Once a year we get a night off.

A night where we can turn the TV up as loud as we want or sit in complete silence.

A night where not every. fucking. light. in the entire house has to be blazing along with every electrical appliance with a screen lest someone lose their complete shit at a blank screen.

A night where we can go out to dinner or the movies or whatthefuckever we want to do and come back whenthefuckever we please.

A night where I can drink as much wine as I want and not have that niggling voice in the back of my mind wondering if Boo will decide that I must be up with him as he flings himself at walls and asks endless questions about the motherfucking Teletubbies movie that he has been making for 8 years and hasn’t got past the opening credits.

Stellar cast BTW:  Tom Cruise as Tinky Winky is pure genius.

A night where I don’t wake at 3am to the sounds of Boo running down the hallway, up and ready for the day.

So tonight is that night.  Tonight Boo is at overnight camp and all that is someone else’s problem and we can pretend we are real people for a night.

Dinner and a show?

Awesome.

Popcorn for dinner?

Why the fuck not?

Sleep till noon?

Hellz to the fucking yeah.

All of those things would be fucking awesome, if it wasn’t for this tiny little issue of me taking a metric fucktonne of antibiotics that make me feel like shit but are the only thing between me and a IV drip in the local hospital, because I went and got myself a nice little case of motherfucking cellulitis of the motherfucking FACE and my eye is THANKFULLY no longer almost swollen shut and I am able to cover the redness with makeup, but I am pretty sure if we tried to go anywhere we would either be not admitted for health regulation issues – because no one could possibly keep a meal down looking at my face – or MPS would be arrested for assault or bringing endangered wildlife into a public area.

So needless to say I am:

rather pissed at the timing,

looking for a new fucking beautician cause the doc reckons it could have been caused by my recent eyebrow waxing,

rocking the indoor sunglasses look,

and missing my boy already and it is only fucking 11.30am.

Night off?  U R doin it wrong.

Night Off. is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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Oh woe is me:

It is just too hard keeping up with the squillions of comments…

Dealing with the fact that no one comments…

Nobody VALIDATES ME…

I am a better writer than HER and she gets all the glory…

OMG I need attention TOO YOU KNOW!

Blogging is taking away too much valuable time from my family…

I got a TROLL! Some one disagreed with me!  I am running away from this evil internet…

I have already said all I want to say…

I am going to write a book…

No-one really GETS me…

No brands ever approach me…

Too many PR companies are contacting me and wanting my valuable time that I need to devote to my loyal fans and it is all too much…

*insert attention seeking pathetic phrase here*

…

So farewell dear friends, this is my swan song and I will leave my blog here with comments open because I just paid 2 years hosting fees up front so you can all beg me not to leave, and I will hit refresh over and over on my now MOST TRAFFICKED POST EVER and declare on Facebook and Twitter every 2 hours that I have quit blogging and I am so RELIEVED but I will miss you all so much, and then add a link to my flouncing post directing you to leave your adoring comments begging me to keep blogging THERE so everyone can see how very popular I really am and I shall make note of those that truly care about me enough to beg me to continue with my inane musings about how cute my kid/cat/husband/house/God/cake is.

And then a couple of days later I will post again like nothing had happened.

Rinse.  Repeat.

Until I get sufficient attention to feed my ego or declare the internet full of high school bitches and go back to MySpace.

Quitting blogging is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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Regardless of your parental status, have a fucking awesome day today biatches.

I shall be spending the day being worshipped in the manner I have requested.  You know as soon as Boo gets off the computer, Moo wakes up from her deathbed and MPS gets out of the toilet.

And I shall be posting pics of all my bribes gifts and spoilage on my facebook page. Like me there cause I would totes love to get to one billion facebook likers by the end of the day.

MOTHERfucking HUZZAH!

Happy Mothers Day is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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Well hello there family,

I have lured you here with my devious title promising something for YOU to talk about ME.

Mothers Day specifically.

If we cast our minds back we will remember that due to ‘issues’ and ‘circumstances’ Mothers Day last year was postponed.

And we all went on our merry way and celebrated birthdays and Fathers day and Christmas and all the other days that I painstakingly make awesome for you all.

So with all that in mind (and remembering that someone has a 50th coming up and someone else has a 21st) I declare this Mothers Day a DOUBLE MOTHERS DAY!

TWICE the presents!

TWICE the adoration!

TWICE the dozen macarons!

Kinda like a double rainbow with Neil Patrick Harris but AWESOMER.

The day shall start AFTER 8am, a latte brought to me and my pillows fluffed while I sit regally in my bed as my children regale me with tales of their fabulous childhood curtesy of The Greatest Mother In The World.

