The hutch
In my hallway stands a hutch.
One of those catchalls with drawers and shelves designed to display plates and nick nacks and the like.
Something that grandma would display her precious things and perhaps photos of the grandkids.
It stands, completely out of place amongst furniture of dark angular woods, with its decorative swirls and dust magnet crevices.
A hutch made with love by my daddy for my birthday. Out of blood, sweat, lots of cursing and love.
Knotty pine. Lacquered and now aging yellow.
It stands in my hall, totally out of place.
But every time I walk down that hall, to and from my room, I smile a bittersweet smile.
You see, when that hutch was created we lived hundreds of miles away, with his first grandchild. His brain hiding a tumour the size of a grapefruit, diminishing his ability to see. To think. To remember what he was doing. Whether he had eaten. Destroying his pituitary gland and his body’s ability to regulate itself.
Yet he was determined to create this for me.
You can see the minor errors. Errors that I know would have been preceded by even bigger errors that he would have discovered and cursed himself.
Too fucking proud and stubborn to go to the doctor.
Too fucking scared to have his fears confirmed.
Days after he presented this hutch, and the bedside tables that I still own - too small and the wrong colour with sticking drawers - he was in surgery to have that brain tumour removed.
And again 3 times over. Seems that bastard enjoyed taking residence in my Daddy’s head.
So that hutch represents my fathers love and devotion to me. In my minds eye I can see him toiling.
And that hutch makes me feel loved.
And holds all mah shit.
********************************
February. First of all , who was the fucker that named that month. Cause all the r’s and vowels and shit mess with my head. I know how to spell it, but ALWAYS type the bastard wrong. Stoopid head month naming bastards…
The month after January (ha! Take that month naming bastard) was a very busy month for my blog. And Google searches - hello freakshows! - still hit posts from that month every damn day.
Posts about:
Discussing the Diva Cup at a drunken 1 year olds birthday,
Rule 34 of the internet and finding out another use for my beloved Clinker (including a pic of me with curly hair, never seen before in the wild),
Douche bags and my mothers edumaction in the aisles at Safeway,
and hiring a personal assistant, sans clothing.
Then exciting posts where I:
Discover that the rocking corner is a mighty fine place to drink,
Offend all my Christian readers with a simple flick of a switch,
and offend another blogger unintentionally in a fit of reflection and hurt (man, reading back on that one still smarts, the post and the comments),
Contemplate whether my husband is fattening me up to ensure fidelity,
Give up shit for Lent and find out that I am not related by religion to Tom Cruise,
feel extremely old while Pumping Up the Jam,
bought new shoes, one of many posts about new shoes,
and help Boo with his homework. For the first and last time.
PHEW. What a month. Now click on every link, biatches. Cause all that linking took ten times as long as the damn post.
As a side note: My daddy is fine now. Well, he is clinically blind and has to take some serious medications for the rest of his life, and has a fucking AWESOME scar on his head that totally makes him look like a superhero or Indiana Jones or something. Cause my daddy fucking rocks. He could kick all your daddies arses and Chuck Norris’ at the same damn time.
Popularity: 13% [?]
New Years Resolutions. Where I make an unbreakable promise.
It is the afternoon of the first day of the New Year.
The year I dub ‘The Year of Fucking Awesome’
I thought of all the things I could resolve to do this year.
Lose weight. Woke up this morning after 2 weeks of eating and drinking excessively and I have lost 1 & 1/2 kilos.
Fucking Awesome.
Do what we can to help Rudi recover. MPS rang the hospital this morning and he is sitting up and flirting with the nurses.
Fucking Awesome.
Look after myself. Spend some time pampering every day. Woke up this morning checked my hair in the mirror and…
Fucking Awesome.
So instead of resolving to do anything in particular, I will make a promise to you, my internetz, and myself.
This year I resolve to be Fucking Awesome.
It will be difficult. It will be a challenge. I can hear you all saying ‘But Kelley! You are already Fucking Awesome! How on earth can you top that?’
I know peeps, it is pretty damn hard to be more awesome than I already am. But I will rise to the challenge.
For you.
Cause I am that Fucking Awesome.
So my lovelies, what is YOUR New Year Resolution? Tell me in the comments or leave me a link to your post about it.
