Overly Cynical Horoscope 2016

Welcome back, to the second and final instalment of bullshit I’ve prepared regarding star signs, destinies, fate and the like. Where we left off, we’d covered just over half the year in arbitrary constellation-based periods of time, at which point I got sick of it and promised I’d do the rest at an undisclosed later date in the future.

Picking up where I left off, which was at Virgo, and backtracking slightly because I inadvertently skipped a star sign in my haste to wrap things up and get back to Netflix, let’s kick it off once again with…

Leo AKA: Lion, that’s easy

According to my sources, Leo is a star sign that typically likes ‘taking holidays’. I also like taking holidays. So does almost any adult in the entire world who has a job. Kids like them too. Congrats Leo, way to just phone it in on the topic of ‘things you like’. I bet you’re the kind of person who answers ‘reading’ when someone asks you what your hobbies are. You are a natural leader who dislikes ‘not being treated like a king or queen’, but your strident, overbearing personality and domineering manner will get you into hot water with various people. Try to interact with other humans sparingly this year. As a Leo, you are known to love expensive shit and brightly coloured trinkets; this will be the year you buy a Thermomix. When you’re on your several annual holidays which you love so much, remember to check into every single eatery you visit on Facebook so that everyone is suitably aware.

Spirit Entity: Guy Fieri

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Libra AKA: Kitchen implement

Gentle, harmoniously balanced Libra loves the outdoors. This does indeed fit with the one scrap of anecdotal evidence I have: my husband, the career camper, is a Libra. As a thinly-veiled one-dimensional caricature of an actual person, the blog version of my husband won’t mind me telling you that his job as a professional lads-road-trip attendee is quite literally a walk in the park. He’s nodding sagely right now, saying ‘that’s so true babe. Everything you say is 100% correct.’ But, I digress. Enough about my life. What about yours? As a Libra, you struggle with conflict and prefer justice and equality. Well, shit, so do I because I am a basically decent person. Who doesn’t like justice? You’re as bad as Leo with their holidays. Avoid binge-watching Making A Murderer. You won’t be able to handle the slickly presented unfairness of it all. You’ll be ranting about it to your significant other for days afterwards.

Spirit Entity: A backpacker with no shoes on

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Scorpio AKA: Worse than a spider OR a crab

Much like an actual scorpion, you’ve got a metaphorical hard outer shell and a metaphorical invertebrate appendage resembling a tail, with a venomous sting on the end. You like being right, being violent and being distrusting. You’re in hospo because you need to be in a job where shouty swearing is tolerated. Your short-range future is full of tough decisions. Whether or not to viciously berate that stranger on Facebook for misspelling your/you’re, whether to go sponsored with that terrifying cage-fighting thing you do on weekends, whether to get another tattoo on your face or not. So many decisions. Luckily, you’re a really frighteningly decisive person. You will find this year that many people comment on how much older you’re looking. Don’t worry, it’s just your spirit’s deep connection with the universe manifesting in your outward appearance. Either that or the drug use.

Spirit Entity: Tyler Durden

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Sagittarius AKA: Horse-man thing

As the real-life embodiment of a horse combined with a dude, your defining trait is that you promise more than you can deliver. Makes sense when you’re supposed to be a horse/man combo and you’re really just a regular man. Or woman. BTW where are all the female centaurs? As a lover of travel and the outdoors, you’d be best placed to spend your time/funds going on a holiday. The fates demand it. I know it’s only February but I’m telling you as your horoscopist, don’t get caught up in the details. Just wave them aside. You’ve probably got Expedia open in the other window right now, don’t you, you flighty workshy freedom-loving, spirited person, you. Don’t let anyone hold you back from all that freedom. If you’re a kitchen worker, I’d recommend taking up smoking to maximise the amount of breaks you can fit into a single working day, and really scale up the levels of freedom your body is exposed to. Don’t worry about any particular details that other annoying pricks may point out to you about this. You’re not about details, you’re about FREEDOM.

Spirit Entity: Don Draper

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Capricorn AKA: Another sheep thing with horns. Goat?

You’re probably thinking I’ve saved the best for last, but you’re wrong, because there’s this thing called a chronological order and Capricorn starts in December, even though other, less esteemed horoscope conveyers sometimes put it at the beginning. Noted human being Paula Deen is a Capricorn. She’s a mouthy racist. On the other hand, you’re also in company with Rick Stein who is just lovely, so that goes to show that there is no credence in the concept of horoscopes whatsoever because they clearly mean absolutely nothing. Capricorn is supposed to be the most serious sign in the Zodiac, and people born under this sign tend to be responsible, disciplined manager types who are always up to date with their laundry. The second drawer down in their kitchen is not full of random tangled junk like everyone else’s but instead has a meticulously arranged armoury of uni-tasker tools like avocado scoops and egg separators. They iron things A LOT and thus look really smart and well put-together when they leave the house. If this indeed sounds like you then congrats on being a stellar example of a functional adult person. However, Capricorns are also known to ‘expect the worst’, meaning that they’re really not suited to be on the receiving end of a cruel and vitriolic horoscope reading…sooo…enjoy your year! It’s gonna be great! Use that egg separator, it was a really worthy and useful purchase!