Said tales can be set to music with Jazz Hands but I draw the line at Fosse because the bedroom is just too small to do it justice.

And then the first round of gifts can be presented.

When my bladder I deem it time to get up you can go and arrange my platter of dark chocolate dipped strawberries and macarons while I throw on a bra so no one sits on my nipples get dressed and move to the lounge where I will sip lattes and eat my breakfast while someone massages my feet.

I shall admire the bouquets of yellow daisies while the rest of my presents are brought in.

At some point MOTY will turn up expecting her dues, you lot will deal with her while I instagram pictures of all my lovely gifts and MACARONS making every other mother jealous of my DOUBLE Mothers Day.

Lunch will be presented High Tea style… detailed instructions will be on the fridge.  Get familiarised the DAY BEFORE with the process, I don’t want to have to wait.

And blackberry jam WITHOUT pips for my scones.

Now for the most important thing that I lured you all here for: The Presents.

I have many many lists of items I desire that you have all wilfully ignored over the years and pulling out the old chestnut ‘we didn’t know what you waaaaaaaaaaaaant’ or the especially lazy ‘how about you buy yourself something from us’ just will not cut it anymore.

You pull that shit this year I am buying an ipad and then will be instagraming pictures from my villa in Bali that you gave me for Mothers Day.  BTW I sold everything you own to pay for it.

And your kidney.  Only one each, I am saving the others for my return.

So if you ever want to wear a bikini again I suggest you trawl through my blog to find me the perfect gift that I have totally asked for previously.

Or if you insist on being complete lazy arses make sure that the above demands are met and I would totes love some fluffy bedsocks and a pair of grey converse, size 9. (will accept orange or teal as well)

And macarons.

{source: fuckyeahmacaron}

Duh.

Something exciting and secret for previous occupants of my womb and the dude the drools on my pillow is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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not you, idiot.

EDENLAND!

Fucking bitch

I love ya more than my dignity.

x

Note to self:  put your face on and brush you motherfucking hair before posting pictures of yourself on the internet.

P.S. I totally have a picture of your arse woman, and I am not afraid to sell it to New Idea.

and the winner is… is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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Apparently this is the correct quote. I prefer jump.  I am a maverick.

I don’t know where I got the quote from.

Pinterest?  Someones blog?  Random google search for the meaning of life?

Regardless, I saw it, wrote it down and chucked that shit up on my fridge to remind me.

Or placate me.

Or to try and lull me in to a false sense of security that everything is going to be OK.

To jump.

And trust that the net will catch my fall.

I don’t like taking chances, to wander into the unknown. As this blog is testament to, the Universe likes hide behind the curtains mainlining laxatives ready to defecate on my head at any given moment.

Right now I need to make a decision.

Do I return to work and all that it entails, knowing that it will be stressful and demanding and not to mention the logistics of getting Boo where he needs to be and keeping him home at a moments notice, being indebted to my mother and the abuse that THAT will bring as I have no other backup for Boo wrangling, and the possibility that returning to that lifestyle – with the extra stressors – may induce stroke number 3?

Do I quit my job and be poor forever, knowing that no other workplace will ever allow me to work around Boo’s needs.  My superannuation being decimated by fees and charges and unless I come into a fuck load of money I will never own a home again?

Let alone an ipad?

Do I beg my workplace for another six months off, cap in hand admitting that yes, the promises made when I applied the first time did not eventuate but it is not my fault and come off as a whiney child who won’t take responsibility?

Do I bury my head in the sand and pretend none of this is happening and go and buy myself an ipad with the rent money to make me happy?

There is no guarantee that I will stroke out again.

There is no guarantee that I wont.

There is no guarantee that taking another six months will give me enough time to fix the damage caused by the fuckwit principal last year and the incompetent co-ordinator this year.

There is no guarantee that I CAN do anything.

There is no guarantee that anything will happen any way that we plan.

There is just a choice.

To make the best decision with what you have in front of you right now.

To Jump.

And believe the net will appear.

Jump. And the net will appear. is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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{fucking hilarious tumblr}

So I have been blissfully wearing my long maxi skirts and jeans and leggings not as pants but something to cover up the blinding whiteness of my legs in contrast to mah new boots…

which are awesome thankssomuchforasking

… and I haven’t really been taking much notice of the fact that it has been a whiiiiiiiile since I last put razor cartridges on the old shopping list.

I am just kinda over it, ya know?

I straighten my hair.

I spakfilla my face.

I attempt to hide the lumpy bits of my body under layers of fabric.

But my legs?

Underarms?

Lady Garden?

Meh.

