Don't hate me because I'm popular

In sixth grade my friends and I would sit in the "middle room" during lunchtime. The middle room was the small rectangular room between our classroom and the classroom next door. It was where the bathrooms were (boys on the left, girls on the right) and also where the large trash bin was kept.

It was glorious.

We'd close the doors, which each had a square of window that allowed for just the right about of privacy and just the right about of snooping, eat our sack lunches (or, in my case, shrimp flavored ramen noodles given to me by Pim, my family's Thai exchange student) and chat about all the important things 12-year-olds have to talk about.

Then, our teacher told us we couldn't eat in there anymore. He said that it made the other kids feel excluded. My defense was "but they aren't our friends". Initially it seems harsh, but upon greater reflection I don't find it too shabby an argument. We weren't actively excluding anyone. I was sitting in the middle room with the people who I had the most in common with, the people that I got along best with, the people who I had fallen into a friendship with. Why would I go sit next to someone who liked Animorph books or cried all the time in P.E.? Nothing against them, but I just wasn't interested in pursuing a friendship there. Groups form naturally- it's not about being "cliquey", it's just part of our organic social instinct. What angered me was the fact that my group of friends was no different than the groups sitting in other areas of the classroom. The other kids had never approached us and asked us to join them. Why were we the ones being punished?

It was this moment that first alerted me to the phenomenon of disliking something that is perceived as "popular". If a once underground band gets any sort of mainstream airplay it will often be accused of "selling out". Along the same line, those who say things like "the Beatles are overrated" are plain and simply kidding themselves. I am skeptical of people who claim to dislike objectively good things, like chocolate and babies. People who throw around the now worn-out and boring line "I hate kids" are so ridiculous that they might belong to a separate category of those who hate something merely because they're selfish downers.

Disliking what's "popular" is the result of two experiences:

1. Genuine dislike (this is rare, but it does happen and it's completely well-founded)

2. Fulfilling ones need to establish individuality and uniqueness through negative means

That said, I never got into Furbys and I don't care much for the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I promise it's not because I want to distinguish myself as a free spirit.

IN OTHER NEWS, the World Cup is going to end next week and we're all going to have to figure out something to do instead. It seems tragic to think of soccerless days, but it's an ever-encroaching reality. Golf is not going to cut it as a replacement. Mad Men Season 4 starts on July 25th, so it's only about a week and a half that must be filled. I suppose I'll try to get some work done during that time.

Siiiiigh, I am going to make some dinner now. It's between a PB&J or scrambled eggs/toast. The first option is easy and the second option is actually still easy but just seems hard compared to the first option. We'll see how I feel when I'm in the kitchen.

Love you,

Marg

P.S. Babies and chocolate are both wonderful things when they are separate entities. HOWEVER, these "baby-shaped chocolates" are just disturbing:

Celery is not boring.

Celery is under appreciated. I have a hunch people find it boring. As we get older the task of smearing peanut butter into its canal seems tedious and not to mention impractical (peanut butter + sandwich bags = mess). When I was in 4th grade I was told not to feed it to the classroom guinea pig because the long green strings would tangle around its organs and kill it. Maybe that's true, or maybe it's that same anti-celery propaganda I've been smothered with my entire life. Well, ENOUGH. NO MORE. I am ready to profess my adoration for celery right here on the most prestigious of media formats, the personal blog.

Andy was chomping his ginormous mouth on a celery stalk the other day at his aunt's house. She had displayed the celery in a vase full of cold water in the middle of the buffet table. Wanting something to munch on, and eager to avoid calories (as always), I joined him.

It was FANTASTIC! Celery is a strange one- it truly doesn't have much flavor, but it has just enough to make you take another bite. When I eat celery it's like stepping out the front door for the first time in a day. It's breezy.

Celery can really push a dish into interestingness. I'm talkin' chili, chicken (aka fake chicken) salad, soup, thanksgiving stuffing, FOIL DINNERS...

