NaBloPoMo


….. so I took him to the doctors.

As you do.

He has been having real conversations with us and trying new foods.

So I asked for an emergency appointment.

He has been obeying instructions without it been written down in a social story and laughing uncontrollably in that fabulous kid cacking themselves gaffaw.

I rang work and told them I wouldn’t be in today and maybe even next week.

New doctor.

Shit.

‘What’s the problem?’

I could have said ‘Well, he is sleeping through the night, is really happy and generally a joy to be around. Should we book the hospital bed now?’

But what I said was ‘He has a high a high pain tolerance, could you check his ears please?’

‘What makes you think he has an ear infection? Are you in pain Boo?’

Boo replied ‘Do you have erectile dysfunction? You need to call 1800 60 60 20’

The ad was on the radio in the waiting room. Oh and Boo loves his phone numbers….

‘Oh’ said the new doc ‘Okay, lets look in your ears’

The doctors eyes widened. ‘Hmmmmm’

He checked the other ear and Boo’s throat.

I walked out with a Dr’s certificate for me for work today, a script for antibiotics and a diagnosis of two severely infected ears and an ulcerated throat.

He is now happily eating a ham, mustard and salt sandwich.

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Who is this asshole, and why does he get to write the laws.

Tell me where he lives and I will drive my spiked heel through his temple. Or spinal column.  He can choose cause I am nice like that.  Not like him.  Bastard.

Two days ago I was complaining about Summer (complaining?  Yes.  Surprising isn’t it that I would complain about something being the breezy happy chick that I am…) and I said:

“How about I fucking despise Summer, more than pregnancy hormone induced hemorrhoid’s and even more than when my coffee machine expired.”

(any English teachers out there?  Do I have to do quotations when I am quoting myself?)

Well guess what happened today?  Oh yes my lovely internets, the new just-an-interim-cheap-jobbie-cause-I-am-a-cheap-bastard coffee machine my husband bought in September, during that horribly expensive week of take out coffee 3 times a day, fucking blew up!

Well not literally.  It wouldn’t work.  It exploded into pieces when I hurled the heap of shit across the room.

Well not literally.  But I did give it a good smack.  Mums these days have to smack appliances to get out their frustrations.  Not like in my Mums day when kids were regularly belted around the head for the indiscretions of white goods.

My head is pounding.  My hands are shaking.  The washing is piling up (cause that is the coffee machine’s fault) and the kids are talking at me but I can’t hear anything.

Cause BLOOD is coursing through my veins.  Not caffeine. And my body can’t handle that shit.

I haven’t said anything to the kids.  They are still traumatised from the last time.  But they know something is up.  Mummy is not happy and I just announced that we are having take away for dinner.  On. A. Thursday.

‘Oooh what are we having?  Can we have Chinese or Subway?’ asked Too excitedly

‘I. Don’t. Care.’ I muttered through gritted teeth, my head pounding from the withdrawl and every word pulsing in my head.  The headache has started.  The shakes will happen soon, and they will have to lock me in the bathroom to prevent me stuffing coffee beans up my arse.

Cause that is the fastest way to get something in your system, idiot.  I am not that kinky.

I have eaten the coffee flavoured icecream in the freezer.  It was just flavoured, no freaking buzz from that.

I toyed with the idea of making an instant *shudder* cause I keep that shit for guests cause some freakshows don’t like the real stuff. Like those heathens that I gave birth to that prefer  easter egg chocolate and that plastic shit that they call chocolate in Advent calendars to real (caffeine filled) chocolate……..

HANG ON!!!!!!!!!!  OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HANG ON!

*sob* looks like the biatches will eat the good stuff if the crap is not available.

Oh Gaggia Gods!  Why have you forsaken me?

So is a broken coffee machine rendering me caffeine-less or Summer worse?

Ask me tomorrow.  Or maybe don’t.  Cause I will be even worse in the morning.

Today it is cool. I am sitting here in long pants. Had to close the windows cause I was getting chilly. The last 3 days are a hazy blur of sweaty breasticles, whinging and cold showers.

