Monday, July 6, 2015

Two controversial opinions for the price of FREE

Controversial opinion #1: Russell Wilson is crazy, and not in a good way.

Russell Wilson - so thirsty to be best man at God's wedding. He's not good at hiding the desperation.

Image by Mike Morris via Wikimedia Commons

I'm sure you saw that he said some stuff about his relationship with Ciara, most notably that they're doing it Jesus-style (translation: not doing it at all). That, I don't care about. None of my business. Plus, we all already knew that her goodies stay in the jar. Here's the bit that gives me the heebie-jeebies:

"She's a special girl. I met her I don't know how long ago...five, six months ago. And the funny thing is, I told somebody that's the girl I want to be with before I ever met her. Before I met her, I was like, 'I'm probably going to end up with Ciara.' True story."

OK, big ego much? And then there's this:

"I'll never forget: She was on tour, she was traveling, and I was looking at her in the mirror. I was sitting in the dressing room and she was getting ready to go, about 15 minutes before she went on stage and she was sitting there, and God spoke to me and said, 'I need you to lead her.' And I was like, 'Really? Right now?'

He goes, 'I want you and need you to lead her.'"

Whaaaaa? The self-importance continues:

"For me, I knew that God had brought me into her life to bless her and for her to bless me and to bless so many people with the impact that she has, that I have. We're not gonna be perfect, by any means. Life's not perfect. Nobody's perfect, but he's anointed both of us, and I know that he's calling for us to do something miraculous, something special."

Quick! Get Chris Harrison on the phone! I need a rose to pin on this guy's nose.

Full disclosure: I think RW is a great quarterback, really warmhearted guy and does a lot of wonderful work for charity. He also happens to be a nutjob. And that's OK. It's OK for someone to not fit nicely into a box. People are complex and RW is no exception.

Since this interview, there's been some inevitable backlash and then an even more inevitable backlash against the backlash. I'm here to say that the original backlash is warranted. He cray.

Controversial opinion #2: Prince George's style is whack.

Somebody needs to tell Kate and Wills that this dress-your-kid-up-like-a-collectable-doll thing is gross. Enough with the embroidered blouses, Peter Pan collars, knee socks and buckled brogues! Just stop it. You're embarrassing him.

I genuinely feel for the kid. Unlike other famous British youngsters like Klay Rooney and Cruz Beckham, George is going to look back at childhood photos and have no concept of what the styles were in the 2010s. He's going to be like, "Funny! In 2015, pleated navy shorteralls were totally a thing!"

Also, what impact will his ridiculous fashion have on history? Hundred of years from now, historians will assume that all toddlers dressed like they were going on a weekend yachting trip.


Hope you could handle that. It might not have been easy to read, but to that I say: grow up!

With love,

Grassy


Sunday, July 5, 2015

DESICCATED

Dry skin. Dry lips. Dry mouth. Dry hair. So dry inside my nose that it bleeds.

Dry, crunchy brown grass outside everyone's houses.

Peeling shoulders. Cracked heels. Flaky cuticles. Itchy ankles.

Always thirsty.

Weeks of hot weather has dried Seattle right up. There's nothing we can do except suck on ice cubes, sit in baby pools, take cold showers and roll cans of chilled San Pellegrino across the backs of our necks.

What the inside of my nose looks like.

Image by Max Wolfe via Wikimedia Commons


I remember sprinkling coconut on oatmeal in Edinburgh back in 2009. The packaging read: "Flaked, desiccated coconut". It was the first time I'd come across the verb "desiccate"—I'm sure you remember where you were when this happened to you—and I asked Andy what it meant. He said it means to dry something up.

From that point on, I spotted the word desiccate in tons of places. There's a name for when that happens: the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon. Read all about it and other cognitive biases if you want to start being smart instead of dumb.

Aaaaanyway, I'm off track. Does this have anything to do with the fact that I've sleep deprived? Yes, yes, a million times yes.

TLDR: I have dry skin.

Goodnight,
Margaret

P.S. Check out this kid at the Edmonds 4th of July Parade. WOW, I forgot. I forgot how American Americans can be. The parade also featured a fleet of vintage army jeeps—everyone stood up and clapped.


