by Queen Gitchee


Why don’t Muslim countries sell tampons? I am running frantically up and down the “Girlie Stuff ” isle in the supermarket.This is the 4th big store I have run into today. “ I will be 5 mins no need to come in”  I say to the driver. At least the stores have all been consistent, they have no tampons. This isle is chock a block full of every conceivable brand of pads, panty liners, adult diapers and douches I think I  even spotted a hymen restoration gel. There are glittery pink packets and gels and intimate washes but not one box of tampons.  Clearly that  hymen gel shopper  must have got the last box of tampons.

OMG I thought the world had changed in the last 6 years. In the past who hasn’t filled their suitcase full of tampon boxes when moving to a new country? Yep they are shoved end to end in your tennis shoes lying next to  lice Shampoo, blonde hair dye and Rexona  Clinical deodorant. They get  crushed by  a packet of Chia seeds and Tim Tams.  I could go on but digresss… 

I did not pack any tampons  in my suitcase when we moved, they are in the shipping container bobbing around at sea, possibly literally as our container is MIA. I was positive I saw lots of them in the aisles when we came for our “look see”. Far out at the souk you can get horny pills, viagra, tightening cream, nipple whitener, all over body wax, sexy lingerie and XXX lube, condoms and hot stuff cream but you can’t buy a box of tampax! 

What the hell is happening. I want to be like the girls in the adverts  right now where before I used to think those ads were so stupid. Tampons don’t liberate you they cause all sorts of debate and consternation for the insertee. 

Oh yes who hasn’t defended ones actions in front of an American about applicators versus good ol fingers, who hasn’t left a tampon in too long and googled Toxic shock syndrome and who hasn’t gotten all flustered over not being able to get one in while changing positions in a  restaurant bathroom?

 Oh but  I really wanted to  horse ride, skateboard, swim and run with a tampon  just like those ads promised me, a  total liberation from fear of bleeding everywhere to a realistic view that I can be sporty spice or rambo apparently!


Ok it is true tampons do allow you to do whatever you want without feeling like you have a king size mattress between your legs. The truth hit me hard in that supermarket isle. No swimming for me today, no running in my leggings( hey don’t pipe up about the fact leggings are NOT pants right now, I know that) no wearing skinny jeans for me. Even in my Thai fisherman’s pants or flowing dress I feel everyone can see my surfboard sized pad between my legs. I fear super human senses will be able to smell the fact I have my period and OMG what if I stand up to walk from this coffee shop and there is a tell tale stain! All those things Tampons promise are true. Dog’s never sniff my crotch when I wear a tampon but whack in a pad an hey presto it’s like I have a dog treat  between my legs! 

How many times have I walked down the girlie  aisle in my home country and balked at the ridiculous amounts of tampon boxes while I muttered how much I disliked being a woman? How many tampons have I  left in handbags, purses, coat pockets,bathroom draws, car glove boxes and make up bags? Hundreds, but today I have none.  How many times have I  asked another woman for a tampon and been handed one like a drug dealer handing over the goods. No questions asked just a knowing nod. Sisters of the realm. Except when it’s a super size one then I get all flustered about “getting it in” 

I don’t have any  solid friends here yet. One woman I am making friends with  told me she didn’t use them. Never had! She said the first time she used one she broke her virginity and it scared her off tampons FOREVER.  The shock of her not having any  little white things overcame the visual image in my head of what she just told me.  I nodded and teared up a little and shifted uncomfortably because somehow my pad’s sticky WINGS had stuck to my pubic hair !  OWWWW

ok so what is the point of my rant.  CAREFREE please SELL Tampons in Muslim countries They have nothing to do with SEX.





by Queen Gitchee( QG)


I have been collecting different names for  Bogan every time I attend expat parties . If I am not too schlozled I type them into my phone to remember the next day. Unfortunately I only have 2 1/2 words..and there  have been many parties!Says something fairly obvious……………… I should take my phone with me more often!