************************************
For as long as I remember, or can be bothered I will do a tiny recap of each month of ‘The Year of Not So Fucking Awesome’ aka ‘The Year The Ate My Soul’
First up is January. Being the first month and all that…
January was all about arsehats farting in the toilet stalls next to me,
writing a long post about Boo getting lice (W00T! Means he is interacting with the other kids! I know that is deranged) and then concussion from a swing set falling on him and then accidentally deleting the fucker but the comments remain, confusing the shit out of the weird google searches that hit that post constantly,
being sexy and feeling sexy is a state of mind thing,
lots and lots and lots of sleeplessness and fucking whining about it,
trying to break up with my lover,
launching my .com (it is amazing how many hits I get from google for ‘what does my new digs mean’),
MPS letting it slip that he reads my blog, and it is not a housework and recipe collection,
Moo spending the night with her head in a toilet bowl after Vodka and me spending the evening with a hot Indian.
Then the kids returned to school,
and Boo had an accident in the first 2 hours of his first day and I got to meet Fuckknuckle nurse,
then on the final day of the month I sent a child with a broken bone to school with no pain relief while I ate chocolate.
Cause I am a stellar parent.
Wonder what awesomeness I got up to in February?
Popularity: 20% [?]
Happy New Year! Early. Cause I am all about being first.
What a year huh? I spent the last couple of hours going through my archives to find my favourite posts of the year. The tears. The laughter. The arsehats. The humiliation that I happily share with the internets. The tears.
There were a lot of tears this year.
And you, all of you, held me up. I fell down and you brought me up with your words of comfort and silliness and all round awesomeness.
But I don’t want my last post of the year to be about sadness.
Cause tomorrow is our wedding anniversary and we are on the cusp of a bright new year.
A year with endless possibilities.
A year that spans ahead of me shiny and new and well, not this fucking ratfucksonofabitch year.
So tomorrow night, New Years Eve, instead of spending the night in a flash hotel ringing in the new year buck naked sans children like I asked Santa to provide dwelling on the year that was, I will raise a toast to my internet friends.
To you.
Cause you fucking rock my world.
Happy New Year my lovelies.
Here’s to a bright and shiny new year full of love, laughter, happiness and shooting glitter out our arses.
Cause you know you want to.
Smootches.
Popularity: 24% [?]
My Christmas post. A long and awesome account of awesomeness. With added awesome. Awesome.
We have a few traditions in the Magneto Bold household.
Besides me losing my shit for the weeks leading up to it and consuming copious amounts of alcohol which may or may not have resulted in me conspiring with another equally ‘merry’ co worker to put prawn shells in the managers desk at the office Christmas party…
We have the usual parties to go to, get togethers with people we only see at Christmas time thank Fucking Sweet Jesus and the eleventy hundred people to run into at the supermarket causing a ‘quick trip’ to take hours with all the niceties, air kisses and fuck me, you have gotten fat promises of ‘we must get together sometime!’ stuff. But Christmas Eve is all about my little family - me in all my fabulousness, MPS, the Damn Emos and the Tiny Terrorist.
Every year we have given the kids their present from us on Christmas Eve. The best present. The awesomest present. The present that kicks all the other presents butts and then kicks sand in their faces. And then spits like a footballer on their beaten carcasses.
This year it was Guitar Hero World Tour. And it did more than kick arse. It sent all the other presents running for their mummy and their mummies to write letters saying how unfair it is for some other present to be treated better than their precious present. And we were all ’suck on that! Cause we are totally rocking this biatches’
and we totally did. Pic taken by Boo, just before he rocked out on the drums.
Another sign of Christmas in Chez Magnetobold is the cherries. The sweet sweet cherries. The kilos of cherries. OMFG I love the cherries. I bet you are wondering if I can do that thing like that chick in Twin Peaks with the cherry stalk. Well that is for MPS to know and you probably guess that I can’t cause who DOES THAT SHIT ANYWAY?
On a related note: MOTY gave Too cherry chapstick for Christmas.
Ooooooh Eton Mess. Macerated strawberries, whipped cream and meringue all slopped together and eaten as a main course on Christmas Eve. Awesome wrapped in fabulous with a big red bow. Seriously, if I could shoot glitter out my arse in honour of how fucking awesome that shit is I would.
Speaking of shooting glitter out my arse, on top of that house is a reindeer shooting fireworks out his poop chute. Boo nearly took off with all the flapping rapture.
On a serious note, we used to go and see the lights around town (and surrounding towns) every Christmas Eve, but haven’t been able to for the last few years because of Boo’s terror of the dark. This year he walked in while we were gorging on Eton Mess and said ‘I don’t need to see your stinking lightshow! I am going to bed!’ and we were all ‘Meh, whatever, OMG Hi-5 is on! And Humphrey!’