In other news, I just returned from England. During my week there I:

1. Ran a 9 mile race
2. Went to London and saw the sights
3. Got attacked by mating foxes while attempting to sleep outside in a homemade fort
4. Stepped on the entire insides (GUTS! ORGANS AND INTESTINES EWWWW) of a squirrel or rabbit with my bare foot

The moral of all that seems to be that life is, like that one movie with Kirsten Dunst that looked terrible, "Crazy Beautiful".

Llama,

Madge

P.S. I am aware that interestingness is not a word. I used it because I am a POET. I don't play by your rules.

Sucked in

Ok, you can stop the conspiracy theories. I am here to put the rumors (rumours!?) to rest once and for all.

I'M ALIVE.

Just because I haven't been blogging with the usual frequency, I assure you I am still a living, breathing, human.

In general it's fair to say I've been sucked in to life in the UK. Sometimes I say "courgette" instead of "zucchini", and soccer is now almost always "football". But it's more than just an issue of vocabulary. This is serious.

I now know the names of at least 5 British politicians- compare that with my previous number: 1 (Churchill). At nighttime I don't go to stores (shops) because they're closed. This is a weird one- I don't hear accents any more. When my friends talk I just hear their voices but I don't think they're talking in an accent. WOAH. On average, I ride in a car once or twice a month. Did you know about the Falkland Islands? Well, it turns out they are a thing that exists.

I am pretty sure that Seattle might just be the greatest place on earth but I can't quite get over how amazing it is to be so close to so many OTHER countries. There is a greater sense of being in the thick of it all over here. Contrary to my previous beliefs, Kenmore, Washington is not the epicenter of world activity. Who knows if it's the UK either- but it does feel a bit closer to it here than anywhere else I've ever been.

So, I've been sucked in. Speaking of which, the other day I was watching cricket in the pub (see what I mean?) and the topic of quicksand came up. Two out of the five people in our group claimed to have been caught in quicksand at some point in their life! I had no idea it was such a plausible risk! Their advice: don't struggle, stay calm.

Blog topic suggestions?

I love you,

Margaret

Simply the stressed

I need a stress relief ball to squeeze. They're always there when you don't need them (waiting in line at Bartell Drugstore) and they're never there when ya do (right now).

This urge to clinch a sand filled balloon comes from an epiphany I had in the shower yesterday. I am STRESSED OUT. To make matters worse, I am not just temporarily stressed out- it is part of my personality! Hells bells.

I know this revelation probably comes as no surprise to many of you, but to me it was shocking. I've always pitched myself as a laid back person. Ha!

Silver lining: this explains a lot.

Why I have irritable bowel syndrome. Why I have restless leg syndrome. Why I webmd things. Why I never successfully open cereal boxes (impatience coupled with stress). Why I want to cry right before I sign into my school email. Why I eat popcorn really fast. Why I speed walk to every destination. Why the sight of elderly people fills me with guilt. Why I bite my nails. Why I chew gum a pack at a time. Why I sigh so much. Why I don't sleep.

So on and so forth.

It all comes down to priorities- what REALLY matters? Not a lot. It doesn't take much to be happy. I have everything I need.

Love,

Margaret

Suit Yourself

The other day we were playing the game "what would I buy you if I won the lottery".

I told Andy I would buy him a set of perfectly custom-tailored suits in the style of every decade since the 1920s.

What a nice gift, eh?

Well, all the Mad Men I've been watching lately has given me a new appreciation for mens' suits. It really is a sharp look. Classy. Powerful. Serious. Important.

As for the female suit- meh, I am not convinced. Actually, I think I might hate female-business-chic. Pencil skirts, white blouses, blazers. Doesn't work for me. Again, with Mad Men as my muse, I much prefer colorful and printed dresses. Old fashioned, maybe, but also more flattering and more fun.

On a completely unrelated note, I have come up with about a million potential dissertations that I prefer to my own. Some include:

1. A Winning Foreign "Ball-icy": How sports aids international diplomacy.

2. Candidate Mr. None of the Above: The history of politician name-changing for better ballot positioning.

3. The political ecosystem of national animals- the food chain from the Latvian White Wagtail to the Armenian Dragon.

4. Vitamin Addiction: A Mental Illness

Well, that's all for now. I am watching the health care bill votes via nytimes.com- vurrrry interesting.