I pledge allegiance!


Saturday, July 4, 2015

Tuckered out

Day three of babysitting—8:07pm—and I feel like I've been hit by an excavator. Note the word choice. I'm a construction machinery expert now. What you generically call a "digger" I know to be an excavator. What you so naively call a bulldozer is actually a font-end loader. That thing you call a fork lift? Well, that is indeed a fork lift, so good job. You got one right.

The thing is, being in charge of two kids is exhausting. And these two kids are easy! They're sweet, snuggly, independent players that do pretty much everything I ask them to do. So how will I feel after taking care of my future kids all day? With half of Andy's genes, there's no doubt they'll be big time troublemakers.

Of course, the upside is that we've been having lots, and I mean LOTS, of fun. The best thing about toddlers is the jokes. The unintentional ones, of course (their intentional jokes are terrible).

Two hilarious Ollie moments from the drive to Edmonds:

1. We're playing the "Guess what animal I am?" game. I oink, he says pig. He moos, I say cow. I hiss, he says snake. Then he hisses, so I guess snake. But he tells me no, I'm not snake. So I guess, lizard? He says no. Hmm. Bee? No. OK then, just tell me. What animal are you? A deer, he says.

2. We turn the radio on and the song 'Earned It' by The Weeknd is on. You know the one. It goes, "Cause girl you're perfect. You're always worth it. And you deserve it. The way you work it." Anyway, that song comes on and Ollie pipes up with, "This is Baby Margot's favorite song!" Keep in mind Margot is 16 months old and has probably met her twice in his life. I say, "Oh really? It is?" and he says, "Yeah."

When life give you a floor, make it a place to take naps!

And with that, I must go bake a flag cake. Happy Birthday, America.

Love,
Margaret

Friday, July 3, 2015

I rarely laugh

I rarely laugh. I guffaw quite a bit though. And I politely chuckle A LOT.

Still, genuine, full-blown laughter is increasingly rare. So rare, in fact, that afterward I find myself sighing and saying, "Ahh, that was a good laugh..."

What's wrong with me?

Why can't I be like my niblings (again, I promise that's the official term) who laugh hysterically at their dumb, made-up jokes (e.g. mailbox elbow, graham cracker leaf)? Why can't I be like Andy who walks through life in a permanent state of laughter? Why can't I be like that giggling buffoon Anderson Cooper? Or that maniacal hyena Tom Cruise? Why can't I be like Bill Clinton and Boris Yeltsin in the photo below?

Dat Boris Yeltsin standup. Always a knee-slapper. Watch here.

Image by White House Photographic Office via Wikimedia Commons

The last time I remember laughing—really laughing—was when I saw Borat in the theater sophomore year of college. I suppose there were also the few times Andy decided it'd be a good idea to tickle me, something he now knows to never do again1. But that's about it.

I suspect it's because I'm uptight. I need to take a deep breath, relax my shoulders, let my bowl cut down and be open to all the potential laughs out there in the universe2. I need to stray away from things that I find amusing or interesting or ironic and move in the direction of untimely farting, footballs hitting crotches and rakes to the face.

To kick things off, I will present to you one of my favorite YouTube videos of all time:





ROTFLMAO,

Margaret

P.S. Speaking of Anderson Cooper, remember when he was the host on that AMAZING reality game show 'The Mole'? His career will never be able to top that.


Tickling is torture and I can't be held responsible my actions whilst being tickled. I WILL kick you in the face.

My mom went to Mirval (that fancy spa that Kourtney Kardashian and Scott Disick went to in an attempt to save their relationship) and when she came back she said she noticed that people use the word "universe" a lot. "That's a new thing," she said. "The way people say universe all the time—that's new."

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Newsflash

Busy making the most of your life? Doing activities? Enjoying the sunshine? Well, pin a rose on your nose. While you've been gallivanting around town, I've been scouring the Internet for the week's top news stories.


→  If you have blue eyes, then you're probably an alcoholic. Sorry! Don't shoot the messenger. If you have a problem with this hypothesis, then take it up with those yahoos over at University of Vermont.

