For the past few months Kirk and I have been mulling over going to Australia.

We finally decided, yes, let’s f***** do this, so a few nights ago we applied for visas. Why? More on that later.

(That asterisked word was flippin, mind you.)

Kirk sitting on the futon and I in the chair, we excitedly tapped away on our laptops with care. Uh? Couldn’t resist. Non-secular carols aside, we were able to apply online at the OZ government immigration website. It said would only take 48 hours to review the application. If any of the information was incorrect, however, the application review could be delayed weeks, or at worst, rejected.

Of course, Kirk had to turn this into a competition. The first page of the application required a passport number. After realizing with distress that my passport was not sitting on the coffee table like his was, he started mocking me in a sing-song voice, “I’m gonna finish faster that you!” Passport number?! Along with the capitals of the fifty states, I just didn’t happen to have that memorized.

“Come on, stop being a jerk!” I whined, after Kirk sing-songed some more. He was now probably over halfway there, checking ‘No’ to the question During your proposed stay in Australia, do you expect to incur medical costs, or require treatment or medical follow up for pregnancy?

After leaving the storage closet in ruins, Rubbermaid bucket opened, contents scattered, I hung my head, near defeat. Ah, but wait… “Not so fast,” I exclaimed, “I know exactly where that little piece of… gotcha!” In my filing cabinet, in the folder marked “Travel”, the most nonsensical place for such thing, ever.

I furiously began typing in the information, and finally arrived at the payment page. Didn’t think this was free, did you? “$220 AUD, whoo wee. Did you pay yet?” I asked Kirk.

“Nope, I was waiting for you.” I plop down next to him on the futon. He types in Kerkus Menerkus for kicks in the name form for the credit card info. I giggle and type in my own credit card information. “Ready to click OK?” I ask.

“Yeah, GO!” he says. I look over at his computer.

“KIRK!!! You didn’t change Kerkus Menerkus!!”

“Ohh crap.”

“Way to freakin go.”


We sat for a second, looking at the screen. Thank you for applying for a Work and Holiday Visa!


Well, thank goodness, Kirk’s shenanigans didn’t matter, because less than 48 hours later, we both were granted official permission to gallivant around Down Under for an entire year. Heck yeah.

Visa Acceptance Email

Visa Acceptance Email