Dented Rasors

I'm straight edge. It's what people tell me when they offer me a drink at a party and I tell them I don't drink. I also don't do drugs. I don't really see the point. It costs money, drugs are illegal, they tend to be bad for your health in indirect and direct ways (Indirect: you're drunk and you fall off a bridge ; Direct: Your liver is calling it quits) and they don't really solve anything. Sure, they offer momentary release but so what?

During the summer I bike. I'm always biking. I'm bored I bike. I have to go to work, I bike, I have to go to class 20km away I bike. It's one of my releases. I listen to music and I just go. I have a Giant TCR 2 equipped with shimano 105 groupset and Mavic Ksyrium wheels with flat zycral spokes. I work as a bike mechanic/salesman during the summer and I got it at cost price so why not. And it was a pretty sizable upgrade from my single speed (fixie that can coast) Giant Bowery. Before that I had a Giant Boulder SE. I went from 15kph (9 Mph) on the boulder to 25kph (15Mph) on the single speed to 40kph (25Mph) on my full carbon TCR. And that's cruising speed, I can and have gone past 50kph (32 Mph) on a flat surface with my tcr. I zip between cars on sherbrooke and St-catherine streets without thinking twice. I'm rarely afraid. It's one of the few times in my life where I don't think too much, I just do.

But then I get home and I can't do the simplest thing. I can't go to bed. I'm tired, I have to get up early. But I can't hop in my bed and sleep. I'm afraid. I can't control what'll happen when I sleep. Hell, I can't even see it coming. That's one of the things that scares me. Sleep.

The 2 Big L's

I don't really get why I am here.

I mean, what's the purpose? What am I going to change here, what difference will I have made when I've left?

These days I have a pretty insignificant footprint... I've truly helped maybe one or two people in my short life. I've cooked food for countless amounts of people in the last few months, fixed a whole lot of stuff for friends, family, strangers in need of help. Do these people remember it? Or does that even matter? I did feel good doing it tough. But all that would have been done by someone else if not me.

Maybe that's why we're here, to help others.

After that we just spend our time looking for the one person we like helping the most and then we spend the rest of our life taking care of that one person. That might just be what love is...

Got dam, I think I just solved the meaning of life 'cause I couldn't sleep. #FuckInsomnia

I try to stay on topic but it doesn't seem to work

Its Valentines day today. Now, seeing as I'm a single guy who works in a semi fancy restaurant, I won't be doing much more than dropping Calamari and Arancini in a fryer tonight. The other 600 people who have reservations tonight are probs gonna get more action. I'm actually pretty cool with this. I don't have to spend my money on getting her something super duper awesome because I have to work. And I don't really have to be ashamed about the fact that I look like shit today (and the past few days, I have a cold and my acne is being a real bitch about it lately).

Don't get me wrong, I do want a girlfriend, they are a lot of fun when you find a good one, even when she lives a thousand fucking miles away. But they warrant more attention and devotion than I have time right now and I'm all broken and emotionally damaged. I'll just wait until I go to Myrtle Beach with my BFF Claire during Canadian spring break (mid march, it changes depending on schools, they like to change them up that way not everyone is off at the same time). I might find myself another American girl, I really seem to like anglophone women for some reason. Like the rest of my siblings actually. Annie, who's 23, and Emilie, 25, have (and are in the case of Emilie) gone out with English speaking boys. Maybe I forgot to mention I'm Québecois. French (the real stuff, not whatever it is they speak in France these days) is my native tongue. I adopted English when I was in high school, also where I lost that atrocious southern accent I've been told I had. Might have something to do with all the westerns I watched growing up.

My mother and father (real one here) made us watch English TV when we were young and when we watched movies we watched them in English. I would wake up around 6 or 7 back then (I was crazy, I remember when I found out I could fart with my arm pits I actually woke my parents up that early, on a Saturday, I was a weird little bastard) and I'd watch it again in french or I'd put the subtitles on. None of us have a frenchie accent when we speak English now, you can tell we ain't from LA (Lower Alabama) but we speak good.

