My boobs are shrinking.

Am I sure? Well, I wore a top today which normally is quite booby, and it wasn't anywhere near as booby. And when questioning Beardie, he performed his Grope Test (the official test of the Boob Shrinkage Committee) and he agreed with me.

You see, I have stopped taking the No Babies Pill. This is because after taking it for about a year and a half, I have finally realised that what it does to my body is not just an adjustment phase I'm going through. What it does to me is what it's going to do to me, forever and ever, if I stay on it. And what it does to me is make me feel like a barren old hag, and give me crappy skin (plus some other things, but this post is a little TMI already), so I quit.

Apparently, what the NBP also did was inflate my boobs.

Who knew! I didn't, and I'm part of the girlfolk. Google knew.

I am just hoping that the bastard pill doesn't wreak its bitter revenge upon me by shrinking them smaller than they ever have been before. Because I would like to keep my boobs, please.

You hear that, hormones? Boobs = yes.

Sigh.

(For the life of me I could not find or draw a picture to attach to this post. Though searching Google for suitable pictures has definitely exceeded my porn quota for the day.)

So I was expecting a horrendous first week back at work, but in all honesty, it hasn't been that bad. This is because after one day of being back, I felt as though I had never left. So because my work is all-consuming and sucks the life and memories out of me, I didn't have too much trouble settling back in. Hooray!

Also, I think I can finally say that both jobs that I applied for have brutally rejected me. The first has only sent me an e-mail to say "you will be contacted by phone if you have been successful in gaining an interview" (and this was last week), and there has been no contact whatsoever, which is a wee bit shitty given that this is the job in my own department, and I would expect that given I am one of their own I would receive a phone call, an explanation at least, and woah, what an incredibly long sentence, yes? My friend at the second job sent me an e-mail to say it had been filled, and that apparently they had had somebody in mind for it all along. He apologised for wasting my time. That one I am more disappointed about, as it was system development/project work, and that floats my boat.

Alas!

I shall continue on my merry way and keep an eye out.

Whilst I was at work, wearing uncomfortably tight work pants with an overhang of holiday pudge and a waistband so tight my circulation was beginning to fail, I picked up a flyer for a 10 week fitness challenge, starting next week. I immediately joined. I am actually quite enthusiastic about it, figuring that 10 weeks is a good block of time (long enough to make a difference, short enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel), and that I can get in tip top shape and parade about in front of everyone in hot pants and bikini tops in no time! Good plan? Chance of success = shaky. But if I can at least lose my Thai green curry jiggle then I will be happy.

Lovely Lucy recently posted about her Lady Maintenance regime and I was left feeling woefully inadequate. I thought about my own beauty routine, and realised that it consisted of the following:

• Haircuts, when I have too many split ends and it looks too ratty.
• Showering, daily.
• Brushing of teeth, morning and night.
• Waxing of the sacred lady area, at home, when I have too many split ends monthly.
• Shaving of the underarms/legs, when I am going to wear an outfit that will reveal these areas (for real. In winter, they might not see the light of day for a couple of weeks).
• Eyebrow plucking, when needed (well, when I notice).
• Chapstick, when my lips are dry.
  

And that's it. No make-up (though every time I look at the dark lines under my eyes, I consider it), no skin care routine (besides shower gel which smells like mangoes, or some type of fruit), and no visits to the beautician to speak of (I have been professionally waxed once, had a reaction to whatever they put Down There and spent the following week scratching my crotch like a frenzied whore with crabs). And as Lucy is low maintenance, this can only mean that I am a hairy truckie named Barry with questionable personal hygiene.

Sexy indeed.

As a child growing up in the 90's, I was accustomed to flannelette shirts, shiny nylon tracksuits, Party of Five, and spent my days wondering whether Ross and Rachel would ever get together. Mum jeans were young jeans, the Spice Girls still wore themed outfits, and Hanson were a trio of long-haired ponces that the laydeez loved. They were good days.

And of course, there was one TV show to rule them all. One that remained supreme, while the others passed by making only a small impact on my cultural upbringing. Brenda, Brandon, Dylan, Kelly, Annndrea, Steve, Donna and David! BH 90210! Oh, you know you loved it. So imagine the excitement of my 10-year old inner child after discovering that they're making another one.

Unfortunately, this Youtube preview suggests that it might be a bit OC-ish rather than a bunch of kids hanging out in the Peach Pit, facing problems like alcoholism (after having two whole drinks), or the best way to write a character out of the series after it becomes obvious that he's unpopular and not necessary to the storyline.

It does promise to feature a guest appearance from both Kelly (the pale one) and Donna (the one who was cast because her dad made the show), so maybe it will relive some of its former glory.

On a sidenote, I would like to congratulate BAG on going from this:



To becoming a bad boy with tats who scored Megan Fox:



Playing the synthesizer and wearing gigantic colourful shirts really does get you places. I will most definitely keep it up. Good show, old chap.

Yesterday, I was incredibly moody. Whether the moons of Saturn were waxing gibbous and freaking with my chi, or if it was The Almighty Hormones, I do not know, but I was just ridiculous. We had planned to go out for breakfast and were aiming for 9am. At 8:45, facing the prospect of Not Leaving On Time, I started accusing Beardie of killing hungry puppies, or something along those lines. On a Sunday! Later that day, when I tried on an unflattering dress which was very hessian sacky, Beardie gave me his honest opinion and told me that it looked like a potato sack. To which I accused him of being Hitler in his former life and of ripping out my heart, trampling it underfoot, and ruining my life in general. The poor boy.

These are all gross exaggerations. OR ARE THEY????!!11?

But you get the picture.

Today I am fine!

On the matter of my health:

• In a couple of weeks, my Doctor will get some cold instruments and start fiddling around with my lady parts. This will be so he can determine the health of my cervix. Hoorah! It will be my first ever Pappy-McPapSmear, and quite frankly, I would rather spend that hard-earned day off on the couch with some cake.
• Beardie and I have just arrived home from a Brisk Walk. This is fitness attempt, #337. I am depressed that of the many times I have tried to get my arse into gear and increase my fitness level to something better than geriatric, I have quit 100% of the time. But sometimes not for many months! Let's see how this goes, and hopefully I will shape up and start posting pictures of my arse in hotpants on the interweb.
• A cable arrived for my camera, which means I can plug it into my computer and the vlogging will (may) commence shortly. I have included this under the health topic, because it will be bad for YOUR health, when I subject you to crap jokes and perhaps some Very Shit Guitar.

Now lunge with me.

On the subject of beards, here is a great example of a beard vastly improving a person:



HERE IS A BAD ONE:



Jesus, Frodo.