This post was written in front of a live studio audience

Just kidding, I can't even leave my bedroom today, much less SEE OTHER PEOPLE.

Yeesh.

I keep getting the same comment from well meaning but sadly unknowing people. 'Why don't you just leave your bedroom? What could possibly happen?'

Dude. Don't get me started on the things my brain can conjure up when given a chance.

I left my room for the first and only time at 2:15pm today. I'm writing this at 4:30pm. I'm supposed to go to church tonight, but I doubt it. It's my turn to cook dinner but there's no chance, cos that requires the ability to make decisions. I'll probably just stay here until I feel tired enough to sleep, and then have another bad day tomorrow because I didn't have my pills today and there's a buttload of people coming tomorrow including my 2 nephews who I'm supposed to look after while Mum gets ready for the big event on Friday, when even more people come over.

This event happens every 3 months, you'd think I'd get used to it. But nope, every time it's the same thing.

Oh well, at least the Tom Baker scarf I'm working on for Professor will get some serious attention.

It totally doesn't make sense

When we hear a small child say exactly what they're thinking, we smile.

When we hear a pre-teen say exactly what they're thinking, we tell them they're precocious.

When we hear a teen say exactly what they're thinking, we make a side joke about teens knowing everything.

And then when we get older, we wonder when we lost the ability to just join in and say what we're thinking.

You're a freaking Superhero

The other night, while I had eleventy hundred tabs up on my browser, I came across this gem. Since I had so many freaking tabs up I have no idea HOW I found it, but I've linked them both to the place I got them.

He did it again...

I used to have a post about how Dad sucks me in with these long winded lectures that turn out to be jokes, but obviously, when I deleted the blog, the post went. So y'all just hafta trust me when I say, he is the Master at sucking me in for these things.

This morning.
I'm in the study.
He stands in the doorway, putting on his 17th layer of clothing as Perth has finally received winter.

D: 'Wotcha printing chicken?' - chicken is a childhood nickname for me, as Mum's was Chookhead.
J: 'Just a crochet blanket pattern I wanna make'
D: 'Hey, can you print out something for me as well please? It's a DIY thing'
J: 'No prob, what's the address' - fingers poised
D: 'www.      www.    ww'
J: 'Hang on, what comes after the second w?'
D: 'www.dontforgettowashup.com'
J: quick gut punch to Father.
J: 'Oh, that's like that website www.mydadsawuzuk.com.getnicked, right?'

He came back in while I was writing and handed me a piece of paper with the following address on it -

www.anddontjustleavethemtosoak.com.b4lunch

I need a spoon count on my forehead

There needs to be a way you can show people how much pain you're in if you have am invisible chronic pain condition. Maybe a spoon count on your forehead, the same way Justin Timberlake had his time on his arm in that weird movie where the poor people ran everywhere cos they didn't have much time left.

It'd also be nice if your brain stayed at the same level as your spoons, so that if you had no spoons left, you didn't actually wanna do anything, instead of being stuck in bed, wincing/crying/swearing in pain, unable to relax for the thoughts of things you wish you could do right now.

Oh, the spirit is so willing, and the flesh is such a jerk.

This really isn't a BodyLove Blog, but I just seem to keep posting about BodyLove!

When we go clothes shopping, my husband knows the drill. First thing to check when I walk outta the dressing room? The Roll. Smaller women call it a Muffin Top, but when you're my size, your muffin sinks. 

A friend of mine, who doesn't even know how much I love her for showing me this blog, steered me towards The Nearsighted Owl. I've been reading it for days already, in between bouts of housework and babysitting. And I've noticed a bit of an attitude change.

Closer fitted clothing.

Pants.

Wearing what I want to wear, instead of what I think I look best in.

A lot less caring of what other people think of my outfit.

Surprisingly, a LOT more outfit compliments.

