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I want to apologize to Australia in advance

A few weeks ago my friend Laura asked if I’d come with her to Australia on a sponsored trip and I said “no” because I’m the only person in the world who hates to travel, but then she told me to keep an open mind and it’s very hard to keep saying no to someone who once voluntarily chased off vultures and helped you dig up your dead dog.  Turns out that it’s a Go Mighty Life List thing and I reminded Laura that the first thing on my life list is to never write a fucking life list and then she reminded me that I was being cynical again and she pointed out that we could do anything that we wanted as long as it was on our life list.

me: Really?  Can I box a kangaroo?

Laura: Do you want to box a kangaroo?”

me: No.  But I want to know that I have the option.  Except I don’t want any kangaroos to get hurt.  So maybe…pudding wrestling with kangaroos?  Is that a thing?

Laura:  I don’t think kangaroos are naturally that fighty.

me:  No, kangaroos totally box each other in the wild.  If anything, we’re making it safer for them by putting mittens on their hands.  And they smoke cigars while they’re doing it.  I saw it on a cartoon once.

Laura:  Everything you know about Australia you learned from cartoons.  This is why you need to go.  Did you know there’s a town in Australia full of ghosts and possibly lots of serial killers?

me:  We should go there.

Laura:  Is it on your life list?

me:  Well it is now.

Laura:  And I know you hate flying, so after we get there we’ll just take a sleeper train around Australia.

me:  Like The Orient Express?  I’ve always wanted to go on the Orient Express!

Laura: Me too.

me:  Can there be a murder?  Because it’s not really the full experience if there isn’t a murder.

Laura:  Huh.

me:  Or we could create one.  I’m not picky.

Laura:  Is “Instigate a murder” on your life list?

me:  Well, not one that I’d write down.  That’s just creating evidence.

Laura:  Well, then we aren’t going to do it.

me:  Then can we leave traps all over Australia?  Like, cardboard boxes propped up by sticks with baby dolls inside of them to see if we can catch dingos?

Laura: I think if you put it on your life list and then Australia has to at least try to make that happen.  But it’s probably BYOB.  Bring Your Own Baby.

me:  I want to see The World’s Biggest Banana.

Laura:  And I want our guide to be Greg from The Wiggles.

me:  And he has to drive us around in The Big Red Car.

Laura:  Exactly.  You’re always saying that you need to force yourself to push past your phobias and to make yourself be furiously happy.  This is one of those times.

me:  Can we go hold koalas while dressed in full koala costumes?  And would you be more likely to say “yes” if I tell you I already have the costumes?

Laura:  You have two koala costumes?

me:  You need a back-up in case one’s dirty.

Laura:  Huh.

me:  I’m kidding.  But I do have one koala costume and one panda costume.  They’re both sort of bears, so that should count.

Laura:  Whatever.  I’m in.  I’m in for whatever bat-shit crazy tour you want to do.  And it will be laid-back and ridiculous and like nothing else we’ve ever done.

me:  No one is going to pay for this debacle.

Laura:  Australia is.   Get a work visa and wash your koala suit.  This shit is totally happening.


So…I’m apparently going to Australia this year.  I have no idea what I’ll actually be doing, but I know that it’ll probably illegal and I might get kicked out of the country.  I initially asked to ride on camels, and watch giant-cockroach races, and see where The Hobbit was filmed, and so far the only definite “no” I’ve heard was about The Hobbit, because apparently “New Zealand is not in Australia so please stop asking“, but I’ve just added “Put New Zealand inside Australia so I can see hobbits” to my life list so I think they kind of have to do it now.  It’s like I’m Alan Rickman in Die Hard and Australia is the baffled hostage negotiator.  I think I could probably ask them to bring me a dump truck filled with live slow-lorises and a semi-drugged Benedict Cumberbatch and they’d have to do it.  I am drunk with power.  And also wine slushees.

Ps.  If you want to see my list of demands some of my life-list and watch it get updated in November you can click here because that’s where I’m supposed to write about it.  Also, it’s entirely  possible that this is a trick and I will get there and will spend a week trapped at some sort of terrible time-share meeting or that this is just a sting to arrest me for unpaid parking tickets, but it’s also possible that I’ll be riding camels in Middle Earth.  It’s NewStralia, y’all.  Anything could happen.

PPS.  “NewStralia” is the name I made up for when they drop New Zealand onto Australia.  You’re welcome, Australian Tourism Board.  I’m giving you that one for free.

PPPS.  Did you know that kangaroos have 3 vaginas?  Because they totally do and that’s probably why they’re alway hitting each other.  I bet they have PMS every damn day of the week.  But on the plus side, kangaroos have plenty of places to smuggle things because they have so many holes in their bodies.  In fact, they’re so full of holes it’s sort of shocking they’re able to keep all the kangaroo from just leaking out.

PPPPS.  If you look on the right hand side here you can get details about Fill-a-Plane discounted tickets or possibly winning a trip yourself.  And why wouldn’t you want to after reading this?  I mean, honestly.

PPPPPS.  I should have a pretty picture of Australian cockroach racing here but I don’t have one (yet) and so instead I decided to use a picture of Benedict Cumberbatch.  YOU ARE WELCOME.

