Monday, May 4, 2015

An open letter to Woolite

Ugh. I need to clean up my computer desktop. There are Word icons as far as the eye can see. Time to drag some in the trash and hear that satisfying crumpling sound. Hmmm...it can wait until tomorrow.



So what's going on with that new royal baby? Why do they wait so long to announce the name? It's obnoxious. Just tell us already. I mean, not like I care or anything...



I can't write tonight. My eyeball hurts and I need to relax for an hour before bed.



Plus, I have nothing to say. I thought of a million ideas over the course of the day, but as usual, I've forgotten them all. So, my only option is to write an open letter to Woolite. That's my only option.



Dear Woolite, 

Thank you so much for making me feel like a proper adult. And for allowing me to wash my delicates without fear of shrinking, fading, pilling, fiber damage or shape loss. 

When I sniff the armpit of my favorite blouse and it smells like onions, I know that you'll be waiting for me on the shelf above the washing machine. Just as Jesus turned water to wine, the way you transform BO into BA (beautiful aroma) is nothing short of a miracle. 

I'd be remiss not to mention your retro logo. What can I say? It's cute! And the pink turtleneck sweater that you feature on your bottle transports me to JC Penney at Bellevue Square in the early '90s—the cluttered clothing racks that I would crawl under and pretend were houses. Oh Woolite, you're always bringing a smile to my face. 

Again, thank you. Thank you for reminding me that, even when I'm feeling down, I can always think of you and remember that I own at least one clothing item worthy of your care. 

Love and gratitude, 

Margaret



Sunday, May 3, 2015

Just say NO (but say YES sometimes)

"Would either of you be interested in giving me a shoulder massage in exchange for $10?

"No," Char and my mom answer in unison.

It was the response I expected.

"Rich will give you one," my mom suggests. "Ask him. He'll say yes."

"Do you ever take advantage of the fact that he's so nice?" I ask.

"Oh yeah," she says. "In the early days I used to call up my sisters and say, 'you won't believe it—he'll do anything I say!'"

This got us talking. Apparently my aunt Mona* remembers exactly when my mom stopped doing things for her when they were growing up. Everybody has a limit—eventually.

I too remember when I finally said no to my siblings. I was 10 years old and we were downstairs at the 'new' house. It was the first time I'd ever lived anywhere with stairs, and when one of them asked me to get them a glass of water, I really didn't want to hike up all those steps to the kitchen.

So, I said no. What a revelation! I'd been their slave for years and all along the solution was a simple, two-letter word. NO!


Well, this is odd. What's up with his eyes? Levar Burton, is that you?
Image via Wikimedia Commons

There's a fine line between being nice and being a sucker. My dad, of course, said yes to the shoulder massage without hesitation—but that's because he's nice! And it's good to be nice. The world is a better place because nice people give other people shoulder massages. Or they agree to get people glasses of water when asked. But it's possible for both parties to take it too far.

What's the lesson here?

  • Super-nice people of the world: curb your instinct to say 'yes' to everybody. You'll get burnt out and resentful.
  • Less-nice people of the world: curb your instinct to bleed super-nice people of their innate goodness and use it to your advantage. 

It's all about balance. Everything in moderation (even moderation!!! HA HA HA HA).

Cheerio,
Margaret

P.S. Corn-on-the-cob tonight and popcorn. You know what that means. Girl's gotta floss!

* In a previous edition of this blog post, I referred to my aunt Barb when I meant my aunt Mo. Madgespace regrets the error!

Saturday, May 2, 2015

33 years later movie review: Tootsie

Anna and I watched the 1982 Sydney Pollack film 'Tootsie' this evening.

It stars Dustin Hoffman, a talented-but-difficult actor who can't get a gig to save his life. With no director in New York willing to hire him, he creates a drag character named 'Dorothy Michaels' and auditions for the part of a female hospital administrator serving tough-ol'-bird realness in a famous soap opera. And he gets it!

But wait a second, one of his castmates, Julie, happens to be a beautiful actress and it's love at first sight. How will he ever get her to fall for him when he's dressed as an old lady?

Plot. Established.



I'll cut to the chase: this movie is good. It also stars a young(er) Bill Murray in one of the more understated roles I've seen him in. And Dustin Hoffman is fantastic.

On the other hand, '80s film soundtracks be cray. It took Anna and I a good 20 minutes to get used to the ridiculous instrumental elevator tunes that played between every scene. Also, old movies loved to feature a theme song that repeatedly swells up at sentimental moments throughout the film. In this case it was that song "Something's telling me it might be you, all of my life...."

Oh, and there are lots of creepy moments. In one scene, Dustin Hoffman (as Dorothy Michaels) ends up having to sleep in the same bed as Julie. They're at her dad's country home and there isn't an extra bed. They have a heart-to-heart, she gets emotional and he gently pets her head like she's a labrador. He's wearing a wig with curlers in it.

Difficult to explain.

Anyway, the best scene is when Hoffman reveals that he's actually a man live on the soap opera. It's a brilliant bit of television (as portrayed in film).

