Hey peers, we're bad at socializing now.

I've noticed something. Us late-20-somethings, we're bad at socializing now. We were so good at it back in college! We were ice-breaker experts. Conversation flowed like Biggie's rhymes. First-time acquaintances became instant friends. Everyone was awesome. Every night ended in multiple Facebook friend requests.

Things are tougher nowadays. The chat is sluggish. People already have enough friends. It's been a long week. They're sleepy. They have to get up early the next day. Etcetera, etcetera.

In fact, I've determined that our declining social skills boil down to five reasons:

1. We're out of practice
This is the most obvious reason. We're simply out of practice. Busier schedules and longer commutes have resulted in far fewer social gatherings than the college years. We've lost our mojo.

2. We have fewer common touch-points
There used to be so much to talk about. "Did you see those guys who made the giant slip 'n slide out in the courtyard earlier?" "Yep!" "Did you hear that those two broke up?" "Yes, can you believe it?" "Did you go out last night?" "Yeah, we were at the 80s party."

That's the way it used to be! Conversations were like an improv show. We 'yes-anded' the night away. When you live within a one-mile radius of everyone at the gathering, you have more things in common. There's more to talk about. Thus, talking to people is easier.

3. We know 'work' is a lame topic, but it's 80% of our lives now
People don't want to talk about work, and I hate asking them about it. But after a few awkward pauses I'm forced to jump in with, "So how's work going?" We're all a bit depressed it's come to that, but also relieved that the pause is over.

(I've heard the same is true of people with kids not wanting to talk about kids all the time but resorting to it eventually because it's all they have.)

4. We just don't care as much
This is a huge problem. I'm guilty of this more than any of the other reasons in this list. I JUST DON'T CARE. I can't feign interest like I used to.

5. One bad apple spoils the whole bunch
One of the reasons social gatherings feel more difficult, even for us schmucks who still try to make an effort, is that the really terrible people—'conversational handbrakes' as Andy calls them—simply limit the possibilities for everyone. It's like what Top Chef Head Judge Tom Colicchio says about seasoning: if you combine a perfectly seasoned ingredient with a bland ingredient, the net result is bland. Even the finest raconteur can't save a party full of duds.

LOVE,
Margaret

P.S. I'm the best!

What year is this?

Francie and I went to Olympia on business (gotta love when people say 'on business') and I felt like I had walked straight into 2001. Something about the place reminded me of high school. Maybe it was all the driving to and from strip malls that we were doing to kill time.

We went to a coffee shop and there was all sorts of bootcut jeans + coach purses +  studded belts going on. I ordered two 8-ounce, 2% lattes and a chocolate chip cookie.

"OK, a chocolate chip cookie and two nonfat lattes—anything else?" the lady says.

"Nope, thats it. But actually, do you have 2% milk for those?"

"Yep. Nonfat, 2%, same thing."

I was stunned. Not knowing what to do, I just nodded and said, "Ah, okay" as if I'd only just then learned that 2% and nonfat were the same thing. Who knew? 2% and nonfat? Turns out, SAME THING. I know, crazy. All this time I was walking around thinking that they differed by a margin of exactly two percent, but I must have been mistaken!

I don't know. The situation baffles me. At first I thought maybe she was trying to say, "We don't have 2%, but is nonfat OK?" But no. She was clear. She said that 2% and nonfat were the same thing. Here's the kicker, I honestly think she believes it.

Now don't you tell me I'm being a snob. That lady works in a coffee shop—knowing the different milk percentages is 80% of the job. Also, I didn't care at all and happily guzzled my latte in less than five minutes like I always do. No harm, no foul.

An old photo and my old boots, which I'm still mourning the loss of. 

Later,
Margaret

Yuck - water.

There are two types of people in this world, those who love water and drink it all the time (yum, yum, yum water is soooooooo good) and those who can't be bothered with water, forcing themselves to choke it down every couple days.

I belong to the latter group, Andy to the former. I wish I loved water. I know about all the health benefits and how it restores your skin cells and makes you skinny. But somehow I still can't get into it.

I don't hate water. I just don't crave it. It's not something I think about that often. I have to remind myself to drink it and then force myself to finish the whole glass.

There are the rare occasions that I guzzle it down. Once every three months or so, I get extremely thirsty and drink a litre or two in one sitting. It's the same as when you get used to surviving on very little sleep, but then you crash all of a sudden and sleep for 48 hours straight.

