Things I don't understand

I picked my nose after dicing a jalepeno pepper and paid the price. Right now, as I type this, my right nostril is burning like charcoal and my eye is raining hot acid tears.

Perhaps Skeegles is punishing me for nose-picking. I've tried so hard to quit, particularly now that I live in an apartment with so much passing foot traffic outside the living room windows, but it's just so hardwired in me. I've been picking since I was a child! I picked in the womb!

OK, enough smalltalk. The 'meat' of this post is going to be a list of things I don't understand.

Things I don't understand:

• How the Internet works
• Why operas are considered good
• Justin Bieber's popularity (I love 99% of pop music, but have never liked his songs)
• Gaucho pants
• Space
• Fire
• How glass is actually just hot sand
• The stock market

Stocks! Shares! Bonds! Currency! Derivatives!
Sell! Buy! Buy! Sell!
Ding-a-ling-a-ling! Money money money!
Computer screens!
Shouting!
Hand gestures!
STOCK MARKET!

Yours,
Margaret

P.S. Skeegles is the name of the divine being, the universal lifeforce, the prime mover, the Creator, Yahweh, Lord, God—whatever you want to call it—in the religion my friends and I made up back in sixth grade. But as an avid Madgespace reader, you should know that by now.

P.P.S. What happens if you lie when someone asks you to 'swear on Skeegles'? If caught, you must shave off your eyebrows.

When words fail you

UGH. I have nothing to write. I have nothing to say! I'm a nobody with a vanilla life. If it wasn't for this bowl cut, I'd be devoid of intrigue entirely.

But, instead of throwing in the towel and hitting the big, red 'delete' button on Madgespace, I shall endure! I SHAN'T GIVE UP.

Instead, I will let you in on the made-up, nonsensical lyrics Andy and I have for songs.


'Battlefield' by Jordin Sparks

• "Why does love always feel like a wagon wheel? A wagon wheel, a wagon wheel.."

Lean On' by Major Lazer & DJ Snake, (feat. MØ)

• "Farkis, Car2Go...all we need is somebody to lean on."

'Royals' by Lorde

• "That kind of luxe just ain't for us, we drive a different kind of bus."

Those lyric changes are't funny. They're not clever. They're not even interesting. But what they do indicate is that, if you spend enough time with someone, you form your own language. 

You also start to stockpile inside jokes that are so unfunny they're not so much jokes as 'inside thought moments'. These parallel brain experiences are set off by the smallest things—a certain word in a radio ad, the way the bus driver's cough sounds, a particular appetizer offering at a party. Whatever it may be, you'll look across the room at each other with a knowing grin and nod. Yes, we both caught that. We're thinking the same, pointless thing. Indeed, that man's cough sounded like that one part of that one YouTube video that we like to quote on occasion. No need to talk about it. Just a grin and a brief nod is enough. 

Couldn't find a good image for 'telepathy', so I Googled 'staring contest' instead.
The guy on the left has a pumpkin stem for hair.

Image by Vectorink via Wikimedia Commons

Goodnight, 

Margaret

P.S. I'm pretty sure this blog made zero sense, but it reminded me of that time Barbie and I said "There's a snake in my boot" in unison completely unprovoked. Something—an airplane passing overhead, the smell of popcorn wafting down the hall, a slight flicker in the light—must have caused us to both think it and vocalize it. But we'll never know exactly why it happened. 

Add these things to your calendar

Over the past few years, I've found myself circling round to the same question over and over again:

Who accredits the accreditors? Is there an accreditation accreditation association?

Andy and I have discussed it and we reckon that it must be the government.

Well, doesn't look like that's going to be enough for a full blog post. Let's try this:

Add these things to your calendar:

• NOV 3: The release of Leah Remini's book / scientology exposé 

• NOV 4: Game 7 of the World Series

• NOV 6: New James Bold film out in cinemas

• NOV 20: 'The Hunger Games: Mockingjay' Part 2 out in cinemas

• DEC 4: New 'Macbeth' film out in cinemas

• DEC 25: Christmas / Birth of Kim K's second child (scheduled C-section for Xmas morn)

• DEC 26: England v. South Africa cricket

It's always good to have things to look forward to. Also, I don't know the exact date, but satsumas are going to start appearing in stores soon I think. 

