This morning I have a date with my language exchange partner. I'm really not in the mood, because like every other language exchange in the world, English dominates, and I just, well, it just seems pointless. And Saturday mornings are not my forte.
In other news, I've decided to take French lessons at a community college, for the day I immigrate permanently to Europe, away from this boring country and away from other things I won't mention.
In the arvo I'm going to Karina's. I'm actually picking her up from her friend's place in Coogee. Actually, not her friend's place, but a shop near by, which is unfortunate, because I was so hoping to meet this guy.
Then I'm going to dinner just to celebrate nothing in particular.
Tomorrow morning I'm going mushroom picking which will be fun. It's somewhere beyond the blue mountains.
Kuba and I nearly had a little fight. He thinks I'm a smartarse. Well I am if you don't consider him to be a slacker. He should bloody work for AFP recruitment. I'm sure he'd fit in perfectly.  ¶ 09:00 0 Comments

  Hi. I'm at Bondi Junction PT indefinitely. I learned today that they want a temp because they were told that if Labour gets back in, the branch will close. They have no idea when it will close. But the Assistant Manager reckons there'll be jobs at the city office so I'm going to look into it.
Got a sympathetic email from George. He said it was good coz at least I'll do my commerce degree, get rich, and can come to Europe. He really hit the nail on the head.

Well anyway I've decided my new lease on life starts today.

I will:
1. Cook nutritious dinners at home and take the leftovers for lunch
2. Have my daily coffee at home before I go to work thereby saving $3 a day.
3. Quit smoking
4. End my new addiction to cheeseburgers

Why? Because this morning, I woke up with the beginnings of a urinary tract infection. And that's when

a) I realised I was totally rundown
b) because my life has gone to shit

I got a bleeding nose in the morning just before carrying 10L of water back from Coles to the office. And lately I'm just irritable. Like, I get impatient when I find myself slowing down behind people who walk more slowly than I do. Dude, I need a fucking holiday.  ¶ 20:46 0 Comments

  What I need is a new lease on life.
Speaking of leases, I am allowed to stay at Mulwarree, after explaining to the housing office my situation. They were very sympathetic, and are asking the girl that was going to move in to my room to move into a place on High St.
This morning Shani suggested I pursue my 'journalism career' while I have nothing to do at work (which is pretty much all day.) So here is the finished product. I was supposed to write a real article to send into the uni student publications, but I was too overcome with bitter self-pity to be serious. Perhaps it was meant to be that way.

How to Be A Loser in Ten Days
An Investigative Report by Liz Stoneman, Future Travel Writer and Expert Utiliser of Charming Wit

I met Dole B. Ludger in a Balmain café on a rainy Saturday morning. It took months for him to get back to me about giving this interview – the past few months have been spent busily frittering away his pension on flat whites (“disposable income or no disposable income – I just can’t live without my classic flat whites”), CDs chosen randomly in the vain hope of broadening his musical tastes, and books, in the similarly vain hope of increasing his vocabulary so that he can be a better communicator. “Employers look for good communication skills, so that’s what I’m working on now.”

I hoped that my nervousness at meeting Dole was not too obvious. Who wouldn’t be nervous? He was, after all, the National Representative for Arts Graduates of Australia, living proof of the formidable dangers of doing an Arts degree, having been for three years wildly ambitious yet sadly oblivious to the realities of life post-completion. He didn’t seem to notice so I felt free to begin with number one on my list of questions, which was about the world of temping. Dole once had a stint doing reception for a chaotic management consultancy located in the ultra-seedy central business district of Bondi Junction. Typical of consultancies, the staff were grossly overworked. Dole’s previous claims that he was used as a punching bag before being fired (by the nasty office manager, who went by the euphemistic title of ‘Practice Manager’), were refuted by his dodgy temping agency, who threatened that if he didn’t start acting more “enthusiastic” about reception, they would have to let him go.

“Admin was nothing like I had imagined. I mean, I’ve seen The Secretary… and now I feel totally deceived. The agency was later a little concerned about a few items I brought to work. I thought I was being ‘pro-active’, just like they suggested.”

As this publication goes to print, Ludger is currently wasting his third semester doing absolutely nothing, since graduating. I asked him if he was concerned about how ‘recent graduates’ means people who graduated in the past two years. Wasn’t time running out for him to get a job?

“Nah, man. Peace. I’m going to London to make my fortune there. They love Aussies – I’ll get a job and a career there. I just need to save up for the plane ticket.”

On two hundred dollars per week, his plans are admirable, but strange. His car was broken into two months ago, and every day he crawls through the boot to open the front door from the inside because “some abo [sic] junkies” damaged the locks. He is yet to get the doors repaired.