Admittedly I love me some freshly sun dried sheets with a big fluffy doona and jumping into bed with just shaved smooth legs, but in reality most of the time MPS and I are bitching at 11pm that the bed hasn’t been made and I forgot to wash the bedding and the freshly shaved is now stubble and catching on the zero threadcount sheets.

So yeah, perhaps I should shave my legs.

Or wax them.

Or investigate donating the hair for extensions.

Whichever takes the least effort.

{this nothing post is just filler so I could post this awesome pic of Batman and his balls. And to get as far away as possible from the train wreck that was the last post.

 You are welcome.

 And you are totally scrolling back up to look at his balls aren’t you. You minx.}

Hairy. is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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It’s fine.

It’s hormonal.

It’s nothing.

It’s May.

It is a myriad of things tied up in a big black bow of whatever.

It’s the begging and the pleading.

It’s the ‘no, it’s all good I will fix it’s

And the ‘I’m OK’s and the plastered smile that doesn’t make it to my eyes.

It’s letters I have to write

It’s the forms I have to fill out.

It’s the money I have to find.  Somehow.

It’s the memories

And the fresh raw pain that comes from a wound that scabs over and then a word, a smell, a thought, a song rips it off cleanly and it takes my breath away.

Along with my mind.

It’s Mothers Day.

It’s my broken brain.

It’s the clothes that I wash and rewash.

It’s my skirts and shirts and shoes – my office clothes – now folded in a drawer, the faint smell of neglect.

It’s regret.

It’s what if…

It’s if only…

It’s not fair.

It’s that hysterical high pitched voice in my head that I swear you can hear coming out of my pores.

And the panic, bubbling just below the surface, waiting for me to be alone to release itself lest I scare the innocent and carefree.

It’s everything.

It’s nothing.

Carry on.

It’s all good. Fine. Just fine. is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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So we just started watching and lemme get this right…

• Edward Cullen and his cronies are hiding the the forest next to a big ice wall that is fun to piss off.

• A kid is crippled because Prince Charming from Shrek fucks his sister.

• A dude sells HIS sister to a long haired ex-member of Kiss and then she becomes more powerful than him.

• Boobs.

• And THIS guy

Is fucking AWESOME and the best character in the history of forever.

Yes?

Game of Thrones. is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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So MPS has been home for just over a week with a toothache.

Eleven days to be exact.

264 hours to be exacter.

Too fucking long in my face with all the moaning and breathing and talk of motherfucking pus coming out of his motherfucking abscess and OOOOOH HONEY COME HERE AND GIVE ME A KISS.

It is enough to drive a woman batshit crazy…

er.

I am the sort of person that needs quiet time.

Space to be with myself and my voices of reason.

Myself and my voices of reason that think it is perfectly acceptable to wander around the house sans pants in complete silence and then pull apart a room/cupboard/psyche at a whim.

I NEED TO BE AH-LOOOOOOONE.

And I have to be alone to write a blog post.

You see, I USED to go outside and have a cigarette to compose my thoughts.  It was just me and nature and a filthy haze of expelled Dunhill Refined. And then I would run inside, type a mile a minute and hit publish.

And then hide from the internet for a while until everyone had found the spelling and gramatical mistakes and finished emailing and mocking me.

It was a SYSTEM and it WORKED.

And then I gave up the sticks of death and had to find another way of writing.  And this was silence with my laptop and looking at porn pinterest and it was working so well until those pesky kids and their dog… Where the kids are MPS and the dog is an abscess full of pus squirting into his mouth OMG MAKE THE VISIONS STOP!!!!!

So MPS has been firmly entrenched on the couch and if he is not reading out random shit from the internet while I am trying to craft the perfect post he is playing stupid fucking shit from youtube through the huge speakers attached to his laptop just inches away from me OMG I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE JUST TO GET SOME PEACE AND QUIET!!!!!

The previous post was written in 5 minutes while MPS was in the toilet.

True story.

My creative juices juice THEMSELVES when I am able to hear myself fucking think without the latest Batman trailer set to AEROPLANE ENGINE on his speakers.

And now, in this first world we live in full of first world problems, Boo has to stay home because there is no electricity at his school.

Apparently that is not a good thing or some shit cause the kids might get cold or their respirators can’t run or the teachers can’t make a cup of tea THE POINT IS I have had MPS home forever and now Boo is home too.

So I will never ever be able to write a blog post again.

You are welcome.

P.S. Currently Boo is singing  MOMOMOMOMOMOMOMOMOMOM at the top of his lungs… and I think I heard ‘vagina’.  Looks like they are doing sex ed at school this week.  Don’t need fucking electricity for that… OMG.

and I haven’t killed him. Yet. is a post from: MagnetoBoldToo!

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