January 2008


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Why are you still here?

I moved like, last month.

Come on. The new blog is here:

Magnetoboldtoo.com

I will take you over with me. I just popped back to check the mail.

Oh, and we will update your feedreader on the way K?

HI!!!

Oh my GAWD!  Did I forget to tell you?  I am such a bint! 

Magneto Bold Too moved!

Pop over to MagnetoBoldToo.com to join in the party.

Lock the door and turn out the lights before you leave.

Ta.

I have to go all Lady MacBeth on my ever expanding arse.

The chocolate in the fridge is calling me. Serenading me. Tantalizing me with its sweet chocolately goodness. It’s silky rich texture. Delicately caressing the inside of my mouth with it’s sweet velvety smoothness.

Melting slowly on my tongue as I gently suck on the squares.

Shit. Chocolate makes me horny.

What is it about chocolate that makes me swoon?

Why does it go so well with my other addiction, coffee?

Why, oh why, have the healthy eating Gods forsaken me?  Why do I have to succumb to the seductiveness of the evil cocoa bean?

And MPS knows the effect the evil bean has on me, so he ensures the fridge is full of it.

Like crack to a crack ho.  I am a cocoa ho.  I have to have my fix and it is staring at me every time I reach into the fridge for a carrot.

Oh how can I resist you….. especially the jumbo sized dark chocolate Toblerone.

*shudder of pleasure just typing that*

The After Dinner Mints

The Lindt balls in various orgasm inducing flavours

The blocks of dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white chocolate…

THE CLINKERS, OMG the CLINKERS!!!

Shit, even the freaking dark baking chocolate is whispering sweet nothings from the pantry.

Why don’t the carrots whisper to me?  The baby spinach, capsicum and sprouts?  The fruit is sitting there mute.  Not a word of lust from those fuckers.

But the chocolate?  It is calling my name.  In a dark sweet bald headed six-pack-on-top-of-his-six-pack ebony skinned guy kinda way…… and his voice is silky smooth.

*swoon*

But I have to resist you.  Oh lover, I do.

My arse is expanding.  And that is not a good thing.  My desire for you is causing me to see numbers I don’t like on the bathroom scales.  I considered throwing the scales in the street and sucumbing to your every present seduction but I must be strong.  I need to get rid of you from my life.  Even though all you have ever done is exist for my pleasure.

No back chat.  You sit there waiting, always waiting, just for me.

No mess.  You just wait for me to lick the wrapper clean.

No demands.  You just whisper your presence and I am drawn to you.  Weak at the knees, wanting you.  Needing you.

You never disappoint.  You are perfect.  Always.

Sigh.  But I need to sever all ties.

I need to escape from the grasp you have over me.

I need to cleanse myself.  Scrub myself clean.

Shit.  First I have to get rid of the chocolate scented body wash……

Out, damn’d chocolate! out, I say!

Now excuse me I have a hot date with a packet of Clinkers I am going to eat a carrot….

Yeah, apparently YESTERDAY was delurker day. No bastard told ME though….

So all my fav US blogs are proudly displaying this badge:

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Oh how I loves me some flashing cartoon guy.

And saying nice things to their peeps to get them to come out of lurkdom and say howdy.

Well you know I don’t work like that.

You know I have a mean streak. Especially when we are on day 450 of 40C temps and my breasticles are melting. Even with ice cubes in my bra.

And the fucking nits are back.

And it is killing me to drink my stinking hot latte, but I do it anyway cause it is my crack.

And Boo is screaming at the dishwasher cause MPS forgot to put it on last night and I HAVE to put those freaking Christmas plates away. Even though I love them so…. and I don’t do handwashing.

And from my position on top of the airconditioner with the laptop and said steaming hot cup-o-joe I can see Boo emptying the drawers in the kitchen, the hole he has ripped in the carpet (!!!) and ants trying to find a way in through the window. Oh and now he is coming at me with a staysharp knife saying ‘Mummy open this!’ I can’t see anything but the cool steel blade.

Hmm, it looks cool. Maybe if I rest my face against it….

Oh yes my lovelies, I have lost it. Big time.

So come out of lurkdom. Say hello. Or get the fuck away from that knife. Or make sure someone takes photos. Or something.

See if we can make this blog explode.

And if you don’t? I won’t tell you where I am moving to.

Cause I am that much of a biatch.

************

Edited to add: Thanks to Veronica for the updated badge. Smootches.

BooYah!

Last night I had 8 hours and 20 minutes sleep. I am physically swooning at the thought of it.

That’s FIVE HUNDRED minutes sleep.