Earlier in the week, I had spoken to his brother, Bigger. “Did you know Dole lived in Venezuala for two years? He can speak Portuguese! He’s the only one in our family who has done such an amazing thing. He’s going to be so successful. I tell all my friends about how my kid brother lived in Venezuala and they’re all like, ‘wow, man!’”

The next subject I wanted to talk about was a more sensitive one. In January of this year, he had an interview with the Australian Federal Poo-Bottoms and was offered a starting date over the phone. Three weeks before this date, they informed him that he was too short-sighted to join.

“They just didn’t care that I wore Pradas. I mean, come on, they’re Pradas, for god’s sake! Who wouldn’t get a job wearing these babies?”

I bit my tongue as he offered me some of his soufflé. Was I going to eat the rest of my blueberry pancakes?

“My Dad keeps telling me that the reason I’m always broke is because I buy cigarettes. Look, I don’t mind the odd smoke. I’m truly good with my money. Like, yesterday, I had enough to actually buy a shirt from David Jones. Hello!”

It’s 11am, and Dole has to get to Centrelink before it closes at midday.

I thank him for his time.

“Don’t worry mate, I’ve got plenty of it.”  ¶ 18:39 0 Comments

  Kuba has been extra nice to me so that I will do his assignment. Sms's, calls, invitations... you name it. It's on OHS and he wants me to actually write it for him 'just this once'.
I don't even know what to bloody write. He reckons natural disasters are an occupational hazard.

I'm going to Byron Bay soon. Very excited. I keep my ticket with my passport so I won't lose it.

Fi is going to try to get me a job at her work. It's a place that monitors the media by writing summaries of news and current affairs items.
1. Anything's better than reception
2. I will be totally 'au fait' with what's happening in the world and will therefore magically become an excellent conversationalist.

Mum, I got rejected, like you feared, so it's all over. Am asking the housing officer to let me stay on, and will try to get the abovementioned job which should provide me with something to be interested in until uni starts in July. A business career it is. Deferring uni was a risk I KNOW, but some people including me don't mind taking risks that really aren't harmful to anyone. I had no choice anyway, the recruitment officer who told me I passed the interview led me to believe all was good. This involved the word 'congratulations.' And they really stuffed around - I sent them all the paperwork weeks ago, but they waited till it was too late to squeeze back into uni to tell me. It's all none of my fault, so please don't call me as soon as you read this and try to make me feel bad - please think about my feelings.

Working at the public trustee at the moment. There is a section on the wills instruction sheet that the JP fills out where you list the names of 'potential claimants' who you don't want to actually have any of your money. These can be spouses or children, de factos, or even just someone you lived with. You then have to write the reason why you don't want them to claim. One lady wrote that she and her husband no longer have a caring relationship... she's got parkinson's, and he doesn't assist her or look after her at all. Nasty. Living with someone like that. Anyway, if you are living with a 70 year old dominating right wing misogynist who assaulted your daughter on two occasions, I would recommend you specify that they are not to run off with your estate once you depart. It would be quite tragic if he made such a final insult. I'm quite glad the counsellor at Henry Kendall High School reported him to DOCS the first time. It eases the sharp pain of injustice much like taking a panadol does very little for say, severe tonsilitis. Go ahead, prove me wrong.  ¶ 14:13 0 Comments

  I think I'm getting RSI in my back (possible?) from sitting around doing shit all (usually for minimum wage) for the past nine months. Receptionist extraordinaire. My assistant manager asked if I did a course in office admin. This led to a long, boastful spiel about my achievements to date, and I believe she was sufficiently impressed.

Unfortunately neither she nor my boss have read 1984. I brought it up during a bitching session about instant coffee and my boss was absolutely puzzled. I should really keep my the-world-is-going-to-Orwellian-hell views to myself.

I've scuffed my cheapo K-Mart boots ($35 - to good to be true? Yes, too good to be true) on the tips. If they were leather, this would not have happened. So in fact, instead of saving myself $70, I just wasted $35. So the moral of the story is, shoes are an investment and don't try to cut corners by shopping for 'bargains' at K-Mart. Anyway I've dubbed them my 'K-Martens' in the spirit of Doc Martens. I'm wearing them now in fact. Mmm, sexy.
OK moving right along...

