Is this what heaven smells like?

I have a blog post half written, but it's Friday and I am stereotypically exhausted. Rather than doing, as my mother would say, a "half-baked job" on a potentially decent post, I'll save my original idea for tomorrow's offering and give you a photo of me huffing a candle instead:

Arrived today. "Christmas Cookie" scent. Rich, sweet, pungent, vanillay musk. Like the farts of angels. 

Yes, it's a photo post. The mommy bloggers (I'm looking at you, Char) do it all the time and don't get any flak for it. So, I'm trying it out. But don't worry, I'll be back with some more words for you tomorrow.

TGIF,
Margaret

P.S. If you got the link to this post from Facebook, two points for Gryffindor if you can tell me what I'm quoting in the post description.

Things that polarise us (plus a bonus review of this week's 'Serial')

America just had mid-term elections. Living in the UK (and banned from voting for being gone too long), I'm out of the loop when it comes to American politics. But if I had to guess, I would say that there have probably been a lot of heated debates both online and in the 'real' world over hot button issues like guns, abortion, taxes and all that fun stuff. How exhausting it can be...

If you've found yourself in the midst of a political debate with a friend, coworker or relative, and thought to yourself, "Christ! How did I wind up here? Can I rewind? I'm in too deep!", then here's my advice:

1. Recognise that there's no such thing as a right opinion. OK, occasionally someone will have their facts wrong. If that's the case, you might just be able to convince them with some statistics. But the root of 99% of political arguments is IDEOLOGICAL DIFFERENCES! There's not much you can do about that other than try to understand where they're coming from and agree to disagree.

2. Care a little bit less. Apathy is underrated. You don't have to completely hide your passion under a bushel, but try to calm the shize down a bit. My sister Anna once taught me that the person who cries in an argument always, always loses. Maybe you're not crying in these political debates with your cousin/neighbour/colleague but, trust me, it's obvious if you're getting emotional.

I came across this great infographic showing the typical divisions between the Left and the Right. Reading through it, it's clear that both sides form their opinions based on certain values. When you identify with a certain side on one issue, it's simply because you're prioritising one value over another (e.g. equality over fairness). But the point is, there is value on both sides.

Click to expand.
Image by David McCandless & Stefanie Posavec via InformationIsBeautiful.net

There's also a UK version of the infographic (tweaked slightly).

Serial Episode 7: Review 

SPOILER ALET, this review contains spoilers. 

Speaking of polarising, the latest episode of 'Serial' is dividing the podcast's fans into two camps. Based on what I've gleaned lurking on the Serial subreddit, it seems people either:

• LOVE the episode and appreciate the break in character/evidence related plot points in favour of a more 'big picture' narrative. They see it as a "breathe of fresh air."

• HATE the episode, feel like they've learned nothing new about the case and are annoyed there aren't more hard facts to investigate before next Thursday comes along. They see it as a "waste of time." 

My thoughts? Well, being the nuanced, emotionally mature intellectual that I am, the episode both excited and disappointed me. I'm in both camps. OF COURSE it was thrilling to hear that The Innocence Project is investigating Adnan's case. And OF COURSE it was unsatisfying to have no new insight into the details of the investigation.

If I had to lean closer toward one camp, I would go with the LOVE folks. After all, I feel dissatisfied after every episode, simply because I'm always left wanting more (and I suspect that won't change, even after the series is over). So I'm used to feeling this way. It's part of what makes Serial so great.

I change my mind on Adnan after every episode too. This week, he's innocent (DUH). But next week, I'm sure I'll have diagnosed him a textbook sociopath. You wouldn't want me on your jury, I can tell you that!

If you're a Serial fan and haven't yet delved into the deep Serial web, here are some good resources worth checking out:

• Serial subreddit — Where the Internet gathers to discuss Serial. Heck, even Beau Willimon, head writer of 'House of Cards', created an account to get in on the discussion (although his posts are longwinded, philosophical nonsense, sadly). 

• Slate's Serial Spoiler Specials — Yep, a podcast about a podcast. David Haglund, Katy Waldman and Mike Pesca discuss the latest episode, what they liked, what they didn't, the story's narrative arc, predictions, etc.

• Rabia Chandry's blog— The lawyer and friend of Adnan who first introduced Sarah Koenig to the case. She's obviously majorly Team Adnan, so that's worth keeping in mind. 

Later,
Margaret

Remember, remember the 5th of November - VIDEO BLOG EDITION

Nighty night,

Margaret

Two Years Later Movie Reviews, Edition 1: Skyfall

Welcome to a new, recurring blog post theme: 'Two Years Later Movie Reviews'.