*swoon*

MPS ended up sitting with Boo for me. Got him in his bed at 9pm.

The kid was asleep by 9.15pm.

Bastard.

I asked MPS if he farted in there, therefore knocking the kid out in a stench induced coma.

MPS hypothesizes that perhaps he is just boring.

I concur.

I went to work with a bounce in my fabulous shoe’d step.

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With time enough this morning to paint my toenails a pretty shade of pink!

Now for the apologies. I have memes and awards backed up here. Gunna need some hospital grade enemas to clear them methinks. But I know there are more.

Remember the other day when I was whinging about Firefox and deleting my post? Well half of those zillions of windows I had open were memes to ‘remind’ me to do them.

So of course they are gone. *sob* GONE!

So please, if you tagged me for a meme or gave me an award in the last couple of months let me know in the comments here and I will do them, with flair and venom as is my style, and give you your linky lovin’.

Cause we all lurve our linky lovin’.

And speaking of linky lovin’ thanks to the awesome Stimey, I pink puffy heart her even before she nominated me for a Bloggie for Best Australian Blogger. Thanks Stimey, I ❤ you too!

Now off to visit all your blogs, well, those of you that comment, wink, wink, say no more. Cause over the last few days I haven’t had two brain cells to rub together and you all deserve better than that.

My dearest son.

My adorable little man.

Do you have a death wish? Or are you secretly plotting to have me keel over before my time due to sleep deprivation and sheer frustration?

I understand that you don’t need to sleep. I understand that your brain is wired in some fantabulous way that means that you can function with a bees dick worth of sleep and wake bouncing off the walls.

Yeah I get that.

But Mummy can’t. Sorry about that.

So when you sleep for a couple of hours a night for 3 weeks straight Mummy gets a little cranky. Mummy doesn’t want to play Hyperdash, or endless Boo-draws-a-random-shape-in-the-air-and-Mummy-has-to-guess-what-it-is-or-Boo-has-a -freaking-meltdown games. Or listen to Spongebob Squarepants, The Sweet Escape, Bohemian Rhapsody, Shrek 12 Days of Christmas and a hundred freaking episodes of Homestar Runner on loop. All. At. The. Same. Time.

All day and night.

Sometimes Mummy likes to rest. Sometimes Mummy sits on the couch with her eyes shut. But Mummy never likes to be greeted with a poke in the eye or a yell in the ear of ‘Wake up I hungry’.

A gentle shake on the shoulder or a kiss would be preferable.

When Mummy is sleeping it is not a good idea to:

  • Smear your poo or toothpaste on the walls, floors, toys, lounge suite or bunny.
  • Empty the contents of the pantry on the kitchen benches to make a shop.
  • Write on the walls. With mustard.
  • Call random numbers you hear on the radio or the TV. Especially the ones that talk about getting a better erection or those chicks that want to talk to you noooow.
  • Wake Mummy by the aforementioned means or with a Teletubbie inches from her face while chanting ‘Kill Kill Kill’

Or any of the crazy arsed unusual things that you find amusing and entertaining.

If it usually results in Mummy exclaiming ‘Oh Boo!’ it is probably not a good idea.

Especially when Mummy is dragging her arse around tired. And I tell you when I am tired.

OK, here is the deal. You sleep. Mummy gets sleep. The End.

Or I will be forced to do something you hate. Despise. That makes you run out of the vicinity screaming with the horror of it all.

I will sing.

Oh yeah buddy, I will sing loud. With smiling. And over emphasised actions. That I make up myself. That are vastly different to the Boo ordained actions that are acceptable in this household.

Or I will inform the military of your secret super nada sleeping powers. I am sure that they will be very interested……

Your choice buddy.

Love you,

Mummy

xx

************************

I have offered Moo cold hard CASH to watch Boo for me tonight.  I am going to bed.  At 9pm.

SQUEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

I am all weepy and sooky girly today.

No reason.

Just wanna cry.

Got to work this morning and S asked me what I have done with my hair today. It looks different, says he.

I take that as: ‘What the fuck is going on with that rats nest on your head woman! You are in some dire need of some hair dye/a hairbrush/a total head transplant!’

Diesel lets me know that my Humur Blogs application was rejected because I didn’t follow the procedures and put the button on my blog. With profuse apologies.

I take that as: ‘Excuse me? You think you are funny? Here is the link for the dictionary definition of funny, best you read that. And while you are at it I am entering you in the Darwin Awards…..’