TGIF,
Margaret

P.S. Floyd Mayweather isn't actually going to post Suge Knight's bail if he wins the fight tomorrow. I suppose the Internet can occasionally get things wrong. Madgespace regrets the error.

P.P.S. I found this picture while searching for 'Tootsie' in Google. Wow.

Image by theimpulsebuy via Flickr

Friday, May 1, 2015

Black skinny jeans will come back to haunt us

I didn't want to have to be the one to tell you, but someone had to.

I wear them every day. I have three pairs. Still, I'm woman enough to admit that we will all look back on black skinny jeans and think we look sooooo dated and ridiculous.

Francie was actually the one who brought it up.

"So,  like 10 years from now are we going to look at pictures of us wearing black skinny jeans and think they look dated?" she asked me.

"Yes, but it will be in five years."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"OK. But will we think they're unflattering?"

"Yes."

"But they're so cute!"

"No they're not. They aren't actually flattering or cute."

"What!?"

"I know, I know. We just think they are. We can't see past it. That's the nature of these things."


You might be skeptical, but it wasn't that long ago that I thought a spaghetti strap tank top + bootcut jeans + black heels = BEST GOING OUT LOOK EVER!



Enjoy them while you can, 

Margaret

P.S. If Mayweather wins on Saturday, he's going to post Suge Knight's $10-million bail. 

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Letters to the editor

I haven't written a decent blog in ages. Why? Because I've been BUSY! What's your excuse?

Anyway.

Today Andy had a letter to the editor published in the Scotsman newspaper. It's about the idea of a Tory/Labour coalition, something that I'd guess interests .03% of the people who read this. But it's still cool! Not only was it included in the letters section of the website, but it was also featured in the print version of the paper, given pride of place at the top of the opinion page.



I once wrote a letter to the editor of the Spokesman Review. It was a rant about how un-pedestrian-friendly Spokane drivers are. My journalism professor saw it and announced to the class that he was giving me extra credit for getting my thoughts published in a real live newspaper. I remember feeling a mixture of pride and embarrassment. I'd written it in haste and didn't like how pro-Seattle and complainy I came across.



Oh snap! I just came up with the best idea. Why don't I try to get as many letters published in as many different newspapers as I can? I could even turn it into a book. This just might be it—the brilliant book idea that I've been searching for!

But just like the 'cartoon starfish drinking a mug of coffee' idea for a tattoo on my right ribcage, I better sleep on it before I make any rash decisions. 

Yours truly, 
Margaret

P.S. I decided against the tattoo after thinking about it for 8 months back in 2009/2010. Phew!

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Things you want to do, but you shouldn't.

Things you want to do, but you shouldn't. 

Chew Bubblicious gum for two seconds and then EAT it because it's so good.

Keep watching New Girl even though it's not a good TV show.

Cut open a microwavable heat pack full of gel balls just so you can feel its insides.


Pick you spouse's blackheads in public. 

Buy a Luna Bar at the checkout stand just because it's there and you're there and it's "healthy."

Walk outside in your socks because the ground isn't wet (hint: it actually is). 

Try on your mom's size 2 jeans from Talbots.

Lick the butter off the inside of a microwave popcorn bag. 

AdiĆ³s, 
Margaret

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

From the Archives, Edition 7

A bit of background before I share this amazing letter from my sister Char (age 11) to Grandpa Padden.

My grandpa made a deal with all us grandkids: don't watch TV for a year and you'll get $250 (some of the first-responders / his favorites got $500 — the lucky ducks).

Now, if you were to set me that challenge today, I would laugh in your face. But back then, $250 was soooooo much money. If you consider inflation and the worldview of a child's not-yet-fully-developed brain, $250 was the equivalent of $250,000. It was more money than I ever thought I'd have in my life.

We all did it. And it wasn't just no TV, but also no movies (with the exception of those watched in a cinema). I distinctly remember my cousin Albee sitting behind the television set and listening to the Olympics during her year sans tube. Even that was considered a grey area and potential breach of the contract.

Anyway, that's the context of this letter. Read and enjoy.




There's a lot to love about this letter, but mostly this: "Maybe you could send it to me in an envelope or something like that."

BAahhahahhaaha!

Way to really spell it out for him, Char. Just in case he doesn't know how the mail works. 

I love this because I recognize the tactic as something I do all the time—to this day—in emails when I'm trying not to be too pushy. She even threw a smiley face in there! Long before emojis existed, people still used smiley faces to say, "I'm using a nice tone. Read this knowing that I'm using a nice tone" :)

Also, it's great that she only asks for $25 of the total $250. After all, she's a reasonable woman. She's willing to put him on a payment plan. 

Surfs up!

Goodnight,

Margaret


Monday, April 27, 2015

Well, well, well...

What have we here?



If it isn't my old retainer, shoved into the back of a drawer in the downstairs bathroom and left for dead. Perhaps it's time I resurrect this bad boy and show the world just how hipster I can be.



Oh dear. It doesn't fit.

That's disappointing...but at least I have this CLEAN & CLEAR FACE WASH(!!!) to lift my spirits!