The title is self-explanatory, but I'll explain it anyway for the sake of making this post longer. Each 'Two Years Later Movie Review' will feature my thoughts on a film that was released around two years ago. Hopefully that makes sense, but if you're still not sure, please don't hesitate to contact me at margareteileenkay@gmail.com.

You've had more than 24 months to watch the film, but just in case: SPOILER ALERT!

The film: Skyfall
The technology: 13-inch 2013 Macbook Air
The venue: Our marital bed

Last Friday, Andy and I needed a fast-paced, easy-to-digest film to watch as we gobbled down our far too easy-to-digest Indian takeaway at a face pace. We chose Skyfall, the James Bond movie from October 2012. Andy had already seen it, but I—despite seeing and enjoying all the other Craig David Daniel Craig 007 films—had somehow missed it.

Firstly, of all the Bond flicks, this one wins the award for best song. Adele's 'Skyfall' is so haunting and beautiful and perfectly suited for a Bond film. I just LOVE it! Also, I've been singing it all week and let me tell you, it has some really challenging vocal jumps. Let's just say I wouldn't pick it for my X Factor audition. #BitPitchyDogg

Now for the plot. Here it is in a nutshell: Bond is old, Bond's boss is old, terrorism is happening online these days, oh no, whatever will we do. Times (and audiences) are changing. They lay this point on pretty thick, but if you're willing to look past it (and you are, because it's a Bond film and you're used to looking past hokiness), the film is quite compelling.

The best part of the film is the end, when Bond takes his boss 'M' to Scotland to await a showdown with the bad guy. They go to Bond's childhood home 'Skyfall', which is filmed in one of the most beautiful places on earth, Glencoe. I went camping in Glencoe this summer with Andy, and I was blown away by how gorgeous it was. Andy also went there with his friend right after the film came out, and they recreated the scene of Bond looking out at the hills.

A woman of the earth washing her face in a babbling brook. 

Andy and pal Bruce in Glencoe. The Aston Martin is photoshopped in. 

Finally, and here's where I give away the ending, so WATCH OUT if you haven't seen it. Dame Judi Dench dies. Yes, James Bond's boss dies and it's so so so so so so so so sad and shocking.

What wasn't shocking was that, in her will, she left Bond a tacky English bulldog paperweight that he had teased her about in an early scene. I saw that coming from a mile away. Andy can vouch for me.

The verdict: Really entertaining, surprisingly sad (I cried) and only medium corny/predictable.

Love,
Margaret

Want to annoy a British person? Here's how

One of Britain's favourite pastimes is 'tut tut-ing' at America. It's as British as afternoon tea. And I can't say I blame the ol' limeys—as the empire continues to shrink, all they can do is watch as we bastardise their language and make a mockery of their royal family.

When they lost Hong Kong in 1997, making fun of Americans was one of the few constants they could cling to. Fair enough. The poor chaps.

Long hair - gross.

America loves its flag. In many countries, flag waving is seen as a bit nationalistic and pretty right wing. But in America, the flag is just part of the country's decor. One time I actually Googled "the flag", without realising how presumptuous that was. Other countries have flags too, I reminded myself. There's no such thing as "the flag". But still, 99% of the images that came up were of the US flag. So I felt a bit vindicated. 

Anyway, if you want to keep Brits on your good side and avoid their sideways glances—perhaps you're courting one or maybe you're hoping to hire an expat to tutor your high-schooler in history (I know a guy you can call)—here are some common Americanisms to avoid:

Crime: The long A
Example: "Happy H-AHH-lloween", "Let's eat pAHsta with meatballs"
Explanation: It's so funny, because people from the south of England (London and below) absolutely adore the long A. They say things like 'gr-ah-ss' instead of 'grass' and 'b-AH-thtub' instead of 'bathtub'. HOWEVER, when Americans choose to apply the long A to certain words, Brits totally lose their cool. Think of the name Al, as in "I can call you Betty, and Betty when you call me, you can call me Al". For the most part, that's the A sound that Brits like. Video explanation below:

Crime: Shortening the phrase 'pissed off' to 'pissed'
Example: "Bob totally ditched me at the party last night. I was so pissed!"
Explanation: To a Brit, 'pissed' means 'drunk', and using it to mean 'irritated' or 'angry' is incorrect, not to mention confusing. In the example above, they would think you were saying that you were heavily intoxicated, which changes the meaning of the sentence completely.