So Far I have 

Terrone– Italian

Goptnic – Russian

Shoni and ?– I think this might be Sth African but I must have gotten bored half way through their story, which now explains the  1/2.

It’s a pretty poor effort on my part as I really do like to insult Bogans’ from every country. For those of you who do not know what a Bogan is I can tell you that  I bet you will know at least 1. I actually believe we all have a bit of Bogan in us and if you don’t then you are a stuck up wanker snob! Sorry that was MY inner bogan coming out.

So a BOGAN  was a term that originated in my hometown of Melbourne. I once was asked if I was a bogan by a dick of a man called Mr Peck,his name was enough to amuse me  but I admit to feeling hurt at the time.  Anyway there is a website dedicated to Bogan’s called “thingsboganslike” because Bogans are revered in Australia, some of our greatest sporting heroes are Bogans, think Lleyton Hewitt and Shane Warne. 

So the Oxford Dictionary defines a bogan as:


Australian/NZ • informal, • derogatory

An uncouth or unsophisticated person, regarded as being of low social status:

eg: “some bogans yelled at us from their cars”, “my family are culinary bogans”

I think Americans call Bogans, Trailer Park Trash but that’s a bit harsh. A better term would be BRC’s (AKA Billy Ray Cyrus-es). The Brits apparently call them Chavs. No idea what that means. I can’t say I could honestly believe the Italians would produce Bogans but my Italian friend says it’s true!


Personally I have met  many Cashed up Bogans known as CUBS mostly ex American Marine’s pimping themselves out in the Middle East  and  hard core Bogan Aussie miners.  I have never met a Canadian bogan. Do they even have them?

There are way too many British Bogans ( BB’s )  on the planet and lots of Scottish ones. The funny thing is most of the BB’s  I have met thought they were actually RA -RA of the Old British Empire expatriates, some kind of upper crust but they were not at all I would call them  definite toolbags. It wasn’t so much they looked like Bogans they acted like them and they definitely SPOKE bogan.


How does a bogan speak you ask? Well they most certainly drop their “g” at the end of verbs as in “pass me , ma fuckin’ cigarettes”  or “what are ya doin’ ” and they use the wrong tense of the verb  such as , “yeah I seen that on the telly last weekend”  or “I done that meself once”.  or worse “Garry and me done that last week”.

On holidays these past few years I have noticed more and more Russian Bogans ( Goptnik’s ). I can’t say they sound like bogans because I don’t understand Russian, it is their dress sense that is a dead giveaway.. VERY UGLY dress sense.. I did call one  a * ”dolbanayya suka goptnik “ in Vietnam, after she barged past me on the sidewalk and blew smoke in my face….  I then ran away very fast because that is something a REAL RUSSIAN  BOGAN would say and it’s VERY rude.!! 

Look if you want to see original bogans in their natural habitat. Go to Kuta, Bali  and look for the 20 something,young, thong wearing, mullet sporting,  Bintang Singlet top wearing Aussies from Perth, Adelaide, Brisbane or Frankston. They are the ones shouting “show us ya tits”  Then drive on to your villa in Seminyak and have a dirty martini by your private pool and forget about them.

On that note  do you think it is possible for a  Champagne drinking, foreign language learning, travelling expat blog writer be a bogan? 

Fuckin Oath it is!

*dolbanayya suka is an extremely uncouth thing to say and it’s meaning is frankly horrendous. I managed to type that one in my phone at a party one night where some Russians were teaching me swear words. That one takes the cake. I cannot possibly tell you what it means as this site will get a XX rating or be banned.  Let’s just say you can gesticulate the same word by slipping your thumb between your index and middle finger and waving it at a Russian… 

 toodle pip QG



Transitioning Expats by Queen Gitchee

where to now?

I suspect every expat  family goes through a rocky patch  whether leaving their home country bound for their first posting or if it’s the 10th move under their belt. If you don’t then Hats off to you.. (liars).  It is exciting and then challenging and forces you to dig a bit deeper. There are stages in the whole process, so let me enlighten you.

