New-found appreciation for the straight man

Today Andy and I walked up the hill to Great Clips to get our ears lowered. No appointments. Just a couple of walk-ins looking for a budget cut.

Naturally, I was nervous. This bowl is my identity/personality substitute. What would I be without this iconic hairstyle that I hang my new hat from Target on? But alas, I needed a cut bad. I was willing to risk it.

Image via Wikimedia Commons

To my horror, the worst-case scenario happened. There to greet me, scissors in hand, was a STRAIGHT MAN. He didn't want to chat about 'my look', or what style I was going for. I tried to explain, but before I knew it he was hacking away, having barely bothered to spritz my hair with a spray bottle.

Despite my misgivings, the guy seemed to know what he was doing. After about 7 minutes, I had a solid, 7 out of 10 bowl cut and was—get this—just $20 lighter (including tip).

Let this be a reminder to us all that, for as much grief as we give them, straight men do have value in society. They can indeed be creative, many have fine motor skills, and I actually think a good amount are capable of multi-tasking.

So, on this Monday evening, let's raise a toast to the straight men in our lives who deserve more than being the butt of the joke in 'smug mom' commercials on TV. After all, Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, Jesus, David Beckham—all straight men!

Yours truly,

Nargaret

P.S. An extra thanks goes to Andy Williamson who typed this post out while I dictated it. I am under the weather and incapable of staring at a computer screen. Thanks, Andy.

This counts as a blog post

I had a tantrum tonight. My mother had to draw me a bath.

The day had gone well, but all of a sudden it was 9:30pm and I still had to:

1. Buy Woolite
3. Wash my blouses
2. Finish vacuuming
3. Write a blog
4. Plan my outfit for this thing tomorrow

Then I made the mistake of trying on WORK PANTS. Black wide-leg, tight-arse trousers. GOD. It was bad. And I realized that I gave my long ones away during my pre-Seattle clothing cleanse. That left only the hemmed ones, which meant no heels. But guess what? I also gave away my flats! Curse this minimalist streak.

When I realized that I didn't have the time or energy to go to QFC and buy Woolite, I really lost it.

Waaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaah! Boo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo.

The more I tried to pull myself together, the sadder the situation felt. I mean, why did I give away those black flats? WHY!?

Francie and my mom witnessed the whole thing. They were patient and sympathetic and generous with their wardrobes. Finally, my mom suggested a bath.

From an electrical point of view, I risked my life to take this photo.

This photo is creepy and corpse-like.

I'd forgotten that Nadinski heats her bathwater to just a hair under boiling. It took me ten minutes to fully ease into the tub. Once horizontal, I decided to fully submerge—neck, ears, hair, face—until I was completely below the waterline.

It was HEAVEN.

My bowlcut fanned out around me, tugging gently at my scalp as it swayed. Water sloshed across my face, tickled my closed eyelids and warmed the tip of my nose. Without having to tell myself to, I naturally took several deep breathes.

I'm not proud of my behavior, but I'm beyond pleased with myself for writing about it honestly in this blog post.

Namaste y'all,
Margaret

Lease be with you

Today was my first day as a born-again American.

Top of my 'to do' list? Make a bowl cut appointment with the family hairdresser, Lida at HairMasters. That was easy. I'm going on Friday.

Next on the list? Sign up for healthcare. It's proving a trickier task.

In order to apply for 'Special Enrollment' (because Open Enrollment has closed) I need to upload proof of my change of address to the Washington State healthcare website. They'll accept a letter from either a government agency or a utility company.

I tried:

• Updating my voter registration details and requesting a voter registration card, but the address they had on file was already the Kenmore address. 

• Requesting a statement on my student loans, but they only send them via email. 

• Registering an official account at the Social Security website, thinking I may be able to request some sort of official pamphlet. No can do. And ordering a new SS card would cost $$.

• Paying $13 to get an official Driving Record from the Department of Licensing. But what happened after I entered my card details and clicked 'confirm'? That's right, the page re-directed to a PDF of the records to PRINT AT HOME!

Finally, I decided to call WA Health Finder to see if they would accept any alternative documents. Maybe I could just scan in my passport? I could also include my UK visa to show that the expiration date corresponds with my move back to the US?