My cousin Maria drinks a normal to above average amount of water. When I told her that I wasn't a huge water fan, she said I'm not the only one. Her mom, my aunt Barbara, is also quite "meh" when it comes to water. I was relieved to hear I'm not the only one. In a world of Camelbaks and Nalgenes, us water-agnostics start to feel pretty out of place.

In other news, I'm busy busy busy and still haven't found time to watch the RHONY Season 7 Reunion Part 1. And I have the nerve to call myself a fan. Must get in the bath and watch it ASAP.

Goodnight,

Margaret

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

What globalization taught us about Goldfish crackers

When Andy ate his first Goldfish cracker he nibbled on it for a while and then said, "Hmm. Tastes like celery."

I was like, "What? Celery!? You're insane."

Then I looked at the ingredients and there it was: celery salt.

Sometimes it takes a foreigner to point out the stuff you've been missing all your life. When I first met Andy, he was in favor of the monarchy, for Christ's sake! I explained to him that having a Queen, ceremonial as she may be, is a joke in this day and age. He thought about it, engaged with that new idea for a few minutes, and then updated his opinion on the matter.

One time he pointed out to me that I say "I feel like" at the end of my sentences. For example, "You really don't see as many frappuccinos these days I feel like". Now that he's pointed it out, I notice everyone doing it. It's a Pacific Northwest thing I feel like.

Is it time we start allowing babies in bars? 

Anyway, all this is to say that mingling with outsiders—dirty foreigners like Andy—is a good thing. We can learn a lot from one another if we look beyond our borders. Brits can teach us good pub etiquette, particularly when it comes to buying 'rounds'. We can teach them that you don't have to spend ten minutes building up to a goodbye and then ten more minutes actually saying goodbye.

You know what the Japanese can teach us? How to install a bloody earthquake alert system in Seattle!!

I don't know what Donald Trump is on about. We don't need less immigration, we need more. Much, much more.

Wow, I didn't expect it to get political there in the end. Did you see that coming? You just never know where Madgespace will take you, particularly when you're writing stream of consciousness, which is about 89% of this blog.

Tally-ho you knobheads,
Margaret

People are complex

Today I found out that my sister, Anna Gorohoff, uses the 'Mail' application on her Macbook. You know, the thing that automatically opens when you accidentally click on an email address link.

This thing:

In all my years, I have never met anyone who actually uses that thing. I was SHOCKED. But to each her own. If you want to use the Mac Mail application, as Miley would say, only God can judge you. 

Let Anna's choice of email programs be a reminder to us all: people are complex. Just when you think you know everything there is to know about someone, they'll surprise you with a controversial opinion, unexpected anecdote or bizarre hobby that seems totally out of character. 

Examples:

• My mom is a pretty good harmonica player
• Bradley Cooper is fluent in French
• I don't like watermelon
• Elsie, my 1-year-old niece, totally gets 'Duck Duck Goose'
• Ke$ha has an IQ of 140
• Martin Luther King Jr. was a big Star Trek fan
• My brother Max was a late whistler—didn't learn how to whistle until high school

Tomorrow afternoon I'm going to write, write, WRITE a whole bunch of blogs to schedule for the next six days. My long-distance spouse is coming to town and I don't want to be up at 11:55 furiously blogging about the most tedious and mundane topics imaginable. Like email applications, for example. 

Good luck to you all on your Tuesdays tomorrow. It may not be one of the best days of the week, but at least it's not a dreaded Sunday evening! 

Cheerio, 

Margaret

Long day

Literally! The second longest of the year! (or is that the 22nd)

Despite all these hours of daylight, I can't bring myself to write a proper blog post. What can I say? No, really. What can I say? I have ZERO ideas. 

This is the best I can do:

Thought #1: 

I can't stand when people call Baskin-Robbins "31 flavors". Yes, it has 31 flavors, but that's NOT its name.

Thought #2: 

People in Seattle are obsessed with tasting, perusing, comparing, recommending and generally waffling on about LOCAL CRAFT BEERS. I knew it was a thing, but gee whiz, I underestimated the extent to which it's a thing. If I want to fit in, I'm going to have to get wise and reacquaint myself with the disgusting delicious taste of beer. 

Thought #3: 

People in Seattle are obsessed with cornhole, the game where you throw a bean bag into a hole in a piece of tilted wood. 

Thought #4: 

Have raspberries always been this good? They are UNBELIEVABLE. 

