picture-2016-09-07-om-11-36-12Korsakoff’s syndrome , also known as Korsakoff’s disease, is a persistent memory disorder which is primarily caused by vitamin B1 deficiency, usually due to too little varied food by chronic alcohol abuse . It is characterized by disorientation, especially in time , disorders, in particular short-term memory and confabulation.

In layman’s terms: The severe memory loss you develop when overindulging on alcohol.

The time has come you guys. Ever since I came back from my travels I’ve been going home every night smelling of stale beer and sweat. Dazed and confused.


Tired. Falling asleep on my couch watching Comedy Central. Or worse: Spike TV.


I’ve hit rock bottom alright.

I spend most of my days in the bar.



You: “Gee Evvy how did it come this far? I never considered you to be an alcoholic.”

Me: “Me? Oh I don’t drink. I just stick to water, coffee, ginger juice and brownies. Plain brownies. Not the ones Martha Stewart baked in prison.”


You: “But I don’t get it, then why do you say you go home smelling of beer? All dazed and confused?”

Me: “Because I work in a bar dummy. You’re currently looking at the new barmaid of Korsakov. The coolest -and most ‘colorful’- bar in town. It attracts some interesting specimens I can tell you that. And ‘men’ in general.”

Owner: “Gee, ever since I hired you the café is filled with guys. It’s like they’ve never seen a female bartender before.”


First barmaid in history. All rights reserved.

It’s like that time when Buffy left Sunnydale to live in that shitty apartment, making ends meet by working as a waitress and changing her name into Anne!


“I have to write this down”


(Guys acting like they’ve never seen a female bar tender before)


Ooh, that’s a strong look. Maybe I should try it out today.

Relax. It’s all temporary. And it’s all for a good cause.

You: “Oh you’re donating your earnings to charity?”

Me: “Err, no. I’m saving up for a new challenge.”

You: “A boob job???”


Me: “No perv, my tits are fine. I did the pencil test…”saggy-boobs

Although it is a great idea for my tip jar…


No, I’m very comfortable in my skin and feel very blessed to be walking around in this goddess body Mother Nature bestowed on me. And it’s nice to see I am still very much in control of my mind and bodily functions.

…Which is more than I can say for some of the customers.

Weird dude: “Hey Anne could you pour me another Duvel. It’s only my sixth one today.”

Me: “My name is Evelien.”

“And its only 11.30 am…”

Weird dude: “Well I’ve been awake for almost six hours. I went to bed at 4.30 and got up at 6. It’s okay I usually drink 18 Duvels a day.”


Weird dude: “So you’re still in school?”

Me: “Err; no.”

Weird dude: “Then why do you work here? “

Me: “Because I want to.”

Weird dude: “Waw, you’re weird.”

I just got called weird by the weirdest guy on this planet :


Weird dude: “What’s your name again?”

Me: (…)

Korsakoff’s syndrome. Told ya.

You: “Well the weird guy does have a point there, Ev. Why do you work there? You got excellent qualifications, you graduated with distinction, your IQ is above average, one year ago you were the perfect ivory to will.i.am’s ebony…


…Not to be rude or anything but you can do way better than this.”

Me: “Look, don’t feel bad for me guys, I choose to work here. It keeps me grounded. It pays the bills and it gives me time to gain some perspective, look at things from a different point of view, put my priorities in order and think of all the things I want to achieve before I’m 30 and after. I’m coming up for air. And it’s actually working out really well for me.

I’ve been feeling super energized. For the first time in a long time I feel like I can finally breathe again. I’m not on my case anymore. I’m working, making money, contributing to society. And I’ve actually been creating a lot of cool stuff.

You: “So tell us about that new challenge you’re saving up for?”

Me: “Well it’s still a secret but I can say it’s a physical challenge. But my body is far from fit yet.”

You: “You finally realized you belong in the porn industry?”

Me: “Yuk no! Why has this always have to be about S-E-X??”

You: “Slaying vampires?”

Me: “I wish! Been wanting to do that since I was 10.”


You: “Oh I know! You’re going back to China?”

Me: “Unfortunately no, even though I dream about my Shifu commanding me to do Russian push ups every night…<3”


The first ever original pic of my Shifu on the blog. His Chi is mostly in his hair.