Yes, another blast-from-the-past uncovered by today's bathroom decluttering, a bottle of the world most tingly blackhead scrub!



YES! The smell.

YES! The chunky lather.

YES! The burn. The horrible wonderful burning.

I loved Clean & Clear Deep Action Cream Cleanser because it smelled like bandaids and stung like IcyHot. It felt medicinal. Not only would it suck the life out of your zits, but it would also cleanse your soul.

I fear that the contents of this particular bottle have long expired, chemicals festering for 14 years to form an even more toxic and corrosive concoction. One wash with the stuff could leave me faceless (and my face has always been my best feature). Still, it's tempting. Just to feel that deep clean again. Nothing else compares.

Sweet dreams,
Margaret

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Are Italian sodas still a thing?

You bet they are! And there was something in the air today that made me crave one.

When the thought popped into my head, the first question I asked myself was: do Italian sodas even exist or are they something I dreamed about once? The second: where can I get my hands on one?

I was in Edmonds when the hankering struck. As luck would have it, Waterfront Coffee near the ferry terminal had Italian sodas on the menu. Yes! Turns out they weren't a figment of my imagination.

I chose raspberry flavor. Again, gut instinct. When asked whether I wanted cream and/or whipped cream, I said "Give me the works."

Gotta know your angles
The verdict: delicious, for about three sips. After that, disgusting.

Short blog post tonight because I'm treating myself to an early bedtime. I suggest you do the same. Life's too short to stay up late socializing.

Nighty night,

Margaret

Friday, April 24, 2015

This is the worst song I've heard in a while

...and I promise I'm not being a music snob.

You see, I like this kind of music. Sampling a song from the 80s / Rapping with an island accent / Whiny Rihanna-style chorus. Basically, if it sounds like it would be played in a Cypriot nightclub, I usually like it. But not this. This song is a bridge too far. I mean, it's TERRIBLE.





In other news, MEINE AUGEN! Drove home from Barbie's birthday party tonight and I felt like I couldn't see a thing. Nighttime driving is so crazy with all the shadows and the different colored lights. I think it's time I go back for another eye test.

Is bad-at-night eyesight a thing?




Glasses, here I come!

LYMI,

Margaret

This counts as a blog post

I had a tantrum tonight. My mother had to draw me a bath.

The day had gone well, but all of a sudden it was 9:30pm and I still had to:

1. Buy Woolite
3. Wash my blouses
2. Finish vacuuming
3. Write a blog
4. Plan my outfit for this thing tomorrow

Then I made the mistake of trying on WORK PANTS. Black wide-leg, tight-arse trousers. GOD. It was bad. And I realized that I gave my long ones away during my pre-Seattle clothing cleanse. That left only the hemmed ones, which meant no heels. But guess what? I also gave away my flats! Curse this minimalist streak.

When I realized that I didn't have the time or energy to go to QFC and buy Woolite, I really lost it.

Waaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaah! Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo.

The more I tried to pull myself together, the sadder the situation felt. I mean, why did I give away those black flats? WHY!?

Francie and my mom witnessed the whole thing. They were patient and sympathetic and generous with their wardrobes. Finally, my mom suggested a bath.

From an electrical point of view, I risked my life to take this photo.

This photo is creepy and corpse-like.

I'd forgotten that Nadinski heats her bathwater to just a hair under boiling. It took me ten minutes to fully ease into the tub. Once horizontal, I decided to fully submerge—neck, ears, hair, face—until I was completely below the waterline.

It was HEAVEN.

My bowlcut fanned out around me, tugging gently at my scalp as it swayed. Water sloshed across my face, tickled my closed eyelids and warmed the tip of my nose. Without having to tell myself to, I naturally took several deep breathes.

I'm not proud of my behavior, but I'm beyond pleased with myself for writing about it honestly in this blog post.

Namaste y'all,
Margaret





Thursday, April 23, 2015

Superpowers

My sister Anna has a superpower. She can grab a random handful of crackers and then, without thinking or counting, slice the exact amount of cheese she needs for a 1:1 cracker to cheese ratio. It doesn't just work with cheese, but also pickles.

We were talking about our superpowers while walking Greenlake tonight. I asked Francie if she has one.

"I'm pretty good at knowing random dates," she said.

Anna: "Oh, like, people's birthdays?"

Francie: "Well, no. Not necessarily. Just certain random dates."

Anna: "What do you mean?

Francie: "Hmmm..."

Anna:  "Like, Christmas?!"

Francie: "Aaah, I don't know! Just certain dates—nevermind!"

And we laughed. As far as superpowers go, it was weak. Nothing compared to automatically slicing the exact amount of cheese required. But Francie does have a better superpower—it's responding to emails really fast. On any family email thread, she's always the first to answer back. Good job, Fronk!

My superpower is probably the ability to recap a TV show episode in a minute or less. I've also never cut my fingernails or toenails, yet they remain the perfect length.

What's yours?

Cheers,
Margaret

P.S. I made this on some Chinese app called MyIdol. I'm sure you've seen it making the rounds. The app is difficult to navigate, as it's all in Chinese, but I suggest sticking with it.

Do you think it looks like me?





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