Image by Muffet via Wikimedia Commons

Goodnight,
Margaret

Scum of the skies

There's a man in Edmonds, Washington who has dedicated his life to boycotting Alaska Airlines. For years now, he's had signs up in his windows, on his car and erected in his front yard.

Note: the photo below is outdated. The sign now has a spotlight.

Image via KomoNews

Curious cat that I am, I decided to Google "Boycott Alaska Airlines Scu..."—I didn't even have to finish typing. Clearly I'm not the first to have investigated this man's mission. Google autofilled my query and before I knew it I was on the homepage of alaskaairlinesscumoftheskies.com.

You know how they say that dogs look like their owners? Well, the same is true of websites. Kind of. I don't know what the Edmonds man looks like, but aesthetically, the website screams 'ramblings of an angry mad man'. Giant block of words, tiny font, double spaces after each period, second-person narrative and footer text that reads 'One Pissed Off Customer'.  I loved it instantly. 

I also just love it when people go big or go home. When they commit to something so intensely because it's too late and they've invested too much to bow out now. I do it a lot in debates with Andy. Even if I realize that he's right halfway through, I double down on my argument for dignity's sake. 

Today my auntie Barb told me that her phone rang during a recent pilates class. Everyone looked around at each other. They all pointed to a woman whose phone had gone off before, but she swore hers was on vibrate. Even the teacher piped up to say, whoever's phone it was, just go turn it off. The whole time Barb kept quiet. She'd decided not to confess and she had no choice but to stick with it. With every passing second, it became increasingly impossible to fess up. 

I completely understood her position and admitted that I would have done the same. 

Back to Alaska Airlines man. I wanted to love his story. I wanted to grab my pitchfork and riot by his side. But his tale let me down. There are big chunks missing and the whole thing reads a bit homophobic. 

I don't know. Maybe it's just bad copywriting. Perhaps he used up all his energy on 'Scum of the Skies', which is brilliant. 

Whatever the case, I'm disappointed—and now a bit worried that, if he's any bit the Googler I am, there might be a 'Boycott Madgespace' sign up in his lawn tomorrow. I flatter myself.

Love ya,
Margaret

US: world #1 in WPC

Weirdos Per Capita.

Andy pointed it out during one of his visits here.

"Americans are just so much more comfortable being weird!"

And it's true. After a week in Seaside and a stroll along the Alki strip this afternoon, it's clearer than ever. Americans are weird.

Today I saw a guy, shirt off, jean shorts, spiky blond hair, gliding down the sidewalk with a boombox on his skateboard blaring '90s rap. Further down the road a 50-year-old man was waxing his motorcycle while listening to 'Backstreet's Back' on full blast.

In Seaside, I saw entire families dressed in matching sweatsuits with neon 'Seaside' lettering across their butts.

Dogs in strollers? Yep!

Gangster knee tattoos? Oh yeah!

Tai Chi on the side of a busy road? Of course!

Lounge chairs and BBQ-ing in the driveway? Cool!

Crocs with dresses / high heels with exercise shorts / barefoot in public? Yes! Yes! Yes!

This stuff just doesn't happen in Britain.

Maybe it would have been more accurate (and kinder) for Andy to say that Americans are comfortable being different. Unlike Brits, we don't mind standing out in a crowd. Or we aren't even aware that we're standing out. Or we realise that, in a country full of sore thumbs, there's actually no such thing as standing out. When everyone's weird, "weird" loses its meaning.

Alki today.

In these first few weeks back, I've also been struck by how friendly everyone is. That's something you hear Brits say often—"Americans are so friendly!" I never fully understood it until now. It's not just cheery baristas and overly helpful door greeters at The Gap. It's totally random strangers being totally randomly friendly, all the time.

Example. You're standing in a long line at Starbucks and your phone rings. It's your sister. You ask her if she wants a drink. Everyone she's with also wants something, so you say "hang on a second" and then type up the list of orders on your phone.

In the US, it would not be strange for the person behind you to say something like, "I bet you're sorry you asked!" after you hung up. You'd respond, "Geesh, I know!" and the two of you would share a chuckle.

In the UK, this wouldn't happen. Of course the person behind you would have eavesdropped on your conversation—it's impossible not to—but they wouldn't want you to know they had. Talking to you about the call would mean acknowledging that they listened in on it, and they simply wouldn't be comfortable with that.

The UK has many virtues (GOING TO THE DENTIST COSTS $12!!!!!), but they're lacking in weirdos. Even the weirdos they do have are generic weirdos. Here in Yankland, particularly on the west coast, weirdos grow on trees.