I then offhandedly said to Boo ‘You want to go and see all the lights? They will be pretty!’ and he was all ‘OK’ and we flew out the house in our PJ’s before he changed his mind. Which was probably not a good idea seeing every fucking person in town was at the same houses we were and were all ‘Hi Kelley!’ and I was all ‘fuck fuck fuck, I am wearing my PJ’s and my hair is all curly and crap and I am wearing THONGS for fucks sake’ and then we ran into my ex ex ex best friend (may she fucking rot in hell the fucking backstabbing gossiping that I caused Boo’s Autism and am neglecting my kids whore) and Moo was all ’she looks so OLD! You look waaaaaay younger than her’ and totally made my year.
But I still hope that she gets syphilis on her wrinkly face or something. If that is at all possible.
Anyway. We got to see the lights. And it was magical. And Boo was mesmerised. And we got to walk around like a normal family.
And I totally got something in my eye…
this one melts my cold dark heart, Moo showing Boo the Christmas windows. This house had a display in every window.
Boo was all ‘Um, we need to go home’ and started getting that look, so we came home, chucked some carrots out for the reindeer, set up Santa’s snack and then drank the fucking AWESOME eggnog. The front left one is mine. It was as big as the rear right after I added a little extra ingredient. Ho ho whoa! Did I stumble a bit? Ooopsies…
Snack for Santa. Unadulterated eggnog (because he is driving of course!), homemade butter cookies and lurking Ninja.
As you do…
The photo of the tree is a tad blurry. Shut up. Santa was a little tired what with all the bitching and baking and wishing really really hard for someone to get a syphilitic face from sitting on his fat arse in a sleigh and making all the reindeer do all the work and get fucking carrots while he nomms on the good shit.
Notice it is all colour co-ordinated and the freaking adorable gift tags. Shit that Santa is one classy um, Santa.
And yeah, the tree is totally dead. Pretend not to notice, K?
Seems Santa left a little of himself behind on the mug. We could totally take that for DNA analysis and then make a clone or voodoo doll or something out of it. I vote voodoo doll. That way I can get the fucker back for all the sucky fucking presents over the years.
Not looking at you at all MPS. It was Santa’s fault, right?
Christmas morning aftermath.
After my darling children opened all their presents and were climbing the walls from the contact high from all the plastic packaging, oh and Boo eating the foam, I snapped this shot of MPS playing with Wall.E and the infamous ‘if I don’t get a remote control car and Power Ranger DVD’s I am going on a mass rampage and then setting myself alight’ letter to Santa*’ radio controlled car.
And fucking kamikaze Christmas Beetles. Stupid beetles.
Then we all did our own thing for a while before going to my parents McMansion for a little peasants Christmas dinner. Cause all the good shit was brought out for the Golden Child’s Christmas.
Good thing I baked and cooked like a MoFo to ensure that her fucking white trash friends had something to eat.
Meh. I got nicely toasted and fucking ROCKED the Mario Kart before falling asleep on the couch.
Then we came home and sat with a shit load of chocolate and cherries and watched the Dark Knight as a family.
Rock on.
Don’t forget to check out all the Christmas Crazy, there are some freaking AWESOME posts in there. Some total nutjobs. And then others that are almost as awesome as me and my Burgh biatch.
Almost.
*Yes, I do see the correlation between Boo’s letter and the dude that went apeshit in the US. Difference being Boo is fucking hilariously awesome and that fucker was a douche bag.
Popularity: 28% [?]
Glass half empty.
This has been a difficult year.
Christmas has been no different.
I could dwell on the negative. What I am missing.
My grandparents, the first Christmas without them.
Rudi still in ICU. MPS is leaving to see him tomorrow. For 4 days. Using the last of our savings, the money that was earmarked for shoes and chocolate bills and school supplies. And incidentals like, I dunno, food…
Apparently his wife (WIFE? WTF? WIFE? He has a wife?) is not too pleased about MPS coming. Old wounds are being opened and generously salted.
Minor irritations like internet shaping again, Boo coming down from a shit load of shitty food given to him out of ‘kindness’ meaning constant meltdowns and precious little sleep, unexpected bills, my mother inviting complete strangers to ruin join us for Christmas dinner, the whole Golden Child worshipping…
And that is just in the last few days.
But I am trying to see the light in the season.
The wonder and goodness in the world.
I just can’t find it at the moment.
I am all Bah fucking Humbug.