I've had a tunic dress for about a YEAR and never worn it, because of The Roll. I wore it a couple of weeks ago, and the amount of compliments and winks I got was amazing - not to mention the freedom I felt by being able to wear it!

I'm dressing for me because I should be the only one who cares, but now people ARE caring and they seem to like it. Isn't it funny how that works?!

Mortified in Medicare

With all the arrogance of the childless, I took my nephews (4 & 3yrs) to Medicare with me yesterday. By choice.

As soon as we got in, the two excited but generally fairly quiet boys went bananas. Those red cushioned seats they have at Medicare? Awesome for climbing over and chasing each other. Apparently the altitude on their climbing adventures rendered them temporarily deaf to my pleas that they just sit and play with my iPhone.

After only ten or so minutes of 3 different tellers playing Solitaire (I assume this is what they were doing, as they had no customers in front of them), my number was called. I called the boys over and handed my paperwork to the teller, and they took the opportunity to start running around the waiting room screaming.

I caught the 3 year old, told him to sit on the floor. He did - probably because I bribed him with an icecream if he behaved.

I caught the 4 year old, who refused to sit on the floor, he wanted to sit in the trolley. No prob. I scoop him up, he takes a deep breath, so as to assure maximum volume, and yells,

'NO! DON'T TOUCH MY PENIS!'

Mortified.

The silence in the room was broken by what I can only describe as a collective snort, as approximately 20 people tried to stifle their laughs.

To top it all off? I didn't even get any money back. I was given a form and told to fill it out and bring it back to the counter, but do you think I was gonna stick around after all that?!

This Is An AD FREE ZONE.

I was thinking about this blogging caper today. I like writing, I like talking to people, and I like making up huge stories that bear only slight resemblance to the truth. So, if I like all of that - why did I stop blogging in the first place?

Stats.
Sponsored posts.
Giveaways.
Reviews.

When I started doing those things, I started liking blogging less. Don't get me wrong, free movie tickets were AWESOME, our trip to the Barossa was BRILLIANT, and getting random stuff in the mail was FANTABULOUS.

Straining my brain to make my sponsored posts stand out from the dozens of other blogs reviewing the same product at the same time? Not so fabulous.

Therefore, I officially declare BM-I Don't Care an advertisement free zone. No paid/gifted/sponsored reviews, no ads, no infomercials, no giveaways. I can't be bothered with them, and I think y'all are getting kinda tired of them. Everything you read here will come from my own crazy personalities, for my own reasons, and will not benefit me in any way, moolah-related or otherwise. Except, of course, for the hundreds of adoring comments y'all will no doubt leave me, and the time I get to waste not doing housework.

Breaking News!

It is NEVER okay to tell someone, 'If you were my missus I would've pulled you up years ago and told you off for letting yourself go!'

Dude...NOT COOL.

And for the record - you'd be lucky to have me as your missus ;)

It's kinda ridic to try and hide fat, right? It's just always there, being all fat...

I read an article at XO Jane the other day, about Fat Girls With Pixie Cuts. I don't wanna go pixie, but I've longed for AGES to get a short cut. My hair generally sits at around waist level, which is kinda stupid, given that most of the time I wear it up. But I had it in my head that people couldn't see the fat if I had long, feminine hair to hide it.

Turns out most people aren't blind, and can already tell that I'm somewhat cuddly.

So, when next I have moolah so as to make it rain on my hairdresser, this is what I shall be getting.

Pics to follow, but be warned, we've gotta sell a couple blocks and refinance and do all the grownup stuff before I can partake in something as flippant as a haircut, so y'all might wanna read a book while you're waiting. Check out fat girls + short hair if you need the push to get the haircut you WANT instead of the haircut you think you need.

BM-I Don't Care 2.0

So it turns out I like the attention of having a blog, and it gets kinda crowded in my head if I don't do some thought vomiting occasionally. And at least one person missed me (hi Rach!), so, I'M BACK!

Still playing with the template etc. Stick around peeps, it's gonna be fun ;)