I am Iron Man. JK… I’m Mia Thermopolis.


*Sits in front of laptop*

*Sips Coffee*

*Nervously drums fingers*

*Opens blog*

*Slams laptop shut*

*Eats chocolate instead*

*Repeats process once a week for a month*

Ollo People!

The intro above was just to let you in on the “Process” of how I have worked up the courage to write this blog post.

….OKAAAY, Maybe it was a little bit dramatic… Sometimes I don’t slam the laptop shut, sometimes I just open Netflix instead and then eat the chocolate.

You see, I wish I was Tony Stark, and I just waltzed up back in here like:



But in reality I’m a lot more like Mia Thermopolis in that one scene where she was supposed to give a speech… yeah you remember that one:





See? I’ve barely said anything and I’ve already used 3 moving gifs. I’m definitely trying too hard.

You see, when I talk to someone who loves my blog, it makes me REALLY happy.

…But after the feeling “REALLY happy” passes, a reaction has to come next. There are one of two outcomes.

The two outcomes depend entirely on my previous relationship with the person stating their love for my blog.

If I have known the person personally for a long time and they know what I am like in person, my reaction is pretty standard:


I become a happy, smug, little compliment-sucking Hawkeye. Standard.

You love my writing? AWWWW! THANKS GUUURL! You didn’t know I had such funny thoughts and mad writing skills did you?

If however, the person is more of a stranger, I become the embodiment of the word Awkward. Seriously, look that word up on the Merriam-Webster Online. That word is me.

It goes down something like this:

Person: “Nice to meet you, Margaret! I read your blog and I think it’s hilarious. You have a great sense of humor.”

Me: “Oh really? Thanks!”

My Brain: “OMG. They think I’m funny. Does that mean I have to be witty and funny right now in real life? I can’t be funny without GIFs! Oh gosh, this is too much pressure. I’m gonna tell them the truth right now so they know that I’m actually a really lame cotton-headed-ninnymuggins.”


Anyways, I guess the point of this big, long intro is to say: “Hi Peoples! I’m back! Sorry I was gone for so long. WUUUUV YOU.” ❤ ❤

If you keep up with my family on Facebook, you may have read on my Dad’s blog that I was planning on going to Germany next year in January to live with an amazing missionary family over there and nanny their amazing children.

I am writing this blog post to tell you that my plans have changed.

I am going to BSSM (Bethel School of Supernatural Ministry) in Redding, California.

This September.

That’s right, at the end of this month, I will be moving to Redding, California.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “What?? That’s so soon! What are you even thinking?”


And I know. You’re right. But sometimes, our God calls us to do crazy things. He calls us to madness, in all-out reckless obedience, trusting that He is faithful to make it happen.

When he first started speaking it to me again, I was so confused. I felt that doors for Germany were opening, and “Hey, why mess with what’s working?” If it’s working… Its right. Right?

Well, No. Not exactly. He kept bringing it up to me. He wouldn’t let it be. I remember one morning I was balling my eyes out to my daddy on the phone, feeling so confused about what I was supposed to do.

I remember telling him, “Dad, I just feel like Riley Poole (Geeky side kick from National Treasure — Yes, I reference movie characters when I’m balling my eyes out to my Dad about hearing God’s voice. You don’t?) “Dad, I just feel like Riley Poole when he is frustrated with following all the clues to the treasure and says, “Why can’t they just say, ‘Go to this place, and here is the treasure, spend it wisely?'”


At one point I almost thought about asking Him for a crazy sign to prove to me that I was supposed to take this step. You know, like Gideon with the fleece. Not that sign exactly… I don’t think I even have any fleece, but you know what I mean.

But then I felt Holy Spirit rebuke me. His rebuke always feels more like a romantic declaration of love, so it feels weird calling it a rebuke, but still.

He said, “Margaret, we’re on more of a talking basis than that.”

I froze. I gasped. Do you see how it was a rebuke and a romantic declaration of love at the same time?

The God of the universe just told me that I have more access to Him… more of a personal relationship with Him than Gideon of the Old Testament did.

And all of the sudden I realized what I was doing.

Have you ever seen a romantic movie and there is a scene that goes something like this:

Guy in aforementioned movie: “I LOVE YOU!”

Girl in aforementioned movie: “Well, if you really love me, you will do (Insert stupid, irrelevant action) and PROVE it.”

Haven’t you ever just wanted to slap that girl and yell at her? “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? The dude loves you. Just GET OVER yourself!”


I was being THAT girl.