I casually mention that I am in a bad mood and ‘steer clear or this biatch is gunna blow’ to my friends, family and workmates. They all ask me if I have my period. Well yes. Yes I do. SO WHAT!!?!?!?!

I take that as: ‘You psycho chick. Looks like you are going through Menopause real early. Nice knowing you, we are all going on extended vacation. And if you call and it sounds like we pick up, that is just the housesitter…..’

A couple of people suggest watching a sad movie when I admit that I just feel like crying. I feel sad. With. No. Reason.

I take that as: ‘ Put a movie on loud. That way the neighbours won’t hear your screams when you start stabbing yourself in the temple with an icepick to dull the pain. And hopefully induce some tears.’

MPS comes home takes one look at me and suggests he pick up takeaway for dinner.

I take that as: ‘You useless fat cow. Sitting there on your fat arse. Lets fatten you up and see if those udders can produce milk.’

Boo plays this:

Or click here.

Over and over and over. He has played it so much that my foot is tapping even when he pauses it for a minute and I know all the words off by heart. He has taken to placing his laptop right near my head.

I take that as: ‘I will play this over and over until Mummy loses her mind and starts to cry.’

Yeah. That’ll do it.

Feel better now.

Now where is the fucking chocolate.

I am a stupid bint.

And it is MPS’s fault. Cause nothing is ever my fault. ‘Bout time he learned that.

So after a large ARRRGGGHHHH and a slap around the head for MPS, I am here to whine tell you what happened.

Yesterday it was hot. You know the drill, bad tempered Kelley, sweaty breasticles, hogging standing in front of the airconditioner with my skirt over the vent, kinda day.

And precious little sleep this YEAR. (sounds so much more dramatic than the last few nights doesn’t it) cause of the tiny terrorist and his stealth Ninja moves.

Moo and I were slapping each other in frustration working on a little project and I was over playing at Aussie Bloggers. There was a thread about web safe colour tools or somesuch, click here to see it, and Moo and MPS were SQUEEing all over the shop at the thought. Especially the Firefox extension Colorzilla.

So being the wonderful person and kind mother that I am, (lets not mention the fact that I wanted it for what I was doing OK? Lets concentrate on my wonderfulness and selflessness as a wife and mother cause then I can blame my family for this sad little tale) I downloaded it for them.

But I needed to restart Firefox to install it.

Now my Firefox apparently has a little bug in it. That MPS keeps saying he will fix. When I quit and then restore session it opens every-freaking-window that I opened in the last whatever. There is no rhyme or reason to it. It can open things that were closed days ago. Or not. Who knows. Like a Firefox lucky dip. But it also opens every window 2-4 times. Lucky Dip again.

Now before anyone starts berating me. Yes, I know I shouldn’t have 4 windows open with 8 tabs each. I know I should be more organised and not leave so much shit open. So shut up. It is not my fault. See the second sentence of this post.

So I restart Firefox and go on my merry way. Delete the duplicate tabs.

Delete the draft version of Bugs, Injuries and Doctors Appointments.

No idea why that fucker was open. It was the draft without the pretty pictures.

Before I hit delete I thought, hang on, might just delete the content cause I am totally computer stupid and don’t know if I delete the draft if it would affect the completed version….

Hmmmm.

I continue my evening. Finally fall into bed around 2am.

This morning I log on. Moderate the newbie comments (thanks for commenting! I big pink puffy heart you all!!) and then think, hmmmm I wonder how many comments that last post has? I hardly ever look at the actual blog, except to swoon over that pretty pink button and the Blogger Choice award buttons ;), so I have a wander around.

What the FUCK?

Where is the post about the nits, swing collapsing on Boo (and by the way, poor little mite has a huge bruise across his shoulder blades. Dodged a bullet there my lovelies. If it had fallen on his neck, or his face, I honestly don’t think he would still be here….) etc etc etc.?

IT. IS. GONE.

I deleted it.

Stupid bint.

I mean MPS is a bastard. And my neighbours asshats. And that guy walking along the street out the front. And my 3rd grade teacher. And Osama Bin Laden.

And it is EVERYONE else’s fault. And I hate them all.

Oh, but not you my lovelies. I ❤ all of you of course……

And of course I don’t have a copy of it. And of course I have no idea what I wrote cause it was just a brain dump. And of course I am mightily peeved cause, well, it makes my blog look messy.

And I hate messy.

So the lesson? Whip MPS’s arse till he fixes the fucking thing. Never EVER delete anything to do with my blog. And take some time to learn what I am freaking doing.

Anyone know of a WordPress for Dummies?

Fuck me dead.

