Realizing I've never stated this guys I'm a dyke. All of my forcemasc edits about being a man are because I'm a butch and love other butches and studs. I want to forcemasc women into being faggy dykes. I identify with masculinity and manhood in a dyke way. Become a man the way I'm a man. You are absolutely free to interact with my content as a gay man or someone who is more binary. My gender seems complicated at first if you're not interacting with butches and studs in real life. I'm a better man than a man because I'm a butch. I'm a proud femme fucker and a proud butch fucker.
Hi new people from the tiktok comment I left earlier today. I am literally on the line at work rn but I'll finish up some draft edits after close today!! Stay horny about your jobs!!
Nobody gaf but I have an actual blog where I'm very... raw? about myself. Usually wouldn't post it here but this is the forcemasc blog and I just wrote 1500 words about how t4t petplay lowk changed my life so it applies here.
I'm not sure why I'm turning to this blog right now. So much has happened that I haven't felt the need to write about. I took my ADHD meds f
This post is pretty trigger-free but be warned about looking through the other posts. Not all of them have trigger warnings at the beginning and there's some heavy ass topics on there
I have an actual blog where I write about everything going on in my life but since I'm going for pretentious line cook of the year or something it always rounds back out to food. Here's an excerpt I think fits on this blog.
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The low hum of hunger resonates with the loud roar of ambition flooding my senses. They compliment each other. I do not go on runs after work because I enjoy exercise. I go on runs after the longest and most stressful shifts because I have to remind my body that it can and will find a reserve. I have to force myself to be better. I feel the burning in my fingertips when I grab a hot pan and say I've burned all the nerves off already. I haven't yet, but there's only one way there. The conditioning of a chef takes years. The ability to withstand extreme temperatures and broken digits and still produce your best work takes a careless breaking of the voice in your head that tells you it's too much.
The lessons I've been beating into myself are not solely about my own self and my own body. Service is a team sport. Much of my motivation lies in the way that we are all vital members of this team. There is nowhere to hide in a team of 8 cooks. My weaknesses make the team weaker. My strengths support it. To give up is to allow the entire group to drown with me. It's a humbling experience to stand on the line and voluntarily abandon selfhood. To give yourself fully to the mechanical whir of a ticket machine and the man next to you, to feel him do the same. To become limbs of the same creature, to balance each other out. The calculations are endless, the give and the take. The Starbucks run that has become essential to morale and the way I have no idea who's turn it is to pay next. The scales will balance out in the end. Support comes in my coworker starting an argument when I'm close to tears from overwhelm because it'll distract me from everything I fear I can't do. It's in staying an hour late after a record breaking day to help the dishwasher and do basic prep for the morning shift. It's in the quiet assists and loud insults. It's in learning each other's languages.
The exhaustion etched deep into my bones is a reward. What a privilege it is to become better. I feel honored to be allowed the opportunity to face the pressure head on. I feel gratitude for the way it forces me to create myself.
this blog isn't dead I've just had no free time lately because I've been killing myself at work trying to be better and shit. Thinking about moving to San Francisco to get into a real food scene after this current gig runs it's course. I gotta work on my basics and shit I keep fucking up on simple shit like checking my station correctly or not forgetting about bread in the salamander. Whatever. We grind. We don't think about how much better it would be in a kitchen where I speak the language everyone else does. and we especially don't think about the funerals and weddings and dates and holidays and birthdays I've missed because of this career and the many more I will miss. Most importantly we don't think about any of my mental health struggles or anything else going on in my life. As long as service goes smoothly.
Worst part is I genuinely believe it's worth it. I believe it was worth it to show up on day 3 of alcohol withdrawals on Superbowl Sunday. It's worth it to choke back panic attacks because I'm in a short staffed rush and I don't have time to have PTSD. The anorexia I've relapsed into due to stress feels worth it. It's like my brain is trying to escape out of my skull and my skin fits wrong up until the moment I step onto the line. It feels like I have no other choice than to make it. It feels like I can't just be good I have to be the best.
I'm unwell about my job. Sometimes I feel like I'm deluding myself into believing that fixing my brunoise will fix my relationship with my father or something. Or like somehow by cleaning salmon I'm actually also cleaning up the messes in my private life. Every day, even when I'm not at work, I keep repeating to myself that I have to be better.
Hit the ultimate flow state today during our 170-tickets-in-one-hour rush. When it gets so busy and you move in sync with everyone? best feeling in the world. My spanish is getting better and the communication has been on point, delegating and moving and just jumping in. My whole body hurts and I'm so grateful to be alive. I also managed to not burn myself on the oven today! I have a small one on my hand from I think a sautè pan or something I don't even know I barely notice when I'm like that.
The only comparable feeling is subspace, but even then not really because I'm fully in control of my station and dialed the fuck in. It's a form of mindfulness, everything melts away and I stop existing as a person. It's not even existing in the moment it's my brain firing on every cylinder, aware of the next 20 things that need to be done but not thinking about it at all.
