skinny fat fat

Today I actually used skinny milk to make skinny lattes, instead of using fat milk for everything and just pretending.

I must be in love.

SEX

While we're making your lattes we're not standing behind the coffee machine talking about how unfortunate it is that skinny milk doesn't froth well. No. We're talking about sex. From beginning to end.

Positions. Cocks. Blow jobs. Contraception. Threesomes. Anal. How he could go down on you better. Sex with strangers. Sex with flatmates. Sex with enemies. Sex on cocaine. And most importantly - orgasms.

Everything is open to discussion and nothing is sacred. We make 16 year old boys look like virginal nuns. We are whores and we are proud.

But all of you general public, you're the ones who should be ashamed. The only reason our cafe is so busy is because you all come in and sit as close as you can to the coffee machine to inconspicuously eavesdrop on our lascivious conversations. You've got no interest in how creamy your latte is, or the economics section of The Age that's in front of you. All you want to know is did she or didn't she sleep with her flatmate again and have they been caught out by the girlfriend next door.

The typical early start.

Today I got to work at 7am and spent the first 10 minutes ignoring customers while picking dried up bird shit out of Georgia's hair.

Life's hard when you're just so rock and roll.

overheard conversation on table 101

"So how did you hurt your hip?"

"I was in a wheelie bin and it fell down a flight of stairs."

Music history.

We're listening to Beach House while making lattes.

Ravi: "Is this Kate Bush?"

Two day later. We're still making lattes. Postal Service is playing.

Ravi: "Is this Rod Stewart?"

Annabel: "No Ravi. This is another band."

In Ravi's universe, music consists of only two bands, in the same way that in Ravi's concept of history Hitler and the Jews were good mates who would play ping-pong while eating big fat slices of lemon tart.

Drunk Old Man.

This morning an old man who was already slightly inebriated, came in, sat on Table 5 and requested 'morning tea', which by his definition was a glass of wine, a sandwich, another glass of wine, and a coffee.

I've never really known what morning tea is, but I don't think it's supposed to be that.

Anyway, it made me think about what I'll be like when I get old. And I decided that all I want to be is an alcoholic who ploughs through a pouch of dirty old Drum tobacco in 24 hours and who spits on the pavement and swears at passers by. Such big aspirations for such a little waitress.

At my work...

At my work, my boss is crazy and spends hours decorating cakes with chocolate swirls and glitter and toy boats.

At my work we write down orders on a whiteboard. We also use the board to draw pictures of our goals and ambitions.

This is a picture of Dad teaching guitar Eric Clapton style.

Sometimes we just aim too high.