I spoke to a man called Devoski, who told me that the only other document they would accept is a lease.

D: "Your other option would be to have your Mom create a lease and then have you sign it."

M: "Oh, really? Like, just have her write up a lease?"

D: "Well, not 'write up', but, you know, like get one..."

M: "Oh, so does it have to be notarized or something?"

D: "No, it just needs to be a lease."

M: "OK, so my Mom makes a lease and then I sign it?"

D: "Yes."

—Let me jump in here to say I was pretty skeptical at this point. Have my very own mother type up a lease as proof of my new address? It just seemed so silly. How would that prove that I just moved here? How would they know I hadn't been living here all along?—

M: "Are there any other options? The dropdown menu on the website says, 'mail from government agency', 'mail from utility company' and 'other'. But you're telling me that 'other' really just means 'lease'?

D: "Yeah. A lease is the other option."

M: "So why doesn't it list 'mail from government agency', 'mail from utility company' and 'lease' as the three options? Why do they leave 'other' so open-ended, when the only other acceptable form of proof is a lease?"

D: "I don't know. Those are the only options."

M: "OK, thank you. I'll do the lease then. "

I know that conversation makes me look like a B. But trust me, D was the one being a B. He had a very sarcastic tone.

Snarky customer service aside, I couldn't help but be struck by the absurdity of it all. Let's face it, it would be so easy for someone to forge any one of these documents. Need a utility bill? Just Google the utility company logo, add it to the header of a Word doc and write up some fake billing info. A lease would be even easier. Simply print a free lease template off the Internet and scribble in some random signatures.

I'm not condoning forging official documents. That's fraud. What I'm saying is that the ease at which people could forge official documents discredits the whole system. A lease or a letter doesn't "verify" anything. The only way to prove I live somewhere is to knock on the door at 3am and see if I answer it, half asleep and in my pajamas. Even then, I could have broken in, tied up the actual homeowners and staged the whole thing.

One time Andy needed proof of address at our old flat in Edinburgh, but the utility bills were in our other flatmate's name. Instead, he had me take a snap of him standing on the front step with the door open, one foot inside the flat. We made sure the address letters were visible in the photo. Guess what? They actually accepted it as proof.

Anyway, none of this matters. For some reason, a lease is still valid proof of address. No skin off my back.

Here's my new lease, signed by owner (Nadinski Montbrosis) and tenant (me).

Page 1

I uploaded it. Verification is pending. We'll see if it works.

LYMI,
Margaret

P.S. Being home is great. I've already taken two baths, walked Greenlake, eaten a Weight Watchers fudgical, bought organic cumin seeds from PCC and fed bread crusts to a red-winged blackbird. And it's only my first day back!

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. 

Edinburgh’s Loss is Kenmore’s Gain

Guest blog week continues with Stradbally's finest caricature artist William Donal Kearns sharing his thoughts on my absolute favourite topic of all: ME! Well played, William. Well played. 

---

As the days and minutes tick down to March 17^th, reminiscing about the life of ‘Bobo’ (as my son Freddie calls her) in Scotland will be a topic on many people’s minds. Bobo came to sunny Scotland in 2009 as a young, wee, single and ready to mingle American lassie, carrying only a large blue rucksack and her fair share of digestive issues.

Shortly after arriving, Bobo managed to warm the hearts of many people with her friendly, caring and spontaneous personality. And none more than the posh English gentleman who she joined for afternoon tea her first month in Edinburgh. She had him hooked in no time.

After an initial stint of studying to become a minister, Bobo soon decided to ditch that idea and enter the working world. She was an instant hit with her colleagues at LBi but none more so than her close-knit friendship with her fellow ‘divas.’

Next was a (very) short stint at Sainsbury's Bank, which proved to be her last and probably ever job working under someone else’s authority. She strived to become an independent woman and soon began to take matters into her own hands and became her own boss. Safe to say it’s probably the best decision she has ever made for more reasons than one.

Meeting Bobo and having her as part of our lives in Edinburgh has been truly amazing. Not only has she been a great Auntie to our little ones Freddie and Elsie, but also a wonderful friend to us all and not to mention, an ideal babysitter to have around.

Char and I count ourselves lucky to have had her continued support around and loving friendship and look forward to our future with her in the great Pacific Northwest.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for your friendship, support and the everlasting memories from your time well spent in Edinburgh.