Alleyways, Switzerland and a Fiat (walk into a bar)

This morning I woke up around 9, having went to sleep around 7 (and I still had a hard time falling asleep). I guess waking up at 1600 yesterday (the latest I've ever slept in, ever) didn't help. I fell asleep wearing my short under armour shorts (short shorts, they're awesome, don't you even try to judge me) so I just put on a sweatshirt and sweatpants (I don't actually wear this in public) and went to work. I got there without any incidents (what was 2 inches of snow in SC yesterday is now about a foot in Montreal) but I did see 2 wrecked cars behind towing vehicles. Which made me slow down a bit more. Got to work, checked the schedule and voila, I only had to be in at 1500 (I always forget when I have to do in and I like afternoon naps so). Got back in the car and went home.

In the East end of Montreal (where I live), alleys are and were (mostly were) a hub for social interactions. Playing hockey (something ive pretty much never done in my life), soccer and all kinds of things are always going on there. So a residential block like mine is shaped like a boxed in capital I, with the normal streets being the box, you have two alleys at either end and one in between the houses that connects them. We have a two car parking behind our duplex (usually a non detached, 3 story; basement, 1st and 2nd floors, 2 unit affair). Since the parents are in Florida for a few days (they drove down) I left the car in the alleyway and desnowed the parking.

Canada is a bit like Switzerland, where every male (maybe females too, I'm not sure) over 18 and in good physical health must be part of the militia. We just don't get the cool Sig Sauer SG 550, or Stg 90 as they call it. All we get is what we buy at the store. It can be a simple plastic shovel or a snow blower, I've even seen one of our neighbors take out his atv and it had a snow blower in the front. You see, the Canadian militia is only active in winter and all we do is fight against mother nature's weapon of mass whiteness. Snow.

After doing my parking spot I sorta went around my mother's Fiat 500 (awesome car to drive, if you have an opportunity to do so, do so, it's like a go cart, and if you press sport mode, you're in for a treat) but only my younger sister uses it and I'm pretty sure she won't take it out unless she really needs to with the conditions we have these days. Then I took the snow out of my neighbors parking and called it. I had to come here and tell y'all about this. (Yay gender neutral vernacular!)

Zzzzzzzzzzz

I have Issues. With a capital I. And, like most people who publish their daily activities, remarks and history on the interweb (commonly called blogging), I periodically consult a mental health professional. I'm an extremely anxious person. I always have been. When I was younger I couldn't fall asleep without having a ton of things to comfort me under my pillow (little cars, plastic pistols, etc). That's also how I got the habit of having 3 pillows in my bed (one on the side of the wall, two under my head, they form an L shape). I was always worried something could happen in my sleep so I just didn't sleep. Let's not forget I slept in the same room as one of my sisters for my first 12 years, and I still wasn't able to fall asleep. When my parents separated and I moved in with my mother, along with both my sisters, sleep got easier. Not having my father around probably helped.

These days, thanks to my job, my sleep schedule has gone a little haywire. I either start work at 1100 or 1400 and I usually finish anywhere from 2200 to zero dark (midnight for you military muggles). Getting back from work I'll take a shower (my mom can smell me before seeing me, garlic and fryer oil, not my personal filth). Then I'll eat, watch TV series or a movie, most often a few movies. I get to bed around 400 hours. Lately I've been pushing that to 600 or 700 hours. I'm not sure why. My family situation is the best it's ever been, I have my anger issues under control (I tend to get really mad at simple things for no particular reason and I haven't for the last 2 weeks or so, which is really good) and I'm not really scared of sleeping anymore.

Tuesday I went to bed around 4, knowing I had to be at work for 1045. My body woke me up at 730 on Wednesday and did not allow me access to the land where dreams come true. I went to work, came home around 2230, took a shower, watched Valentine's Day (cause it's valentines soon) and Pretty Woman (because of Julia Roberts) and fiddled around with this blog. The fact is, I don't really want to sleep. I look tired, I am a little bit but my eyes aren't shutting themselves. I dunno why but I have Issues.

Lunch Time @ Portovino

Today I was supposed to have a day off but one of my coworkers called me up and asked if I could take his shift. It's not like I had anything planned so I said yes. Thing is, he's taking my shift tomorrow and he's only working from 1500 to 2000 while I worked all day from 10 o'clock all the way to close, at 2200. Now that's nice because I get more money.

