Judy, you're a bint.

I'm a twenty-five year old cursed with the voice of an eighteen year old. It's especially evident when I talk on the phone, but it doesn't really cause me many troubles at all since I'm not employed in the telemarketing or phone sex industries . Actually it could be an asset in the latter industry but that's entirely off topic.

Having a baby voice is only ever a hindrance with faced off against that disgusting mutation of woman known as The Office Bint.

The Office Bint is a walking, breathing contradiction. She hates the world for being stuck in a dead-end job where the only other living creature is a gerbera pot plant, drooping in the stifling stale environment of the reception area. Yet she simultaneously believes that her job, and hers alone, is the lifeblood of the organisation; that the correct ordering of a courier is of paramount importance (and interest) to the company.

The Office Bint is typically middle aged, resentful and addresses colleagues in a condescending tone of voice that is uniquely hers. Whilst she is mercilessly mocked in staff rooms, she is also treated with tip-toe like care, because her twenty-odd years of employment in the company has granted her dictatorial powers.

I had a run-in with an Office Bint today and it was horrible. She doesn't work in my office; thankfully it's a bint-free zone and if there were to be a bint here it'd be me, because I'm the only female in the office. She works for one of our clients and her withering tone of voice surely melted the phone line.

Whoever said that bullying ends after you finish school is a total pants on fire liar. The bully just takes on a older, bitchier form.

So Judy, I anoint thee an Office Bint. I feel safe enough to name you in Cyberspace because you are too dinosaur computer illiterate to ever discover my blog. I am looking forward to the day a hot young seventeen year old receptionist beats you to death with her annually allocated Bic pen.

Today's hero

Roger Hayden Haiku Dedication Post:

Number forty three
You are an unsung hero
Filled with purple pride

You defend Freo
And we defend you Roger
All Australian

Can you hear us shout?
You would make a good Captain
Better than Pavlich

Thank God Liza Minnelli isn't wearing a crop top.

Just call me Elsie Donovan

One of the strange by-products of writing a blog is that I feel the need to comment on everything.

In my pre-blog life I could passively read the Letters to the Editor in The West without so much as a grunt. The bigoted rants of Elsie Donovan from Bedford and the lunatic limericks from Gerry Cohen of Carine merely made me think, "Don't they have something better to do in their geriatric years?"

A homophobic spit would be enough to rouse Kate into writing in on the odd occasion. I've always appreciated her efforts, but never enough to join in myself... until now.

My first Letter to the Editor was published today in The West and I'm a wee bit more pleased than I expected to be. They even left in my witless pun about irony which is ironic in itself.

So to Raymond E. Smith, thanks for the racist drivel you sent in to The West and I'm looking forward to our next bloodless spar.

Whilst we may not all agree on banal issues like global warming and third world poverty, I think we'd all agree that Tom Cruise is a sofa-hopping, fist-pumping freak.

So it sincerely cuts me up inside that the spawn of said freak is so damn cute:


It's a little disconcerting that mother and daughter have the same haircut though:


Two for one discounts now available at Just-Cuts' Hollywood branch.

Jade by name...

I have no problem whatsoever with the fact that my name is Jade, but I DO have a problem with the fact that my name is one letter away from "jaded." "Apt!" you may say, but due to my new-found endeavour to discover the "glass half full" view of the world, it's vexing.

I hate the fact that "jaded" conjures up an image of a haggard old horse on its way to the glue factory. I also hate that by association I may as well be called "Old Nag Nelly" and left out to the pasture.

It turns out I'm not that far off the mark. According to the Word Detective, "jaded," originally meant just "mare," but then came to mean "old, broken-down mare." As a metaphor, "jade" then was used to mean "worthless person," or, more specifically, "prostitute."

Which is all very amusing if your name is "Mary," "Frank" or "Joe," but my name is akin to "worthless". So I may as well smash that "glass half full" Stella-style into someone's face and get it over and done with.

Suddenly I see indeed KT Tunstall...

A few words about the worst song ever written

There are songs that simply grind your gears, and then there are songs that make your ears bleed.

Songs that grind your gears are exactly that: songs that piss you off enough to simply change the radio station or hijack an iPod. In this category I nominate the obvious offenders: James Blunt's You're Beautiful, Akon's Smack That etc etc...

Songs that make you want to do a Van Gogh provoke far more intense reactions, and are near-on defensible in court... "Your Honour, he was rocking out to Gasolina by Daddy Yankee so I beat him to death with my shoe." DISMISSED.

In the Songs that make me want to do a Van Gogh category, I nominate The Offspring's Pretty Fly for a White Guy. Give it to me baby? I don't fucking think so.

Introducing Detective Shaun Chan

There has been many occasions throughout my relationship with the delightful Shaun where he has been unable to attend social gatherings with my friends.

Some of you may have wondered, "Where the hell is he? He always seems to have something else to do."

Ladies and gentlemen, the mystery has been solved. Shaun has been moonlighting as an amateur detective; solving crime one tweed jacket at a time:


Eternal thanks to Kate for finding the pic.

Immigrants? Terrorists? It must be an election year.

John Howard must be rubbing his hands with glee.

First, a slap-dash indigenous health policy. Next, an immigrant doctor who's a terrorist suspect.

All he needs is a few refugees stashed away on the Pasha Bulker and he'll have the election sewn up.