Ps. Ill leave you with a drawing of Bobo herself and of course the founder of this great name, little Freddie!

Night out

Two words: night out.

I'm going on one! Tonight!

It's my friend Igor's 30th birthday and to celebrate we're going to a nightclub to boogie into the wee hours. I might wear eyeshadow. It's gonna be wild.

I still remember when I was first introduced to the concept of a 'night out'. It was freshman year of college and my cousin Clare, always hip to the jive and one step ahead of me, asked, "Are you going out tonight?"

I'd never heard anyone phrase it like that.

Going out? Going out where? Safeway? To take the garbage out?

What I later gleaned from context was that 'going out' or going on a 'night out' meant wearing your best top, drinking alcohol, listening to music and dancing with friends and strangers alike.

This is what a 'night out' looks like. Barbie and Madge circa 2010. 

Anyway, it's been a while since I've been on a night out. But I have a fresh bowl cut and I'm ready to go. Let's do this.

TGIF, 

Margaret

What it's like to have a bowl cut

Last week at the pub Andy interrupted me mid-sentence with a loud guffaw. He had spotted something hilarious happening behind me. 

"What?! What is it?" 

"That guy over there is taking the mickey out of your bowl cut."

"Oh noooooo. Should I look?"

"No. Don't look," he cries laughing. 

"WHAT IS HE DOING?"

"He's pointing at you and doing this—" He takes his pointer finger and twirls it around his head in a perfect circle.

"Typical."

_________________________________________________________________________________

Image by AudunLG via Wikimedia Commons

When you have a bowl cut, you learn to own it. Questioning it is not an option (think about the bloody grow-out). 

You've made your bowl, and now you have to lie in it. Sleep in it. Eat in it. Walk in it. Talk in it. 

Other things you have to accept:

• People in the UK might call it a basin cut. I think this is terrible. I really prefer 'bowl cut'. But C'est la vie.

• You have the same hair as Angela Merkel.

• You have the same hair as Simple Jack.

• If you sleep on wet hair, you wake up looking like the guy from Sum41. Deryck Whibley. Remember when Avril was married to him?

• Often, you look very middle aged. There's really no way around it. Although today I got carded for buying glue, so maybe I've still got it. 

But there's a massive upside.

• You are UNIQUE. My number one goal in life. 

• It's an attention-grabber. And boy do I love attention! For me, it's up there with food, water and shelter. 

• You don't have to worry that you're slowly causing your hairline to recede by wearing too many ponytails.

• Ponytails! That reminds me! You don't have to search high and low for the one hairband you've somehow managed to cling on to for the past three months. 

• It's easy. You don't have any options other than just letting it sit there and be a bowl cut.

My hands are so dry I want to cry. 

Tootski, 

Margaret

5 things you don't have to feel guilty about

Of all the human emotions, guilt is probably the worst. Sure, it can be an appropriate response to a genuine wrongdoing, allowing us to recognise our errors and feel remorseful. But for the most part, guilt is misguided, damaging and ultimately unproductive. We spend far too much time feeling guilty when we shouldn't.

Not too long ago, I decided to make a concerted effort to cut guilt out of my life completely. And I'm not going to feel bad about it!

If you find guilt creeping into your psyche far too often, here are just five (of many) scenarios that you no longer need to beat yourself up over:

1. Getting an expensive haircut

"You wear your hair every day."

Those are my aunt Barbara's famous words of wisdom. How right she is! If you feel bad about getting a somewhat high-end haircut, ask yourself if you would spend the same money on a pair of jeans or some new running shoes. Would you? Of course you would, and you only wear those items a couple times a week.

2. Eating carbs

If you're American, this one might seem controversial. If you're not, this one might seem obvious. Either way, it's important to recognise that carbs are OK. They're absolutely fine.

In fact, based solely on my personal experience (and thus, 100% scientific fact) carbohydrates are key to feeling full and satisfied. Without them, you're more likely to get hungry between meals and binge on dry dry drier than dry unsalted almonds.

3. Not sending Christmas cards / Birthday cards

If you find the time and have the motivation, then send away! If it's December 26th and you've completely dropped the ball, rest assured that nobody cares. Cards are fun to get, but most people won't notice if they don't get one.