Crime: Referring to the UK as 'Europe' or to a British person as 'European'
Example: "My sister is on vacation in Europe right now—she's going to London, then Liverpool and, finally, Edinburgh."
Explanation: Even though the UK is technically part of Europe (both politically and geographically), Brits don't regard themselves as European. The term 'Europe' refers to continental Europe—France, Germany, Spain, etc.

Crime: Saying someone has a 'British accent'
Example: "I just love Robert Pattinson's British accent!"
Explanation: Robert Pattinson has an English accent. There's no such thing as a British accent. That would imply that Groundskeeper Willie, Tom Jones and the Queen all have the same accent. Even saying 'English accent' is far too vague, but at least it's (technically) accurate.

Crime: Saying World War II started in 1941
Example: "World War II started in 1941"
Explanation: Eeek. I am guilty of this one. Don't blame me! Blame Kenmore Jr. High! I swear that I had those dates—1941 to 1945—seared into my memory via all my textbooks and teachers. When Americans say the war started in 1941, Brits get annoyed because, for them, it started in 1939, when Germany invaded Poland and Britain decided to do something about it. When America finally got involved two years later, the Brits were like "Where the heck have you guys been?!" But before you start to feel too bad, keep in mind that, if we were Chinese, we would say the war started in 1931 with the invasion of Manchuria. So nobody's perfect (even you, Britain).

Crime: Confusing nationality with national heritage
Example: Guy whose family has lived in Seattle for four generations: "I'm Irish!"
Explanation: When you enthusiastically say to a Brit, "I'm Irish!", they will think you're saying that you're actually Irish—as in, born and raised in Ireland. Instead, say "my ancestors are from Ireland". Note: if you're an American and you're thinking, "What? Nobody does this. What are you talking about?", think harder. I didn't realise people did it at first either. But lots of people do.

Crime: Referring to sports teams in the singular
Example: "Liverpool is playing really well"
Explanation: Stateside, we refer to sports teams in the plural if we're using the mascot as the team name (e.g. "The Seahawks are playing well"), but we refer to a team in the singular if we're using the city as the team name (e.g. "Seattle is playing really well"). In the UK, whether you're using the city or the mascot, it's always plural. Liverpool are playing really well.

Now, it's important that you understand this: I'm not saying that the Brits are right about all of the above. Only avoid these Americanisms if you want to impress a Brit for whatever reason. But if you don't, then keep on keepin' on.

In related news, if you aren't quite sure what separates the terms 'Great Britain, 'United Kingdom', 'England', etc., this video is worth watching (it's recommended by Lord Andy himself):



Cheerio,
Margaret

99 problems, but a smartphone ain't one

Or is it, 'Got 99 problems, but a smartphone is one' or 'but a dumbphone ain't one?' I never did understand that lyric.

Anyway, the point is: I don't have a smartphone. Can you believe it? I—digital marketer, blogger extraordinaire, voice of a generation—cannot access the Internet via my phone. I can't take or receive photos or videos either. I don't even think I can download ringtones.

When I walk places, I get lost. When I forget who sings a certain song, I agonise over it for hours. When I encounter something amusing in real life, I try to remember it so that I can tell people about it later, but then I actually just forget it. Such is the life of someone with a Samsung E1050.

"Hi Taylor, what's up?
Hahaha, no waaay!
Harry actually said that?
Oh my god.
Crazy."

In a world where practically everyone has a smartphone, including both of my parents, what on earth would stop me from obtaining such an objectively useful piece of technology? A few reasons:

1) Laziness — A huge part of my no-iPhone situation comes down to laziness. Getting one would mean walking to a shop, or scrolling through loads of options online. I would have to cancel my current contract, get a new one, set up billing, transfer across my contacts—UGH, I'm stressed out already.

2) Cheapness —My current phone cost £9.99 and it does the job just fine. I'm not sure, but something tells me iPhones cost more than that.

3) Fear of commitment — I never planned to stay in Edinburgh for that long, let alone make a lifelong vow to a filthy Redcoat named Andy. The thought of signing a two-year contract with a British mobile phone company puts me on edge (I'm currently on a rolling monthly contract). What would the Founding Fathers think of me then? Live free or die, etc.

4) Fear of who I would become — You know that person who, mid conversation, grabs his phone from his pocket and begins scrolling, purely out of habit and without even realising what he's doing? That would be me. You know that person who shares a photo of every beautiful sunset, cute baby, delicious meal and hilarious A-frame restaurant sign she comes across? That would be me.