So, I nixed my fleece idea, and I just started listening to Him.

He spoke to me. He conversed with me. He sent people, and songs, and pretty much everything else you can imagine to me to confirm what He was saying.

Basically, I’m trying to tell you that He said, “Go to this place. Here’s the treasure. Spend it wisely.”

So I am. As of yesterday, I received my official acceptance letter, and I can tell you that I have never felt so certain of his calling and direction.

At the same time that I have never felt surer of what I am supposed to do, I have also never been in a position where it will all fully rely on God’s provision.

Usually, when He has called me to something in the past, I have had the ability to make it happen (Financially speaking). But this time, I am just having to step out, and trust.

The tuition for first year is $4,400

The cost of gas to drive out to Redding, CA is going to be upwards of $500

And my Room and Board once I get there will be about $680 a month (Sept. 2014 – May 2015)

So, I’m asking for your support. I hate doing it. I have always hated doing it. I wish I had ALL THE MONIES, ALL THE TIME, and I could be the one doing the supporting.

But sometimes God asks us to be humble– to be vulnerable, and to do things that we hate. He will provide, but that doesn’t give us a free pass to avoid anything that makes us uncomfortable.

This is me, humbly asking for your support. I pray that one day I will be the one who is able to do the supporting.

If you would like to give towards this there are a few ways of doing that.

You can give directly towards my tuition here

Another way is to give to my parents ministry account at paypal: https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=LB8ZAKW5XLN5N (You will just need to specify that it is for me. All donations to this account are tax deductible.)

Lastly, you can mail a check to this address:

4960 Bentridge Dr. NW                                                                                            Concord, NC 28027

(You can make the check out to ISAAC with “For Margaret” in the Memo line. This will also be tax deductible)

And also, please know that I value your prayers every bit as much as your money. Please pray for me as I take this adventure with God.

Uhg, “Asking for support” probably comes right after “Writing the first blog post after a 8 month long absence” on my Things-I-hate-to-do list.

So, I’m going to go now, because











A Few Updates…

When the days begin to shorten, and the breezes blow in cool and clean, I find my thoughts wandering to-

Just Kidding. You thought I was going there, didn’t you?

Hi Peoples!!! I’ve missed you! Guess, what happened since my last blog post? I turned 22! No… don’t. Stop. Do not quote Taylor Swift. Come on, that’s SO cliché.



Anyways, since I started this blog at the tender age of 21, I have told many hair raising tales. From Boon Lurt’s window peeping to Uncle Mustache’s gift demanding. To which, the question has been raised: “So what happened next?!?”

Today is the day you find out. The thrilling sequel(s). And… GO.

So, lets start with Boon Lurt. If you don’t know who that is, you better read this first.

After a few more incidents of “BOOM. Boon Lurt.” We politely told him that looking in windows is not polite in foreigner’s minds, and could he please knock on our door instead? Pretty please, Boon Lurt? You’re giving us heart attacks.

Well, he decided that from now on, whenever he needed to talk to us, he would send his grandaughter, Fa, to do his bidding.

Now, I don’t have a picture of Fa for you, because she is really shy. She is 16 years old. She’s a really quiet, sweet person. And she is TINY. Seriously, she probably only weighs 85 pounds.

anyways, back to the story. I imagine their conversation going something like this.

Boon Lurt: “Fa, I need you to go take this chicken to them for me.” (Side Note: Raw, Whole chickens are considered awesome gifts here. Just FYI)

Fa: “Ok.”

Boon Lurt: “Oh, but they don’t want you to look in their windows.”

Fa: “But, what if no one is outside?”

Boon Lurt: “They said to beat on the door.”

Fa: “Wait… They said to what?”

Boon Lurt: “Yeah, they said to hit it until someone comes and opens it.”

Fa: “…ok…” *shrugs shoulders*

Now switch to us. Inside the house. Going about our business.

“BAM!” *Door rattles violently* “BAM! BAM! BAM!” “BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!” *Door begins to sound like it is going to fall off of it’s hinges*

I am in the other room when I hear it. And honestly, it kind of freaked me out. People only knock on door like that when they are

A: The villain in a horror movie who wants to kill you,

B: Someone who is bringing news that someone else is severely injured and on the brink of death,

or C: Paul Revere bringing the news that the british are coming.

Anways, I rush to the door and fling it open. My heart pumping.

and there stands Fa… 85 pound – 4’11” Fa.

She smiles shyly and hands the chicken to me. “Hi Kaimook, This is from Grandpa.”