Same goes for birthdays. If it's your friend's birthday and you haven't sent them anything, just give them a call.

4. Having a slow work day

I've talked about this before. Some days are more productive than others—that's just the cold, hard truth. If you've been staring at that blank Word document for an hour, take a break and walk to your nearest artisan coffee shop. There's no point in trying to force inspiration that isn't there. You'll be better tomorrow.

5. Being a privileged, middle class Westerner

It's easy to look at the lives of less fortunate people across the world and feel guilty about the privilege you were born into. But feeling guilty doesn't change anything. It's also irrational to blame yourself for circumstances you have no control over. Instead of feeling guilty, look for ways you can improve the lives of people around you and try your best to enjoy the life you have (e.g. eating carbs and not whining about feeling guilty).

A privileged British man about to dig into some creamy mashed potatoes. 

Yuck! I hate this post. It feels preachy and very far from the Madgespace brand. Oh well, it's not like I'm going to write another one tonight! HAHAHAHA. Yeah right! I've got TV to watch, fishcakes to eat and dry skin all over my body to scratch.

See ya,
Margaret

P.S. Let's bring back 'yeah right'. It's so sarcastic and sassy, and I feel like it's not as popular as it was in the 90s.

Definition of cool

We all remember where we were when we first smelled Marc Jacobs 'Daisy'.


No? OK, how about Gap 'Heaven' or Clinique 'Happy'? Work with me here. Think about the coolest, must-have perfume of your youth, and pretend I'm talking about that.


I was at the Spokane mall (River Park Square, for you locals). 

It was October 2007. 

Someone, I think my cousin Clare, had told me that Marc Jacobs 'Daisy' was all the rage. And I was in the market for a new scent—something I could splash on my wrists to 'dress up' my sweatpants, hoodie and crocs ensemble (oh, college).

I walked through the Nordstrom's entrance, avoiding eye contact with the shoe salesmen, makeup ladies and piano player (as always), and began to hunt for 'Daisy' among the perfumes. It didn't take long for me to spot it because, exactly as advertised, the bottle looks like a daisy. Perfect. I removed the lid, adorned with plastic white petals, and gave my wrist a hearty spray.

THE SMELL WAS INTOXICATING.

Was this what life was all about? Joy, heartache, love, tragedy, triumph and bliss, all wrapped up into one clear liquid. Was it really just a perfume, or was it bottled splendour? I had to stop myself from weeping into my mocha light frappuccino.

Needless to say, I bought it. All my bagel shop tips for a month for the chance to own this sweet, sweet happiness potion? Totally worth it.

Surgeon general's warning: This is not a real cigarette. Smoking a real cigarette may make you look EVEN COOLER.

For me, smell is the most evocative of the senses. Certain smells—freshly cut grass, caramel corn, mouldy shower curtain—immediately take me back to a certain place and time. So, when I was walking to Char's today and a lady passed me wearing Marc Jacob's 'Daisy', I was instantly transported to that autumn evening in River Park Square. 

But the wafting odour of that middle aged lady also got me thinking about the concept of 'cool'. Part of the reason I fell in love with 'Daisy' was that it was cool! It was by Marc Jacobs. The hippest fashion designer of all time. So hip, in fact, that you didn't really need to know anything about him other than the fact that he was hip. The man doesn't even need a 'k' in his name. Mark Jacobs? Don't be daft.

Anyway, back to the question at hand: what is cool? I'll spare you my research process and tell you what I've identified as the key characteristics of cool (in a person, not necessarily a perfume).

What is cool?

Common traits of a cool person:

✓   Fashionable — Cool people are trendsetters. This is either because they stay on top of European fashion trends, or because they go out on a limb and pick something unique to wear. Note: the latter only works sometimes (me attempting to start a 'take the sticker off your apple and wear it on your nose' trend in 5th grade is an example of it not working).  

Tip: If you can't be fashionable because you're just not bothered (me), then at least be hygienic. Flossing and showering regularly is the next best thing. 

✓   Indifferent — Cool people don't give an F about whatever has your gunders in a twist. They're above it. Political arguments? Neighbourly disputes? Fights with bouncers? Please, they would never stoop to that level. 