Now I am happy.

The kids had the day off today due to the teachers strike and spent the day complaining and asking for food and wanting attention and shit…….

But I was wearing jeans and was coooooool.

I had a support group meeting that I had to go to because 12 new families were coming and not one fucker turned up………

But my breasts were dry.

3 new adults with Aspergers turned up and got all shitty cause I couldn’t help them. I explained that I am just a mum of a 9 year old so have no experience with adult issues. But they went on and on and on…

But because it was cool I ordered a hot sticky date pudding and a bucket of latte. Yum

Boo was downloading a bazillion things on Youtube and sucking up all the bandwidth so I couldn’t get on the rat-fuck-son-of-a-bitch internet……..

So I went and put on some socks cause my feet were COLD!

Too is going to Spam-a-lot on the weekend and has been dancing around the house teasing me incessantly.  Apparently the little biatch will be in the second row centre. And I get to spend the weekend with my rellies. The ones that think that Boo is Artistic and like fucking Rainman. ‘Drop the matches cause I know he can count them!’ Asshats.

But it is going to be in the low 20’s and I can wear fab shoes and just stare at them all day.

I was finally the good daughter today and went to see my parents new McMansion. Yeah it is nice and so is the fucking central airconditioning that they got installed today.

But I was gracious and gushing cause my body wasn’t screaming for a shower.

Got the freaking huge list of things I need to do in preparation for my fathers 60th on Saturday and my brother, the golden child, will just swan in with the new girlfriend, suck up all the attention from the fawning parental with no fucking gift while I do all the prep and clean up……

But my lovely internets were here helping and advising me on all things bloggy. And made me feel loved, not like the woman that gave birth to me and didn’t care when I got hit by a fucking CAR!     yes I am still going on and on and on about that. Sorry.

Yesterday I was standing with my skirt over the airconditioner vent, tonight the central heating has turned itself on. It was set to only turn on when the temp drops under 10 degrees C! (50F)

So tonight I am sitting here begging the boy to sleep in a nice cool room. With socks on. I will go to bed and wrap myself up in the doona and snuggle to sleep.

But not with this man.

mo21nov.jpg

Oh no, the man now known as Mario-porn-star is still a nookie free zone. Been a long dry month for a porn star wanna be (well except for this one time…. at band camp when we both had the day off and the kids were at school….. cause when does THAT ever happen?) and he thought thinning the smudge out a bit a la Dick Dastardly would bring a bit of the action.

dick-dastardly.jpg

Nup.

*singing* I am strong. STRONG.

I am invincible. INVINCIBLE!

I am STUBBORN!!!!!!!

9 more days…………

Monday marked my 3 month obsession with foray into the blogosphere. Over this time I have had some burning questions that I haven’t asked because 1. I didn’t know who to ask, 2. I was worried it would sound silly asking basic questions and C. well I am a lazy biatch.

So here I am, cap in hand, asking my internet lovelies to help a chick out.

Comments:

Well you are all well aware of my comment addiction. I have that little button on the sidebar that says I follow if you comment. And I do, religiously. But what if the person I am visiting has it too? When does ‘I follow’ become ‘I am stalking you’?

Some bloggers answer comments in their own comments, some reply personally, some do a weekly wrap up answering questions and acknowledging their peeps and others still seem to all but ignore their commentors. Besides the last one, which do you prefer? I tend to comment on a blog and unless they have one of those thingymagigies that emails you every time there is a new comment I would never know if the blogger replied to what I said.

And that brings me to the next question. How do you do one of those thingmagigies on a WordPress blog? How do you turn it on and off on other blogs?

Blogrolls:

Who is on your blogroll? Do you have one? I have been thinking of having a stalker blogroll (my lovelies who comment) if you think that is a good idea let me know and I will pop you on it, and promise not to slap an AVO on ya.

Do you list everyone on your Bloglines (or insert feed reader here) or just the people you read regularly?

How do you find out if you are on someone elses blogroll? Do you reciprocate? Even if it is a freaking weird arse blog you would not normally read?