Spirit Entity: A pyramid scheme multi-level marketing business success story

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Thanks again to this fairly randomly chosen website for the hard facts about what star sign is which and what they’re supposed to mean.

 

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Highly Accurate Horoscope 2016

One of my many relevant and completely genuine qualifications is that of the mystical art of the horoscope, so in an effort to get some content up on here I thought I’d take the easy way out diversify the blog’s focus and utilise my very real horoscopy skills to give the readership that which all 23 of them definitely need, even if they’re pretty damn certain that they don’t: a trite and at times slightly off-colour summary of how their lives will play out for roughly the next 12 months.

So whether you’re a chef, one of those grating bourgeois hipsters whose current obsession is food-centric, a relative/friend/ex-colleague of mine who feels obliged to continue reading, a stay-at-home-parent with spirit not yet broken, or just simply deranged, let me help you navigate the existential morass. JUST LET ME. What’s the worst that can happen? That I could unwittingly touch upon one of your deeply hidden, crippling fears and send you into an agonising spiral of self-loathing that takes days to claw your way out of? If you’re a hospitality worker that’s probably part of your weekly routine anyway: get over it. read more…

Kitchen Misadventures

My day job is being a chef, which inaccurately implies that producing this blog is somehow my night job. I like to think that being a chef lends me a certain air of coolness, badassery and authority as a food blogger, but I am deluding myself, as per usual. I love my career but I’ve definitely had some shockers over the short span of it, and I thought it would be both hilarious and educational to recount a few of these for the purposes of making everyone else feel a little bit better about themselves by comparison.

My first restaurant job was in one of the busiest spots in our town, in a boutique hotel with an executive chef who could bring me out in a terror-sweat merely by glancing at me. I got the job in a November and proceeded to blunder my way towards something in the vicinity of competence, finally hitting my stride right around Christmas-time. I was the deep-fryer person, and it was at this station that I did such illustrious things as accidentally immersing my own thumb in scorching oil, but during prep time I typically assisted the pastry chef.

When I was still quite new I got tasked with preparing a 20-egg batch of lemon tart filling, and was given a tray with exactly the right amount of eggs on it with which to go forth and achieve this presumably mundane objective. So I’m working away, just morosely going about my business and considering the relative merits of being mauled by a shark or being caught in a tidal wave (we had an ocean view from the dessert bench, okay?). The finished lemon tart filling is poured into pastry shells which go into the oven to bake. I start dealing to all the crap that I’ve hauled out in order to make the filling, throwing out lemon rinds and empty cream bottles and egg shells and…errrrrr, there’s still an egg in the tray…WHY IS THERE AN EGG IN THE FARKING TRAY?!

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Now, my general disposition at that time was not one that supported rational thought in a ‘crisis’; I was often rather wound-up. This only goes so far to explain my following actions though. In my fear-beset brain the presence of this one wee egg nestled amongst the shells instantly translated to ‘an obvious and very incriminating piece of evidence that points to the fact that I have caused the complete ruin of three large desserts, and will subsequently be flayed alive. Probably with one of the shitey blunt knives too’. Gripped by paranoia, I was convinced that suddenly everyone in the kitchen was a master of deduction and/or a genius savant who would immediately figure out from glancing at the tray that I’d left an egg out of the mixture, thus dooming the entire restaurant to epic failure.

In a move that seemed well-calculated at the time, I stealthily slipped the damning article into the pocket of my chef pants, put my game-face on and nonchalantly proceeded with my cleaning up. The fact that I was now the appalled owner of one ill-protected pocket-egg slipped my mind during the lunch rush, and was only recalled to my memory when I leaned particularly heavily against the bench at one point, and felt it burst against my thigh. That was quite the unwelcome surprise, let me tell you. Not as unwelcome as spending the rest of the shift with the business part of an egg seeping down my leg, though.

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Having spent my break taking the opportunity to change my pants and lose my mind with apprehension over what had happened to the tarts, I returned to the kitchen to find the sous chef contemplating said tarts with a confused and enraged look on his face. Having laid eyes on them myself, they were looking decidedly, well, @#$&ed. From my perspective this turn of events completely validated my earlier batshit behaviour, and I concluded that I should probably just take that little secret to the grave. Either that or spin it into a mildly amusing cautionary tale on a blog in the future.

I later found out that someone else had overcooked the tarts, and leaving one egg out of such a huge mixture would have done bugger-all to affect it, but the egg-stealing episode remains one of more fascinatingly dumb things I have done in my working life. So, what is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done at work? Tell me in the comments…if you’re brave enough!