(he he he, that’ll go down well with my new p0rn status, hey Mountainmama? 😉 )

The tiny terrorist was with me shopping today.

And they were putting out the Easter Eggs. On a stinking hot January day.

Easter-fucking-EGGS!

The kid was begging for one. Well, 1. you can’t eat dairy and those sad-excuse-for-chocolate eggs only have one ingredient derived from nature and that is dried cow lactation and B. Christmas was like a freaking week ago!

On New Years Eve, when I was stocking up on my shit-load-of-junk-cause-I-am-alone-on-my-anniversary-AND-New-Years and wine I saw these:

hot-cross-buns.jpeg Hot Cross Buns.

And the florist is flogging Valentines Day shit.

FMD.

This is insane.

Who in their right mind would buy Easter Eggs at this time of year? When the bastards would melt to a gooey mess before you even reached the car, let alone the river of freaking chocolate it would turn into before the car air conditioner kicks in.

And where would you keep them for Three. Freaking. Months. Dickhead?

And the true insanity? The thing that actually makes me want to scream because of the madness of it all?

The Christmas decorations are still up in the streets.

So while you are munching down on your overpriced, fake chocolate, you can look at all the purdy lights and Santa’s.

As I said before.

Fuck me dead. The world is going to hell in an Easter basket. Might go to the shops and see if I can find me a Halloween costume for the ride.

It is an attitude.

I had a conversation with some work mates today.

We were talking about New Years Resolutions.

ALL of the women wanted to lose weight.  Big, small, round, petite.  ALL of them had resolved to lose weight this year.

The guys wanted to do stupid shit.  But they are guys, so we belittled them and then ignored them.

Anyway.  One of my best girls at work (the same age as my mum) was telling us about WHY she had resolved to lose weight this year.  She was walking down the street with a couple of very slim friends.  All around her age.  A teenage boy whistled at her friends  and then looked at her and said ‘But not you’

I was gutted for her.  How disgusting.  How humiliating.  Wish I had been there, there would have been some Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to the spleen action goin’ on.  In heels.

She went on and on about how disgusting, fat and horrible she was.   The others were all saying the obligitory ‘No you are not!’ ‘Your so pretty’ all the usual shit we say to each other and not really mean it.

Cause women are bitches.  They truly are.

I sat there in silence.  They all looked at me.  Silence is not normal for me.  They were wondering what I was going to say to make her feel better.

‘Do you ever feel sexy?’ I asked her.  With my serious face on.  You know the one.  The one you reserve for the kids when you really really want them to listen to you.

She laughed.  The other girls laughed.  The guys leaned in closer.  They weren’t really listening, but heard the word ‘sexy’ and were all of a sudden interested.

‘No I am serious.  Do you ever feel sexy?’

‘Of course not.  I am nearly 60!’

‘So?  I feel sexier now than I did when I was 20.’

‘Yeah, but you are only in your 30’s’

‘Sexy is an attitude.  Not an age’

WHY do women feel that to be sexy they have to be a tiny, young, blonde girl with big bazookas?

I feel sexy.  Well not tonight sitting here sweating  glowing in an old tshirt. But I felt sexy today.  When I pulled on some killer heels with a pencil skirt in a gorgeous material that felt like it was kissing my legs.

I felt sexy then.

Fresh nailpolish and silky glossy lipgloss makes me feel sexy.

Lacy underwear makes me feel sexy.

I am a woman in her 30’s.  Past it by most standards. I am overweight.  I have a tummy that I despise.  I get zits.  I have wrinkles popping up and a requirement to dye my hair.  Most nights I don’t get my beauty sleep.  And. You. Can. Tell.

But I can pull on some clothes that make me feel good, put a slick of gloss on my lips, style my hair and I can feel like a million dollars.

I walk taller.  I smile more.  I get more attention.  I get male attention (not that I am looking for that, but it is a nice little ego boost!) and compliments.

These things don’t happen when I am feeling frumpy or ugly.

Everyone is sexy.  Everyone is attractive.  It is an attitude.  A state of mind.

A decision.

It is about confidence and feeling worthy of others attention.  It’s about knowing what your good features are and ignoring or playing down the bad.

It’s about feeling comfortable in your own skin.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am no Angelina or insert-sexy-actress-chicky-babe-here.  I know that.  I just know that when I feel sexy, confident, whathaveyou people treat me better.  They are nicer.  And in turn, I am nicer cause I feel good.

And of course MPS likes it when I feel sexy *snigger*

What do you do to boost your confidence?  What makes you feel sexy?

Guys you can answer but it cannot involve blow up anything, movies or the internet…..

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