Oh what a night

My Car2Go registration finally went through. As soon as I saw the email, Andy and I were off to Home Depot to buy a piece of plywood upon which we'll plaster a giant map of the Puget Sound. Exciting!

The car is a golf cart with doors. It screams loudly when you go up hills, and you feel every single abnormality in the road's surface—driving over a leaf is like the grand finale of Splash Mountain.

Home Depot was easy. We found some plywood for $14 and the guy even cut it for us. We were in and out within 10 minutes.

Just one problem. How's this large piece of lumber going to fit in the golf cart with doors? Poking out the back window? No. On it's side, diagonally between the two seats? No. On top of the folded over passenger seat? No.


Alas, I drove home and Andy waited in the parking lot with the plywood for an (expensive) SUV Uber.

Now I sit here, exhausted from the evening's activities, inhaling Mod Podge fumes and rubbing my belly full of Morningstar faux sausages. Please don't make me get off this couch. I'll sleep here. It's fine. Just don't make me move.

Guess which ones are fake. 

Wednesday tomorrow. Time flies.

Love,
Margaret

American Beauty

I hated that movie. I didn't get it. Add it to the list along with "Punch Drunk Love", "Lost in Translation" and "WALL-E".

Maybe I was just too young to understand it at the time. If I were to watch it now, would I enjoy it? I'm dubious.

Today our new coasters from Crate & Barrel arrived. They're made of rope. Very nautical. I can't wait until I rest my first mug of tea on one. I'm eager to see how it protects our newly-painted, white coffee table from unsightly cup rings. If all goes well, nothing will happen.

Stay tuned for updates.

I don't know if you knew this, but this blog is art. I'm an artist. Or as we in the marketing industry like to say, I'm a "creative". Ruminate on that.

Amen,
Margaret

P.S. I took a quiz today to see if I would get into Oxford. Based on my score, I would not.

P.P.S. The credit card machine at our local coffee shop wasn't working. They were having to use an old-school slider doohickey. But wait! These days, credit cards don't have the raised numbers. They're not bumpy anymore! How can one make an imprint? One cannot.

This is my new thing

Next time you visit Alki, look out for it...

Best,
Margaret

Undaunted Courage

Saturday, September Fifth, Two Thousand and Fifteen

Dearest Internet, 

This evening was more enjoyable than I would have ever thought possible. 

Williamson and myself, set with the task of painting our furniture, were discouraged by the many hours of backbreaking work that lay before us. It was, however, in the decision to watch a Ken Burns' documentary on Lewis & Clark whilst we painted that the otherwise toilsome affair turned into a convivial episode we both shall remember for many years hence. 

Although Mr. Burns' eloquent storytelling had us in high spirits, it wasn't more than an hour into our expedition when trouble struck. Just halfway through priming the bookshelf, all the tins of primer ran dry. We owe it to our good fortune and the undoubted majesty of this fine country that we made it to the hardware store with only minutes to spare. We were delighted at the sight of the local traders, with whom we gave a handful of paper notes and coins in exchange for more primer and cloth masks to stop us contracting painter's lung. 

All matters were now in readiness to commence the operation of applying the paint of our chosen colour, 'white cloud'. We worked into the night, pleased by our progress and in knowing that we were serving our great land of Alki, West Seattle, Washington and yes, her eminence, the United States of America. 

Now, as I write this by the glow of a laptop screen, stars stretch across the sky as far as the eye can see and morale is the highest it's been since we embarked on this finest westward adventure. 

Adieu and believe me your affectionate blogger, 
Margaret

Help me Rodda

I bought a three-wicked candle today. Finally, this house is a home!

We also went to the hardware store—West Seattle TrueValue—and bought some paint for our furniture. We (seriously) debated over 'cloud white' and 'white cloud' for a while, before settling on 'white cloud'. It was the white decision. Har har.

Remember that commercial for Rodda paint that parodied the The Beach Boys' song 'Help Me Rhonda'? Well, that version of the song has been running through my head since 1995. At any given moment, stop me on the street and ask me what song's running through my head. You can have no doubt that it will be 'Help Me Rodda' from the Rodda paint commercials.