Smartphones have been around a while, but smartphone etiquette is in its infancy. Society still hasn't grasped the dos and don'ts. If I had one, I would be the worst offender of all. My laptop alone causes me to enter a trance-like state, designing budget logos on PowerPoint for hours, yet thinking only five minutes has passed. I don't think I could be trusted with something as addicting and accessible as a smartphone.

It's not that I think smartphones are bad. In fact, the reason I refuse to get one is because I know they are so, so GOOD! I know I would end up liking it too much. It's like heroin or Jet-Puffed Marshmallow Creme. Why start?

You ol' gal,
Margaret

P.S. I charge my phone once a month.

#TurkeyHat Giveaway: winners announced!

So, I accidentally ordered two turkey hats, meaning there are TWO winners in this year's #TurkeyHat Giveaway! Two people, not just one, will now look fabulous on Thanksgiving.

The results are in, and the winners are:

E Michelle Bakle

and

Max Kay

Congrats to you both!

E Michelle, based on your Twitter feed, it seems like you have mad skills when it comes to online giveaways and competitions. Basically, you're my hero. For a while there I was sending away for as many free food samples as I could, but I've let my game slide in recent years, and you've inspired me to get back in the saddle. Congrats, girl!

Max, based on the fact that you're my brother and I know you well, I'm confident that there isn't a better suited person to don a turkey hat this Thanksgiving. You and that giant head of yours were born for the job!

To all of you who didn't win, please don't let it ruin your life. Things might seem bleak and hopeless now, but they'll get better over time. Grey skies are gonna cheer up; put on a happy face. I'm going to do more giveaways in the lead up to Christmas, so there will be more opportunities to win fabulous prizes akin to the turkey hat.

Love,

Margaret

P.S. You can always click through the Amazon ads in the sidebar, buy yourself a turkey hat and PRETEND that you won. Just a suggestion!

Migraine, myself and I

As Sarah Koenig's mother taught us, there are seven topics that you're never supposed to bring up in a conversation. They are:

1. How you've slept
2. Your period
3. Your health
4. Your dreams
5. Money
6. Diet
7. Route talk (how you arrived at the destination, traffic, etc.)

Well, sorry Mrs. Matthiessen, but I'm going to break one of your rules right now. Rule number three: health.

I completely agree that waffling on about your ailments is boring and self-indulgent. But as I think we've all learned by now, boring self-indulgence is just part of the Madgespace tapestry. There's no way around it, particularly considering my hasty vow to blog every day for a year. Take what you can get.

So, a bit of backstory: I've been getting headaches behind my left eye for just over three years. They last all day, getting progressively worse at night. They happen probably once every 10 days. On multiple occasions (including Andy's university's fancy schmancy 700th Anniversary Ball), I've had to miss out on cool stuff because of a bad, BAD headache. Sometimes I'll wake up in the night with one. It's the pits.

I like to think I am the type of person who gets things done. I can take care of business with the best of 'em. But for some reason, I have never walked myself to the doctor's office to share my sob story with a qualified, medical professional. Until today.

The doc is convinced that I have....ugh, it pains me to say it, MIGRAINES. Yep, I am one of those people. One of those annoying weaklings who suffers from headaches that are so bad, they aren't just a headache anymore, but a migraine. Ooh la la. A migraine. Look at me, I have a migraine. Migraine, migraine, migraine.

Being a vegetarian is bad enough for my reputation—add in migraines and my tough chick persona completely crumbles. It's even worse to be a migraine-sufferer over here because they pronounce it ME-GRAINE. As in, 'oh deary me-graine'! Bloody hell.

Ancient Egyptian Papyrus Migraine Therapy, apparently. Also known as 'mini alligator on head therapy'?
Image via Wikimedia Commons

Anyway, the doc gave me some medicine that apparently stops the migraine before it can get worse. It's not a painkiller (although he did give me some of those too - scary!), but a diagnostic tablet that stops the pain from happening, rather than just masking it.

Should I be skeptical that talking to the man, having my blood pressure taken, getting my eyes examined with a flashlight, being diagnosed with migraines and picking up my prescription took less than 15 minutes? Seems sketchy to me. I'm going to ease into my treatments slowly, with one eye on WebMD.

In other news, happy Halloween! I didn't even carve a pumpkin this year. Yeah, I know. It's like I don't even recognise myself anymore.

#TurkeyHat giveaway ends TOMORROW. If you haven't entered yet, what exactly is the matter with you? Do it now, or live to regret it forever.