He would so much enjoy using that staff to punish drunken customers. Not that I dislike alcohol or people how drink or anything.

I do -very rarely- enjoy a shot of tequila after a hard shift. With a side of …. UH OH



But I do steer away from the alcohol demon as much as I can. I’ve seen what it does to people. And it’s not pretty.



And of course Beyoncé is so drunk in love she can’t even spell right.


Or remember she took a shit in the kitchen.


What I’ve realized over my short career of bartending, is that there’s always a reason to drink. Some drink to celebrate. Some drink to make something happen. Others -and they’re quite the majority unfortunately- drink to forget.


 To forget their dad abandoned them when they were a kid. To forget their girlfriend left them for some other dude. To forget they have financial trouble. A dead end job. To forget the prison they’re living in.


And who can blame them? It is tempting to lighten the burden with bourbon.


But reality is: life has got us all by the throat. Everybody is looking for their cup of happiness. But maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to find if we wouldn’t raise the bar on ourselves that much.

It’s like in ‘Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade’. We go looking for the perfect cup. With emeralds and gold, …. the whole shebang. But it’s the simplest cup which carries the purest happiness.

My glass is filled to the rim these days. With my own (non alcoholic) brew. Now, it’s only a first draft so things can still curdle, but I discovered the perfect way to perfect acceptance and happiness is to sometimes just stand still. Nakedly exposed, for everyone to take a good look at you. And you allowing them. Without fear of failure.


I’ve realized: If you want to succeed in life, you shouldn’t be afraid to fail.

Not being scared to occasionally fall on your face is the way to put life check mate.

Life is a game of chess, I’ve said it before. And I will say it again.


There’s nothing wrong with standing still or even taking a few steps back if it helps you to jump further in the long run.

For now, I decided for myself: I don’t have to be achieving 24/7.

I choose to underachieve.

And it feels great. Incredibly liberating even! It definitely beats trying to be someone you’re not or desperately achieving someone else’s crazy high standards and feeling miserable over it.


Hi, I’m a temporary voluntary underachiever.

Nobody is perfect and still we demand ourselves to be a perfect 10 every day. In order to be acknowledged. By ourselves. And by our surroundings. To be something other than just a brick in the wall. A plant. Or maybe a pretty flower.

Well in order to become that. To rise above your feeding ground. You have to let the seed grow. And all that requires is three basic ingredients. Air. Patience. And water*.

*Nope, sorry, no alcohol.

And for what it’s worth. This is a quote I found on the toilet wall in the bar:

“If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, then it never was.”

If this doesn’t sober you up for the better, I don’t know what will.




KABLEWY! Blonde/Clueless has it’s own business cards! What do you think guys? Isn’t this kick you in the nuts damn right fantastic?!




Farewell farm. Farewell SA.

So I came into this farm, absolutely clueless of what the Australian farm life would be like. And I have to say, the first days I was having some trouble finding my place.

“Okay Ev, your chores today are to: feed the chooks, fill up the horse basins, check the ram’s water in the ram paddock, cut the lawn, feed the sheep using the tractor do some washing of clothes, hang up and bring back in again. And if you have some time left: sweep the stables, tidy up the common room and do some dishes.”

I already told you the first day I found a dead cockatoo in the horse basins. And that the only seemingly fun thing on the list -feeding little woolly chooks- turned into a nightmare because of that rooster attacking me and flying up against my legs and even high up to my face. Well, I didn’t know how to use the lawn mower, forgot the instructions for driving the tractor and spent one full hour trying to figure out how washing machines work Down Under. Apparently you just lift the lid, pour laundry powder in there, put all your clothes randomly in there together and then add some fabric softener. There is no separate thing to put the soap in which would really upset my mom since she works in the quality laundry machine business… Any who. My first two days were disaster and I had to constantly bother Sammy at work asking her how the funk things worked. How do I recognize a ram out of the other sheep anyway? And what in a name is a ram paddock?

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Well two weeks later I’m running over these lands like a pro farmer. Joy riding the tractor, mowing the lawn for hours laughing away like a little toddler on a little machine kart, and not minding that rooster anymore. The moment I walked into that shed fearless, he just stopped attacking me. He must have gotten the memo.