Image by Tomomarusan via Wikimedia Commons

Love, 

Margaret

P.S. Noticed my left shoulder is way higher than my right. Worried it may be scoliosis. Perhaps they didn't test me correctly back in seventh grade.

Pair of eyes with a "come-hither" gleam

I probably should get my realtor's license, sell one fancy house a year and spend the rest of my time eating peanut-butter-filled pretzels and writing a memoir.

If Tamra Judge can do it, then I certainly can.

The only problem is: I don't like sales and I don't like people. So, maybe it's not the right career move.

In other news, I'm sleepy...and listening to this isn't helping:





Zzzzzzzzzzzz...

Margaret

P.S. I love this part:

Mr. Sandman (male voice: "Yesss?") bring us a dream 
Give him a pair of eyes with a "come-hither" gleam

P.P.S. Anna and I once wrote new lyrics to this song. We replaced 'Mr. Sandman' with the Inglemoor High School German teacher 'Frau Zakowski'

Frau Zakowski...
JA?
Do bit sehr nett!

P.P.P.S. "Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci" -- that's an actual lyric! Pagliacci? The pizza parlor? My former place of employment? It certainly made my ears perk up.

P.P.P.P.S. Fun facts about The Chordettes.

• Janet Ertel's daughter married Phil Everly of The Everly Brothers.
• Jinny Osborn was born right here in Seattle, Washington!
• They started out as a folk band but switched to barbershop.
• In 2012, Lynn Evens (still alive) performed 'Mr. Sandman' on a public broadcasting program. In the YouTube comments someone has written, "How did I get here?" I can truly relate. 

Image via Wikimedia Commons

FB dislike button? There goes my blogging career

Facebook announced that it's going to add a dislike button, and guess what? I DISLIKE that idea. I dislike it very much.

Let's face it; this blog is a tedious experience for all of us. It's a chore for me to write and you to read. Sure, there are some gems, but more often than not, it's the banal musings of a madwoman in a housecoat.

Image via Wikimedia Commons

And unfortunately, I'm just as sensitive as I am self-deprecating. Only I am allowed to make fun of me. I can throw jabs, but you can't. Thus, the dislike button will crush me. Even just one dislike on a single post and I'll be throwing my laptop into Lake Washington and moving to some remote village in Canada.

I mean, I struggle with constructive criticism, so I can't even imagine what vague, unconstructive criticism would do to my psyche.

And the whole reason why Facebook is rolling this button out? So that it's not awkward when people like a news article about a tragic event or someone's status about how their cat died. OH COME ON. I've been a Facebook user for a decade (woah). By now, we all know that those people who 'like' inappropriate posts are simply using it as an 'acknowledge' button. Yes, it's lame, but we all know what they mean.

Apparently the new button is going to be presented in a way that makes it clear that it's not for showing disdain. It's supposedly going to be obvious that you aren't meant to use it as a way of saying, "Boooooooooooo! You suck!" But I don't know. We'll see.

Goodnight,
Margaret

Tech talk

Crazy that Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani are dating. Total downgrade for Gwen.

Anyway, here's an observation for you: my life can fit into two duffle bags, but my computer is practically popping its buttons. I actually had to PAY to download software that helps me locate useless/old/duplicate files and delete them. Such is the life for us Macbook Air owners. But I can't be mad. My computer is slightly thicker than my thumbnail (and slightly thinner than my toenail)! With the amount of warped-face Photobooth selfies clogging up its arteries, I'm surprised it's lasted this long at all.