Buttons:

There are a shit load of buttons out there, technorati, bloglines, google reader (devil spawn I know Meg!) are the only ones I have. Are there others that I should have to add to your reading experience? Cause you know I am all about pleasing the peeps.

Now cause I am all about pleasin’ the peeps I will stop with the questions and present you with todays shoe selection. Freakin’ hot = shoes I can slip off quick.

red-summer-shoes.jpg

Today we went to Officeworks, those that have been stalking me playing along at home will know that we normally go to Officeworks on a Monday, but this week we mixed it up a bit due to some other commitments. As we were leaving one of the staff came up to me. I am thinking ‘Shit, here it is. Don’t come back here anymore, we don’t want you sitting on the office chairs and making the place look untidy.’

Officeworks chick: ‘Excuse me, can I ask you a personal question?’

Me: (thinking) Here we go, she is going to ask what is wrong with Boo and then tell me that she has a cousin/nephew/neighbour/cousins-brothers-babys-daddy with Autism and then I will be roped into counseling another freaking family and it is so fucking hot I don’t wanna think about anything but mopping up the river of sweat between my breasticles and standing naked in front of the airconditioner…. ‘Sure’

Officeworks chick: ‘How many pairs of shoes do you have? I have been watching you everytime you come in for the last year and you always have the most gorgeous shoes on! I really love the red boots’

Me: ‘Not that many, but what I have I love’

Officeworks chick: ‘Well you have great taste in shoes. Can’t wait to see what you are wearing next week!’

I walked out happy. Got me another stalker.

********

Now please don’t get all excited about the fabulousness of the shoes and forget to help me out with my very serious questions! 

Hate is probably a strong word. How about I fucking despise Summer, more than pregnancy hormone induced hemorrhoid’s and even more than when my coffee machine expired.

I hate the Romans already, ahem, Summer. I hate Summer already.  Channeling ‘Life of Brian’ again.

And it is still spring.

Today it was hot.  Freaking melt-the-bitumen-under-your-fabulous-shoes stinking hot.

I don’t take the heat well.  My body is designed for temperatures under 28C (82F) not this ridiculous 37C (98F) for 2 days straight.  AND expecting the same tomorrow.

Let me share some of the things I abhor about Summer.

Flies:  The sticky little bastards that get into everything and join their little friends the

Mosquitos, to make my life a living hell both day and night.

Dickheads that say ‘So how’s the heat?’  Moron.  What do you think?  We are sweating buckets and fighting over the last bag of ice at the supermarket.  So I am thinking it is bad.  Fuckwit.

Stupid people that say:  ‘It’s not so much the heat, but the humidity’  Do you think that makes you sound smart?  History tells us that TV weather people are not the brightest characters. Just spewing what they read from the autocue without any comprehension. Hence you are an idiot, making me more superior than you, so piss of and stop talking to me.

All the humongous fat women that feel it necessary to assault my peepers wearing skin tight spaghetti straped moo-moo’s sundresses.  Get a freaking clue, just because it comes in extra-whoa-mumma-huge doesn’t mean you should wear it. And for all that is good in the world SHAVE those furry armpits!

Oh and invest in some deodorant.  Please.  I will spot you the 5 bucks for the extra super strength.

Boob sweat.  Oh how I hate boob sweat.  The trickling sensation between the breasticles that reminds me of a creeping spider (oh yes, I think EVERYTHING is a spider) that makes me run screaming to the nearest loo to mop up the ‘glow’.

The smell of the school halls when I go to pick up Boo.  The smell of the 12-13 year olds that haven’t quite discovered deodorant (Impulse spray is not a deodorant girls!) mixed in with old textbooks and orange peel.  Bletch.

The endless night.  Oh holy-mother-of-GOD I hate the hot sticky nights.  I am a wrap yourself up in a heavy doona girl, not so much when the mercury is sitting in the mid 30’s (celcius, I am too hot and bothered to convert it for you guys) at 1am.  And I can’t sleep naked.  Not with the nocturnal visitor with the stealth ninja moves, who I am only aware of when I feel the poke on my breast and the exclaimation ‘Why do they bounce Mummy?’