Also the spiders don’t scare me anymore. Or not as much as they used to. These nasty eight legged buggers aren’t my favorite companions either. But I do regret how I handled some of them. The first few nights in my shed I was feeling all confident with my little can of highly effective bug spray. Spraying every spider, every web, every bug I encountered. Die, fuckers, DIE! One night there was this black spider surfing over my carpet. Apparently it had hitched a ride on the back of a moth navigating it straight into its web through a hole in the carpet. I was spectacularly convinced I had just discovered the flying black spider, a breed not yet to have been discovered in the stretched lands of the South Australian terrains. And since I must have looked like I had seen a ghost -all pale and with my black hoodie tightened firmly around my face- I thought of nothing better than to spray the hell out of that hole hosing the black spider down with heaps of white toxic goo, watching him slowly die… So far for scientists naming the spider after you, Ev!

It wasn’t until the next day I discovered that some spiders are really good at keeping the bad ones out. Then I learnt I must have killed quite a few good ones and it just made me feel sad a little…

I guess not all of them are bad. There is this big ass spider called the huntsman. He is brown, fugly and has these incredibly long hairy legs but apparently he just wants to cuddle and be your friend. I mean, how cute is that? Might not wanna befriend a funnel web spider though. This is the deadliest spider ALIVE. And here I am fearing redbacks and white tails. This funnel web will mess you up pretty badly and guess where it’s at? In Sydney. One of the places I’m going next…

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The huntsman ❤


The funnel web!!!

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So it’s farewell to the farm life after almost three weeks. And farewell to South Australia in general. Me and backpacker Pierre are gearing up the car as we speak, to head to Melbourne, Victoria. I was already planning to go from Adelaide to Melbourne before I arrived on the farm. When I got here, I shook the hand of a tall French guy with an ever darkening tan, to find out he is going to Melbourne in a few weeks. And he has his own car! We hadn’t only known each other for 1.30 minutes or I already invited myself to tag along. I figured I had another 2 weeks to get to know him and find out if he was a serial killer or not. Turns out he’s -would you ever have guessed?- NOT. And I also learnt he cooks up an amazing chocolate cake. Not that this would be of any use on the road, since we don’t have an oven to take with us, but any guy who enjoys making chocolate cake like he does cannot possibly be a bad apple. So yeah, me and Pierre are off on our little road trip. Leading us past … ahm… some national park which name I keep forgetting and The Great Ocean Road! Woowie! Once we arrive in Melbourne we will go our own separate ways since he’s going to New Zealand and Hawaii and I’m, … well… , still deciding on that actually (big toothy smiley). I must say I have some catching up to do. Only a little over a month left and I still have loads to see here in Australia. It will be a little bit of a rat race with 20 kilos attached to my back. I hope I easily find places to sleep, since I’m not booking any hostels in advance, since I don’t know when I will arrive where, SINCE THE ONLY PREPARATION I HAD WAS WATCHING ‘THE RESCUERS DOWN UNDER’ IN THE PLANE.


So yeah, pretty exciting! (big toothy smileys all over)

Will miss the farm. Sammy’s great food. Nick’s passionate talks about bees and beer. Bread day (on Thursdays Sam would bring heaps of free bread from the bakery), My Kitchen Rules. And the hot butcher next door. Maybe I’ll come back for him when he’s matured -he’s only 23! Can’t say when he has grown a beard since he has a magnificent one growing on his gorgeous face already.

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“What’s that Pierre? You’re ready to hit the Great Ocean Road? I hear ya buddy!”

Good bye everyone, take care! And Sammy, every time I look at my toe nails I will think of you. I promise!


Here’s a little photo album:

*That time Sammy and I went to pet some hairy pigs…


That look you give the owner when you ask him if they have sharp teeth. TURNS OUT THEY DO!!!1455238252130

  • Sam and I used to text. Even if we were only 10 meters away.

(Funny how she completely ignored this final text where I got myself electrocuted and bumped my head against the stable door. Farm life as usual! )

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The chooks …And the fugly rooster.

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Boys stuff (FYI this is not a meth lab)

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Girls stuff


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