I probably should get my realtor's license, sell one fancy house a year and spend the rest of my time eating peanut-butter-filled pretzels and writing a memoir.
If Tamra Judge can do it, then I certainly can.
The only problem is: I don't like sales and I don't like people. So, maybe it's not the right career move.
In other news, I'm sleepy...and listening to this isn't helping:
Zzzzzzzzzzzz...
Margaret
P.S. I love this part:
Mr. Sandman (male voice: "Yesss?") bring us a dream Give him a pair of eyes with a "come-hither" gleam
P.P.S. Anna and I once wrote new lyrics to this song. We replaced 'Mr. Sandman' with the Inglemoor High School German teacher 'Frau Zakowski'
Frau Zakowski... JA? Do bit sehr nett!
P.P.P.S. "Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci" -- that's an actual lyric! Pagliacci? The pizza parlor? My former place of employment? It certainly made my ears perk up.
P.P.P.P.S. Fun facts about The Chordettes.
Janet Ertel's daughter married Phil Everly of The Everly Brothers.
Jinny Osborn was born right here in Seattle, Washington!
They started out as a folk band but switched to barbershop.
I went to an Internet cafe today. How 1999 is that?
My Internet at home was being slow and I needed to upload a video for work. After about an hour of refreshing, turning the wifi off and on, fiddling around with Network Preferences, poking the router with a pen tip and praying to the almighty Skeegles, I gave in and walked up the hill to 'Alki Mail and Dispatch', a coffee shop meets post office meets Internet cafe.
But alas, the Internet there was also very slow. Perhaps all of West Seattle struggled with sluggish Internet toady. Perhaps all of Seattle. All of Washington. The WORLD. Who knows. It's just comforting to think I may not have been alone in this.
Kay kids gather around the fam's first computer.
As I ran back down the hill—toes slamming into my boot tips, knees bracing themselves for every step, boobs sweating like Michael Jordan's head in the fourth quarter—I actually grunted "GOD DAMN IT!!!" out loud for the whole world to hear. Of course I made sure not to move my mouth so that people in passing cars wouldn't be able to read my lips or even know I was saying anything at all. But still. I was frustrated to the point of grunting in public. That's pretty bad.
Then I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself that nothing matters and everything will be OK.
Goodnight,
Margaret
P.S. I can't stop thinking about this 105-year-old Japanese sprinter. So inspiring! What do I have to do to be that healthy and live that long? I suppose I can start by cutting Recess peanut butter cups out of my diet.
I'm no Joe Biden, but I have made a handful of gaffes in my time here on earth. Here are my top three:
1. While working at Pagliacci Pizza in high school, I carded an 82-year-old man. He took slow, tiny steps up to the counter using a walker and ordered a small pizza with a glass of the house red. I asked him for his ID. He chuckled and said he was flattered. I asked again. He said, "Do you know something, I'm 82!" I asked again. He walked back out to the parking lot to get his license out of the glove compartment.
Don't blame me, blame the liquor control board and my boss, who told me I had to card everyone. I was just following directions.
2. I was interviewing a customer for a testimonial on a client's website and began the phone call with "Hi, I'm great—I mean, I'm Margaret!" Nerves. They're real and they're a bloody nuisance.
3. When I was working at the Ultimate Bagel, a lady came in and ordered a coffee. I turned around, looked at the three thermoses (thermi?), each with a different label, and asked her, "Would you like the Breakfast Blend, the Dark Roast or the Au jus?" Nobody told me that au jus is the stuff you dip French Dip sandwiches in. How was I supposed to know?
Au jus? Last time I checked, this was America. Let's just call it beefy dipping broth.
Let's face it, things are a bit dull at the moment. When the top headline is about how JK Rowling hit back at a Twitter troll for 'body-shaming' Serena Williams, you know it's a slow news day.
Where's Rachel Dolezal when you need her?
Anyway, the lack of enticing news stories forced me to get creative with tonight's blog (and I reserve the right to be resentful about it). Instead of forcing you to come to terms with cold hard truths, I'm giving you permission to ignore some of life's most uncomfortable realities.
Here it goes. Don't think about the following things too much:
Monday tomorrow! Ruh-oh! Back to the grind! Do you have a coping strategy? Might I suggest a 3pm Kit-Kat break? Buy it at lunch, put it in the fridge and then wait patiently until the clock strikes three. When it's Kit-Kat time, put your headphones in, listen to the Lark Ascending and daydream as you take tiny, squirrel-like nibbles. Repeat with as many Kit-Kats as necessary or until 4pm.