Toodledo,

Mog

Grey Areas: The Good, The Bad, The something in-between good and bad.

I tend to shy away from defining things in black and white. Everything is a bit of both. Life is complex. It'd be irresponsible to think in such dichotomized terms. Right?

However, I can't help but think that floating around in this purgatory of opinion makes me a pathetic weakling. I can manipulate any topic so neither side is credible, or both sides have areas of merit, or perhaps boiling it down to two sides is dangerously oversimplifying things. I'm too good at this, it makes me queasy. I remember Max Kay once told me "At a certain point, you have to choose a side". We were talking about Democrats and Republicans, but the sentence could be applied to a lot of topics (satsumas v. clementines for example).

BUT, to stick with my inescapable compromise philosophy, I think there are situations that require concise, undoubting conclusions and there are situations that really are too complex to put in a nutshell. It really just depends on the situation. Ahhhhh, I can't help it. I'm a deplorable apologist.

Anyway, something that I am CERTAIN about is peoples' love of lists. So here are some lists for your viewing pleasure:

Enjoyable Grey Areas:

1. Your semi-autistic friend. Everyone has one (or more) of these- a friend who isn't diagnosed with autism, but definitely has some of its quirks. An autism grey area- this could mean saying bizarre, cringe-worthy things, being freakishly talented in one specific area, or having a weird tick.

2. Last orders. When a barman hollers out "last orders" this could mean another hour in the pub. This grey area varies depending on the friendliness of the bar staff and the stubbornness of the patrons.

3. Finger food. Even if you're at a ritzy, 5-star, restaurant, it's still ok to eat some food with your fingers. It's at least acceptable. Ribs? Pizza? Bruschetta? Go for it.

Non-Enjoyable Grey Areas:

1. Teacher's names. Do you call them by their first or last name? If you're sticking with the last name, do you preface it with "Dr", "Professor", or just "Mr/Mrs"?? This is a stressful grey area.

2. High-five? Handshake? Hug? For the past two years I've just gone in for the hug...it's better to go for it than wind up with an awkward fist-pump or a side-hug.

3. Acknowledgement of homeless people who are on the street asking for change. Bear with me- but we've all been in this situation many times. I think most people just ignore and walk past. Some say "sorry" and keep walking. I tend to smile and shake my head. Does anyone actually give them change? Should we? I've heard both.

Also interesting, is the spelling of "grey" is itself a grey area. It can also be spelled "gray". I think.

Have a nice grey (HAHAHHAHAHA),

Madge

P.S. No, I don't think the picture really relates to the "grey areas" topic. I just found it on google image search and liked it.

Phoney and Deafiant

My friend George got punched by a deaf girl last night. The whole thing was very weird.

One of us saw one of them take George's phone off the table while he was up having a boogie to the song "I Saw Her Standing There". You know the one. It goes "She was just seventeeeeeen if you know what I mean. And the way she looked was way beyond compare...". Great song. We were doing the twist, spinning each other around, pointing at the singer and giving all our fellow dancers thumbs ups. If only it was possible to freeze that moment in all of its glory, because what followed was not pleasant.

It really did not help that they were deaf. It made us the bad guys. It made communication difficult -conveniently difficult- or maybe just difficult. They denied taking it before we even asked. I've seen enough episodes of Law&Order to know that's suspicious.

George was calm. He had just returned from two weeks back home in Greece. Goodbye sunshine, family, and delicious fresh-pressed olive oil. Hello frigid weather, puke-splattered streets and phone theft.

He and Andy motioned "Do you have the cell phone? Please give it back" as best they could. The main suspect and his friends heaved and flailed their bodies angrily. I was perplexed by the bizarre scene. They were so angry, but obviously not at the accusation which they knew was justified (by the way, the perpetrator has since texted using George's phone, confirming that he did indeed take it). So what were they angry at?

The situation was almost instantly impossible. We were at a standstill.

