Animal husbandry

I'm obsessed with the term 'animal husbandry'. I don't know what it means, but I've always just loved the sound of it. Animal husbandry. Husbandry. Animal husbandry. You've got to admit, it has a ring to it.

This isn't the first time I've become obsessed with a word or phrase solely for its mellifluousness. (Now that's a word. Mellifluousness! Look it up.) I've also been stuck on 'candelabra' and 'formaldehyde' at various times in my life.

In addition to the way the word sounds, the way it causes me to stretch my jaw is another big appeal. 'Formaldehyde' is the perfect example of this. Going from the "or" sound—lips puckered like an anteater snout—to the "al" sound—teeth bared like a grinning hyena—just feels so good. With only one word, you get a really satisfying jaw stretch. FOR-MAL-DE-HYDE. Try it. FOR-MAL-DE-HYDE. Feels good, right? If you repeat it enough, it's the same as facial isometrics.

I've also been chanting 'animal husbandry' in my head all day because Andy, my husbandry, is arriving in Seattle tomorrow! The wait is over. In less than 24 hours, we'll be drinking tea, listening to a summer playlist and watching the sunset from our living room window. Oh, to be a smug couple again...I can't wait!

Speaking of Andy—I'm sure you've already heard the news by now—his cricket team, Woodcutters CC, won the ESCA Cricket Presidents Plate Final today! Congrats, Woodies!

Photo and video via the Woodcutters CC Facebook page

Sooooooooooo tired right now. 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

Back away from my man, you Canadian whore!

Andy's five hours into an Air Transat flight from Glasgow to Vancouver. Aisle seat. Row to himself. Typing on a laptop.

Flight attendant approaches. Squats down next to him. 

"Are you enjoying your flight so far?"

"Uh, yes. It's been great. Thank you."

"Well, actually...one of the other flight attendants thinks you're cute. She wants to give you her number. Are you available?" She holds out a folded piece of paper. 

"Unfortunately not, but thank you."

I MEAN COME ON! Sure, the man's a hunk, but is there nowhere that he's safe? What's next, following him into a public toilet? Shouting at him through the car window at a red light? Writing "Call me" on his colonoscopy lab results? 

Image by Austrian Airlines via Wikimedia Commons

Truthfully, I'm happy for him. Someone honked at Francie and I the other day as they drove by us and we were beyond flattered. How wonderful to know that bowl cuts and pregnant bellies aren't off limits for driveby catcalls.

Still, pretty unprofessional, right? Is it? I don't know. Maybe I'm just touchy because I'm sunburnt and have a hangnail. 

Let me know what you think!

Marge

From the Archives, Edition 6

Oh look, it's another 'From the Archives' post. How unfortunate for you.

Just remember: I owe you NOTHING.

Right now I'm in the fine city of Vancouver, Washington, and I'm only starting to emerge from a migraine haze. Tonight's not a good night for me to be staring at a computer screen. Instead, I'm serving up some g-chat realness with a conversation between Andy and myself from March 2012.

Something you should know before you read it: Andy and I have this thing (theng) where we replace the letter "i" with the letter "e". He thinks (thenks) that's how I talk, so it's a funny/stupid thing (theng) we do when we g-chat each other. I know that's gross, couple's language stuff, but I didn't want you to thing we are just bad spellers.

6:03 AM me: how goes it rammy

6:04 AM Andy: good thanks

  i was just putting up a lamp

 me: really??

  how does it look?

 Andy: great

  really great

 me: omg

 Andy: really really great

 me: take a pic!

 Andy: ok

 me: you=the best

 Andy: i'm going to say this to you now though

6:05 AM you aren't allowed to touch it

  i just about managed to get it so that the bulb was in the middle

  so it doesn't burn

  and it took ages

 me: ok

  we can get another bulb

  a smaller one

 Andy: so no manhandling/horseplay

 me: a skinnier one

 Andy: no, the bulb is fine now

  it only has to be 4cm away from the side

  so it's ok

6:06 AM me: you're just cranky because you had your arms over your head for too long

 Andy: nope

  i am happy

  because we have a brand new lamp

 me: does it make the room better?

 Andy: and it looks better than the glass bowl

  yeah

 me: groovy

6:07 AM Andy: how goes your day little mog?

 me: good rampog

  pretty standard

  enjoying my lunch

 Andy: good

  how were my articles?

6:08 AM acceptable?

 me: yes

  thanks

 Andy: you're welc mcmog

6:10 AM me: have you eaten the cookie

6:11 AM Andy: not yet

  saving it

  have you?

 me: in a bet

  i will eat it

  yumm

 Andy: hahaha

  in the MOUTH

 me: WHERE IS THE PECTURE

 Andy: i'll do et later

Aaaand, that's all. Hope that was a satisfying read for you.

Tomorrow I'm going to T.J. Max with my grandma, so I need to get a good night's sleep.

Sweet dreams,

Margaret

Happy Birthday Andy Williamson!

Andy Williamson—rabble-rouser, cricketer, English tutor, male model, chatty kathy, maverick and friend to everyone—turns 28 today!

If you're lucky enough to know the guy personally, then you understand what a unique specimen he is. Never has there been anyone so irresistibly likeable, yet so aggressively irritating. He'll make you a cup of tea and then poke you in the bottom with a spatula when you bend over to pick it up. That's our Andy. Nothing is sacred. Every moment is an opportunity for mischief. And he is nothing if not consistent. Unwavering. Relentless in his waggishness.

But much like Sears, Andy has a softer side.

He warms my PJs on the radiator as a nice treat for when I get home. He hand-writes letters to his students with feedback on their progress. He ends every phone conversation—whether it's with his grandma or a guy on his cricket team—with "I love you."

Right now, I can hear him singing Taylor Swift in the shower ("Rammy's gonna ram ram ram ram ram...").

Indeed, when you get past the bum-poking, shoulder-biting, ill-timed puns and prank phone calls, Andy has a heart of gold. He's thoughtful, intelligent and as dependable as a Swiss watch.

Happy Birthday, Ram!

Andy through the years

Young Andy, age 3?

High school Andy with pals.

Early uni years Andy.
Image by Samantha Crago via Facebook

Andy the university graduate.
Image by Chris Devine via Facebook

Andy in his post-university "figuring life out" stage.
Image by Chris Williamson via Facebook

Professional, hunky Andy with a new and improved wardrobe.

Layered Andy on the annual January 2nd Woodcutters cricket match.

HB AW,

Margaret

Freak

My boyfriend has a giant brain. It’s thick like a truck tyre. His hippocampus is as big as a hippo’s. His medulla oblongata is more oblong than most. 

Everyday people pay to meet with him. They want to experience his bulky, bulbous brain for themselves. His head’s on the large side, they think, but the real evidence emerges when he speaks. His words are swift and confident. Too eloquent to be improvised, but too specific to be scripted. Where do they come from? It can only be from that colossal cranium. That muscular data sponge. That humongous monster brain, brimming with facts and ideas.

They test him with questions. Flinging from topic to topic, they try to lose him. But he hangs on.

What does a crab eat? Why is Dubai like it is? Who invented the bicycle?

The freak can’t be stumped.