I really should have a contingency plan for situations like this. A solid backup post, saved as a draft and ready to go live when an unexpected late night work situation takes me past the point of no return.
Instead, all I have is this half-written post from January 18th, 2015: How I will spend my millions I'm still holding out hope that I'll be filthy rich some day. However it happens, I'm sure it's going to take a lot of hard work and ingenuity, which I'm not excited about. But eventually my desire for the finer things will hopefully motivate me to, as Lisa Rinna would say, hustle hustle hustle! So when I am taking daily cash baths like Scrooge McDuck, here's how I plan to spend by hard earned dough. A top-of-the-line Dyson vacuum cleaner—NOT a maid. Weekly massage appointments—NOT daily sessions with a personal trainer. A commercial grade juicer—NOT a
And that's it! Just when things were getting juicy (HA!).
But what was I going for with that juicer comment? Clearly, I didn't get around to completing the thought. Maybe it was going to be, A commercial grade juicer—NOT a live-in chef.
Welcome one and all to the first ever edition of 'Steal This Business Idea'.
This week, we'll be talking about bicycle helmets. They'll save your life, but they're a bloody nuisance to fit on your noggin.
All those straps. The sticky, oh-no-I'm-going-to-pinch-my-neck buckle. The adjustable interior lining. The extra foam padding. The plastic, ear-loop sliders. It's a FECKing spiderweb of annoyance!
Last weekend, my mom and dad stayed in a cabin in Leavenworth. It had a brand new, high-tech washer and dryer. Unlike our ye old washer here in Kenmore, where you set the load to 'small', 'medium' or 'large', this robot washing machine entered "sense" mode and detected the size by itself!
You see where I'm going with this...
Someone (who? YOU!) invent a high-tech bike helmet that senses your head size. You put it on, press a button and then voila, it tightens to suit your skull.
Do it! Invent it! If you don't, then Apple will and iHelmets will be flying off the shelves faster than you could say "fecking spiderweb of annoyance".
Andy and some long-haired mistress on the Golden Gate Bridge.
Francie, Anna, Char and I are working on our BIZNASS! We're burning the midnight oil. It's horrible. When we're filthy rich, we'll look back on this evening and laugh.
Microsoft Word is the BAIN—the absolute BAIN—of my existence.
This evening I spent forever helping my dad input copy into an ancient Word template for his work newsletter. It's full of text boxes and grainy logos and bizarre fonts. Getting the sucker to align properly is a bloody nightmare. I mean, what part of text wrap don't you understand?! Not to mention the .doc / .docx compatibility issues. My GOD.
Sure, we've always known that Word isn't the right tool for newsletters. But even just for normal documents, it sucks. Why? Because you have to remember to hit command+S every three seconds. Because it will randomly crash and then ask you whether you want to send a report to Microsoft, which you refuse to do out of spite. Because, unlike Google Docs, you have to email documents to yourself if you ever plan to access them on another computer.
That's all for tonight. It's not often that I rant, but when I do, it's about things that matter.
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.
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.
This is exciting. Natalie Orenstein, sister-in-law to the stars, is peeling back the curtain on what really goes on in those giant Amazon warehouses. Turns out, DVDs are still a thing! ESCANDALO!!!
Two weeks ago I spent three days working in
one of Amazon’s largest warehouses, or as we call them—fulfillment centers. I
learned how to do all steps of the fulfillment process—from receiving
products from vendors to packing orders onto the outbound trucks. See
photographic evidence below.
The overall experience was amazing—they
do public tours there, so this writer from Wired magazine was able to capture
the experience in detail. Here are a few of the
trip highlights from my perspective:
1) A lot of people still buy DVDs.
And I mean a lot. I couldn’t believe how many copies of Friends Season 5 I came
across. All you have to do is turn on TBS and you can find it. Throw Hulu,
Netflix, and Amazon Instant Video in the mix and you have all of that on demand
as well. But I guess there is something to actually owning the DVD that has
still not lost its edge…
2) A desk job it is not. By 10:30
in the morning on my first day, I had already clocked over 13,000 steps on my
Fitbit. For comparison, it is now 1:00 in the afternoon, and after rushing from
meeting to meeting to picking up my Jimmy Johns from delivery downstairs, I
have clocked in a whopping 2,500 steps. Given the start time in the fulfillment
center was 7am and I didn’t get going until 9 today—but still. It is a
workout. I spoke to someone who lost 70 pounds in his first three months on the job
there.