Then, in an act of seemingly unprovoked rage, the girlfriend of the main guy lunged at George and smacked him on his right eye. It made his eyebrow piercing bleed and swell a bit. The bartender got him some ice.

Our two options at that point were to leave the pub or to call the police. We just left.

What I learned from the experience:

1. There is no excuse for being objectively angry- not even deafness.

2. Most people are nice and understanding. The bar staff, for example, were genuinely concerned. And I will not forget that before the whole drama happened we were dancing with random, happy, friendly people.

3. Violence is irrational and scary. I felt sick a bit and apparently the bartender's hands were shaking (Andy saw when she was writing down his contact details).

Anyway, on a less depressing, more generic note- isn't the internet great? I'm STILL not over it's incredible awesomeness. Today, in Starbucks, I googled the lyrics to a song that was playing as I ate my chocolate chunk cookie (indulging after last night's insanity). Now the song is purchased and resting patiently in my iTunes library until I can get home and play it without the fear of disturbing the fellow s-bucks patrons. So, yeah, the internet is once again brilliant.

Love you,

Margaret

UPDATE: George has a legit black eye!

Who do you think you are?

I have figured "people" out. I know that is a very general statement, but it's true.

People (you know who you are) seek IDENTITY. They want to know who they are. They want their friends to tell them.

I realized this human-wide characteristic after I had to consult Facebook when someone asked me what my favorite movie was. It made me think- who AM I??It also made me think about the times I've asked my friends "How would you describe me to a stranger?" or "Do people know me as the girl who always wears shirts and sweatshirts with wildlife scenery on them?" or "What would you say my 'look' is? Native-American-chic?"

At Gonzaga I belonged to the elite group in which you could be called "bagel girl", which I took much pride in.

More evidence of this fascinating theory:

People are always defining themselves by what they're not. This is exemplified by Barbie Solbakken's famous words, "I'm just not a thai-food kind of girl" (It turned out she was a thai-food kind of girl, she just didn't know it yet).

When someone is particularly desperate for an identity they decide not to like amazing, wonderful, objectively good things like chocolate, Summer and LOST. I feel sorry for them.

When you're not quite sure who you are, it's common to consult your "roots". This might make you a Washingtonian, a Catholic, a Democrat, a Vegetarian or any other group society so conveniently places you in. Who am I? Ahhh, now I remember- I am a Catholic Democrat, a proud resident of Washington State and I do NOT eat meat. Sigh of relief. My identity has been found!

(By the way, I am clearly not talking about myself there. I am a pescatarian, after all)

BUT I am forever an Arrowhead Hawk, Kenmore Colt, Inglemoor Viking, and Gonzaga Bulldog.

When the father of my cousin's first college roommate introduced himself to my aunt and told her "I'm a pilot" she responded with "You're a pilot? So am I!" Of course, my aunt was talking about being a University of Portland Pilot while the man was talking about the other, lesser known, meaning of "pilot"- the one that means flyer of commercial aircraft. Though my cousin was mortified, each pilot was surely more secure in their identity.

So, if you ever want to make someone's day and secure their friendship at least temporarily, tell them who they are. Describe to them a defining characteristic that sets them apart from the crowd. They'll love it and they'll love you for it!

Don't believe me? Check out my Facebook page and see how many friends I have.

LOVE (it's almost Valentine's day),

Margaret

Editors Note: The above screen shot of a Facebook Interests section is not my Facebook page....simply a product of google image search.

Sharing is Caring

Hello lovely people! It's been a while. What have I been up to? So nice of you to ask!

Well.....

after Christmas I went down to visit Andy in his hometown called Hampton-in-Arden. That is not a joke. Hampton-in-Arden. Being the jazzy character I am, the nickname "H-in-A" naturally emerged from my fat, American, mouth. Shakespeare used to live nearby. The Shakespeare.

Anyway, it was quite the experience. A perfect blend of relaxation and doing stuff. Sitting around with his fam watching cricket and drinking tea all morning but roaming around a nearby CASTLE and meeting up with his friends too.