Speaking of Apple products, Andy's had one heck of a struggle getting his iPhone up and running. Carrier/unlocking problems. In fact, after three days of phone calls, a trip to the Apple store and a brand new phone, it's still not working. Tomorrow he'll do what he should have done in the first place: go to a sketchy tech repair place and ask the guy to work his magic.

Wouldn't life be easier if we all still had bedazzled Sidekicks?

Image by Wireimage via Popsugar

Today was one of the prettiest sunsets we've had here on Alki so far. Yellow, then pink, then orange, and then an even better orange. Andy, Barbie and I ate ice cream sandwiches on the beach and played catch with a baseball (no gloves - ouch!). At one point, three ferry boats glided (glid?) by in different directions. Seattle was really showing off.

Now I'm tired and my head hurts from the single, weak vodka soda I drank four hours ago. Best get my arse in bed.

So long,
Margaret

Best laid plans

After a week in Seaside, Andy and I are back in our cozy apartment on Alki. He's assembling a shoe rack. I have a tea towel tied around my head like Rosie the Riveter (bowl cut has grown horribly long and is poking me in the eyes.)

I don't have any ideas for what to write tonight. I'm tired and my ear/nose/throat canals are unusually dry. Itchy dry. Uncomfortable.

So, instead of the usual highly entertaining post, I'm going to lay out my plans for the future. Here it goes.

Short term

• Put the duvet cover on the duvet (ugh - the worst).

• Get a haircut.

• Take the Amazon boxes out to the recycling. 

• Watch the latest America's Next Top Model. 

Medium term

• Continue to blog 'every day' after my Year-28 Challenge ends, except give myself the weekends off. 

• Buy a conehead Halloween costume, for old time's sake. 

• Buy a rug. 

• Buy a mini, indoor palm tree.

• Get a response from an A-list celebrity on Twitter. 

Long term

• Go to Japan. 

• Raise a litter of children, one of whom trains as a massage therapist. 

• Put sunscreen on Andy's bald head every summer until he dies. 

Monday tomorrow. Let's make it a productive one. Drink lots of coffee. Treat yourself to a chilled Kit-Kat in the afternoon. You know the drill. 

Love,
Margaret

P.S. Are you Team Miley or Team Nicki? I think it's obvious whose team I'm on. 

Meet my housecoat - VIDEO

Shucks. Working late. Time keeps on drifting, drifting...

In leui of the written word, please enjoy the following stream of consciousness video blog.


 

Cheerio,
Margaret

From the Archives, Edition 10

In honor of Andy's arrival, I'm posting this brief g-chat from March 2010.

9:42 AM me: pardon me sir

  but do you happen to have

  any

 Andy: hello

 me: cough drops

  i dont know the english word for them

 Andy: i'm sorry to say i do not

 me: ok

 Andy: lozenges?

 me: word up homie

  toodledo

9:43 AM Andy: bye bye

Th th th th that's all, folks!

Marge

Beach bum

A turkey will eat grain until it explodes if you let it. They don't get full. That's me with raspberries. I bought a flat of them an hour ago and they're gone now.

Well, I'm officially a beach bum. Today, after a sweaty walk back to the apartment carrying six month's worth of toilet paper, I jumped in the Puget Sound all by my lonesome. Just threw my swimsuit on, crossed the street and leapt right in. Didn't even bother to put on flip-fops.

My hair is salty. My swimsuit smells like seaweed. There's sand in the bathtub. Next thing you know I'll be hanging a 'sandy toes welcome' sign above the front door and nailing a decorative miniature surfboard to the wall.


Things I may do now that I live by the beach:

• Buy a pink flamingo lawn ornament to sit by the window.

• Walk the beach in my housecoat (aka duster) in the middle of the night just to scare people.

• Get a bike radio and cruise the strip.

• Film a new DJ Polite / Mogsquisha video (we have an idea)

• Take steel drum lessons.

• Start a Kickstarter campaign so I can buy ONE OF THESE.

What's that? You want to see my housecoat? Oh I suppose. Because you asked.

Thanks to my sis Anna who gave this to me as a housewarming gift. She's the best!