Oh and us insane Australians that swelter in the kitchen on Christmas day cooking a traditional Christmas dinner.  Turkey and roast vegies and all the trimmings and then freaking HOT PUDDING!  WTF?  Are we insane?  Or are we just so totally brainwashed by the American way of life that we have to eat a hot meal when we can fry an egg on the road? (yeah, we are, I admit to hot turkey and freaking-pudding)  And then poor Grandpa gets suited up in the Santa suit, hands out the presents and spends the rest of the day in hospital with heat stroke.

But there is one thing that I like about Summer.  Watermelon and coffee flavoured icecream for dinner. yum.

Oh and shoes.  Yeah, pretties.  Here are today’s.

pink-shoes.jpg

The photo doesn’t do them justice, they are such a pretty shade of pink.  And I have a handbag that matches perfectly!

Whoo Hoo!! A competition at Magneto bold too!

Yeah baby!

Wadda we win?

Well, um, it’s like this…… nothing.

But you get to have the honour of naming the latest edition to the family.

(not one of the hordes of Emo teenagers that seem to have no home, I just call them Thing 1, Thing 2 etcetera etcetera….. except for the ones with eating disorders, they are known as Fat Arse 1 and Fat Arse 2)

We are getting a fluffy bunny on the weekend. We need to name it. We need something better than what my family has come up with and something to put on its Christmas stocking (yeah, we buy shit for our pets for Christmas) other than what will become it’s default name:

Has-anyone-fed-that-freaking-rabbit-today-noooooooooooooo-of-course-not-everything-is-up-to-

me-in-this-house-isn’t-it-NO-you can’t-eat-that-dinner-is-ready-when-I-freaking-feel-like-it!

Ahem.

Boo wants to call it ‘hutch’, as in ‘rabbit hutch’. I think I have been talking about hutches too much around him.

Too wants to call it ‘Padfoot’, three guesses where THAT is from

Moo and I want to call it ‘Jungle Muff’ in honour of the wordsmith extraordinare Girl at Fertile Mertile

and DH, well he wants to call it nothing cause he thinks it is a baaaaaaaad idea.

Yeah, shutup Mario, it’s a bad idea when I SAY it is a bad idea and then you take the blame. Like all men should.

So, we need a name. Leave your suggestion in the comments* and I will see if I can get the HTML queen, Moo, to make you a pretty button for your blog or sumfin’….

I will post a photo of the darling little bundle of joy when we get it some time over the weekend.

*the management of Magnetoboldtoo! reserve the right to choose a name and then change her mind, and then change it back again and then call the thing something completely different.  The management of Magnetoboldtoo! is a woman and it is that time of the month and she is trying to cut down on chocolate.

A common phrase in this household is:

‘you are going to blog about this aren’t you’

my response ‘I fair am.’

Everything and everyone is fair game.

Once on a blog someone mentioned that if a man is right handed his left testicle will hang lower. And vice versa. Apparently there was a study or something (methinks high school boys?)

So I went in to DH. He was asleep.

I lifted up the bed covers to look.

‘Whaaaat?’ came the mumbled sleep filled voice from the bed. Asshat went to bed while I was up with the little turd bouncing off the walls.

‘Which hangs lower, left or right? C’mon inquiring minds wanna know!’

A cloud came across his face. ‘Your blogging about this aren’t you?’

I hightailed it outta there.

The next morning while he was doing his manly duties, making me a bucket-o’-latte, he called me into the kitchen.

‘You know that question you asked me last night?’

I stepped carefully out of reach…

‘Yeeeeesssss?’ I cagily replied

‘Well tell them no. I am right handed and the left is higher’

Cool. Excuse me while I go and update……

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

Speaking of blog fodder and DH.  Here is the latest MoFoTo.

mofoto-13nov.jpg

Edwardo the pool boy has no fear of losing his job.  Nor the pizza delivery guy.

It is less waaa waka waa waa, more waaaat the fuck were you thinking Mario. mario.jpeg

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