  • First comes the concern about “being left behind” or not offered another expat role
  • Second comes the excitement of the “hey are you interested in a gig we have in Butt Fuck Nowhere?”
  • Third the “look see”  whirlwind visit to check out houses, schools, supermarkets and malls or lack of. Then meet the staff who wine and dine you like royalty. (I have no idea what those of you who move without getting to visit first go through. please enlighten me!)
  • Fourth is the nod and the wink ( “we can do this” )
  • Fifth  is the negotiation (we can’t  possibly go down in house size, car brand, driver/school Blah blah)
  • Then there is no turning back point.

At this point you are officially in Transition

The ink is dry on the contract , the house has been packed and now you are limbo.

Maybe your partner has left, maybe you have to complete the school year, sometimes visa’s take months ( eye roll for those who have lived in Saudi) whatever the reason there is probably a time of familial separation and/or living in temporary furnished accommodation. 

At this point if you are not in a posh hotel you are in a reasonable apartment that has mismatching sheets, a single sheet for a kind size bed and really cheap high pillows that make your neck ache! Or is that just me…..

Ah but I digress ……..

Transition. It is a place where once you have started you cannot stop what has been  put in to  motion. There are moments where you feel free,liberated from the weight of material possessions but somehow there is excess baggage. “I might need this when we get there” kind of baggage and the bulge of the souvenirs purchased as you frantically tick of the places you wanted to see before you left and buy the things you just had to have. Those Mongolian fucking wooden heads I had to have I shoved  them in a bag and hey presto i snapped all the decorations off! Bloody marvellous. The kids had to bring home all  their artwork from school the day the house was packed up, the entire years worth of  sh**. I digress again..

You move and you arrive. Your new country! Ah. The excitement of seeing things with “Fresh eyes”. It is wonderful . Oh the food is better, the air is cleaner, the sun is brighter and the people more friendly. Then the kids go to school , your partner is flat stick at work, no time to talk and you are home alone. Not your real home another temporary home (until your stuff arrives). You don’t know anyone and the phone doesn’t ring because you don’t actually have a sim card because you can’t get one without a residency visa. You try putting yourself out there and get a few nibbles on a mums group. Surely they all want to know you. The new blood in town. Haven’t they looked at all the party shots on your profile? Can’t they see how cool you used to be? A brief coffee is arranged, “good on you” they say when you tell them your wishlist of things to achieve and see. while living here.

 “I can’t wait to get out of this shithole” says another one. 

“I am really busy” says the third as she hussles out the door promising to see the other one at play date on Thursday . MWAH MWAH great friends besties!

At  the school, administration assistants almost rolls their eyes when they see you lurking around their office 30 mins before the final bell, the  bangladeshi cleaners don’t understand the silly grin on your face and think it’s a invitation for sex, the other mothers can see that look of desperation in your eyes pleading, “Please call me for coffee when you get a chance” “ They can go fuck themselves”, you say in your head or mutter under your breath as you slink out of the school yard with nothing but stares to the back of your head. 

To add insult to injury you  had no response to your shout out to the Embassies and consulates asking if they have an “international women’s network” , no responses to your questions on noticeboards, facebook mother pages or even the casual hints at your husbands work you would like them  to arrange a staff dinner. 

What on Earth have you become?  Don’t they all know you were the Queen in your last post. Can’t they see under that subdued happiness and sobriety is a gin swilling, champagne guzzling party animal that just wants to sing karaoke at 4am in a long red wig with her mates?

Oh yeah!!

It is still Transition. You must be patient because before you know it your phone will be ringing , there will be 50 new Fb friends and you will be looking backward to all that time you had  to mooch around doing nothing but read your book in the sun. By then you will be too busy loving your new home and all your new friends….. 

For now it can be a party for one as No one will talk about your  drunken antics behind your back! 

kisses from QG.