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Guess what! We reached 500 views! *high-five!!!* Now if only you, my lovely reader, would take the trouble to move your mouse up to the upper left hand corner of your screen and click the follow button. I swear nothing bad happens. Sorry the posting's taking so long but I'm actually spending my time these days out of the house in the fresh air rather than in front of a computer screen. I don't think I qualify as a teenager anymore.
Oh and by the way to prove I wasn't lying:

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Hey y'all how's it going? I don't know why people say Kerala's boring. There is so much stuff to do here. Yesterday I cleaned out five kgs of chicken with my bare hands. Incidentally, this holiday was supposed to be fun.
 Let me take you through the different stages of cleaning chicken.
First its like "OMG OMG dead flesh get it away from me!"
Then you get kinda used to it and you're like, "Okay, whatever, lets just get this over with."
The third stage is definitely the most disturbing. Its the stage where you are gagging but oddly content. There is a sort of calm acceptance and satisfaction.
The next stage is when you hit the harder pieces that hide at the bottom of the basin. I'm not going to lie: this bit is terrible. The chicken you're handling at this point isn't that clean drumstick piece where you don't have to do anything. Its the horrible bit from deep inside the dead bird where all the gore and excess fat is attached. It took every ounce of my resolution to keep from throwing up all over the bloody bowl. Five minutes into this stage and you're swearing off meat for the rest of your life and deciding to go hit non-vegetarians in the face with a piece of tofu.
And by the last and final stage, you're just bored. The worst, most horrible thing about the whole experience was that the chicken tasted really good at the end.

Speaking of the kitchen, my fun duties in that hellish place do not only involve the routine handling of blood and gore, they also involve doing the dishes. Its not the enjoyable kind of doing dishes that you see in American movies where you just scrape everything into the sink and put the plate in a sleek silvery machine. Even though the conference center is amazingly technologically advanced, the one thing they don't have is obviously a dishwasher. Dear universe, we appreciate your sick sense of humour. 

Now normally I wouldn't be annoyed by having to clean utensils large enough to cook for fifty people in. What annoys me is that the large population of foreigners in the conference center never wash their own plates because apparently being from Norway and Canada is an excuse. Don't get me wrong, they are all lovely people and I adore them but sometimes I feel like dismembering them gently with a hack saw. So yesterday, I decided that would change. I positioned this girl at the kitchen entrance with two extremely large meat cleavers to convince the foreigners to do it themselves. Guess what happened. The @#$#%$$%#$ didn't even bring their own plates into the kitchen, they sent someone else to do it. Don't worry, justice will ultimately triumph, I just have to figure out a more threatening form of intimidation. Kerala loves me, people.

Anyway, that's all for now folks. I'm going out again (be very jealous of my amazing life). I'm having a pretty awesome holiday, all dead fowls considered, and I hope you're having a good summer too. Take care! xoxo

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