Image by 8thstar via Wikimedia Commons


→  Scott Disick, husband to Kourtney Kardashian, was spotted canoodling* with some 25-year-old stylist in France. Uh oh. Let's just say, I called it 

*Note: canoodle doesn't mean chat.


→  The 'Wet Hot American Summer: First Day of Camp' trailer came out today. Everybody's very excited and rightfully so.



→  Matt Damon has a ponytail now. Bless him.



And with that, I'm going to bed. Day two of babysitting starts bright and early tomorrow.


Cheerio,
Margaret



Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Auntiellama

I'm babysitting my niece Greta and nephew Ollie for four days starting TOMORROW!

Despite being fully qualified—I've been a certified babysitter since age 12—I haven't watched any of my niblings (yep, that's the correct terminology) for such a long stint before. Am I nervous? NO! Do I have what it takes? YES! Am I the world's best aunt? IN THE TOP TEN, AT LEAST.

As Fraulein Maria would say, I have confidence in me!

A captain with seven children—what's so fearsome about that?

Something else boosting my confidence is my new sweatshirt. Behold its sequinned beauty.

Some boy modelling my new sweatshirt. 

Carole from RHONY inspired me to order it. She wore one that said "you had me at merlot" a few episodes back, then tweeted about the company that makes them. Sure, it was an impulse buy, but I regret nothing. Plus, maybe some big whig will see me walking around Kenmore wearing it, go to my blog and then offer me a million-dollar sponsorship deal.

Bye for now,
Margaret

P.S. Migraine-free since May 23rd. To what do I owe this incredible headache hiatus? Not sure. Maybe it's the gummy vitamins!

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Keep it simple

A grilled cheese is made of three ingredients: butter, white bread and American cheese. That's it. That's the way it is and always should be. Forget your aged cheddars and artisan rosemary loafs. A grilled cheese, like many of life's little delights, is a dish best served basic.

Yes, this plastic cheese is gross. But for some reason it just works in a grilled cheese. Grilled cheeses are its only reason for existence, and it's important we respect that.

Image by JeepersMedia via Flickr

Other items that fall into the 'keep it simple' category include:
  • Pizza. Enough with the broccoli for Christ's sake. And no slimy roasted zucchini either. Barbecue sauce? Get out. Get out of my house immediately. 
  • Eyebrows. Don't do too much to those guys, or else they'll turn on you and you'll never be able to get them back. If in doubt, just neglect them.
  • Jeans. A few small rips is OK, but avoid the ones with bleached-in crease marks and fake paint splatter everywhere. 
  • Email font. Are you one of those people who's changed their default email font to something "fun" like Bradley Hand in turquoise or Papyrus in a vibrant fuchsia? Yeah. We're all judging you.
Cheers, 
Margaret

Monday, June 29, 2015

Heat wave

Seattle is so hot right now you could try to fry an egg on the sidewalk. It won't work (trust me, I've tried many times), but it's hot enough to convince yourself that it just might work.

Image by Pockafwye via Flickr

Today Andy and I spent his last day of his holiday doing that most Seattley of pastimes: sitting in traffic. The AC in my dad's truck quit a while back, so we were roasting like Thanksgiving turkeys. As soon as we got back to K-town, we grabbed a couple River Rats and made a B-line for the lake. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.

In case you're wondering about the forecast for the coming weeks, I've enlisted my meteorologist pal Arthur to provide an exclusive weather report:




Yes, definitely no jackets needed.

I also recommend lots of ice water, sleeping outside, cold showers and listening to this chill track off Raffi's latest album.

What are you doing to beat the heat?

Stay cool,

Margaret

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Marry/Shag/Kill—Bartells, Walgreens, Rite Aid

Only 20 minutes to write this post. Gotta love a deadline.

Since I'm drawing a blank, I'll stick with an ol' classic: what I did today.

First, Andy, my mom and I went to see the movie 'The Wolfpack'. It's a documentary about a bunch of kids who weren't allowed to leave their NYC apartment for their entire childhood. They learned everything they know about the world by watching movies. The film is heartbreaking, but bizarrely funny and even uplifting at times. Mostly, it's fascinating. I highly recommend it.

