or so the gossip mongers say. And we play along, cause we are shit stirrers like that.

If they knew me well they would know that S is not, um, manly, enough for me *snigger* and we were friends looooong before he was my boss.  And he adores his wife.

We regularly have bitch sessions, compare coffee houses and are often found huddling in the corner giggling at the resident dress-like-a-teen-even-though-you-are-pushing-menopause hooker workmate.

Oh, and he is my bitch. And my daughters best friends Dad. So nooky in the conference room, I don’t think so, more like we would be doing each others nails ifyouknowwhatImean *wink*

Today we were gossiping. I was sitting on his desk, wearing a short skirt, he was leaning close, workmates eyes were popping out of heads *gaffaw* and this was the conversation:

Me: You bastard! You went and got a coffee and not me one.

S: I think I have PMS. I forgot, sorry. I was just at the salon. We had the most awesome salad but I just needed CHOCOLATE! So I got this huge hunk of mud cake…… but I know you don’t like cake. See I was thinking of you.  Even if I forgot to get you a coffee.

(his wife owns a beauty salon)

Me: Gimme some of your coffee you big girl (he has the same as me, double skinny latte no sugar)

*slurp*

S: Did you see A has that low cut top on again today. I don’t know where to look!

Me: *giggle* I am so going to tell her you said that.

S: Shutup! Don’t you dare!

Me: Hey does anyone have next week off?

S: Why?

Me: C’mon. Does anyone have next week off? Lemme look.

S: No, don’t want you to look. I will miss you. If you are not here I don’t have any friends.

*big girly pout*

Me: C’mon let me have next week off. You didn’t buy me coffee remember?

S: OK. But who will I talk to?

Me: I don’t care, I will be a lady of leisure. You could always come up at lunchtime and bring me a coffee.

*both sniggering* I said it loud enough for the gossipers to hear.

So I have the rest of this week off because of school closures for Boo and then next week to do with what I wish. Oh the bliss.

Oh and I will miss S. Cause he is my bitch. And cause he is fabulous.

I do have plans to do a lot though.  Thinking I might put a bit of a sidebar thingy on to keep me accountable.  You know, shit like ‘lounge around’, ‘do my nails’, ‘do lunch’, ‘build a cubby house/pergola’….

Perhaps a bit optimistic, but hey I have never been known to take on small projects.  I need just enough pulling-my-hair-out-hysterically pressure to work off all the caffeine I consume.

UPDATE:

Rat-fuck-son-of-a-bitch.  Moo just announced that she has Monday off.  That sucks.

Today we went out to lunch.

At a restaurant that didn’t ask if you wanted fries with that. Well, they asked if we wanted garlic bread and if they didn’t the sign said that they would give it to us for free.

But it had cutlery and shit. So as restauranty as we Magneto Bolds get right now.

We took up a large table with all the relatives left over from my Dads party the day before.

Boo, still showing the effects of the ear infections, ulcerated throat, antibiotic overload and ripping out one of his teeth

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because it was bothering him, was still in anti-Autism mode. So we took the plunge to do something normal……

He he he. Some would call me delusional….. you would be right.

Food was ordered. Gasps were heard over the prices of the steak ($30!!!!). Bodily functions were discussed.

Yes, we are White Trash.

As we were a large table, the food came out in waves. Of course Boo was last. How hard is it to serve the kid first? All he ordered was a freaking bowl of chips.

The kid was on his 2nd glass of kiddie crack lemonade when his bowl finally came out. He inhaled them he was so hungry.

‘Excuse me waiter! Hey garcon!’ my little angel bellowed complete with clicking his fingers in the general direction of the kitchen ‘More chips please!’

‘No Dude, you have had enough’ I finally spluttered after almost choking on my chicken and having to pick my Auntie off the floor where she was writhing with mirth.

‘Oh’ my dejected little connoisseur muttered.

The waitress walked past after serving another table.

‘Excuse me server!’ he bellowed again ‘I need more lemonade. Oh, and pleeeeeeaase!’

He beamed at me. Proud for using his manners.

The woman glared at him and then me and walked away.

Now this classy establishment is a place where you go to the counter, order your meal and then they bring it to the table. There is no table service.

Unless you put your feet on the table. Then you get lots of table attention. But that was our previous visit.

I took Boo up to the counter to order a lemonade. That is when I discovered that he had taken off his shoes….

and his pants.

Hmmmm.

OK, back to the table. Redressed and back to the counter. He ordered his drink and we wandered back to the table where Mario-porn-star had started the political discussion that I warned him not to before we arrived.

Warned is probably not strong enough a word. More like talk-about-the-election-and-I-will-tape-electrodes-to-your-testicles-while-you-sleep threat. My family gets rather heated when it comes to all things political. And it doesn’t help that we are on very different sides of the fence.

I glared at Mario-porn-star, he clutched his testicles and Moo turned to Too and laughed. My girls have learnt early the way to strike terror in a mans heart.

We paid the bill, lamented that it was half my grocery bill for the week and made our way home.

No tears. No tantrums. No balls in a vice.

A total success! Well for our family anyway.

We are all still full from lunch so we are having a light dinner.

And Boo is eating a stick he found in the garden. Tasty.

Moo and Too are staying at my parents.

Boo has been sleeping through the night.

He is tired.

There is wine.

Bugger Movember.

Mummy needs a new coffee machine.

*snigger*

Christmas is approaching. We are getting into the spirit and planning the decos so this means the garden needs to be spruced up first.

Firstly I will say, I hate gardening with a passion. I would rather have root canal, cause at least then you get drugs and don’t have people looking at you like you are a freak and saying ‘But I love root canal!’

If you love gardening, turn away….

Are they gone?

Are you sure?

If you like gardening you are freaking weird.