Speaking of trees, have I told you about the trees here?

Sincerely,
Weird in Washington*

P.S. Pronounced Warshington

Antisocial or Introvert?

Last weekend, Andy and I were sitting in an All Bar One at Birmingham International, watching the departures screen push back our flight by 15 minutes every 10 minutes for about 40 minutes straight. We were just about to get the bill, when the man at the table next to us said, “Something’s up with the Flybe flights this afternoon—they’re all getting delayed or cancelled.”

I jumped in with something like, “Yep, it’s crazy!” and went straight back to my cappuccino, avoiding eye contact and angling my body inward, toward Andy.

The man carried on. He was with his wife of 26 years. He had just returned from Copenhagen earlier in the week, where he’d strategically flown in with a different airline than he flew out with. The prices for round-trip journeys were exorbitant, he explained.

Andy chuckled and told a story about how he and his brother had flown to Dublin for the rugby the weekend before, and how his brother’s flight was far more expensive because he was flying from Exeter, not Edinburgh.

Great. Here we go. Think fast, Margaret. Think fast!

I racked my brain for a quick, compelling, exclusive conversation starter that would pull Andy back from the gravitational pull of a friendly stranger. But words escaped me. And then it was too late. They were talking about red cards and the Millennium Stadium and the Scotland team’s naiveté. They were watching iPhone footage of the Haka. This was not good.

I’d lost my window and the worst had happened: we were having a conversation with strangers.

Eventually, I suggested to Andy that we go to the Customer Service Desk and ask for an update on our flight. We said our goodbyes, and I muttered to Andy, “Thank God that’s over!”

He said, “Oh Mog! You are the definition of antisocial! We could have stayed in there and chatted with them and had a lovely time!”

There was no arguing with that. I am antisocial. It’s not good. But it’s also honest. I go back and forth on whether I should try to change or not. I’ve been this way for a while, ever since high school when my friend Connie and I would sit against a white brick wall near the parking lot during lunch, soaking up the sunshine and dreaming of 1:40pm when we’d be freed. It wasn’t as if we didn’t have a place in the cafeteria. We had enough friends. But it was just easier to meet at the wall and not have to bother with discussions about teachers, football games, ASB elections and other topics that reminded us of our imprisonment.

I mean, when am I going to come out of my shell already? HA!

Image by FotoDawg via Wikimedia Commons

When I try to make myself feel better about being antisocial, I decide that I’m an introvert. Yeah, that’s it! Don’t blame me for being antisocial; I’m just an introvert!

However, the truth is that I'm not sure what I am. I've tried to take quizzes online, but I tend to quit halfway through. Introvert or extrovert, one thing's for sure: I'm lazy. 

A lot of people who know me would assume I'm an extrovert. I do love attention. Yesterday's iMovie is proof of that. But I the true test is supposedly as follows:

• Do you get your energy from spending time alone? You're an introvert.

• Do you get your energy from spending time with groups? You're an extrovert. 

It doesn't have anything to do with being shy or outgoing. It's about how you recharge. If this is true, then I suppose, if I had to be one or the other, I actually would be an introvert. 

OH SNAP! So, I just took a quiz and guess what?

I'm an AMBIVERT! This is a surprising twist. 

Take the quiz yourself. There are only 12 questions, so it's easy, if not scientifically irrelevant. 


See ya next time, 

Margaret

P.S. That photo reminds me: some baby tortoises were just born in the Galapagos Islands—the first in a century! I'm not an animal lover, but for some reason this made me so happy that I shouted "YESSSSSS!" when I read it. 

I'M BAAAAAAACCCCCKKK!!!!!!

Guess who's back back back, back again gain gain? Grassy's back back back. Tell a friend friend friend.

It's been a while! I don't even remember how to type. I have to keep reminding myself to rest my fingers on 'home row'.

But it feels great to be back in action.

Heck, I even made an iMovie about it.

Guest Blog Week: Review

Thanks to everyone who helped make the first annual Madgespace Guest Blog Week a resounding success. Thanks to the talented guest posters, to my legions of loyal fans and to Char Kay for organising the whole thing.

Every evening I'd get the text from Char saying the next post was ready to go. I'd quickly flip open my laptop, head to the blog and drink in every word. Not only was it amazing to be relieved of my blogging responsibilities for a while, but, dare I say it, it was refreshing to read voices other than my own.

