I'm extremely frustrated!

The title says it all, but if you need more context, here are some key words:

Ikea

Bed frame

Disassemble

Allen wrench

Spatial awareness

Hard

Sweaty

Tired

Cry

New plan! I'll get my dad to help me in the morning. 

In other news, I still really love my floral night shirt. 

Goodnight,

Margaret

P.S. Kim Richards (RHOBH) arrested for shoplifting from Target. Yikes. I guess that means Kyle and Kathy really have cut her off. Hopefully this is 'rock bottom' and she finally sorts her life out. 

Lost wallet, lost marbles

Today was a Pu Pu platter of emotions.

The morning got off to a late start when I realized I lost my "wallet" (this business card holder Anna got me). Hunted for it everywhere. Accused Elsie, the 13-month-old, of snatching it. Called Ollie, the two-year-old, to ask if he'd seen it anywhere when he was here yesterday. Cried out of frustration (and hunger). Got consoled by Keeley, the four-year-old, who assured me "We'll find it downstairs!" Cried harder when Francie, the pregnant sistah, found it under the side table by the couch. Tears of relief (and hunger).

St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things, holding — guess who? — JESUS!
Image via Wikimedia Commons

That's more like it!

But from there, the day was a continued upswing. Coffee, bike ride, work, bowl cut, new shorts, walk around Green Lake, toast with almond butter and pickle...the perfect day. Ein perfekter Tag.

Speaking of lost wallets, one time, before all us kids were born, my mom left her wallet on top of the car and drove around town. It had all the rent money in it. She and my dad retraced her route and spotted it in the middle of the Aurora bridge. They stopped the car, ran out and grabbed it. All was well.

Now, unfortunately, that's all the blog I can give tonight.

Sweet dreams,
Margaret

A good cry

Is there such a thing as a "good cry"? Andy would argue no, but I've always loved crying. 

As a kid, I would spend hours in front of the mirror contorting my splotchy face into the saddest possible expressions. The tears would start in earnest—maybe I was reprimanded for something or in a fight with a sibling—but after a few minutes of genuine crying, I would double-down with a solid half hour of wailing. 

I loved everything about those crying sessions. I loved thinking about how guilty the culprit must feel listening to my sobs echo down the hall. I loved the taste of my salty tears, which I'd attack with my tongue like a frog catching a fly. But mostly I loved the sympathy I got from myself. Nobody could feel sorrier for me than me. I was my own best friend, always there when my reflection needed me. 

Now I'm an adult and I've put those days of unabashed self-pity behind me. But when the moment strikes, be it a stubbed toe or sentimental TV advert, I can still enjoy a good cry. What can I say? It's a release! 

Today, just after I grated this guy's brother. 

Today, as I grated an onion for some fish curry, I felt heavy mascara tears stream down my face. My eyes stung bad and I ran to the bathroom to blot them with a hand towel. 

But on my way there, I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of myself in the living room mirror. And then again in the hall. Of course, the bathroom mirror sits right next to the hand towels. It's practically unavoidable. 

Cheers,
Margaret

The saga continues

...and it looks like Ringo's to blame.

No, not that Ringo.

RingGo the cashless parking solution! Turns out, it hasn't solved anything! It's just created more problems!

Andy has received five parking tickets in the past month. FIVE. His defence: he paid through the RingGo app in every instance for which he's accused. He claims he was charged for the parking and the money has been taken from his account.

This was his response to Edinburgh Council's Department of Parking Services:

Spelled 'correspondence' wrong - but don't worry, he caught the mistake. 

I'll let you know how he gets on.

In other news, I cried at an HSBC commercial today.

The plot: a Chinese-American 20-something who works in a hair salon gets a cheque from three of her old lady customers to pay for her fashion design school tuition.

Cue the waterworks! I mean, yes, HSBC is a bank and banks are evil. But on the other hand, I've never claimed to be emotionally stable and HSBC refused bailout money back in the day so I have a bit of a soft spot for them.

Oh heck, just watch it for yourself.

 

Found out I don't have to work tomorrow, which means a good blog post is coming your way soon. Look out for it!

Love,
Margaret