I am fancy and poor.

I was reading this article about a Japanese dentist who specialized in crooked teeth, not fixing them but making them, apparently it’s the current craze of Japan. Go figure. At least they save on their dental plans, without the need for braces and such. Upon reading this my mind started thinking about my teeth, they weren’t perfect but I liked them. As I pondered various dental applications I chewed my delicious chicken meal. It was all fine and dandy till I felt a crunch. Crunch? Cooked chicken breast didn’t go crunch, it made squelch noises.

My overly paranoid mind went into overdrive, I assumed it was a tooth, I assumed I had somehow dislodged an entire tooth and had crunched it into oblivion with one almighty bite.

I oh so classy like reached into my mouth and pulled out what I had feared would be a broken tooth. It wasn’t, it was a chicken bone. A fucking chicken bone in MY food.

I was not amused, I spent the rest of my time jabbing my chicken and squishing it against the clear plastic prison in which it was imprisoned, ensuring that it wasn’t hiding any other super death traps of bones I could have swallowed. Brutally stabbing cooked dead animals, it’s serious business.

Before I knew it, lunch time was over and rather than spending the time relaxing and eating I had spent it jabbing and squishing. I looked down at my now less than

Appetizing meal feeling rightly foolish. I gave a sigh and went to leave the lunch bench but was stopped by a voice next to me, annoyed business man, that’s right the same annoyed business man from the Subway line apparently worked on my floor. He gave an uneasy laugh before an attempt of a joke to break the apparent ice he had encased himself into. “wasn’t it dead enough for you?” He laughs and goes back to his paper, thinking he had made a funny. Silly business man. I stood there, trying to think of something clever to say, unfortunately the 5 second prime of a glorious retort had passed. I suppose that five seconds was closer to five minutes, as I didn’t realize how long I had been standing looking at his back till another had come up and asked if I was alright. I muttered words of assurance before walking off to dispose of my chicken mess.

I don’t know how to end this so here is a picture of the chicken.

Subway Shenanigans

Subway has this little option, to double anything. Sure it’s not blatantly advertised but their friendly staff more often than not grit their teeth and ‘politely’ ask, “Would you like to add anything else to that?”

Now during my lunch break, I was standing there pondering this.

Just, just bear with me for a second…

What if…

Are you listening?

What if…

I asked, for extra bread?

Not what you were expecting was it? No? Let me continue.

I normally get double cheese, this time….this time I wanted double roll! I’m not talking about a foot long as opposed to a 6inch, I am talking about a roll inside of a roll, topped with roll.

It began as a joke, a simple idea of “I want a double roll, half toasted, hall fresh. With mozzarella cheese in the middle.

Me, being me came to the wonderful conclusion of “this doesn’t have to be an idea! Let’s get that SH** happening!” So the next day on my next lunchbreak, magic was going to happen.

The girl asked me what I wanted, I said “I want a six inch, Italian herb and cheese, but I want you to put another six inch inside it.”

She stared for a few moments, I can only imagine she was baffled by my greatness, my fantastic idea. I’d get it patented and make a fortune off of fat people eating subs.

“I’m sorry..what…?”

Her confused voice broke my non egotistical stupor, I explained it to her again slowly. Using my hands to depict the perfect ‘shove some bread into some other bead’ action.

“Oh, well..you’ll be charged for a footlong.”

That was fine by me, so she went on with my demand, “fresh or toasted?”

I replied, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as she stepped back. “BOTH!”

“I…I can’t..what?” She was laughing now, perhaps she assumed I was joking, I was not. I put on my best Serious Business face, because I, in fact. Meant Business.

See?

“Ok, toast the outside…and leave the inside one fresh, but I want cheese attached to the outside one…the mozzarella one.” Again, I talked her through it waving my arms as though I was fluent in some sort of made up sign language. The person behind me, in line was annoyed. He cleared his throat, as businessmen do and said in a businessmen like way;

“You should be considerate of those behind you.”

I turned to him, he had ordered a footlong, I don’t care what was on it. I just stared at his sandwich, which he was going to have toasted too. I watched as she put his in at the same time as mine, I shrugged my shoulders, giving an insincere apology.

That part of the story had nothing to do with my magnificent creation, I just wanted to draw an annoyed looking businessman, I believe I have successfully failed at that.

Now onto the fresh part of the sub, I got peri-peri chicken, more cheese and the usual lettuce, carrot salt and pepper.

What no tomatoes?

F** tomatos, I don’t like them. They’re too wet. It’s like shoving a bucket of wet water on bread. Water that is wetter than normal water….

….F***ing tomatoes

In the end, she managed to complete my insane, fantastic multi million dollar idea sub. I wanted to give her a good review for her great effots but they had no review forms. I asked if her manager was in and she said no. I felt a little dismayed, how would she know how fantastic I felt? How she had become somewhat famous being the firt sandwich artisan to make.. to make…THIS:

Running out of ideas and time, I quickly yammered, “you gatta, comazi…yeh!” Whilst giving her a thumbs up.

She was less than appreciative.

I didn’t care.

I had the best thing ever created, even if it was hard to eat and I ended up discarding the crusty outer layer.

/end.

get outta the way.

A few days ago I posted about the weed forest in my back yard, I would like to say with pride that I tackled that deep dark dank forest this weekend. Wishing my loved ones and family members’ goodbye I stepped off my front porch and into the unknown.

Such a feat required stamina and smarts. It required strength, not only strength of the body but of the heart mind and soul. Once one stepped into my back yard they had to be prepared, emotionally ready knowing that they may never see the light of day again, knowing that they could be torn apart by ravenous thistles or poisoned by a wayward snake. Hungry spiders would hang from the branches awaiting the unsuspecting adventurer to wander below their domain.