Speaking of Orwellian hell, I'm not the only person who thinks that way. In 2005 I attended one of the first lectures of Political Economy 1001 at Sydney Uni. The lecturer talked about how all the big companies are merging and merging until? And he asked us to ponder what would eventuate from this situation. I knew what he was getting at, but I was right up at the back, and I didn't feel like shouting, and I also wasn't confident enough to articulate my answer with the overall effect being one of triumph. So I didn't put up my hand. Noone else suggested it. Ah well. These days things are different. Last semester I told my ethics tutor, who is a behavioural psychology PhD, that one of the readings was psychobabble bullshit. I wondered what went through the minds of the Confucian class majority the moment I looked the tutor in the eye and said the word 'bullshit'.

"Wow, so this is the West", they thought. Needless to say, they all maintained their straight faces in a most expertly fashion.
JUST KIDDING

Reasons why I could be racist:
1. I am forever criticising Chinese culture
2. Well that's it, really.
Guilty? Still culture shocked? Culture shock that never went away? Possible? Anger, resentment, and bitterness? Did I ever really learn to cross cultural barriers? Or did I crawl further into the safety of my own?

That is all.  ¶ 17:45 0 Comments

  I never get to blog these days. Sigh.
Sometimes I start writing posts at work, and saving them, but decide I don't want people at work by chance coming across them, so I fuck them. I don't mean 'fuck' them, I just delete them.

One of the posts was about how I don't think I'm of the marrying type. I mean, how can you really expect to spend the rest of your life with just one person? Oh well, I guess one day I'll get married and see what happens.

In further efforts to raise my IQ before it plateaus at age 25, I've been reading more current affairs mags like The Diplomat and The Monthly. I don't know if I've become smarter or not. I actually need a dictionary to look up 3-4 words per article. If only I knew what those words meant, I could truly appreciate those articles. Sigh.

In other news, I sent off my first aid certificate today to the AFP. Praying that all goes smoothly.

Organised my farewell dinner in anticipation. Saturday the 31st. Should be good. Got a few people coming.

OK bye now!
Love,
L-Wa  ¶ 20:25 0 Comments

  Still giggling over the first aid course.
At Rose's at the moment.
I secretly live in fear that the feds will find some reason not to send me that official offer letter, while I wake up every morning have dreamt about it.
Rose just gave me a topic to write about: penis size. Well, where do I start?
OK that's not a good topic.
Rose is having a bath now so Kuba has agreed to pay me some attention.
Mulwarree has been great. I will sorely miss it. Vanja, Shan-wa, Calvin and Tim, the best flatmates ever. I will miss playing poker (hopefully my fellow cops will like playing it) and playing Cranium, and having Pity Parties. (hopefully my fellow cops will like having Pity Parties.)
I will definitely miss coming to Rose's every weekend/every chance I get... But hey Canberra is only three hours away so it's no biggie. I can just drive up on a Friday night and stay all weekend!!! I'll just rock up at 9pm Friday night and announce my arrival.
Hmmph.
OK will write more later.  ¶ 20:00 0 Comments

  Hello. First Aid courses are such bullshit. I can't believe I paid $165 to be told what to do when someone has a fucking bleeding nose.
Had a lot of fun though - I amused myself today by getting the giggles quite badly. I giggled intermittently from morning right through to the last assessment. Luckily the girl next to me enjoyed laughter aswell, the next guy cracked funnies all day, and the next guy gave me a foot massage - I had it made. The instructor asked what things could burn your skin. People said hot water, steam, hot oil, etc, and this 14-year-old suggested lava. It was quite funny due to it's unlikeliness and everyone cracked up. There were other funny moments. The instructor told us about tying constrictive bandages around the tops of limbs that have been amputated. One guy asked if you tie one around your neck if your head gets cut off. And the teacher's like "that's NOT an amputation." It was hilarious. Well at least I found it hilarious.
It's all over - the typing test, the swimming test, the medical, and the first aid. Wow. Excited. Everyone at the course thought it was supercool what I'm doing. In fact most people think it's supercool except a few boring people who have no life.
Love,
Lizwa  ¶ 18:02 0 Comments

  TAIWAN OVERKILL
(This is what happens when you've used up your one hour on the net and the book you brought is boring so you are forced to write stuff)