3) Phoenix is flat. That’s where
the fulfillment center is. Even with the pretty desert nighttime sky and warm
temperature, I prefer Seattle. Give me rain and mountains any day.
I wish I'd trained to be a cowboy, rather than going to college and majoring in journalism.
I'm not really sure how cowboys make their money, but you can't beat the lifestyle. Your office is the wild wild west. Your work clothes are jeans and cotton shirt. You're in naturally good shape from lassoing cows, jumping on horses' backs and repairing broken fences on your ranch.
What's not to love?
I'm two days into a three-week copywriting gig and I'm confident that the contemporary office environment is killing us. I know, I know. Scientists have warned of the dangers of a 'sedentary lifestyle' for years now. But I'm only just realising how right they are.
How on earth are people are expected to live happy, healthy lives when they're forced to sit at a desk all day? I'm perplexed!
Save your rebuttals. I already have rebuttals for your rebuttals. Rebuttal THIS:
YOUR SOLUTION: Just walk to work, take lots of short breaks during the day, go to the gym during your lunch, walk home and plan fun activities in the evening.
MY REBUTTAL: Thanks, Yolanda, but that's far too hard. Especially in the winter when the only daylight hours are the exact hours you're expected to work.
YOUR SOLUTION: Get a job with a company that allows you to work flexible hours and makes it easy for you to work from home when you need to.
MY REBUTTAL: Great idea, but those companies are few and far between. I could probably get a job at one, but I'm brilliant.
YOUR SOLUTION: Sit on an exercise ball instead of a desk chair!
MY REBUTTAL: I've tried it. Not sustainable. Looks stupid.
Luckily, a lot of people I know actually do work for those nice companies that "care" about their employees' "work/life balance" and prove it by offering "perks". (Remember, those perks are the least they can do. Don't boost a company's ego by praising it for not treating you like a workhorse.)
Also lucky, I've managed to find a line of work that allows me to avoid the 9-5 grind most of the time. Still, I often wish I did more physical labour. I said that to Andy once and he read me the riot act. I was looking enviously out the window at some builders working on the scaffolding across the street. Here's a taste of that conversation:
Me: "I really wish my work involved physical labour. Don't you? I mean, like, I crave lifting things."
Andy: "No, absolutely not. That's ridiculous. Listen to what you're saying! It's easy to romanticise the idea of physical labour, but they're outside in the cold and you're inside in the warm. You get to sit inside, on a comfy chair, sipping tea and typing on a computer for a living. You should be grateful!"
Me: "But I mowed lawns for the Vancouver, Washington PUD for a month in 2009 and I loved it."
Andy: "You wouldn't love it for the rest of your life."
Me at the 'Couve PUD. No, I never got to actually drive that thing. Yes, I ate a Kashi 'Go Lean' bar for lunch every day and was rurrrrrl skinny!
Hmmm. Come to think of it, cowboys do have to smell a lot of cow poop. And again, I'm still unsure about how they get money.
I'm building a website on Squarespace for a new business venture that you will hear more about very soon.
Just as the ads on This American Life say, Squarespace allows you to create "a professional looking website in minutes" with their handy "drag and drop tools". However, if you want the site to be exactly to your specifications, you need to customise the code.
Do I know how to write CSS? No.
But do I try anyway? Yes.
I sit in a chair and troubleshoot for hours. Google search after determined Google search. Trial, error. Trial, error. Trial, error. It's endless. But I NEVER give up.
Today I spent approximately four hours trying to make one of the headers white. FOUR!
I had to do it. All of the headers were blue and I wanted one to be white. I needed it to be white. So I guessed and checked different pieces of code until finally one worked. It was light out when I started and dark as raven's blood when I finished.
Now it's nearly bedtime and I'm struggling to write a sentence. I spent the entire day in a trance and haven't fully emerged out of it. This has happened to me before. I inherited it from my Dad who will head down to the basement to make an iMovie and not return for weeks.
After a session like this I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I am angry that so many hours of pure concentration added up to so little. On the other hand, I am elated that I made the header turn white.