Me jumping at the Kenilworth Castle:

The road-trip back to E-burgh was also enjoyable. We drove through the Lake District and stayed up there with our friend Jonny for the night before heading back home the next morning. Jonny had his skis in the car and I skied down an icy hill! Thrilling! There were sheep watching me!

Jonny and Andy walking up an icy road:

Skiing!

"Burrrrrrr" they kept saying. Was it because they were cold, or because they are sheep? I'll never know.

Enough about me. Man, I have some funny stories that would be perfect for Madgespace, but they all involve people who read this blog! How am I suppose to dish out all the juicy gossip without offending people? What a treacherous tightrope of politeness I must walk in this blogging business.

Instead, I will divulge my own secrets. So, I guess rather than 'enough about me' I really meant 'more about me'.

To begin, I went commando all last week due to lack of clean gunders. Secondly, if I am walking with my iPod and cool-looking people walk by, I switch from whatever horrible/wonderful song is playing (Miley Cyrus: Party in the USA) to something more acceptable JUST IN CASE they can somehow hear it too. Thirdly, I think Celebrity Big Brother is absolutely wonderful. Fouthly and finally, I have never seen: Top Gun or ET and have faked knowledge of the movies my whole life.

Toodledoo,

Madge

P.S. How can we be expected to accomplish anything when LOST starts in 7 days?!?! Can I get a 'what what'!?

P.P.S. I am going to think of some delightful, witty, intelligent, quirky, interesting things to say for my next post. I promise!

Expat Xmas!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Char and I fidgeted around for about two hours until FINALLY, at 7:30, we allowed ourselves to get out of bed. PRESENTS!

It was a good haul this year. So many thoughtful gifts- and a few bizarre ones too!

It's not too weird being away from home for the holiday. It helped to have multiple K-town traditions transported over here for our yuletide pleasure. Christmas roll sent by mail and kept fresh by the frigid Scottish temperatures. The Berenstain Bears' Christmas Tree book, read aloud by yours truly last night before beddyby. Muppets' Christmas Carrol- a true classic!

I haven't showered in days! Luckily, Char got me some "dry shampoo" in my stocking. I guess "they" use it all the time over here. GROSS. You just spray it on your greasy mop whenever showering seems too tedious (which is pretty much always). Joke present or not, I fear it may become a regular part of my hygiene routine (which is already embarrassingly minimal).

Now all we have to do is sit back, watch a horrendous version of the movie "Heidi" on TV and eat more cinnamon roll? Then we're going to walk to Char's work to use the printer to print off my boarding pass (I'm going to England in two days).

Ok, time to refill the ol' hot water bottle.

I LOVE YOU ALL!

Merry Christmas,

Margaret

Homie Don't Play That

A few weeks ago my dear pal Andy challenged me to a breath-holding competition. Actually, maybe he just asked me how long I could hold my breath for. It might not have even been a challenge. Either way, I immediately REFUSED. Simply put, I don't play those games.

Why? Holding my breath for longer than my body wants me to is not in any way enjoyable. What do people get out of such an absurd activity? Weren't TV and the Internet invented so we never had to suffer through such pointless recreation? Even without modern entertainment, I would gladly choose boredom over self-imposed lung agony. Holding your breath kills brain cells too.

Games I don't play:

1. Holding my breath for a competition or even just a personal challenge

2. Pinching people on St. Patrick's Day. (This is fine in theory, except that pinching is the cruelest possible form of human torture imaginable. The pain seems minimal and temporary initially but it grows exponentially. YOWCH, the lingering sting of a pinch makes me SO angry. So, green or no green, have no fear. I don't play those games because the world doesn't need any more violence and suffering).

3. The mystery shoulder tap. (UGH. COME ON. When someone sneakily taps you on the shoulder but is not there when you turn to look at them it is not funny AND a complete waste of a head turn. I am not an owl- turning my head isn't all peaches and gravy for me. It takes a fair bit of energy! There's always the risk of twisting it too fast so that bizarre/horrendous/hot discomfort shoots up your neck. It's like--CONGRATULATIONS, you've tricked me. I feel like a fool. A fool with a sore neck).