I stepped out of the hostel and into the unknown. The rain got worse and worse, until it was raining downwards, sidewards, and upwards, and I feared that if I jumped with both feet into the air, I would be blown onto the road by the wind. Later I noticed that I was among the few people left walking out in the street; later I realised I had stumbled into nothing less than a Taiwanese typhoon.
And so began my sojourn on the Ilha Formosa.
I hadn’t anticipated such a feeling of bewilderment. I had declined the offer to stay at my ex-teacher’s place in Taipei out of shyness. My research on Taiwan, which included culture and travel guides, and even a perusal of local modern literature, had little prepared me for the realities of being lost, lost, lost. I refused to head straight for the shopping districts – later I regretted not allowing myself the comfort you gain from being somewhere that is that same wherever you go: Bright lights and air-con, off-putting prices, food halls. Instead I thought I would visit the Sun Yat Sen memorial hall, a trip which required a ride on the orgasmically efficient MRT. The changing of the guard was a long half-hour wait away, so I travelled on.
The truth is, I had no idea where to go, or what to do. I was on an uneasy high in the excruciating humidity of the polluted Taipei streets. My attempts at celebrating my long-awaited independence were sabotaged by my utter lack of preparation. Throughout my stay in Taiwan, all the 13-year-olds trapped in the bodies of sheltered 23-year-olds praised me for my braveness for coming overseas alone. “So young, and a girl! So brave!” (It was merely the tip of the ice-berg in my horrifying discoveries of the ice-age-like status of country women in Taiwan.)
Four days later, I headed down to Taichung, left my suitcase there, and began the journey to Kending. A fellow 19-year-old asked his English-speaking friend to ask me if he could be my boyfriend. Keep in mind, this was supposed to be the beginning of my new life, where I took risks, did whatever I wanted, with absolutely no-one, and no voice in my head, telling me No. And so, I had a boyfriend. Later people would ask, did you ever have a Chinese boyfriend? And I would tell them yes, in fact I did. That he seemed to see me as a prostitute did not occur to me until later when I learnt of the way Chinese men view Western women – loose and slutty. “All Western women are sluts”, said Aiden, a half-Chinese half-American who had no qualms with insulting the Australian and American girls sitting directly in front of him on the couch in his loungeroom. Indeed, when I asked a different Chinese/American boy out for a drink, feeling quite truly brave, his reply was that he only wanted to go out with Chinese girls. Hmmph – fair enough!
Things had begun to pick up before Kending, when I stopped in a village in the south called Maolin. Locals were waiting for me as I got off the bus, as if prearranged. Our Mandarin was at just about the same level, I found, as I hopped on the back of a lady’s scooter and chewed my first betel nut. The ‘mild narcotic high’ I had read about was indeed quite mild, but I was glad to have the chance to try it. They then organised a ride to Duona, a little aboriginal village about 15km away. There was a natural hot spring there and I was pumped. I was amused when a snooty Chinese lady from the north told me to go back to where I came from. After all, I was invading their cosy little holiday space, reserved only for those who hail from the one and only ‘Middle Kingdom’. Could I blame them? Most kids in Australia go through their racist-phases when they’re in Year 3, when a sprinkle of Chinese kids arrive who look different, and become isolated. We are still racist later on, but the difference is that we eventually decide that it’s much classier to sound P.C.
I was less lost, and having a great time.
After Kending, I returned to Taichung, where I met up with a man in his mid-forties who was a Sydney Uni classmate. We bonded extremely fast, which in hindsight does not surprise me. We saw all the latest movies, following coffee and cake, we went shopping, and we ate all the wonderful cheap and tasty food there was on offer in Dong Bie. But most of all, WE BITCHED. We bitched about being constantly ripped off. We bitched about the Chinese not saying what they meant. (Never underestimate how frustrating that can be… it can drive a girl insane, and it did). We bitched about the bitchy xiaojies. We bitched about my ‘Pretty Woman’ experiences in the local clothing stores. Yes, we bitched. And bonded. He was my unlikely best friend. Our friendship went ‘poof’ like a puff of smoke on return to Australia. He had moved on to China; I had stayed on in Taiwan. Back at Sydney Uni, we soon realised we just had nothing to bitch about anymore.  ¶ 18:49 0 Comments

  News just in - I was reading info about salary again, and I just noticed now that after training there's a 25% 'composite allowance' on top of the standard salary. Well I'll be darned.
Orgasms.
Orgasms!
I wonder exactly what it means.  ¶ 16:26 0 Comments

 


















  ¶ 15:37 0 Comments

  This is my 502nd post. I forgot to celebrate the 500th. Ah well.
Dude, I really do think I have stalking tendencies! I was reading this book of crime stories. One of them was about a stalker, and at the end of it, it said that stalkers tend to stalk people they think they shared a special bond with, and whose relationship they think they can never replace. That's how I felt about John!! Shit. Well, I didn't go as far as stalking him, so that's a good sign.
My computer's died, so I can't blog much. Can't blog at work, because the site is restricted.
Moving to Canberra in mid-April, for five months. I honestly don't know what to expect, so I'm taking every day as it comes.  ¶ 19:03 0 Comments