Then, this evening, my sibs and I, together with our significant others, went out to dinner at Ray's in Ballard. We sat on the back patio and looked out over the Puget Sound. The gals sat at one table, the guys at another. We played the game where we all had to guess what our other-halves ordered. The winning pair was Char and William, who accurately guessed salmon tacos (Char) and steak (William).


On the ride home I asked Char, "Marry / Shag / Kill — Bartells, Walgreens and Rite Aid." She chose to marry Bartells, kill Rite Aid and you-know-what with Walgreens. I'd do the same.

Now it's time for bed. I'm still very full, so I'll have to sleep on my back.

Goodnight and good luck,

Margaret


Saturday, June 27, 2015

Child Psychology 101

When I was a kid sitting in the back of the car, I would envision myself leaning out the car window with a lawn mower—nay, a DR Field & Brush Mower—and cutting down all the shrubbery on the side of the road.

It. Was. Satisfying.

I told Andy this and he said he had a similar backseat OCD habit growing up. He would pretend he was hitting a tennis ball over every lamp post on the side of the highway. He quickly realized that lifting his pretend racket up every few seconds looked funny, so he allowed himself to use his jaw instead. Much more discrete. He would open his jaw, then shut it quickly to fling the tennis ball over. Open, shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. By the time his fam arrived in Germany, a 13-hour road trip, his jawbone would be aching like crazy.

Ram Williamson, age Ram

Oh, I also had this thing where I had to touch the person in front of me in line at the grocery store. Not obviously. Just a very, very light touch—maybe my coat accidentally brushed against theirs or a magazine I was holding happened to catch the edge of their purse. The people were never the wiser. Still, I felt weird about it. And I didn't like the fact that I felt so compelled to do it. The solution? I dared myself NOT to do it anymore. Worked like a charm. I'm nearly 20 years clean.

The moral of this post is that kids are weird. I took Child Psychology in Cyprus, but we never covered the fact that kids are just plan kooky. Also, as mother Nadinski says, everything's a phase.

That's all for tonight. Stay cool in this heat wave.

So long,
Margaret

Friday, June 26, 2015

Activity Awards

There's a shop in Edinburgh called 'Activity Awards'. It sells and engraves plaques and trophies for sports teams, etc. Andy and I always thought the name was funny because it's just so uncreative and generic sounding. 



Anyway, today we were up at 4:30 this morning and didn't stop doing activities until just a couple minutes ago. We took the train from Canada to Edmonds, complete with an official immigration visa initiation. We lunched in Edmonds, dinnered at Denny Beach and, finally, we pizzaed at Alki. 

It's safe to say we've won the Activity Award. That's it! We've done it! That shop can close now. The Activity Award belongs to us. 

The bowl at Alki this evening.

Photo credit: Ram Williamson


Now I'm tired. Sweet dreams!

Goodnight, 
Margaret

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Back away from my man, you Canadian whore!

Andy's five hours into an Air Transat flight from Glasgow to Vancouver. Aisle seat. Row to himself. Typing on a laptop.

Flight attendant approaches. Squats down next to him. 

"Are you enjoying your flight so far?"

"Uh, yes. It's been great. Thank you."

"Well, actually...one of the other flight attendants thinks you're cute. She wants to give you her number. Are you available?" She holds out a folded piece of paper. 

"Unfortunately not, but thank you."

I MEAN COME ON! Sure, the man's a hunk, but is there nowhere that he's safe? What's next, following him into a public toilet? Shouting at him through the car window at a red light? Writing "Call me" on his colonoscopy lab results? 

Image by Austrian Airlines via Wikimedia Commons

Truthfully, I'm happy for him. Someone honked at Francie and I the other day as they drove by us and we were beyond flattered. How wonderful to know that bowl cuts and pregnant bellies aren't off limits for driveby catcalls.

Still, pretty unprofessional, right? Is it? I don't know. Maybe I'm just touchy because I'm sunburnt and have a hangnail. 

Let me know what you think!

Marge
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