I blame the earthquake

I get hundreds of emails a week asking me to help with charities but I don’t do anything with them because I get too depressed when I read about them, but this particular email made me laugh in a particularly guilty sort of way so I’m reprinting it here:

Dear The Bloggess (Jenny) -

First of all this email is not about advertising but this was the only
address I could find, which is understandable because otherwise you would
probably have crazy people emailing you day and night wanting mad things,
which leads me directly to my next point.

I am from Christchurch in New Zealand. Sheeps and hobbits. But also
earthquakes. We had a big earthquake and now it turns out that while the
good thing about an earthquake is that you can be completely obnoxious then
say, "Oh, sorry, that's the earthquake talking" there are also bad things,
like it squashes your central business district and also some of your
friends.  Probably I shouldn't say squashed. Basically, we are fucked.
Excuse foul language, it is the earthquake talking.

I know that there are millions(?) of disasters and this isn't very big on
an international scale but if you could somewhere - even Twitter - mention
my falling-to-bits city and where people can go to donate (it is here - ) it would be awesome.  AWESOME.

I am sorry to bother you. I know you are busy and important. Like Hugh Grant
but without the embarrassing hooker incident and floppy hair.  Unless there
is an embarrassing hooker incident I don't know about.

Also, I am drunk. Probably I should have mentioned that earlier.  The
earthquake is a *bad influence.*


Thus ends my once-a-year bout of philanthropy.  I’m not sure what got into me. I blame the earthquake.

UPDATED: Well that's…not flattering

Am I the only person who thinks Dooce is an imaginary creature?  Like, I know she’s real, but in my head she’s real the same way that Jesus is real.  Like he used to be a real-live person but now he’s like Santa Clause…everywhere at once but not actually anywhere you can find on google maps.  To me, Dooce is like a little hobbit.  Awesome but mythical. So basically a mythical hobbit is going to be at Blogher.  I’m going to San Francisco to see a mythical hobbit.  This is weird.  And is totally something I’m going to say to her if I happen to meet her.  It will be ugly. 

I bought this new dress for blogher.  I can’t decide if it’s so ugly it’s cute or if it’s just regular ugly.  I’d show you a picture but I don’t want to ruin the surprise of ugliness.  Maybe the shock will be so great that people will just assume I’m ultra-hip and cutting edge.  Unless they also went to Ross-Dress-4-Less recently.  Then I’m fucked.

Speaking of fucked, I got selected to read some of my work at the Blogher keynote address which is a tremendous honor and just a…horrible, horrible idea.  I love Blogher but this is the same organization that felt it needed to drop the “Jesus” from my “Thanks for the zombies, Jesus” post, and yet, in a matter of days they will be give me a microphone and a stage.  It’s like they’re daring me to say the c word. 

It’s a dare they are going to lose.


If you hear weird shit about me being fat and drunk at BlogHer or see pictures of me passed out in my own vomit just know that those are lies spread by my enemies, unless they are saying that I got handcuffed and hauled off by the cops for screaming the c word onstage because I’m fairly sure that shit is going to happen.

PS.  Did you know you can go on the heritage website and they’ll morph you into whatever celeb you most resemble?  Apparently I resemble Lucille Ball by 67%.  Very flattering.


And, apparently, Pete Dogherty coming off a heroin binge by only one percent less.

Not. quite. as flattering.

 PPS.  We’re trying for a live broadcast hosted by Gwen Bell and Kirtsy at The People’s Party so if you can’t make it to Blogher and you haven’t already stopped reading this post you can make it to the party in spirit.  If we can get it together I’ll post the link here.  Most likely it’ll be grainy video of me and a three other chicks crying and drinking Jack Daniels on the floor after our sound system breaks and we accidentally set a fire to the room.   (The link will go here if we ever figure it out.)

Updated:  Okay, we have a link to watch the party!  Unless something goes horribly wrong and we end up with the black screen of the holocaust and then you can just pretend that it’s just really, really dark and quiet at our party. 

Updated again (Sunday after blogher): The link to the party got fucked, I hid in the bathroom for 4 hours during the party having panic attacks, at the community keynote I said the c-word 3 times and almost pulled the stage curtain down on me because I was drunk, and apparently Dooce has a thing against hobbits.

(Long-ass) Comment of the day:  Every time I see “Blogher” in print I am transported back to the 12th century to a scene that in my head goes something like this:

Ten days into their crusade, an Archbishop and his minions approach a woman on the street.

“Do you know the Lord Jesus as your savior?” asks the Archbishop.

“Zombie Jesus?”

“No, the regular one.”

“Um, not so much…”

The Archbishop turns to his minions and commands, “Blog her!”

The minion holding the cat-o-nine-tails finally speaks up.

‘”Excuse me, your Lordship…”


“Don’t you mean ‘flog’ her? All this time you’ve been saying ‘blog her’ and ‘blog him’ and I don’t think that’s correct.”

“You question my grasp of the King’s English? Tell me your name, young man.”

“Buck Hugh.”


“Buck Hugh, your Lordship.”

“Insolent Bool! Blog him too!”

I’m pretty sure that happened, but I couldn’t find it recorded anywhere on Wikipedia, so I might be wrong.

~ I can’t read my nametag