Time to rest,
Margaret
P.S. Andy came up with the title for this post. He's a whiz with puns. I was working with CSS, not HTML, but you get the idea.
The thing about freelancing is, the longer you stay on a project, the more it starts to feel like a 'real job' and the closer you get to freaking out. I'm used to short projects. Write. Send. Edit. Send. Take a Real Housewives break. And then on to the next gig.
When I work on something that drags on and on, I get stressed and itchy.
Still, I do really like my non-job. Note: I didn't say I love it. I've always thought it's obnoxious when people say "I looooove my job". Love? Seriously? Only Beyonce gets to say that. The best us commoners can ask for is 'really like'.
Anyway, yes, I really like being a freelance writer. It sounds fake, like I'm just making something up while I look for a job. It's so mysterious. Freelance writer. What does that even mean? How does it work?
I like writing it down on my customs declaration card when I fly back into the UK. It makes the airport officials more skeptical of me, which makes me like it more. Like how Andy used to hold a calculator up to his ear while walking down the halls of his high school, just so he could be like - HA!' - when a teacher yelled at him for being on his phone.
Yeah, right. Where are the queues? Where are all the queueing people?
I don't buy it. This was staged. It's a staged image! STAGED.
So tomorrow when I crack open Google docs and get back to work, I'm going to remind myself that I LIKE my 'job'. You should too. Or if you don't like your job, apply for a new one. Sure, there's something to be said for character building. But you should only have 'character building' jobs when you're a teenager and don't know any better. If you're 25 or older and you don't like your job, find a new one.
Just look at these guys. Let them inspire you.
Wow! I'm preachy today. This is what happens when there's a giant, Oprah-sized hole in our daytime TV schedule.
Cheers,
Margaret
Source: Reddit
(Madgespace is becoming the new Buzzfeed, where I blatantly just share stuff from the front page of Reddit.)
Today I used the word 'Ladies' in an email. Ugh. That one really gives me the creeps. But what else am I suppose to call multiple women who I am friendly with, but in an officey way? Addressing the email with a simple 'Hi' or 'Hello' looks naked and too curt. See for yourself:
Hi, Thanks for....
- Or -
Hello, Thanks for...
It just doesn't look right.
Usually I just write both of their names. "Hi Susan and Rebecca", for example. Or sometimes I'll go with "Hi all" or "Hi both". But that didn't seem right in this case either, because I had just left a meeting with the two women and I needed something more casual, less distant/formal.
As soon as I clicked send, I regretted it. Ladies. I've never been comfortable with that word. Is it too young? Is it too mature? It's somehow both degrading and girl-powerish at the same time. It feels self-congratulatory. It's too girly, but also too womanly. It's like "I am woman, hear me roar", but also "little ol' me". Hmm. Hard to explain. I just don't like it and I'm sorry I wrote it.
That's all for now because it's Friday night, I've been away from my computer for five hours and I have some serious net-surfing to do.
I'm going to see Birdman tomorrow. Maybe I'll review it right here on Madgespace. Maybe I won't. I don't know! We'll just have to wait and see.
I have so many amazing ideas for blog posts, but I've been so dern busy. Fam in town. Work. You know how it is. Tomorrow is my first "day off" in a while, and I can't wait to finally transfer my ideas from brain to blog. In the meantime, I'll list them here.
The story of Annabelle, our elderly neighbour with dementia who went missing
Murder in Kenmore: a true story that directly involves my family
Christmas gift ideas
"Notes on a sandal" — don't actually have any idea what the content would be, but that catchy title came to me in a dream. It would obviously be something about sandals.
Why does everyone accept Angelina's super thin frame, but not Tara Reid's?
I created this in Google Drive. Halfway through I realised my WiFi had gone out, so I had to make it again from scratch. I almost gave up, but I persevered! Patting myself on the back as I type this.
I worked a few days at an agency last week, which means I was forced to emerge from my candle-infested pizza den and experience the outside world for a bit. It was weird at first. The hustle and bustle. The wind on my face. The stench of freshly showered commuters standing in a bus queue, trying not to lock their knees and doze off standing up.
During my time in the real world, I jotted down a few notes that I figured I'd share here on the blog. Here they are:
Long leather coats — During my walk home one evening, within a timeframe of about 15 minutes, I spotted not one, but TWO ladies wearing shin-length black leather overcoats. Two different, completely unrelated ladies. Strange to say the least.