Love, 

Margaret

Full hearts, sore calves, can't lose

I'm sick of 'beat the heat'. It's ubiquitous. Every radio ad, 7-11 marquee and kayak rental Groupon is leading with 'beat the heat' these days. I'm tired of it!

The whole train ride back from Vancouver, I tried to think of an alternative. The best I could come up with was, 'Don't let the temp make you a wimp'. Clearly, that won't do. 'Beat the heat' stays until further notice.

What in heaven's name?

Image via Wikimedia Commons

Hanging out with my Grandma—God love her—took it out of me. That woman can talk the hind legs off a mule. Speaking of hind legs, my (extra large) calves are aching. I did the thing where I decided to walk from the water taxi instead of wait and take the shuttle. I chose to walk for 25 minutes instead of wait 5 minutes and get a ride. That, my friends, is what being impatient looks like. I am clinically impatient. It's a condition. I have it.

All of this is to say, I ain't proper bloggin' tonight. Get that through your thick skull. It ain't happening! Nothing to see here. Move along.

Hasta,
Margaret

Of the day

Highlight of the day: Waking up to see that Andy Cohen of Bravo fame had commented on my Instagram post.

Hilarious moment of the day: My colleagues (aka sistahs) and I drawing a cartoon sock in PowerPoint. You had to be there.

Scary/cool news of the day: A hacker has figured out how to locate, unlock and start GM vehicles remotely.

True confession of the day: Anna and I both admitting we love the song 'All of Me' by John Legend.

Celebrity gossip of the day: Zayn Malik (One Direction) and Perrie Edwards (Little Mix) are dunzo. Take a number, you two. Tis the summer of celeb breakups.

Snack of the day: Bread.

Beverage of the day: Coffee.

Essential clothing item of the day: Close-toed shoes! Slap my butt and call me a horse camper, but today was not a day of flip flops. Firstly, I had to lift some heavy items (moving into new apt.). Secondly, it rained a bit.

Relief of the day: Getting to shut this laptop and go to bed! The last time I was this tired was when I pulled an all-nighter to read 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire' ("Number 4" to us superfans) in 9th grade. Totally worth it. It's still my favorite in the series.

Sweet dreams,
Margaret

Information for your Saturday

What emoji do you wish existed but doesn't?

A lot of people have expressed to me the need for a 'fingers crossed' emoji. I agree, and I can't believe it doesn't already exist.

Siiiiiiigh. It's one of those post-migraine, achy shoulder, listen to Miley, eat Goldfish crackers, think about going for a walk kind of nights. Despite a nap and some medicine, I'm not 100% myself. As my sisters tell their kiddos, "you know your body" and I indeed know that I'm not firing on all cylinders.

In lieu of a blog topic, I'm going to present a list of unrelated information.

• Andy's in Birmingham (pronounced Birming-um) stalking the English cricket team. His goal is to get a picture with Joe Root aka Rooty (pronounced Roo-teh). 

• I've been perusing retro glassware on Ebay. There's something about vintage drinking glasses that makes me so happy to be alive. 

• Episode 0 of Project Runway season 14 (I know, Tim Gunn must be 150 by now), 'The Road to the Runway', is now available to stream on Lifetime.com (for US viewers). It's the episode where they introduce you to all the designers. Looks like it's going to be a pretty great season. 

• I move into the new apartment next Wednesday. 

• My family has always used Comet to clean the bathtub. First, you shake the abrasive bleach powder out across the tub. You try to get it to stick to the sides, where the dirt ring is most prominent, but it always slides down. Next, you add a bit of water so that the powder turns to paste. Finally, you scour. Down on hands and knees with an industrial brush, you scrub until your knuckles scrape raw and the chemicals begin to eat away at your fingernails. Conclusion: this method sucks. Worst of all, years of Comet-use have taken the varnish off the tub, making it even more susceptible to dirt stains. It's 2015; there must be a better way!

