Welcome to Australia, you don’t need that brain do you? Love, your local Magpie.

Ok for you lot out there that haven’t been to Australia before, we have these wonderful birds called magpies.

Suffice to say, these birds are lovely and can get quite big. When I say lovely, they are lovely for most of the year, except spring. When they nest and have babies.The female often goes off in search of food and the father will guard the wee babies. And heaven help you if you walk past or in the general area of a magpie’s nest.

They swoop, dive, peck the back of your head repeatedly until you feel like your brain is falling out. It’s a time-honoured Australian tradition.

Until you’ve been swooped by a maggie, you haven’t tasted Australia.

And then when I was on Facebook today I came across this. This is the epitome of what being an Australian is.

I died from laughing because we’ve all been there. I remember running home from school most spring afternoons crying my eyeballs out with 3 magpies chasing me down the street while I yelled for mum to save me.

So I thought I’d share the joy that is magpies with you all.


Spam + Uggs = me apparently. The equation sucks.

I don’t know what changed since last week to this week, but apparently the Ugg boot people love my blog so much they keep sending messages. And facebook. And the uggs.

40 comments overnight.

What the ever-loving fuck?

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my ugg boots (inside only in Australia) and I totally immersed myself in bogan behaviour whilst I was over in America for the visit from the Arctic early this year (and wore them outside).

I have always owned ugg boots, even when I was a wee lass.

That’s beside the point though. In America people wear them outside. Like outside where strangers can see you.

That’s just, well, unheard of. Why not just wear your pajamas outside too? Oh wait, they do.

Is this my snobbery coming through? I was taught not to wear my bedclothes out…

Granted my 2am Target run in my ugg boots and pj’s doesn’t count, I was having a Buffy marathon and my DVD player broke. It was urgent I replace it and who in their right mind would be shopping at 2am?! I was guaranteed that no one would see me.. except when I went to check out and realised the girl behind the counter was someone who was in my geology subjects from university. Oh the fail.

Although to be fair I do have this one friend who has thigh high lace up ugg boots. But he is also gay and carries it off so well that he just looks fabulous. I fear I’d just look like a frump.

Getting back on point though, ugg boots outside is a huge no no. I turn my nose at people wearing their undergarments out during daylight hours, I do the same for ugg boot wear.

The beauty being that while I was in Pittsburgh in February and the temperatures dropped below 0 quite often, my ugg boots got the workout of their life. Not outside.

It wasn’t until I went off to visit my ex in West Virginia that I broke my rule of never wearing my uggs outside. Because I figured the hillbillies wouldn’t get why they shouldn’t be worn out and I was in good company. I buried that snooty bitch and often wore them to the shops to get bits and bobs. Except if I was walking up the road to go to petrol station to buy something. Then I’d wear proper shoes.

So why then are the Ugg people spamming me? Don’t they realise that I am probably not the best person to be spamming. These things keep my toes warm at home and home only.

Except if I’m taking the rubbish out. But that’s just outside the door. And not into the general population.

No, wearing ugg boots out into the general public is akin to me wearing white tights with a black g-string on underneath and then wondering why people are giggling at me. Just.Not.Going.To.Happen.

So if you are one of those people who wear ugg boots outside, why? Is it because it’s comfy? That you think they aren’t just slippers? They are slippers, by the way. They just are.

Given that we live in a very hot country, ugg boots usually are only worn about a few months of the year in winter here. Wearing them in summer effectively would cause all kinds of disgusting foot conditions. I would imagine. Actually scratch that, I don’t want to imagine.

And why am I getting spammed about it incessantly all of a sudden?

Ps. I hate Mondays.


Gas Bottom – up up and away.

I don’t really write about work too much because well, I can’t.

However I’ve recently moved desks and am sitting in a pod that’s open with 3 other people, right next to an open pod of another 4 people in the next grid.

There’s a woman and she sits to the left of me. Let’s call her Gas. Short for Gassy.

Get poster of this here.

Get poster of this here.

Now, we all know how funny farts are, right? Right.

Except at work.

I can’t laugh because I’m so horrified.

She farts. Loudly. Often.

At first it used to be after 4pm when most of our co-workers had gone home. Now she’s expanding her trumpet zone.

It really wasn’t too bad when it was after 4pm on a workday. I mean, usually I leave the office by about 3.30 so I never heard her. My colleagues all used to tell me about it and I shrugged it off because it didn’t affect me. Now it does.

I can’t look her in the eye anymore.

Yesterday she cornered me in the kitchen while I was making my coffee.

She wanted to know how I’ve been and if I like it now that I’m closer to everyone else. I nodded and said yes, it’s great, all the while my eyes were averted and making my coffee. I started to slow the process down. I couldn’t over-compensate for awkward conversation by making my coffee really quickly, because then I’d have to actually face her and I wasn’t sure I could. So putting the coffee in the machine went from being a 2 second process to a 2 minute one. I decided that I needed to refill the coffee pods and clean out the milk tray. I scrubbed that bitch like no one’s scrubbed it.

When our conversation dwindled and I thought “yes! She’s going to walk away” she trumps up about the news report on teevee showing a mother and her child. While the mother is talking the child takes the opportunity to pour its tippee contents down her shirt. Gas decides that this is hilarious and loudly exclaims if I saw the aboriginal on teevee. And her aboriginal child pouring its cup contents down her shirt as she chortled like she’d said something that was highly entertaining.

I put down my cup at this point and looked at her.

She looks at me all confused as I say, so are you saying that if that had been a white child you’d have made sure you said look at that white mother with its white child having stuff poured down her top?

Farting aside, calling out racism is pretty easy for me. I’ve spent time with the aboriginal community, they are an amazing mob and have to put up with shit like this constantly even though we’re the ones that invaded their lands and are now lumping them into stereotypical bad connotations. So what if she was black? So what if she was aboriginal? These things make me see red, like when I’m told I’m crazy for walking through Redfern and not fearing for my safety.

I told her that I saw a mother and child on teevee and that all children given half the opportunity will pour anything down your shirt.

She nodded at this and turned tail and ran.

And as I made my way back to my table and sat down to enjoy my coffee, the sound of her letting rip overshadowed my joyous moment with my caffeine.