4. "Chicken Fights" in a swimming pool. (You know, when two girls get on two boys' shoulders and swat at each other until someone falls off. My refusal to play this game is threefold. First, plopping my scantily-clad arse onto some guy's shoulders so that both him and I can secretly wish I was 30 pounds lighter doesn't sound good for the ego. Secondly, clawing at a fellow female for the amusement of the enemy gender is just wrong. AND third, what if I fall off, my swimsuit gunders slide down accidentally, I hit my head on the side of the pool, my head cracks open, I lose a lot of blood, and I die?!?! Not my idea of a good time).

5. No Food/Drink Rules. (I ate an orange on the fifth floor of the library the other day. Sue me. What if I had low blood sugar? I could be a hypoglycemic or a diabetic for God sakes. Or what, pray tell, if I am just HUNGRY. I am 23 years old, I promise not to make a mess. I won't bring some stinky curry dish into the library and slurp it up loudly. Can't I be trusted to eat an orange, or a little chunk of dark chocolate, or a few Scottish oat cakes?).


Games I do play:

1. Don't move for anyone game. (This one is particularly fun when walking down the Royal Mile).
2. Would You Rather
3. The Cliff Game
4. Let's go around in a circle and say what we like best about each other and what we like LEAST. HAHA!
5. Safety/Doorknob
6. SHOTGUN!
7. TapTap Place Back
8. The License Plate Game
9. Slugbug
10. Prank Calls
11. Dance-offs
12. Make Your Ugliest Face
13. Wearing My Seat Belt
14. Thumb Wars
15. Returning My Shopping Cart


Did this post make sense? I don't really think so but I think it might not matter.

Love,

Margaret

Brrrrrr! It's blog in here...

DON'T SAY A THING.

I have to live with the guilt, and that should be good enough for you. Let's just look beyond this with hope and enthusiasm for a bloggerific future.

Well, it's officially cold here in Edinburgh. Actually, it has been cold for weeks now but only recently have people stopped fighting it. The usually fashionable inhabitants of this magical town have swapped their TopShop trenches for long, tubular, down jackets that look like giant vinyl oven mitts with head and arm holes. Hail, freezing rain, and pathetic wet snow (maybe?) pelt the cobblestones with incredible, wind-powered velocity.

In Seattle, on the day after a storm, the streets are littered with fallen branches and capsized garbage cans. Here in Edinburgh it's deformed umbrellas and collapsed postcard stands.

OK, now that I've gotten past the awkward haven't-blogged-in-ages elephant in the room with a little small talk about the weather (Always a good "ice breaker." HAHAHA), let's get down to the real juicy biznass.

My weekend:

MARY came from Paris for a Thanksgiving feast! She brought along some real French baguettes, for which I am very very thankful. Also on the menu...WHEAT THINS. My favorite cousin (Yes, you read that right. It's a rolling application process though, so all you cousins out there still have a chance to fill the position) found the delicious, American, crackers at a shop in France and bought them along in true Padden Fam fashion. Char and William made a pumpkin pie. It was square, but it was the best p-pie I've ever tasted. Hands down. So good. Ha- I am emailing her right now and telling her to make another one.

Mary and I made rice krispie treats for the gang. They called them "rice krispie cakes", which was cute. We didn't correct them. We just smiled and nodded sweetly while exchanging knowing glances with each other.

Char, Mary and I climbed up the Sir Walter Scott monument for some fantastic, foggy, Edinburgh views. Check out the picture of me on the stairs- one of the best pics I've ever taken!!

On the Sunday that Mary had to leave we enjoyed a quick romp around the Edinburgh Castle. It was SO WINDY and FREEZING. But fun.

Twas a grand weekend. Loverboy really had it right when they concluded that "everybody's working for the weekend." Truer words have never been spoken. Now that it's over and another daunting week stretches out before me, knowledge of the absolute, certain existence of an upcoming Saturday/Sunday combo is what gets me through. Huzzah!

Wow, it's been a while and I forgot how exhausting this is. Allow me to leave you with that brief blog and a promise to update more frequently as the goose gets fatter and the old man's hat more penny-filled.

Beannachd leat,

Margaret