So right now, I am going to lick my wounds, eat the chocolate that melted into a now solidified lump, hide the bills in the cupboard and not answer the phone, and compile my Christmas round up post.
And see the beauty in the season. The light in the eyes of my babies as they opened their gifts from ‘Santa’. The fact that I got to spend the day with my family, albeit with white trash interlopers, eating turkey with my secret stuffing.
Gaze lovingly at my present from the Golden Child…
*swoon*
I am going to look at the photos from the day and suck it up.
And count down the days till this rat fuck sonofabitch year is over.
Popularity: 26% [?]
HO HO HO!
Christmas Eve.
It is Christmas Eve already, people!
Last night, the Damn Emo’s were not home so MPS and I took the opportunity to get our freak on under the Christmas Tree wrap the last of the presents. And the traditional biggest bestest present to be given to the kids from Mum and Dad on Christmas Eve so no fat bastard can get all the fucking credit.
We placed it under the tree. As a rule, we don’t have anything under the tree until Christmas morning lest curious fingers cannot help themselves.
Seems ‘curious fingers’ was up early this morning. At some ungodly hour when the effects of a whole bottle of wine to MYSELF had yet to wear off I was awoken to the sound of ripping paper and a squeal of delight from Boo opening the family present of Guitar Hero World tour.
Bastard child.
Today I make all the bits and pieces that I will serve for Christmas Dinner so that no one starves after MOTY manages to serve a dried out raw turkey, again to compliment what my mother is cooking. My fucking KICK ARSE potato salad, fruit salad of awesome and various desserts and cold meats.
Not served together of course. Cause that would be weird.
For tonight, Egg Nog and Eton Mess to be consumed while watching Moo have conniptions over High 5 on the Carols tonight. And because I promised Jennifer that I would post the recipe on Aussie Christmas Eve, seeing that Australians are so freaking awesome we live in the future it gives your Northern Hemisphere types the chance to race out to the store to get the ingredients, I share with you my super secret stolen off the internet years ago recipe.
1/3 cup sugar
2 Egg yolks
4 cups milk (I used skim)
2 Egg whites
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup Whipping cream, whipped
1/4 teaspoon salt
Directions:
Beat the 1/3 cup of sugar and egg yolks together.
Yell at your children.
Add salt and milk and whisk together.
Shake your arse to some Wham! cause it just came up on your ipod and you are shaking your booty while the Damn Emos are rolling their eyes around their black rimmed sockets.
Cook over a medium heat whisking until the mixture coats the back of a metal spoon.
Alternate between dancing and yelling at the damn chillen.
Cool the custard in a tepid water bath while beating the egg whites until soft peaks form.
Thank sweet Jesus that the sound of the mixer is drowning out the all in brawl lively discussion on who is going next on the Guitar Hero World Tour drum kit.
Gradually add the sugar, beating between additions.
Threaten to call Santa to bring these ungrateful heathens coal for Christmas.
Add the egg whites to the cooled custard and mix in well.
Then add the vanilla, considering taking a swig or two cause it looks like the postman is not gunna call today meaning that your fucking Christmas present is not going to arrive before Christmas.
Chill for 3 -4 hours giving you plenty of time to do every thing else in the house to prepare for Christmas and the lazy bastards that cohabit this institution house sit on their fat arses.
Serve with whipped cream and a good slurp of Baileys Irish Creme.
Awesome.
And baking keeps me distracted. Yesterday we got a call that MPS’s younger brother had a massive heart attack while riding his bike. He had no pulse for 45 minutes. Some wonderful good Samaritan administered CPR the whole time till the ambulance got there to whisk him off to the ICU.
He is in Canberra. We are in Victoria. We sit with baited breath waiting for the call on what to do next.
And fuck me dead, if one more nurse makes a crack about the appropriateness of his name to the season when we call I am going to lose my shit.
So if you could, amidst your preparations and celebrations, save a thought for my brother in law, Rudolph.
Yeah. Rudolph. Shut up. I know it is funny.
On that depressing note, I wish every single one of you a Happy and Safe Holiday season. Notice I said ‘Holiday’? Yeah, yesterday I had to call our IT Helpdesk and a guy with a very thick Indian accent answered. After we did our bidness, I went to say ‘Have a wonderful Christmas’ but stopped myself in time to say ‘Have a wonderful… break, yeah, OK?’ to which, with a deep laugh he responded ‘Merry Christmas Kelley’
Do you think Santa may be an Indian working in IT? Cause that would be totally awesome.
Ho HO HO!!!
Popularity: 34% [?]
