Things I will NEVER do

• Pronounce poinsettia the correct way (point-set-EE-uh)

• Be able to pull off a jumpsuit :(

• Put my children on a leash

• Get a six-inch Subway sandwich 

• Download the Facebook mobile app

• Go bungee jumping

• Think highly of white chocolate

• Say no to a back massage

• Get on someone's shoulders in the swimming pool and do a "chicken fight"

• Pinch a person for not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day, which is a cruel tradition that exists only in America

Image by antisocialtory via Flickr

Grandma Martha and I promised ourselves we'd try to stay awake until 9pm. It's 7:43pm now. I doubt we'll make it. She's in her room watching "The Proposal" starring Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. I'm at the kitchen table, typing this blog post and nibbling on some Trader Joe's olive oil popcorn. And by nibbling, I mean shoving in my face by the handful. Now that's something I'll never do—nibble popcorn one kernel at a time. Life's too short to eat popcorn one kernel at a time. 

Love ya, 

Margaret

Five Friday thoughts

I need to read more. Apparently reading makes you a better writer. I'm skeptical, but it's worth a try. 

Thus, I'm giving myself the night off. After I write this sentence, I'm going to type the first five thoughts that enter my mind. 

1. My mom wants to enjoy emojis, but says they're too tiny. She can't see them. "People send me them, and they're like a speck."

2. Why does J. Lo never age?

3. There's a muscle in each butt cheek that feels amazing when you flex it, punch it or dig your knuckle into it. Stand in second position, straighten your legs, lock your knees and then flex your bottom. Find the indent on the outside edge of your butt cheek. Give it a firm tap with the heel of your palm. See? Amazing. It must be some sort of pressure point.

4. Current internal debate: go all the way upstairs and make myself a snack or eat tomorrow's dose of gummy vitamins several hours too early? The struggle is real. 

5.  Jessica Alba = so much smarter than any of us gave her credit for. 

What a disgusting image. What's wrong with the masseur's arms? Only just noticed his dry skin.

Image via Brandon Beardsley via Pinterest

Nighty noodle, 

Margaret

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!

Couples Massage

As a special treat to end our Christmas holiday, I booked us a "couples massage" (Google says no apostrophe) at a Thai day spa in Rome.

Although it would be my first couples massage, I felt well prepared. I've had a handful of solo massages in my life, and I've watched the Real Housewives enjoy beachside massages with their husbands plenty of times. My plan was to lie there and relax as I normally would, but then intermittently reach across, grab Andy's hand and say, "This is nice."

We were running late and had to speed-walk to the place, which is good because the more stressed you are pre-massage, the better. Might as well get your money's worth.

As soon as we arrived, two tiny women whisked us into a treatment room. Warm, dim lighting. Two standard massage tables. Zen sitar music twanging through the speakers. Everything was as expected and as it should be.

One of the women handed me two small plastic parcels—a shower cap to stop the oil from getting in my bowl cut and disposable underwear to maintain some semblance of decorum. At most places I've been to, they just have you strip down to your own underwear. But I've been given disposables one time before, so this didn't throw me.

Then the woman handed Andy a plastic parcel and giggled.

"For you," she laughed.

He unwrapped it to reveal a black, disposable man thong!

The women, both laughing now, left the room so that we could get changed. Andy was appalled at first, but quickly embraced his temporary bikini bottoms. You would have thought he had been wearing them for years.

Andy's thong.
I made sure to put it in my pocket before we left. It's too fab to not blog about.

As for the massages, they were THE BEST. Really deep tissue and firm. Also, quite invasive. At one point my bare breasts were exposed! She was massaging my stomach (bizarre in and of itself) and didn't bother to gracefully rearrange the sheet over my bosom. During another part of it, she actually mounted the table, a knee on either side of me, and ran her elbows across my butt.

But I didn't care! When in Rome!

Cheers,
Margaret

Countdown to Christmas: 4 days

Today's Christmas photo

Max as Father Time and me as...Baby New Year? Is that a thing?

Today's Christmas memory

When I was in junior high my mom got herself, Char, Francie and I this great gig working on the Snow Train that ran from Seattle to Leavenworth, which, for all you non-Washingtonians, is a faux Bavarian town on the other side of the mountains.

It was the best deal ever. All we had to do was hand paper cups of hot cocoa and a box lunch to the passengers during the 1.5 hour journey. Maybe we led some carols. I don't really remember. I do remember it being really easy.

Then we would arrive in snowy Leavenworth, all lit up with twinkly lights and smelling of sizzling bratwurst. We'd walk around the neighbourhoods and wonder what it would be like to live there. Leavenworth's awesome at Christmas, but tacky and forgotten the rest of the year.

On the train ride back we didn't have to do anything at all. For a day's work, we would each earn 100 big bones. I don't think I was technically old enough to be working. Was the whole thing done under the table? Hmmm.

I remember thinking, "I can't believe I'm getting paid to do this! I should be paying them!" 

Now, although I look back on it fondly, I know I deserved my pay. That's just part of getting older—you realise that, even if you enjoy what you do, you don't work for free. It's called self-worth. And rent. And food. And a Yankee candle addiction.

Today's Christmas gift idea

Metal spider head scratcher! For the ultimate scalp sensation. Remember when I went and bought one mid blog post?

Andy and I apply the scratcher to each other while we watch TV and it never gets old. The other day I saw Khloe Kardashian using one on an episode of Kourtney and Khloe Take the Hamptons, so you know it must be good.

 ---> US shoppers

 ---> UK shoppers


Nollaig Shona Duit,

Margaret

My Drug of Choice

I've been thinking about getting another metal-spider-head-scratcher.

You know the ones. They're shaped like a daddy longlegs and made of some sort of copper.

Ever since a stranger sneaked up behind me at the mall and massaged my scalp with one, I was hooked. He was a salesman from one of those 'bizarre useless gadget of the year' kiosks. I should have been creeped out, but the power of the metal spider meant all was forgiven. Whatever or whoever was massaging my head—that could wait. In the meantime, I stood as still as possible and prayed it would never end.

I finally got one to call my own back in 2012 and enjoyed a few fantastic weeks with it. But that wasn't enough. Like an addict always searching for a more intense 'high', I needed it to be better, sharper, SCRATCHIER.

One morning, laughing like a maniac, I ripped the tiny plastic ends off each 'arm' of the bronze contraption. All that was left was raw, sharp metal.

My scalp was practically salivating. Time to try it out!

I pressed the altered scratcher onto my noggin and let 'er rip across my youthful scalp. OH THE PAIN. Chunks of skin, tufts of hair and blood everywhere (don't worry, I'm exaggerating)!

But now enough time has passed that I think I can be trusted with a metal-spider-head-scratcher once again.

Bear with me while I walk to the Camera Obscura gift shop to purchase one...

--- --- ---

BACK!

Reunited and it feels so good. 

Cheers,
Margaret



P.S. This new one that I got is silver. But the first one I encountered was brown/bronze/copper-ish. I don't want you to think I don't know the difference between silver coloured things and copper coloured things.