Love,
Margaret

Treat-or-Treating: How old is too old?

We could pass for elementary schoolers, right? Wrong. 

I'll see your #ThrowBackThursday and raise you three 15-year-olds about to embark on a night of trick-or-treating. 

Let's start with the costumes. We didn't even try to disguise our age. Smarter, more self-aware teenagers would have at least thrown on some masks, leaving the neighbours to assume they were just abnormally tall for their age. But no, we had our pride to think about. What kind of self-respecting person goes trick-or-treating in a plastic mask from Bartell's? Like we would ever do something so expected—so, as Nina Garcia would say, pedestrian. Yeah right.

I, always the drag king never the bride, was dressed as Harry Potter. I bought the wig and glasses, but the robe (Anna's graduation gown), tie (my Dad's), shirt (Max's?) and badge (old dish rag + sharpie marker + glue) were all from around the house. The first Harry Potter film was coming out a few weeks after Halloween, and I planned to attend the premiere as the 'Boy Who Lived' himself. Going as HP for Halloween just made good, economical sense. Two birds, one stone.

Centre stage is Erika, in a panda costume that my Mom had sewn several years earlier for Francie when she was in 4th grade. As is clear even in this grainy photo, the panda costume was far too small for Erika, the tallest of all my friends. I believe the white belly section was supposed to extend down past the knees like a dress, not end at the waist like a bizarre, wooly wifebeater. And I remember working up a sweat trying to squeeze the hood part over Erika's 15-year-old head.

Then there's Connie, the jar of Carmex. This was another one of Francie's old costumes (amazing costume decisions btw, Francie) and we managed to convince Connie that it was the perfect choice. "You know, because you love Carmex so much!!" "I do? Yeah, ok. Sure!"

After this photo was taken, I'm sure we ran straight to the Arrowhead Point neighbourhood where, as years' of experience had taught us, it's pretty much bowl city. You see, rich people go to rich people parties on Halloween. Time is money, and they don't have time to hand out fun-sized Snickers like commoners. Instead, they leave a bowl full of candy on the front porch with a note that says: "Happy Halloween! Take one or two." Take one or two. Yeah right.

Perhaps I should be embarrassed that I trick-or-treated past the socially-acceptable 6th grade mark. And I suppose I should be ashamed that I grabbed handfuls of candy from every bowl I came across. But I'm not! I look back on those years and all I can think is, "Get it, girl. You do your thang."

Because being a teenager is hard. Suddenly, you're not a kid anymore. One day you're adorable, the next day you're awkward. When it comes to emotions—sadness, fear, excitement, joy, etc.—you're expected to conduct yourself like an adult. But when it comes to freedom and responsibility, you're still completely beholden to your parents.

As a teenager, I was hyperaware of my low status in society. I totally got it. I knew that I wasn't young enough to be cute, I wasn't smart enough to be interesting, I wasn't witty enough to be charming, and I didn't even have enough life experience to be useful. I was just in this horrible age purgatory, somewhere between blissful childhood and respected adulthood.

In those transitional teenage years, you're continually confronted with things that are too young for you and things that are too old for you. You're either secretly watching 'Wishbone', the time-travelling Jack Russell Terrier, on TV in your basement, or you're at a friend's house watching 'Cruel Intentions' and feeling really uncomfortable. Other than the odd junior high dance, teenagers have nothing to claim as their own!

So, when I was faced with the choice of 1) going trick-or-treating with my friends or 2) staying at home and passing out candy with my parents, I made the decision to go with Option 1. Can you blame me?

Cheers,
Margaret

P.S. Have you entered the #TurkeyHat giveaway yet? Do it before it's too late! I ordered the hat on Amazon today, and then I'll ship it out to the lucky winner.

Kargaret Kay-Kardashian

I'm seriously considering buying something from the Kardashian Kollection. The Winter 2014 line.

Although the rational part of my brain says,"Don't give them any money! They don't need it!" and "You have neither the body nor the occasion for a black jumpsuit with a mesh and velvet-lined sweetheart neckline", the emotional, Sasha Fierce part of my brain thinks WHY NOT?!

With a bit of bronzer, some fake lashes and a leather bodycon dress, I could rule the world.

Actually, my feeling toward the Kardashians' winter collection is a microcosm of my feelings toward the ladies in general. Intellectually, I'm against them. Spiritually, they are my soul sisters. Fellow goddesses of sultry, Armenian beauty. Audacious in their fashion choices, unapologetic for their fame.