OK!!! You can come back now!

Anyway, I am out there with the only thing that makes it all worth while. Power tools. A big hulking hedge trimmer that makes me want to get a hockey mask and chase my children around the house.

So I get the best done first – no delayed gratification for this chicky babe – and then I look up.

I have an audience.

You guessed it. The freaky neighbours have set up fucking CAMP across the road. Sitting on a rug under the tree, sipping Pina-freakin-colada’s for all I know.

With a rake laying on the ground.

Oh, yeah, I believe you.

You FREAKS!

I ignore them.

A car pulls up in their driveway. Someone gets out. AND SITS DOWN!

WTF?

What is so freaking entertaining about a chick weeding her garden? It is not as if I am wearing a bikini or short shorts or something (trust me, that will never happen. OMG, Greenpeace would be on my doorstep wondering how I got so far inland) I am wearing a very loose tshirt, 3/4 yoga pants and gardening clogs. Fashionista I am not. Bag lady perhaps.

I go inside for a while to get out of the hot sun and the glare of the freakazoids. They hang around for a while, the guy gets in his car and leaves and I contemplate whether it is safe to go back outside.

Yeah, I would rather clean up Boo’s fecal murals than go back out and garden, but I haul my arse out there.

Guess what? Oh yes, my lovely internets, they come back out.

I finish what I am doing, flip them the bird and go back inside.

So much for neighbourly love, they are off my Christmas card list now. Unless Boo still wants to make a pipe bomb…….

Now excuse me I need a shower, I stink.

All is quiet in the Magneto bold house.  Well as quiet as it gets ’round here anyway.

I am staring at the page and panicking.

I got nuffin.  Really.  I have to post something cause it is NoBloPoMo and if I don’t post everyday the NBPM police will come and haul my arse away.  I committed to this thing, and I got nothing.

I have been known to post 4 times in one day.  But today….. nada.

I could write about how Boo is exhausted after a major meltdown after school because I wouldn’t let him get a lemonade.  Like we have done every Wednesday for 4 years.  But I had to punish him somehow for strangling a kid in the playground today.  Hey A!  Look!  This is the kid that is OK to be left alone!!  He had an adult with him and still managed to play the banned game ‘Simpsons’ (where he is Homer and strangles any poor soul that agrees to be Bart) when the teacher blinked.

I could write about how my neighbours came out to watch the commotion while I tried to extract Boo from the car and he was very insistent that we were in fact going to go get lemonade.  Very loudly.

I could write about the pretty new shoes that I was forced to buy because Jodi subliminally planted the message ‘Buy pretty sparkly buckle shoes’

I could write about the equally pretty sparkly buckle handbag that just happened to make its way home with me too.

I could write about how whenever I am washing the girls clothes from the shop called ‘Jay Jays’ I can’t help smirking like a 8 year old boy and muttering to myself ‘V-Jay-Jay’ *snort*

I could write about how DH wouldn’t let me make him an Asshat hat for work ‘funny hat day’. He kept hiding my craft stuff and trying to distract me with conversation….. That makes him the uber Asshat. Need to make him a sash or something.

I could write about how Boo farted so loud today that he scared a bird.  He was inside.  The bird was outside.

I could just go to bed and pretend that I have moved to the US and that will buy me a few more hours to come up with something.

But you internets are smart.  You will see through my rouse.

Will you forgive me for a nothing post, just for the sake of posting?

NaBloPoMo made me do it.  Honest.

OK, I have a couple of apologies.

Firstly, Boo has discovered the joy of commenting. This morning he was watching me on my NaBloPoMo page and declined a friend request.

Mad scramble to apologize to said requester and added her as a friend (sorry Lotus) God only knows if there were others.

If I declined you, it wasn’t me it was the tiny terrorist on his reign of send-Mummy-round-the-bend.

Secondly, he has been randomly clicking on my bloglines and commenting on blogs. So if you have got an abusive comment blabbering on about being pre-pubescent and taking anger out on people he likes….

I am deeply, red faced embarrassed SORRY!!!

I have not finally snapped. I haven’t changed my name to Harry Potter, Homestar runner or any of the other alias’ he has assumed to slander his poor mother.

And finally one that I can’t blame on Boo. Look, I don’t like Ugg boots. As far as I am concerned they are slippers and only to be worn inside the house to keep your feet warm (I don’t even like them then, but that is my personal preference) I particularly despise these

fluffy1.jpg

especially when people wear them in the office. It is a running joke that people scramble to see my reaction when someone (yes I am talking about you Marie) walks in with them on….. with a freaking skirt….

Anyway, I was apologising…… I am sorry if they are your footwear of choice. I am sorry if I offended you. I am sure that you feel that you are the height of fashion and my poor choice of footwear will send me to the podiatrist in years to come and you will be able to wear your, um, shoes right up to old age.

But as I always say, grow some balls and put it in the comments section instead of emailing me privately. At least Ellen had the guts to confront me about it. *waves to Ellen and blows a kiss*

**********

 

party blog has been updated

It’s that time of year again.

Mo-freakin’-vember!

DH has decided to join in the frivolity of Movember again this year. No kissing for you buddy. I hate him with a mo because he looks like a mobster and it plays havoc with my skin.

But worst of all bad porn music plays through my head when ever I see him.

Or, ‘I ‘ave come to clean zee pooooool’

His facial hair grows so sloooowly that he just looks scruffy for the first few weeks. Like he needs a good scrub down.

Wa waka wa waaaah.

Shit. Everything sounds like a porn line now.

Not that I know what porn is like of course.

What a lovely first post for my NaBloPoMo. Gunna get tons of people scrambling to read my posts.

In their underwear.

While waiting for their brown paper packages to arrive in the mail….

Not that I know what that means of course.