Truthfully, though, I don't need Rodda's help. Homemaking comes naturally to me. Making home—I enjoy it! I have ever since I was a wee'an playing house during recess at Arrowhead Elementary. I remember sweeping the "kitchen floor" with an evergreen branch and telling all my friends that this chunk of damp, rotting wood I found was a cheese grater. I was always the mom or the older sister. A lot of my friends wanted to be the baby, which I never understood but ever-so-graciously allowed.

It's not just decorating that I enjoy. I like cooking too. Nothing gourmet. I'm a cook, not a chef. I don't do elaborate, fancy dishes with a million ingredients. Too impatient. What lures me into the kitchen is the satisfaction of getting a hot meal on the table. I actually enjoy the timing aspect of cooking. The multitasking relaxes me somehow.

So, you have decorating, cooking...is there anything else? Uh oh, you guessed it. CLEANING! Ding ding ding! I love cleaning too. Not always. Not on a day-to-day basis. But a nice, deep clean once a month or so? The best.

That's all.

Goodnight,
Margaret (aka the Real Housewife of Alki)

Beach bum

A turkey will eat grain until it explodes if you let it. They don't get full. That's me with raspberries. I bought a flat of them an hour ago and they're gone now.

Well, I'm officially a beach bum. Today, after a sweaty walk back to the apartment carrying six month's worth of toilet paper, I jumped in the Puget Sound all by my lonesome. Just threw my swimsuit on, crossed the street and leapt right in. Didn't even bother to put on flip-fops.

My hair is salty. My swimsuit smells like seaweed. There's sand in the bathtub. Next thing you know I'll be hanging a 'sandy toes welcome' sign above the front door and nailing a decorative miniature surfboard to the wall.


Things I may do now that I live by the beach:

• Buy a pink flamingo lawn ornament to sit by the window.

• Walk the beach in my housecoat (aka duster) in the middle of the night just to scare people.

• Get a bike radio and cruise the strip.

• Film a new DJ Polite / Mogsquisha video (we have an idea)

• Take steel drum lessons.

• Start a Kickstarter campaign so I can buy ONE OF THESE.

What's that? You want to see my housecoat? Oh I suppose. Because you asked.

Thanks to my sis Anna who gave this to me as a housewarming gift. She's the best!

Love, 

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

Bathmatics

For the past four years, something very dear to my heart has been notably absent from my life. 

A bathtub. 

Now, back in the comfort of my childhood home, I'm making up for lost time. I've already enjoyed five soaks since my return to the US two days ago. 

Me + bathtub = HEAVEN! 

Nothing can warm you up like a bath. It heats you to the bone. 

Even if you're not a "bath person", trust me, you don't know what you've got 'till it's gone (Mitchell, 1970). At least appreciate that you have the option to take one. Go give your tub a hug. 

When I was in junior high and high school, I would stay in the bath for hours, drinking peppermint tea and reading. As the minutes ticked by, the water would get cold, so I'd pour whatever was left in my mug over myself. It was gross. 

Nowadays, I can't stay in for longer than a few minutes. I'm intolerant to anything less than scalding. Also, I read on a Kindle now. No falling asleep with the bathwater nipping at my R.L. Stine paperback. Instead, I have to lean off the ledge to read safely away from the water's reach. It's far less comfortable and has shortened my bath time significantly. 

Facts about me and baths:

• When we were young kiddos, I pooped in a bath I was sharing with my sister Anna. I watched Anna attempt to catch the floating turd (she thought it was some sort of bath toy), before warning her at the last minute: "That's my poop!"

• I always sit in the tub while it fills up. I don't wait until it's full to get in. I've always done it this way. Not saying it's better, but just that old habits die hard. 

• In our family, growing up, a "bubble bath" meant squirting half a bottle of Dawn dish soap near the running faucet. It did a number on the skin, but boy did you get a lot of bubbles for your buck. Sometimes I would squirt the bottom of an empty tub with Dawn and slide back and forth on the slipery surface. Weeeee!!! It was fun, but for a good week afterward it would sting whenever I went pee. 

Speaking of baths, I just emerged from one. I was resting my jet-legs and trying to remember what I did this morning, which seems like months ago. That's what happens when you wake up at 5am. 

Be the jaysus; I'm tired. 

Splish-splash, 

Margaret