My voice said something like: “Oh, thank you so much!”

My Brain was saying stuff more along these lines: “Wait, no one’s dead? What the what just happened? …Fa, HOW THE HECK CAN YOU EVEN HIT THAT HARD?!?” Umm… is this door broken?”

So, apparently, the phrase “Knock on the door” when translated to Thai, comes out more like,

“Beat the door-


Beat the door –


Beat the door –


Come on, You know what i’m talking about…


Ok, On to update number 2.

You remember the story of Makro, my butcher buddies, and the 100 pounds of chicken carcasses right? You don’t? Please enlighten yourself here.

Yeah, remember that part where Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me tell those butchers what those 100 pounds of chicken carcasses were for?

Well, things started to get a little awkward (At least for me – As it only seemed to heighten dad’s enjoyment of the whole scenario) When the little female butcher asked me, “What do you use these for?”

I looked at dad, “Can I tell her?”

Dad: *Smirking smile* *Twinkling eyes* “No.”

Me: “SERIOUSLY?!? Great… as if I’m not enough of a weirdo already.”

Dad: *Still smirking and smiling* *Bursts out laughing* *walks away*

Me: *Looks at little butcher lady* *Smiles and trys to pretend that I didn’t understand the question in the first place* Yeah, the one I just had a whole conversation with my dad about right in front of her. Fingers crossed that she can’t speak english.

Later when we are at home I go to dad. “DADDY! Seriously they probably think we are feeding people those things!… Or… or… making some kind of creepy VooDoo soup out of them.


Dad did not head my pleas. He was still smirking and laughing. LAUGHING AT MY PAIN.

Anyways, You know that one butcher? The one that always smiled and laughed with me over the whole chicken carcass thing?

Wait… He was laughing WITH me, right?

Well, I feel like he’s my buddy. My buddy that I’ve never spoken to other than to order chicken from and who laughs at with me…

He’s really nice for a Thai guy. He’s never a creeper to me. He never tries to give me an eyebrow waggle. Oh, don’t even get me started on that eyebrow waggle.

He’s nice. He smiles nice. Don’t judge me.

ANYWAYS, I went up to the counter and ordered the 100 pounds of chicken carcasses, and that butcher leans over, sticks his head out of his little glass window, smiles and asks, “What do you use these for?”

And I… I… I told him.

You guys:



I’m sorry that I told my imaginary thai friend about the chicken carcasses. All 100 pounds of them.

And now, the final update.

You guys have to remember Peanut Village, Muay Thai, and Uncle Mustache! If you don’t I forgive you. As long as you go and read this.

the last time I had seen him he had demanded gifts from America upon my return. And he had told me that he would decide what he wanted at a later date and send word via my little siblings.

Ok, Uncle Mustache, whatever you say.

While I was at Missy’s house Benjamin wrote and told me the gift Uncle Mustache had selected for himself was… a pair of camo pants.

Yes, Uncle Mustache is a redneck.


Old Thai men are always very impressed with the “Wrangler” brand name. But what they don’t know is that in America, they sell camo wrangler’s at Wal-Mart.


A few days after I got home Benj and I took to motorcycle out to Uncle Mustache’s home to give him his present. Nothing huge happened during this interaction, but I will still attempt to illustrate the scene.

Uncle Mustache Before: 580462_10201129005533055_96569865_n

Uncle Mustache After:

mustache edited

So… Yeah.

Now, I am going to provide you with a little understanding before I proceed with my final story.

I’m sure if we’re friends on Facebook, or in real life, or whatever, you know that I have many stories to share of Thai women calling me fat.

A few years ago I was all like, “Yes! I want 3 grapes and water for breakfast!”

I literally thought that Apples were my favorite food.

No, I think you read that wrong. I still like apples, BUT I USED TO THINK THAT THEY WERE MY LITERAL FAVORITE.

Needless to say, back then, All the thai ladies only commented on how thin and pretty I was getting.

But now that I’m like: pam

I get called fat a lot more frequently.

Whenever they first say it to me I’m just like:

Whatever (2)

and I finish the conversation with smiles and laughs.

Then I get home. And I do this:


and then I go to my family and do this:


So this brings us to our last story. If you remember The story of Uncle Mustache well, you will remember that he had a granddaughter named Nam. Well, when Benjamin wrote to tell me about uncle mustache’s camo pant selection, we told me that it was Nam’s birthday.

Me: “Oh, that’s nice.”

Benjamin: “Yeah. so, she wants you to bring her a present now too.”

Me: “Wait, she told you this?”

