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!

Urethra Franklin

Last night I got up in the middle of the night to go pee. As I was peeing, I had a brilliant blog idea. Knowing that I was still half asleep, I repeated the idea in my head five times to make sure I'd remember it in the morning. I even thought about going out into the living room and writing it down, but that was a bridge too far. I'd remember it. I'd just have to.

Image by Ben Mills via Wikimedia Commons

Flash forward to 1:30pm today.

"Wait a minute. Didn't I think of some genius blog post while peeing last night?" I said to myself. "What was it!!???!?"

I tried hard to remember for three full minutes before deciding that it must have been something nonsensical. I must have still been in a dream state when I thought of it. Oh well.

BUT THEN IT CAME TO ME. YES! The genius blog idea! I remembered it! Here it is:

• Thankfully, it seems that I'm back to vigorous, powerful pee streams. For a few months there, nothing but dribble. Something must have been up, health-wise. But no more! Urethra Franklin has her groove back!

Hmmm. 

I must say, it did seem a bit more groundbreaking at the time. 

Ciao, 

Margaret

P.S. What the heck am I meant to do with this? I asked for a green onion, not a seven-year-old tulip!

P.P.S. Penny for scale.

Schlafen ist langweilig

Getting the right amount of sleep does a body good. It makes you happier, healthier, smarter, more attractive...

But of course, you already knew that. Studies show that sleep is the best. CEOs all make time for their eight hours. It's old news.

So WHY, then, is staying up late so much fun? WHY, as I'm just about to doze off, do I get the urge to eat pretzels, take a bath and binge-watch Empire? WHY do I get annoyed when Andy suggests we make the nightly migration from couch to bed?

I have a guess: it's boring. Sleep is boring. It feels like giving up on the day. It's wasteful and ridiculous. It's also the definition of 'in between time', and I've never done well with in between time.

Boredom aside, I'm a better person when I'm well rested. I reckon I'll always have to fight my inner insomniac and force myself to do what comes so unnaturally to me: sleep.

Severe yawning? I've had that. Yawns that are so large they hurt your neck veins.

Image by Mikael Häggström via Wikimedia Commons

Honk-shoo,
Margaret

P.S. I do enjoy certain sleeps—the ones where I'm utterly exhausted and fall into a thick, dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the mattress (pillow thrown on floor in disgust).

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!

6 Saturday thoughts

1. It's possible to be fashionable but not stylish.

2. Gigi Hadid kind of looks like Julia Stiles (dat moon face)

3. Sleep is a gift. Cherish it.

4. Degree deodorant does not and never will work on these pits.

5. You can't judge a strip mall by its cover. There might just be an amazing foot massage place in there.

6. Nelly (rapper, bandaid on face) got arrested because he had METH in his van! METH.

Nelly promoting his 'Apple Bottom' fragrance. Sure, the name works for his women's jeans brand, but do you really want a perfume with the word "bottom" in it?

Image via Wikimedia Commons

OK, that last one wasn't so much a 'Saturday thought' as it was something I just read in the Dailymail. Still, I'm very shocked and saddened by the news.

Going to Seaside tomorrow. No Internet at the cabin. How will I blog? I don't know. Will I find a way? Yes.

Love,
Margaret

P.S. Do you know Nelly's real name?

P.P.S. It's Cornell

Greetings, Suppressive Persons

Anna invited us over to watch the HBO Scientology documentary tonight. I've been reading about this exposé for months. HBO had to hire 160 lawyers in order to make the thing. Finally, it was time for the big unveiling! I was so excited I couldn't stop eating grapes (in a bowl on Anna's coffee table—mine for the gobbling!).

It came as no surprise that the beliefs and practices of the Church of Scientology are nutso. Like most religions, it's all based on a science fiction book. And who am I to tell anyone what to believe?

But the troublesome bit is the tax exemption stuff. The organization doesn't have to pay any tax because it's classified as a religion. What kind of bullroar is that!?! You're telling me that I have to cough up 25% of my income, but Tom Cruise gets to write-off the millions he puts into the church (which, in turn, provides him with swanky cars and pimped-out airplane hangers and made-to-order wives)?