Do the stuffed leopards and white ukeleles come with the dress, or do you have to buy those separately?

Siiiigh. I've had a busy day of work, and staring at this screen is making my eyes hurt. Although I could write a dissertation on my complex feelings about the Kardashians, it's probably best if I refrain and direct you to my #TurkeyHat giveaway instead.

If you haven't entered for a chance to win the fantastic piece Thanksgiving garb, do it now! You only have until Saturday morning (Edinburgh time). Don't let his opportunity pass you by!

There will be a better blog tomorrow—I promise!

Love,
Margaret

Celebrating 110,000 views - enter to WIN a turkey hat!

This post will, hopefully, take me past the 110,000 views mark. To honour the occasion, I've decided to do my first ever giveaway!

The prize? A turkey hat, similar to the one seen here on a young, 23-year-old Andy.

Thanksgiving is coming up, and you're probably in the market for a hat to wear to the big meal. What could be more fitting than a cap shaped like a roast turkey? It will be a huge hit, trust me.

For a chance to win, all you have to do is log into Rafflecopter using the widget below, and then send out a tweet and/or answer my one-question poll. If you do both, you double your chance of winning.

The competition starts now, and it ends Saturday morning at 9am Edinburgh time. If you win, I'll send you the hat just in time for Thanksgiving.

If you're British and do not honour the annual feast, or if you're Canadian and have already celebrated your fake Thanksgiving, then you can always wear the prize on Christmas instead.

Note: it's kind of confusing to enter by tweeting, but basically you just click the small "tweet" button in the widget, and then the tweet is already written for you, you just have to send it. THEN, you have to post the URL of that tweet into the widget to verify that you've done it. Sigh...


a Rafflecopter giveaway


Good luck, and don't F it up!

Love,
Margaret

Thanks for nothing, Halle Berry

Halle Berry was recently interviewed by Yahoo style (what, you don't subscribe to Yahoo style!? Unfriending you right now) and dropped a major advice bomb on the women of planet earth.

From the article:

She also recalled a crucial life lesson her mom taught her: always wear a good bra, or gravity will show no mercy. “She said if I don’t want my boobs to hit my knees by the time I’m 30, always wear a bra, even to bed,” Berry says.

SHITE.

I've never been a fan.
Image by Gage Skidmore via Wikimedia Commons

I'll admit it, as soon as I get home from work, the bra comes off and the baggy sweatshirt goes on. And I don't even go to work! I work from home! SHITE! That means...let me do some quick math...I probably only wear a bra about 25% of the time.

When I nip across the street (pun intended) to the corner shop to get a Snickers, I often just throw on a jacket and do the arms-crossed manoeuvre I perfected back in eighth grade.

SHITE. SHITE. SHITE.

This ain't good.

Oh well. All I can do at this stage is promise to get my bra-wearing game back on track. Oh, and remind you that Halle Berry did a hit and run once. Let's not forget that.

---

In other news, I've had a blog topic request from the aforementioned Julie Fredrickson (famous for being fun and low maintenance). Read it for yourself:

Great suggestion, Julie! And let me just say that I admire your devil-may-care approach to office supplies.

After some careful consideration, I realised that I tend to avoid excitement at all costs. When I walk to the supermarket, I cross the road at the exact same point every time—no deviations. I NEVER answer calls from unknown numbers. I'm even too afraid to walk underneath trees in case 1) a branch falls off or 2) a perching bird poops on me.

That said, I have managed to think of a few ways I spice up my life (as Geri, Victoria, Emma and the Mels would say). Here they are:

• Sleeping on an air mattress in the living room — On the weekends, Andy and I sometimes set up a "den" in the living room, comprised of the air mattress and all the pillows and blankets in the flat. Even though our actual bedroom is three feet down the hall, it's a real treat to be able to watch TV lying down and reach across to grab dinner out of the oven without even needing to stand up (our living room is also our kitchen...small flat).

• In a restaurant, ordering at the VERY last second — This bizarre habit is more likely a result of my indecisiveness, but it definitely keeps me on my toes!

• Farting all the time in public — If you're new to this blog/my life, then you might not know that I was extremely constipated for a good part of 2008 (culminating in a three-month pooping hiatus). Something I learned during that tough time was, if you need to pass gas, DO IT. Holding it in only leads to trouble. I also learned to perfect the art of the slow, quiet release. Works for me about 80% of the time—the other 20% is why I've included this on the list. 

That's all for now! Happy almost Halloween!

LYMI, 

Margaret