I realised that THIS is what life's all about. Family blogging. OK, no, not family blogging—what I mean is that life is all about creating. Or at least it should be. I'm at my happiest when I'm creating something, be it a homemade Thai curry or a blog post about toilet paper alternatives. I like the challenge, the process and the end result. I also enjoy the creations of others. It's a great way to get to know people and see a different side to them.

Basically, what I'm saying is we should all get together and Mod Podge photos and magazine cut-outs onto an Ikea bookcase. You in?

Life update

OK, so you're dying to know what I've been up to during my week off.

Here's what I've been doing:

• Getting loads of migraines. Seriously! Char hypothesised that blogging may be the cause, but now I'm thinking it might be the only thing keeping my kopf from exploding.

• Watching every episode (so far) of HBO's 'Silicon Valley'. I wasn't convinced at first, but the more I watched, the more I liked. 

• Getting my bowl cut frisked at airport security. I had to go through the body scanner, then afterward the lady said, "And I'll just go ahead and check your hair." She patted me on the head like I was a labrador. 

• Hanging out with Andy before our FIVE MONTH stint apart. We've been eating lots of Sainsbury's fishcakes and watching The Americans, Better Call Saul and House of Cards. If you still aren't watching The Americans, it's time you take a long look in the mirror and reevaluate your life. The show's great. 

See you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, 

Margaret

P.S. If you're not going to produce an iMovie in honour of yourself, then who is? 

Don't hate. Don't wait. Make yourself an iMovie today. 

People I didn't realise were still alive

Dick Van Dyke (age 89)

Image via Wikimedia Commons

The same year that Dick Van Dyke was born, a major Diphtheria epidemic broke out in Alaska, Hitler published Mein Kampf and Calvin Coolidge became the first US president to have his inauguration broadcast via radio. Also, nobody found the name Dick Van Dyke funny. Not a single person.

Henry Kissinger (age 91)

Image via Wikimedia Commons

This dude should be Andy's hero in so much that he proves foreigners can go to America and play a massive, strategic role in its foreign policy for decades, forever altering the country's history. The photo above is Kissinger casually walking down a hall whilst chatting with Mao. Yep. That Mao. Mao Zedong. 

Doris Day (age 90)

Image via Wikimedia Commons

That woman that they sing about in Grease is still alive. She's been married four times. All of her husbands are dead. #UsGalsLiveLonger #TakeThatPatriarchy

Zsa Zsa Gabor (age 98)

Image via Wikimedia Commons

Honestly, I didn't even know who Zsa Zsa Gabor was other than some lady with a funny name from the olden days. Turns out that she IS (not was) a Hungarian-American socialite and actress. Despite numerous health scares, including having to amputate her right leg, the saucy minx is still alive. In fact, she celebrated her 98th birthday yesterday! 

Pope Benedict XVI (age 87)

Image via Wikimedia Commons

Oh yeah, Ratzinger's still kickin'! See, this is what happens when you decide to retire instead of die. It seems the much better way to get out of work, no?

Sidney Poitier (age 87)

Image via Wikimedia Commons

Not only is "Mist-ah Sidney Poitier" still alive, but he's currently serving as the Bahamian ambassador to Japan!

Hosni Mubarak (age 86)

Image via Wikimedia Commons

Yeah, that guy who was FINALLY overthrown following massive uprisings and violent protests in Egypt? He's alive. Nobody ended up killing him. I just assumed somebody would have, as that's how these things tend to play out, but nope, he's just in jail on murder charges. He's expected to be released soon. 

Fidel Castro (age 88)

Image by Louis Korda via Wikimedia Commons

Whaaaa? He took office back when Eisenhower was president. His biggest rival? JFK! Still, somehow this giant, cigar-smoking, field-cap-wearing communist beardface who represents all that America stands against is only 88 years old. That's only two years older than Mubarak. Hmm. Mubarak must dye his hair. 

I DESPISE ageism and, as Anne Hathaway would say, I don't mean to be gauche, but I must confess that I typed this post at lightening speed just in case any of these folks died before I finished! It was stressful! My fingers are sweaty and sore. 

YOLO, 

Margaret

January nerds

It's the first Sunday in January. If there was ever a time to bring your A-game, it's now.

As the first non-holiday week of the year stretches out before us, this is our chance for a fresh start. Stick out your tongue. Can you taste that? It's tiny particles of hope and opportunity floating through the air like a salty ocean mist. But these taste like acai berry and Febreze.

