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

A day in the life

"The following is a first-person account of the events of Tuesday, 24th February 2015, written over the course of 12 hours by one Margaret Kay."

— James Joyce

Image by renaissancechambara via Flickr

---

MORNING

I'm sitting in an office waiting to be briefed on a piece of work. There's nothing to do now except fondle my neck zit and refresh the Zimbabwe vs. West Indies Cricket World Cup live feed on BBC Sport.

You know what I'm into? Giant 20-ounce paper cups of peppermint tea. From Starbucks or Costa (Starbucks' main UK competitor). Isn't that one of the most early-2000s thing you've ever heard? I'm only one-third of the way through the cup and my bladder's already about to burst. My hands, however, are warm. Very warm. That's what's important.



MIDDAY

OH! I'm so tired.

I got a cheese/tomato/lettuce baguette from Greggs. They call it a "mature cheddar salad baguette". Ew. The name needs work. I'm eating it. It's scraping the roof of my mouth raw. I love it. I wish I had four more.

Zimbabwe lost.



EVENING

I'm home. Andy heated my PJs, which are actually his PJs, on the radiator for me to throw on immediately after walking through the door. What a gent.

We're making fish tacos for dinner. We ate them last weekend and have been raving about how good they were ever since.

I'm salivating. It's breaded fish too. Not that healthy pink kind. You know what I'm talking about.

It's not that I dislike salmon. Salmon's great! But sometimes you just want old fashioned, breaded white fish that tastes like Friday suppers in the 1950s. Fish tacos is even a bit too exotic. I could really go for some mash, a side of peas and a big dollop of katsup for dipping. Maybe tomorrow night.




BEDTIME

After reading through my day's events, one thing's clear: I'm infatuated with food. I can't deny it.

Food is the flagellum propelling me through this murky mystery we call life.

Now I'm eating a yoghurt (see?) and reading this book about a girl whose sister was a chimp. I can't tell if I like it or not. My guess is that I think it's medium.

---

Same time again tomorrow.

Yours,
Margaret

Cricket 1, Round Brush 0

There's something weird about the human brain that allows you to forget the impracticability of a round brush approximately every six years. You spend the majority of your life knowing that blow-drying your hair and using a round brush simultaneously is pretty much impossible. But then, out of nowhere, you'll convince yourself that it just might work.

It never does.

Why? Because our arms are attached to our shoulders and we only have two of them. Curling the back of your hair under with a round brush is physically impossible. I feel like I've accepted this for the final time - yet six years from now, the frustration of my most recent round brush attempt will be a distant memory. I'm sure I'll get sucked into the round brush propaganda once again.

In the meantime, maybe I should just invest in a Topsy Tail. 

Let's move on. Edinburgh got its first snowfall yesterday. Just a handful of miniscule flakes, but snow nonetheless! It was beautiful. Weather gods of Scotland, if you're reading this, we want MORE!!!!

As it gets colder outside, it just gets cosier and cosier in our flat. I have the Yankee Candles firing on all cylinders, every finished cup of tea gets immediately replaced with another, and we fall asleep listening to the calm, wise voices of old British men doing cricket commentary on the radio.

Yankee Candles. I'm obsessed. It's me at my most 'middle-aged suburban mom'.

Yep, cricket. The sport, nae the animal. Just like watching 'Home Alone', eating tree-shaped cookies and listening to a certain Mariah Carey song (you know the one), cricket is part of the Christmas tradition over here.

'The Ashes', a biennial tournament between England and Australia, is on for most of December. Since they're playing Down Under, the live commentary doesn't start until about 11:30pm our time. It's been lulling us to sleep the past few nights.

The thing about cricket is, it's a truly fantastic game. I completely understand the skepticism - it's not the easiest of pastimes to get into late in life, but I would urge everyone to give it a go. The sport evokes the same feelings you get watching baseball on a warm, relaxing summer afternoon. Yet, compared to baseball, the tension takes much more time to build and the payoff is potentially much greater.

In a game of cricket, there are always two stories happening at once. There's the immediate action (what's happen on the pitch right now), but also the story of the bigger picture (what's the broader meaning of what's happening on the pitch - what does it all add up to). It's only as the game goes on that the latter gets clearer.

However, I'll admit that it wasn't too long ago that I thought cricket went something like this:



 That's all for now - have a groovy weekend!

Love,
Margaret

P.S. Don't forget to fire this bad boy up at your next holiday party! 'Tis the season for DJ Polite.

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