Since I couldn't find a photo of Comet, here's the first England cricket team to tour Southern Australia. 1861

Image via Wikipedia Commons

Goodnight,
Margaret

5 reasons I'm annoying

I've never been this social in my life. In the past two weeks I've seen more people and attended more gatherings than I have in the past two years. Is that an exaggeration? Yes. But only just.

As you know, I'm an introvert masquerading as an extrovert. So, naturally I have mixed feelings about my newfound social calendar. On the one hand, changing out of my night shirt, leaving the house and talking to people is exhausting. On the other hand, it's fun and fulfilling. Plus, I feel like I've reached a stage in my life where every moment counts. There should be no wasted days. I'm almost 29!

Anyway, I promised you a list and a list you shall get.

5 reasons I'm annoying

1. I take waaaay too many items to the self-checkout at the grocery store. People line up behind me with a single carton of milk and there I am spending several minutes trying to look up the code for green onions, the first of 40 items in my basket.

2. Self pity. I feel sorry for myself at least three times a day and, if given an audience, I will vocalize my feelings.

3. I get mad when people won't let me use their highly personal / embarrassing stories as material for this blog. I have no dignity; so why should you?

4. I use emdashes—the large dashes bookending this interjection—way too much. Can't help it. I'm addicted to them!

5. I talk about Andy too much. Ugh, how annoying. It's annoying that I even added this to the list, but I couldn't think of a fifth reason. Also, it's true.

What else is new? I've started smearing Vaseline under my eyes every night. I'm signing a lease on an apartment in West Seattle tomorrow. My 'To Do' list is miles long. I continually waver between extreme confidence and extreme self-doubt. I'm sorry I ever underestimated Jason Derulo.


Ciao,
Margaret

P.S. I want to kick the song 'Honey I'm Good' in it's Cotton-Eye Joe face.

Sweatpants

Well, it's been about 15 minutes since I clicked 'New Post', and still no ideas. Usually something comes to me by this point, but not tonight. Instead I'm just staring at the screen and thinking about how nice it will feel when I finally close my eyes and fall fast into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You see, I'm tired. I stayed up late the past few nights watching Housewives and it's finally caught up with me. Sleep deprivation. The worst. I did it to myself, I did, and that's why it really hurts.

Here's something to ponder: from 7th grade through 12th grade—ages 13 to 18—I wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt to school every day.

OK, maybe it was four days a week. But still.

Also, in junior high, I often took things a step further and wore actual pajama bottoms. Fuzzy PJ bottoms in cow print, polka dots or plaid. I remember our assistant principal, Mrs. Riley, tried to enforce a ban. When I caught wind of this, I organized a protest, encouraging everyone to wear PJ bottoms to school one day. Civil disobedience at its finest.

She never said anything to us about it. We didn't get in trouble. She probably thought, "F it, I really don't care" and moved on to more pressing matters.

Other facts about sweatpants:

• Andy only wears them in the house. If he's taking out the garbage, he changes back into jeans.

• Sometimes it's more comfortable to wear them with the pockets inside out. 

• It was common knowledge among Inglemoor High School students that Fred Meyer had the best sweatpants.

• They really are, without a doubt, very unflattering. 

• There's nothing more depressing than when you try on a friend's pair of sweatpants and they're too small. Tight sweatpants is an oxymoron. It's a non sequitur. Or at least it should be. When sweatpants fit snug around the butt, elastic jutting into the muffin top, it's extremely damaging to the self esteem. 

Annual Arrowheadian sleepover. Sweatpants all around.

Goodnight! Yes! Finally! Sleep! I can't wait.

Margaret

P.S. I'd like to thank my parents for never commenting on my decision to dress like a slob for five straight years. I'm sure it was tempting, but if there was ever a time to be hands-off, it was then. The teenage years. Plus, if they'd even so much as hinted that I wear jeans, I would have read them the riot act. I'd probably still be wearing sweatpants daily just to prove a point.