This evening Andy and I cracked on with our 2015 'Live Your Best Life' (© Oprah) plan. We made up two giant pots of tortellini soup to portion and freeze for our lunches throughout the week. We also blended up six water bottles worth of smoothies for a delightful breakfast drink on the go!

January is such a nerdy month. Everyone goes to the gym and promises to eats chocolate only in the evening. People set goals for their career, open ISAs and sign up for 10Ks. We clean, we diet, we run, we save. Some of us will take things too far and embark on a juice cleanse or sign up for a gruelling workout bootcamp. SO nerdy!!!

Really, there's nothing wrong with embracing our inner Goop every January. It can be quite refreshing. Let's just remember that:

1) Life improvement plans are boring. Most people don't care. Don't waffle on about your paleo recipes to work colleagues.

2) Mental health is just as important as physical health (Probably, I think. Unless you're HUGE). Don't punish yourself for being human. Take off the hair-shirt and spend a day doing absolutely nothing every now and then. Buy some new shoes. Eat a bagel.

Best of luck,
Margaret

Observations from a brief jaunt in the real world

I worked a few days at an agency last week, which means I was forced to emerge from my candle-infested pizza den and experience the outside world for a bit. It was weird at first. The hustle and bustle. The wind on my face. The stench of freshly showered commuters standing in a bus queue, trying not to lock their knees and doze off standing up.

During my time in the real world, I jotted down a few notes that I figured I'd share here on the blog. Here they are:

• Long leather coats

• Irrational fear of witnessing a public suicide

• Sighing at a crosswalk (headphones)

• Fly down

Image by Tom Thiel via Wikimedia Commons

Should I elaborate? Well, ok. 

Long leather coats — During my walk home one evening, within a timeframe of about 15 minutes, I spotted not one, but TWO ladies wearing shin-length black leather overcoats. Two different, completely unrelated ladies. Strange to say the least. 

One was a nerdy gamer type gal, about 20ish. Her coat, not fitted in the slightest, looked like a leather refrigerator box draped over her scrawny shoulders. It had big white buttons running from the very bottom all the way up to the base of the lapels. The other was in her late 40s, with Texas hair and a donkey booty (which the leather coat did no justice). Her coat was a shiny trench with a matching leather belt that tied at the waist.

Needless to say, I was baffled. Could these heinous garments—heavy, frumpy, gratuitous—really be back in fashion? Or was it just an unfortunate coincidence? 

And before you ask, no, there wasn't a shin-length leather coat convention in town. I checked.

Irrational fear of witnessing a public suicide — This one's pretty self-explanatory, but yes, I have an irrational fear of witnessing a public suicide. I realised this when, at the third crosswalk in a row, I found myself taking a mental note of the cross streets and practicing my conversation with the 999 operator. This always happens. As I wait for the light to change, I can't help but imagine one of my fellow commuters jumping out into rush hour traffic. Sometimes I picture one of them pushing me off the curb into the path of a city bus. It's horrible. I always stand at least two feet back from the street, knees bent, with one foot slightly forward, bracing myself for the push.

One time, in Spokane, I witnessed the sudden aftermath of a public suicide. The guy had jumped off a parking garage and landed on a cement awning below. They'd covered him with a sheet, but his feet were sticking out Wicked Witch of the East style. It was spooky, and maybe it's stuck with me all this time. Or maybe I just seek the glory of being a top-notch ambulance beckoner. 

Sighing at a crosswalk (headphones) — Another one from the crosswalk files. On the walk to work, I let out a massive sigh, like UH-Aaahhhhhhhh, while I was waiting for the light to change. I was listening to the latest episode of Serial (reviewed here) and didn't realise how loud I was being. The old lady next to me gave me a major side-eye and actually stepped away from me. I don't know if she was weirded out or just startled.

Fly down — For half the work day I had my fly down. Nobody told me (obviously, this is Britain). But I don't blame them. I wouldn't tell me if I were them. I think most people probably think taking the person aside and quickly whispering "just wanted to let you know that your fly's down" is the noble thing to do. But I actually think ignoring it and never saying anything is the best approach.

What do you think?

Love, Margaret

P.S. I'm watching X Factor right now, and this season has an eight-piece boyband. There are EIGHT of them! It looks cray cray on stage.

OMFG~!!KJH!KH!!! A random guy just walked on stage and pretended to be one of the band members and it took security forever to notice! Hahaha. It was inevitable. INEVITABLE. #EightPieceBoyband