Tip: If being blasé just isn't your thang (me), then create your own blog as a place to air your grievances. Nobody will read it, but you'll be able to get things off your chest. Win win. 

✓   Confident — Cool people know their worth, and it shows in the way they carry themselves. They don't look to others for reassurance or praise. It's not arrogance, because they're not overcompensating for anything. They just have a healthy, accurate view of their value to the world. 

Tip: Fake it 'til you make it. However, being open about what you don't know/what you aren't good at is also a sign of confidence. 

✓   Talented — Cool people are great at one or more of the following: music, sports, art or generally being smart.

Tip: Not talented? Well, this is the one trait that there isn't really a 'hack' for. However, the good news is, if you master the first three traits, you don't need to be talented.

What happens when uncool is the new 'cool'?

Oh, you're wondering about hipsters? You're wondering what to do when something so clearly uncool (e.g. high-waisted, pleated khakis) becomes ironically cool. 

Here's my conclusion on all that: just don't go in for ironically cool trends. Let it pass. Being trendy is one thing, but sometimes good is good and bad is just so obviously bad. 

Remember gaucho pants (scroll down if you click on that link)? They were those stretchy flared three quarter length trousers that you'd pair with a tank top, a shrug and as many beaded necklaces as you could find. They hit the big-time back in 2004. They weren't ironically cool. They were just plain cool. I got a pair in turquoise, but I never could quite bring myself to wear them. Every cute celeb was wearing them, but still, something just didn't seem right. 

Looking back, I can't believe I came so close to partaking in something so hideous. The lesson: if, in spite of its popularity, a certain trend just doesn't work for you, then abstain!


Woah! Longest post ever. Soooo not web audience friendly. I'll do a nice short one tomorrow. 

Love ya, 
Margaret

P.S. Oh, and also, JUST BE YOURSELF! You're already cool because you're reading this. Congrats!

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.

Status Update

Oh man, I have been la-zy when it comes to blogging. Lay to the zee. But it's only because I've been 'working' so much! Andy and I somehow got ourselves a job building a website for an Indian restaurant. It's finished now, but the process probably took about 3 years off my life.

Things with the bowl cut are going well, thanks for asking. I was hoping to only get one more trim before I go to Seattle in August, but two days ago I woke up with a mullet. It's not the actual mullet that I'm worried about - it's the fact that people might think I've intentionally grown it to be a hipster. That, I couldn't cope with. I've booked an appointment for another 40 POUND haircut next week.

But enough about me - here's an update on Andy. He's been working on an exciting project.  It's a spin-off of his tutoring business. I won't reveal what it is yet, but stay tuned. Also, here's a photo I took after making him pose like a Real Housewife (except with a cricket ball instead of fruit):

 

Have you noticed that Facebook now asks you if you'd like to tag people in photos that you have nothing to do with? Well, I've been doing it!!! The other day my sister Anna posted a photo (a 'mobile upload') of her at our friend Jody's bachelorette weekend. Even though I am thousands of miles away, Facebook encouraged me to tag them in the photo. And tag I did. 

Since, unlike Anna and Jody, most people on my Facebook are people I have only met a couple times but have long since forgotten, I find this new feature incredibly upsetting. I really have trouble resisting the urge to tag people I barely know. As I scroll through my newsfeed, Facebook's screaming at me 'Would you like to tag her?', 'Would you like to tag him?' - and I feel compelled to do it! But will Facebook then tell the person that I, Margaret Kay, was the tagger? 

I am fairly confident that those last two paragraphs made no sense. But holla if you feel me. 

Love,

Margaret

Hair's to ya!

It's not often that a grown woman walks into a hair salon and asks for a bowl cut, but this morning, that's what happened.

Call it boredom or a quarter life crisis, but for some reason I had the urge to cut my hair SHORT. I was inspired by this photo of my mom and my sister Anna, as well as the haircut I had when I was a kid.

Mutti Nadinksi and Anna

Me balancing a basketball on my head. Age 6?

Anyway, I won't make you wait any longer! Hair it is:

Remember when you see me with the new cut for the first time, don't react like this (fast forward to 6:40):



 HA. "It Takes Two" starring MaryKate and Ashely. Classic.

Cheerio,

Smadge