So, that's something to file away for the future. You can't tell a teenager what to wear. They're too sensitive and too headstrong. Plus, it's none of your business. They're basically young adults and they should dress however they want, even if it is embarrassing and unflattering.

Get off the fence

"We should really come here and play tennis sometime."

That, I reckon, is the number one thing people say that they never end up following through on. I'm as guilty of this as anyone.

But let's end it now, America. The buck stops here.

Grab your rackets, go to that cute park and play some damn tennis!

Image by Vladsinger via Wikimedia Commons

Also, if you're on the fence about any of the following, here's the nudge you need:

• Build/get a fire pit — YES, do it.

• Quit your job — YES, do it. Try securing another job first though.

• Get bangs (fringe) — NO. Now's not the right time. Wait until autumn when the weather changes. Too hot for bangs right now. 

• Clean out your wallet — It can wait. 

• Go camping — YES, do it. Don't overthink it. Don't overpack.

• Wash your sheets — It can wait. 

• Buy a kayak — YES, do it. 

• Move to a new city — YES, do it.

• Tell whoever you're mad at that you're mad at them — NO. Just don't be mad. Life's too short. 

In other news, I bought a "night shirt" (basically a long, cotton smock) from The Gap. It's very old fashioned. Very ma-in-her-kerchief-and-I-in-my-cap. Like something Laura Ingalls Wilder would wear. I LOVE it. 

Goodnight,
Margaret

Furniture talk

As you know, each week we choose a theme and bring you different kinds of stories on that theme. Today's post: home furnishings. News, anecdotes and opinions on various topics relating to home furnishings—when home decor goes right, when it goes wrong and what happens when the owner of a Persian rug shop asks you to be his butler.

I'm Margaret Kay. Stay with us. 

• Bethenny Frankel has a new house completely furnished by T.J. Maxx. Grandma Martha would be proud.

• Will futons make a comeback? It's fair to say they are HIGHLY uncomfortable. 

• Andy and I once bought a lampshade (actually, you know about it already) from a company called Smarty Lamps. Years later they followed me on Twitter. How did they know? 

• My advice for all the young 20-somethings out there starting out on their own: invest in an air mattress. You'll feel so prepared and hospitable when you have guests. 

• Back in 2010, Andy got a job as a butler in a Persian rug shop. What business does a butler have in a rug shop, you ask? Why, to fetch the owner a cup of tea whenever he rings his desk bell. Andy reconsidered and quit before his first day. 

• One time Barbie and I bought a faux bearskin rug at Costco. We were poor college students and it was like $70, but we just had to have it. Turned out to be a wonderful investment. We loved that thing like a child. 

• There used to be a furniture store in Seattle just off the Mercer exist called 'Far Fetched'. But on the sign, the "c" was a moon, so I always thought it was called 'Far Fet Hed'.

This blog post was produced today by Margaret Kay, with Grandma Martha, Andy Williamson and Barbie Solbakken. Our senior producer is Fart Fet Hed. Booter Fitzpatrick is our production manager. Bethenny is our office manager. Production help from Smarty Lamps. 

Madgespace is distributed by Blogger. Management oversight by our boss, Persian rug shop owner in Edinburgh.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm glad that's over. ROUGH blog post tonight. Sehr rough.

But alas, tomorrow's a new day.

Sleep well!

Goodnight,
Margaret

This is a pretty surreal commercial

Watch it:




Why do I find it so unsettling? I'm not 100% sure. Here are some theories:

1. The eclectic casting.

2. I had no idea that Arnold Palmer is still alive. For some reason I'd grouped him with old dead athletes from black-and-white-TV-times like Babe Ruth or Joe DiMaggio.

3. It's trying to be funny, but it's not trying hard enough.

4. I have trouble believing that Xarelto is pronounced Zeralto.


Unfortunately for your life, that's it for the blog tonight. I'm off on a spur-of-the-moment trip to Seaside tomorrow and I best be gettin my laundry on. Those sweaters aren't going to Woolite themselves!

Tschuss!

Margaret

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!

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