I was also struck by the fact that the documentary, while seriously damning, didn't actually go into some of the stranger rumors. Even with their 160 lawyers as backup, the filmmakers didn't touch the Leah Remini / Shelly Miscavige missing-person report scandal. I think there's a lot that the film didn't reveal out of fear of litigation.

In other news, I think my migraines may happen because I clinch my jaw in my sleep. I suspect that I do this, since my jaw aches a bit sometimes. But how can I ever be sure unless I buy a night-vision camera and film myself in my sleep? Watching the footage back would be pretty creepy, but also a minefield of potential blog material.

In other other news, I've decided to convert to Scientology. You're all SPs and I'm going to have to disconnect from you.

Goodbye.

Margaret

Greetings from a bed of sand

When I first wrote the title of this post, I accidentally wrote 'Greetings from a bed of sad'. These blogging fingers must know me better than I know myself, because that typo works. It really works.

You see, I'm not relaxing on a white sand beach, hooked up to resort WiFi and typing this post whilst sipping an umbrella-clad cocktail. Oh no. I'm just sitting on my normal bed in my frigid flat under sheets that are covered in countless miniature pieces of rock. Oh yeah, SAND. Lots of it.

This photo was just to throw you off. And to break up the text, because your 2014 brain can't handle large chunks of words.
Image via Wikimedia Commons

Temperatures are dropping here in Edinburgh, so yesterday I grabbed an old plaid blanket from the linen cupboard and threw it on the bed. Little did I know it was covered in sand from a long forgotten picnic of yesteryear.

What's the lesson to take away? Think about your future self. If I had only thought of future, wintertime Margaret when I was folding that sandy blanket and putting it back into the cupboard, I wouldn't be lying in a bed of sad.

The upside? Finally, a way to exfoliate my legs while I sleep!

The other upside? Today I found a Text Edit document titled 'Blog Ideas' hidden amongst a billion other icons on my cluttered computer desktop. This is what was inside:

Blog Ideas

 - I don't have bad eyesight, my eyes are just unmotivated. Can't focus when I'm on the computer, but when I go to take an eye test, they step up their game. Can you get glasses for eyes that can't be bothered?

 - Air stewardesses and sock buns - who's going to tell them that, like the gaucho pant before it, the sock bun was a fleeting trend.

Ha, proof that I do sometimes think of my future self! That's tomorrow and Wednesday's posts sorted. Stay tuned.

Cheers,
Margaret

Sleep on it

I should start blogging in the mornings.

Truthfully, I'm a morning person. As much as I've tried to deny it ('night owls' are obviously cooler), I am my "best self" (copyright Oprah) in the ante meridiem. 

Also, I remember one of my professors in college talking about how our brains subconsciously work things out while we sleep. That's where the phrase 'sleep on it' comes from. It's not just a saying—it's part of our actual biology! You can spend hours trying to figure something out and get absolutely nowhere, but after a good night's sleep, you'll wake up with the answer. Ta da!

Anyhoo, I've had a few different thoughts worth blogging about this evening. The problem is that none seem to constitute a full post. Maybe if I jot them down here, then I can return to one (or more) in a more comprehensive post down the road. Here goes it:

• As Mindy Project keeps getting better, New Girl keeps nosediving into cringe-ville. I'm embarrassed I ever liked it that much. It used to be funny, didn't it? Of course I still watch it, but out of desperation. 

• The importance of perspective—e.g. not letting things like an unpacked piece of luggage sitting in the hallway for weeks bother you.

• Jessica Biel—What's going on with her these days? Like, what's she up to? I'm honestly just wondering. Does she still do TV/films, or is she just Justin's wife now?

Yeah, as you can tell there isn't much there. Those three things are pretty much it. I'm going to hit the hay, and perhaps my subconscious will elaborate on them as I sleep. For all we know, I could wake up in the morning with some fascinating insight into one of the world's blander celebs, Jessica Biel. 

Come on brain, work your magic!

I just Googled her. She's actually Jessica Timberlake now. I didn't know that. You learn something every day.
Image by Maggie Jumps via Wikimedia Commons

Goodnight, 

Margaret