One was a nerdy gamer type gal, about 20ish. Her coat, not fitted in the slightest, looked like a leather refrigerator box draped over her scrawny shoulders. It had big white buttons running from the very bottom all the way up to the base of the lapels. The other was in her late 40s, with Texas hair and a donkey booty (which the leather coat did no justice). Her coat was a shiny trench with a matching leather belt that tied at the waist.
Needless to say, I was baffled. Could these heinous garments—heavy, frumpy, gratuitous—really be back in fashion? Or was it just an unfortunate coincidence?
And before you ask, no, there wasn't a shin-length leather coat convention in town. I checked.
Irrational fear of witnessing a public suicide — This one's pretty self-explanatory, but yes, I have an irrational fear of witnessing a public suicide. I realised this when, at the third crosswalk in a row, I found myself taking a mental note of the cross streets and practicing my conversation with the 999 operator. This always happens. As I wait for the light to change, I can't help but imagine one of my fellow commuters jumping out into rush hour traffic. Sometimes I picture one of them pushingme off the curb into the path of a city bus. It's horrible. I always stand at least two feet back from the street, knees bent, with one foot slightly forward, bracing myself for the push.
One time, in Spokane, I witnessed the sudden aftermath of a public suicide. The guy had jumped off a parking garage and landed on a cement awning below. They'd covered him with a sheet, but his feet were sticking out Wicked Witch of the East style. It was spooky, and maybe it's stuck with me all this time. Or maybe I just seek the glory of being a top-notch ambulance beckoner.
Sighing at a crosswalk (headphones) — Another one from the crosswalk files. On the walk to work, I let out a massive sigh, like UH-Aaahhhhhhhh, while I was waiting for the light to change. I was listening to the latest episode of Serial (reviewed here) and didn't realise how loud I was being. The old lady next to me gave me a major side-eye and actually stepped away from me. I don't know if she was weirded out or just startled.
Fly down — For half the work day I had my fly down. Nobody told me (obviously, this is Britain). But I don't blame them. I wouldn't tell me if I were them. I think most people probably think taking the person aside and quickly whispering "just wanted to let you know that your fly's down" is the noble thing to do. But I actually think ignoring it and never saying anything is the best approach.
What do you think?
Love,
Margaret
P.S. I'm watching X Factor right now, and this season has an eight-piece boyband. There are EIGHT of them! It looks cray cray on stage. OMFG~!!KJH!KH!!! A random guy just walked on stage and pretended to be one of the band members and it took security forever to notice! Hahaha. It was inevitable. INEVITABLE. #EightPieceBoyband
I remember, a while back, my sister Char telling me about the highly productive morning she was having. So productive, she told me, that without really realising it, she had been humming "Taking Care of Business" by Bachman–Turner Overdrive to herself the whole morning. Isn't the human mind a glorious thing?
Well, speaking of productivity, I was on FIRE this morning! Writing dope copy, making a dentist appointment like a seasoned adult and replying to emails so fast it would make your bloody head spin, mate.
This is what showed up for 'business woman' when I creative commons searched Google Images. But wait, is she wearing Laga Gaga horse hoof shoes?
Being efficient just feels so good. So why can I be like that every day? Or even most days? For every day like today, I spend at least three eating mealy apples with peanut butter and scouring the Internet for any reality show I can get my hands on (if you've ever found yourself in the midst of a 'Princesses Long Island' marathon, then you'll know what I mean).
Side note about 'Princesses Long Island'. Did no one think for a second that maybe, just maybe they should add an "of" in the name? 'Princesses of Long Island? Wouldn't that have made a bit more sense?
Anyhoo. As all us biz-nass women do, I even scheduled in a bit of socialising! I walked down to Newhaven (a part of Edinburgh down by the shore) and met up with my friend Gemma for some grub. As I was walking, I realised what my dream job would be: writer for a funny TV show. I think my forte would be coming up with characters who remind the audience of people they've met in real life.
What's your dream job? And don't say "ice cream taste tester", because people always say that.
Email my heart,
Margaret
P.S. I don't normally share stuff that everybody's already talking about. But just in case you haven't yet, watch the cutest video ever (and just so you know, he's saying "sprinkling").
P.P.S. Don't think I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to punctuate around quotations. Most of the time in British English, you're not supposed to put the comma inside the quotation mark unless you're writing an entire, complete quote. I've gotten suckered into doing it that way and, dare I say it, I actually agree with the Red Coats on this one.
