Love and Hate

There are times where my job grates on my nerves and sensibilites. Times when the place can only be described as 'dysfunctional' and its my role to take the steers, if only for an evening, and navigate through the crap. Times when it seems like I'm surrounded by a bunch of caricatures, times when everyone lives up to their worst ethnic stereotype, times when I'm painfully aware of how I have to condone, if not initiate, dangerous and irresponsible practices for the sake of the night running smoothly.

Then there are moments when I feel very lucky. Moments that I see the world as a rich and endlessly interesting place. Moments when I am surprised at the layers of every individual who I get to know. The NZ guy sleeping in the parklands who chats about how he won a trip to the Globe Theatre for his high school Shakespeare performance. The angry old middle-eastern fellow who puts on his nice shirt to go out and suddenly tells me how he gets self-conscious about how he looks. The big Aussie in the rainbow jumper and kooky glasses with the dreams for a revolutionary public transport system, revealing his suddenly somber divorce story.

And its not just perceptions about others that change, its perceptions about myself, about 'us', Australians in general. Are we, like the cuddly Irish guy suggested, less communal than our UK counterparts? Is it true that Aussies are friendly on the surface but just want to get back into their powerful cars and drive home to their wide-screen TVs?

Plus, of course, there are the little perks of the job, like getting drunk on shift during the Australia Day/Chinese New Year celebrations. Oyy. That was certainly an interesting night! Being drenched with water on the balcony, ringing DW and giggling uncontrollably, having my sober buddy take over the desk for a short time, seeing the wry affectionate looks from Mr Irish at the 'front bar' slash reception desk, getting a massage from the hospital security guard... good times...

But, enough about the hostel. I've got a day off, and I'm quite glad for it. On the weekend I'm having some people around for a BBQ party thing, and I'm just realising I need to plan a little more than just posting the event on facebook. Eg: food? Drinks? Sweeping the yard? Is the pool clean?

DW and I have been, well, not rocky but not smooth lately. There are lingering issues, questions I have about his willingness to make time for us, irritations about how he's being complacent, taking this relationship for granted. Here isn't really the place to nut it out (I did speak to him yesterday, and I was quite proud of my articulate and calm manner - there is no other choice, really, when speaking about such matters) but its been playing on my mind a little. To be continued.

You know what makes me angry? Babies and toddlers getting their ears pierced. Something about hearing a littel girl screaming and bawling in the beauty shop as her skin is mutilated for beauty standards really, really shits me, in an irrational GRAAAA sort of way. Oh, I know plenty of people who themselves got their ears pierced at four years old or six months old or whatever, and they seem to be normal human beings, but I just can't. get behind. why you would subject a perfectly beautiful little toddler to pain that they don't understand, for a PERMANENT CHANGE IN THEIR BODY SO THEY CAN WEAR PINK STUDS. Pink studs which the parent will have to clean and rotate on schedule, because oh yeah babies don't really have that autonomy to look after their own bodies yet, do they. Oh, I alter my own body in ways to appear attractive by societal beauty standards all the time - my hair has highlights, my eyebrows and girly bits are waxed, legs shaved, I wear make-up, etc etc. But I think, in an ideal world, everyone would do those things knowing that they are doing them based on an ideal of beauty, understanding what the process will entail (pain, stubbly regrowth, monetary expense, etc) and being able to independently manage the effects (the steps to prevent infection around the piercing site, for example). To do otherwise just... well, it doesn't even make me angry any more, it just makes me feel a little sad and sick. But I'll get off my soap box.

In fact, I'm going to go to the gym. I have a three week membership. Other airconditioning-based plans for the day include: watching Greys Anatomy, and possibly cleaning out my bookshelf. We'll see which one of those gets priority.