Yes. Such a mission was clearly suicide. Yet I, as the lone heroine of this story decided to take it upon myself to venture out and conquer the weeds.

Clearly, my plight had grown futile. My chest tightened as I realized that I would probably die out here, cold and alone. I meekly attempted to hack away at the never ending forest. Yet my efforts were fruitless. Exhausted, I crumbled into a heap, hugging my knees tightly to my chest as I heard a low ‘Rrrrrr’ somewhere in the background.

My time had come, soon the great beast of the yard would devour me. Maybe Indianna Jones will find my rotting carcass and vomit, if he does then perhaps my death will not be in vain.

RRRRRRRrrrr RRRRRRRrrrr Chika chicka RRRRRRrrrr RRRRrrr

The growling got louder now, I shut my eyes as the motor like growls grew ever closer.


RRRRRRrr RRRRrr RRRrrr

“GET OUTTA THE WAY!”

My eyes shot open, as I flung my body into a random direction. Turning I see a comrade. Let’s call him Mikael, he burst forth with a lawnmower Mega death flame thrower decapitation device and destroyed the weeds.

My eyes grew wide as it dawned on me. I was no longer alone in this plight. I had backup, backup that involved the horse power needed to sate this evil blood thirsty beast.

I jumped up to my feet with a fist pump into the air. Cheers and gleeful laughter could be heard as light once again shone down upon the backyard of my abode.

The beast, had been defeated.


All that remain are the severed limbs, tossed carelessly into the trash.


Weeds 0
Tiffany 1

Weeds.

I admit, I don’t do much gardening, I can find a good hundred things to do other than gardening, especially when its 42 degrees outside on a hot summer day. For all you non Australians that is around 107.6 farenheit. How did I work that out? I googled it; because I have Net Pie.

So when I do do gardening, I feel somewhat proud, accomplished like I have done something, I look at my garden and think to myself. “Good Job Tiffany, Good job.” I even look to what we call the Green waste bin, which is overflowing with weeds and various other garden extremities.

So as I dust off my hands, and pat myself on my back I turn around. Only to find that more weeds had sprung up from the ground. I don’t know how they got there, I thought it a little odd, but since I was in a good mood I went about my business and continued with my weed eradication.

I admit, I don’t do much gardening, I can find a good hundred things to do other than gardening, especially when its 42 degrees outside on a hot summer day. For all you non Australians that is around 107.6 farenheit. How did I work that out? I googled it; because I have Net Pie.

So when I do do gardening, I feel somewhat proud, accomplished like I have done something, I look at my garden and think to myself. “Good Job Tiffany, Good job.” I even look to what we call the Green waste bin, which is overflowing with weeds and various other garden extremities.

So as I dust off my hands, and pat myself on my back I turn around. Only to find that more weeds had sprung up from the ground. I don’t know how they got there, I thought it a little odd, but since I was in a good mood I went about my business and continued with my weed eradication.

Ok, now I felt very chuffed with myself. Yes it’s a real word. I wanted to wheel the bin to the side of the house, to keep it away till it was bin day. As I turned the corner of the house, fear struck my heart, as the brightness of the sunny sky turned dark. An omnipresent feeling of dread crept up my throat, choking me in its suffocating grip.

There were more of them.

These, my dear little readers, were not ordinary weeds.

They were monstrous little profanities! Little shit stains had spikes. Big ones. Oh yes I had garden gloves, good ones. I also had garden shears, but somehow those little spikes managed to fork their way into my double plated steel reinforced gloves. They also towered over me, literally.

It was like I stepped out of my front yard and into an urban jungle. Did I mention there were weird black and yellow spiders, and a few bright green ones? No? Well I am telling you now, I know this because I walked into several webs. I am under the suspicion that they wanted to entrap me, stick their fangs into my flesh then feast on my insides.

So, I did the manly thing, and chose to flee.

Because that’s what manly men do, run.

So it is now a month later, and the weed like forest is still there. Every now and then I throw in a few raw steaks to keep the beasts satisfied. Who knows,I might call a gardener and tell him to ‘fix the problem’

And by fix the problem I mean sacrifice him to the Weed Forest.

I should probably build a shrine there, then they could film the next Indiana Jones movie in my yard.

Internet Pie

I have been gone for a long time. Too long in fact.

Why?Because I had no internet access, do you know what it’s like? Living in today’s Modern society without the internet? You think it’d be fine, that’s what I thought at least. Despite me being somewhat dependant on the world wide web, I figured a few weeks away from it would do me good. Also. I am a girl, so I do not internet, I figure I should be back in the kitchen where I will be baking you all a pie.
The pie has my hair in it. FYI.

It looks something like this:

It looks bad because I didn’t have google to tell me not to put in crazy shit, because some people are that stupid.

Since two weeks turned into three months, thanks to the much loved internet companies of Australia screwing me around, I made many of these pies. It looked something like this:

Suffice to say, I realized how much I rely on the net, to socialize, do my weekly paying of the bills and to get information. Google, I missed you. There were many a time I was sitting there, and saw something on the TV, or my floor, or that my brain couldn’t work something out, my answer was to always Google it.

Without the internet, its comics my Roleplays and even the sweet velveteen caress of a multi million dollar search engine I ended up looking like this:

Although now, I am back.
I would draw a picture for that, but I don’t think it’s needed. I don’t think I could convey my emotions through mere words and visual aids of mediocre value.


Expect something that isn’t written when I am half awake at some ungodly hour. (Ungodly hour being 9:32pm after being awake since 6am and working all day.)