No, I'm not talking about ending my year-28 challenge on Day 2 (give me some credit, guys). And I'm not talking about Kris and Bruce finally filing the papers.
As you've probably guessed, I'm talking about the Alaskan news anchor and owner of the Alaska Cannabis Club, Charlo Greene, who quit live on air a couple nights ago. With simple, yet elegant, "F*ck it, I quit" and a shrug, she sashayed away toward a new career in pot-rights activism. If only we could all be so selfless.
Let's remind ourselves of her grand act of civil disobedience, and of how funny it is when people swear on local news (exhibit A).
But before we give Charlo too much credit, let's remember those who paved the way for her epic exit. Yes, let's honour those who came before.
Steven Slater
"The diva quitter"
My favourite of all the quitters is former JetBlue flight attendant and ultimate stunt queen Steven Slater. The plane was taxi-ing at the gate. A lady was prematurely trying to get her hand luggage down from the overhead compartment. As he tried to get her to sit down, a suitcase fell and knocked him on the head. That's when he lost it, grabbed two beers from the fridge, released the emergency slide and slid down in a blaze of glory.
Just brilliant. The fact that anyone in a post 9/11 world would have the balls to do this restores my faith in humanity.
What tickles me so much about this story is Steven's particular breaking point. It happened after a small, but sudden, bit of physical pain. That's what I can relate to the most. We've all had those days. You're just managing to keep it together when BAM, you stub your toe and that's it, you unleash your inner beast.
Joey DeFrancesco
"The triumphant quitter"
Want to make something mundane feel glorious? Add a marching band. There's nothing a marching band can't make triumphant. Former Renaissance Providence Hotel employee Joey DeFrancesco understood this. He also knew that his time as an overworked room-service-monger was over.
This video makes the list mainly because of the look on boss Jared's face when Joey hands him his notice letter. It also helps that Joey is a bit of a JamesFranco/JohnMayer-style hunk.
Marina Shifrin
"The ironic quitter"
As a digital content creator myself (HA!), I completely get Marina's reason for quitting. She was working for a company that made online videos, but all her boss cared about was views, views, views (not necessarily the quality of the content). So, she decided to give her two weeks' notice using a medium her colleagues were familiar with: a viral video.
The irony is that Marina's video now has more than 18 million views, something her bosses could only dream of.
Ryan (surname unknown)
"The first time quitter"
When I found this on YouTube, I felt compelled to share it here. Sure, it might not match the grandeur of the disgruntled employees showcased above. But Ryan's decision to "resign" sends a message to 16-year-olds everywhere. It shows them how 20 seconds of uncomfortable conversation can lead to a lifetime of freedom.
Actually, you might be surprised just how many brilliant quitting videos I found online. Or, if you've ever had a bad job, then maybe you won't be surprised at all.
Here are some more quitting videos worth watching:
Boombox + partial striptease + Star Wars theme + Queen = I quit!
Vanilla Ice + dancing on the counter + I haven't really thought this out = I quit!
Radio DJ + 'Do It To It' by Cherish + $6/hour = I quit!
Star Wars credits + being creepy + naked dancing = I quit!
Warehouse intercom + bad sound quality + giggling cameraman = I quit!
I think I love all these people because we've all dreamt of quitting our jobs in the grandest, wittiest, most cutting ways possible. It's the stuff of movies (classic scene). It's a chance to stick it to the man and become an office legend at the same time. For decades, they'll talk about you around the watercooler. You'll be the best thing that ever happened to that place!
But then, we think rationally and settle on a typical "it's been a pleasure working here" notice letter.
What makes these folks so great is that they completely throw caution to the wind. They know there could be bad consequences (e.g. no reference for the next job, never getting a job again, etc.), but they plough forward anyway. Mad respect.
In other news:
Autumn — It's arrived. If you're American, you might know it better as 'Fall'.
Boardwalk Empire — Final season. So far, so good. Glad I stuck with the show. It's fantastic.
War — Another one has started in Iraq. Pretty terrible / déjà vu
Water bottle — Ordered one on Amazon. Another year-28 goal: drink more water!
Tesco — Massively overstated its forecasted profits. Purposeful deceit or honest mistake?
Italy— I'm going there for Christmas!
Lentil curry w/ fresh naan bread —I broke character and made something that required more than three ingredients. The result? Delicious.
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.
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