When I got there I checked the schedule to see who was going to be with me, only to find out I was alone all day. Now I don't take care of the whole kitchen. We have sections, I'm an Entrée cook, I do the entrees, baked pasta, cook the side vegetables, fry fries, help with plating on big groups, etc. There's the grill man, who grills everything, the pasta man, who makes pasta, the end man who's at the end of the line (because the kitchen is literally a line that starts with me and goes in the same order as mentioned), he takes care of mussels, seafood things, salsiccia (sausage with all kinds of things) and some other things, the pizza man (I think that one is pretty self explanatory) and the prep cooks who work in back, they prepare some of our stuff. They pre-cook veggies, cut up calamari, roast roasted potatoes, and countless other things that help us immensely.

I've never worked my section alone before, which scared me a little. A rush can hit when you're doing Mise en place (Prep work like cutting cilantro or layering lasagnas) and that messes you up. The little space you have is already used and now you have to deal with orders. To give you an idea, the only space that is purely flat in my 7x3 feet section was actually measured to fit our cutting boards. It's a small 24x16 inches stainless steel table stuck between my fryers and my seafood/tartar fridge (which has a hole on the top that fits our flour bowls, so it can't really be used for anything else). Luckily when I got there my dear coworker had filled up the fridges (open tops kinda like the ones at subway with inserts in them) the day before and even made me back ups. I got my sauces ready, did the little bit of mise en place that had to be done and I was pretty much ready to go.

Lunch time hit with a few groups, 20, 15 and 7 which was good considering this is Wednesday. A lot of smaller tables were also ordering so I got to it. I had a Table d'hôte (small menu that variates everyday) that consisted of a salmon tartar with a small house salad. In about 10 minutes I went from doing pretty much nothing to rushing like a mad man. The executive chef (probably one of the most awesome bosses ever, I seem to have had really good luck with this) came over to help me with the table d'hôte, since he came up with it. In 5 minutes we were sold out (table d'hote are generally small, special things that are only available in limited quantities), the chef was making 9 salmon tartars and the house salad while I did everything else. Sandwiches, fries, chicken salads, meat tartar entrees, etc. In what seemed like 15 minutes the rush that had started around noon was over, it was 2 o'clock.

February 2nd, 2014

Now, this is my first ever Blog and this is my second post. The first one motivated me to start this thing. I know people with blogs and I didn't really understand them until now. Alright, lets introduce meself. I'm Patrick, I like the aforementioned things (look at the title of this blog). I work as a cook these days, for a semi fancy restaurant. Well at least I think it's fancy, I'm more of a ''hey, let's eat at the cafeteria'' kind of guy. I admittedly still went to my high school  to get some spaghetti when I was in college. College, Pffff, what am I saying, I sounded all educated there for a moment, I meant Cegep. I live in Montreal, Qc, Canada. We have a slightly different education system where high school lasts 5 years and elementary 6. So after 11th grade you go to a Cegep where you can choose to do different programs. It's an extra step so as to not commit to something you don't want to be. The general degree you can get is a  DEC or Diplôme d'Éducation Collègial or Collegiate degree. This in turn diverges in two segments (bear with me here) a 2 year program that is meant to be a pre-university thing and a 3 year technical program that can put you in a good paying job right there (sort of a community college type thing). You can also opt to go to university after, but honestly that's pretty much for overachievers and the like. Now, back to me, I'm 18, soon to be 19 (in a few months). This makes you doubt my credentials, doesn't it? I'm 18 and I work as a cook, I must have gone to prison. Nope, I'm straight edge, pretty much. I had a few little awkward detours in my college career. I started with a technical in electronics engineering technology, electrotech for short, at Dawson College. I also joined the Dawson Rowing Team which eased my entry in the college social life (also gave me an 8 pack and awesome quads but that's another topic). This is important here because my life then became a little crazy. I woke up around 530, biked to practice, about 15km away, rowed until 730, biked to school, 10km, schooled until 1800 and then biked home, 20km. I did homework for a few hours and relaxed by watching a movie or a tv series (because an episode is never enough). I went to bed around 2330/100 hours. Then it all started again the next day. Being a novice on the team I wasn't supposed to practice every day but thanks to my technical abilities I fixed boats on the days there was no practice for me, or I sat in for a missing person. When we got to Halloween I was done for, my grades were getting bad and my health wasn't exactly stellar. I caught Mononucleosis, Yoohoo, no school or anything for the next 2 months. I canceled all my classes and thanks to a doctors note, my grades were simply never in the system.

END of the first part