Sock tales

Do you sleep with your socks on?

I don't, but sometimes I make myself just so I can have the satisfaction of kicking them off in the middle of the night.

If the thought of sleeping in socks makes your skin crawl, get this: my friend Igor doesn't just sleep in them, he tucks his pyjama bottoms into them. No exposed ankles allowed.

"The earliest known surviving pair of socks, created by naalbinding. Dating from 300-500, these were excavated from Oxyrhynchus on the Nile in Egypt. The split toes were designed for use with sandals." - Wikipedia

Image by David Jackson via Wikimedia Commons

Here's some real talk: forget the cool side of the pillow—how about no pillow at all? That's right. Andy and I have both soured on pillows over the past few years. We may start the night with our heads atop the suffocating feather sacks, but eventually they wind up at the foot of the bed or tucked under our arms like teddy bears. There's nothing quite like feeling your cheek against the cold, firm mattress. Try it sometime.

Cheers,
Margaret

P.S. One of the biggest flaws of this blog is that it only contains the last thing that pops into my mind right before I go to bed. That's why so much of it revolves around sleep, tiredness and Real Housewives.

But I want to be better. As of tomorrow I will start taking notes on the many blog ideas I have throughout the day.

I'll write about the time I fell off a bridge into a creek during a family hike, how my dad jumped in to save me and how my mom, unaware of the circumstances, fell in shortly after his heroic jump.

I'll write about the time my mom, cousin Martha, cousin Joe and I applied to be on the Amazing Race 'Groups' edition. We filmed ourselves describing how much we would butt heads. A friend of a friend edited it in his high school video production class and then we sent the VHS off to Los Angeles in a padded manila envelope. We never heard back, but it was the reason I got a passport—you had to have one in order to apply.

I'll write about my true thoughts on weddings.

I'll mourn the Nordstorm Brass Plum of yesteryear.

I'll write about how getting a Master's in Theology turned me into an atheist.

I'll choose one housewife from each franchise to transfer to another housewife city and describe why I think they'd thrive in their new home.

I'll talk about my fascination with mass hysteria like the Salem Witch Trials and the Dancing Plague of 1518.

I'll post old snaps and video from my childhood.

I'll share my family's secret 'cream cheese dip' recipe.

I'll give away another festive hat.

SO STAY TUNED!

Britney's new song

Have you heard Britney's latest single 'Pretty Girls'?

Image by Glenn Francis via Wikimedia Commons

It came on in the car today and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. And no, not because it's the feel-good song of the summer we've all been waiting for (although it actually probably is). But because it's a hilarious caricature of a pop song, performed by a 33-year-old-going-on-14 mother of two.

I'm fairly certain Ja'mie King wrote the lyrics.

All around the world, pretty girls 
Wipe the floor with all the boys 
Pour the drinks, bring the noise 
We're just so pretty! 
All around the world, pretty girls 
Jump the line, to the front 
Do what we like, get what we want 
We're just so pretty!

Britney's nasal croaking is in full force, but they had the nerve to autotune it! I mean, go ahead and autotune some hack like Xtina, but don't get in the way of Britney's natural gift.



A few times, in Edinburgh, I came across things in pop culture that I just didn't understand. My friend Igor would explain, "It's for teenagers, Margaret. It's for teenagers!" (please read that in a Spanish accent - emphasis on the second syllable - teenAGERS) 

Ah, no wonder I don't understand. I no longer belong to the target market for Top40 music. Britney, four years my elder, certainly doesn't belong either, but it behooves her to fake it. What's the alternative for her? Release an 'adult contemporary' album? I don't see that working. It makes you think, in terms of career longevity, 12-year-old Celine Dion was smart to start off singing songs for the middle-aged. Maybe it was René's influence.

That's it.

TTFN,
Margaret

P.S. Just gave it another listen. I like it now.

Night out

Two words: night out.

I'm going on one! Tonight!

It's my friend Igor's 30th birthday and to celebrate we're going to a nightclub to boogie into the wee hours. I might wear eyeshadow. It's gonna be wild.

I still remember when I was first introduced to the concept of a 'night out'. It was freshman year of college and my cousin Clare, always hip to the jive and one step ahead of me, asked, "Are you going out tonight?"

I'd never heard anyone phrase it like that.

Going out? Going out where? Safeway? To take the garbage out?

What I later gleaned from context was that 'going out' or going on a 'night out' meant wearing your best top, drinking alcohol, listening to music and dancing with friends and strangers alike.

This is what a 'night out' looks like. Barbie and Madge circa 2010. 

Anyway, it's been a while since I've been on a night out. But I have a fresh bowl cut and I'm ready to go. Let's do this.

TGIF, 

Margaret