Benjamin: “Yeah. she said, ‘It’s my birthday so Kai-Mook needs to bring me a present from America too.'”

Me: *face palm*

Anyways, I went to Target and bought her a cute shirt that said “U.S.A.” on it and brought it back for her.

I went to her house. I ran in and hugged her.

Me: “I missed you!!”

Nam: “I missed you too!”

Me: “I brought you a present.”

Nam: “Oh! Thank you! You got fat.”


Because of course the appropriate way to respond to a birthday gift is “You got fat.”

So anyways,

I love you people.

Leave me a comment.

But you know,

Whatever (2)

Confessions of a World Traveler

Ollo People!!! I’m back! Did you miss me???

…please say yes.

Confessions of a world traveler… oh, where to begin?

Let me explain. I LOVE traveling. Traveling as in:


But some people seem to think that people who love traveling also love flying.


Them: “I LOOOOOve airplanes!”


Them: “Flying’s half the fun!”


Them: “And you even get those nifty little TV thingies.”


Ok… Those TV things are pretty cool.

First let me try and explain my love/hate relationships with Airplanes/Airports/Airlines.

I love airplanes. I love that unlike missionaries of old, I don’t have to pack all my belongings in my future coffin and sail across the ocean for 3 months in order to live the Thai life – never to return. I love that.

How can I say this? I love airplanes like a woman loves her time-that-shall-not-be-named.

She could think: “Yay! This means I can have babies someday!”

But in reality she’s just like:


One of the main things you have to worry about when you get on a flight (Especially a 14 hour flight) is who you will be seated next to. And wether you will have a window, middle, or isle seat.

Now, Usually if you are booking an overseas flight you have the ability to select your seat. Which I had done. I had booked an isle seat. I always book an Isle seat. What? Isle seat? That’s boring! Don’t you want to look out the window?! LOLOL…Not as much as I want to be able to get up and pee at 2:00 am or 2:00 pm or 0800 hours (I never know what time it is on an airplane) or whenever we are halfway across the pacific ocean.

But even when you have your nice little plan about your nice little isle seat, there are times when two sweet little korean airline staff beg you to get on an earlier flight because they accidentally overbooked your flight, and no one else will go.

And even though you like to make snarky remarks and observations on your blog, you are actually a genuinely flexible person who likes to be the nice one. So you go.

The two airline staff are so grateful and hurry you off to check you into your new flight. When they have you back down to the counter they say,

“Oh, you have to give up your assigned seat and your special fruit meal. Is that ok?”

Your mouth: “No problem!!!”

Your Face: ” 🙂 🙂 :)”

Your brain: “Wait…….


When you get on the plane you have to walk through the seats of the higher castes before you reach your destination.

First these:


Not even kidding.

Then These:


…with just a touch of heavenly glow and a sprinkle of sweet foot rests.

Until you finally reach your seat with the masses of other peasants:


Ey look! It’s Hello Kitty.

You look at your ticket stub and realize that you are sitting in an exit row. You can help save all your fellow peasants in the case of a catastrophe… No biggie. There’s a little extra leg room too… of course you aren’t allowed to put any of your bags at your feet so all of your snacks, entertainment, and other flight essentials go up into the overhead compartment. Bummer… whatevs.

You glance at your ticket again.

Then up at the ABC seat assignments.

Then at the ticket.

Then back to the ABC.

and then you realize it. A clear and definite B is on your ticket stub. You are in the middle.

Remember what I said about not wanting to sit in the window seat? umm… The middle is 10 bazillion times worse. I will explain why.

Your row mates have already taken their window and isle seats, respectively. You smile and nod awkwardly as you sit smack dab in between them.

It’s always the most awkward when you first sit down on an airplane. You are sitting so close to one (or in my case two) complete strangers that you can hear them breathe, and you have to decide wether you will make it more awkward by speaking to them, or more awkward by not speaking to them.

These two people choose the latter method, and even decide to take it a step further by pretending that you don’t even exist.

On your left in the window seat is the “Big Boss Man.” He will not acknowledge your existence at any time. His eyes are either always closed or staring straight into a newspaper or computer screen. His whole demeanor seems to say, “I do not belong here with you, Peasant. I am above you. All of you.”


Physical characteristics include baldness, A button down shirt, and tube socks.

To your right is the “Persian Queen” Ok, maybe she’s not persian, but she’s got that exotic, wealthy look. She also will avoid any non-essential interaction with you. Everything she does is perfectly organized, and she brings an array of comfort ensuring items with her. As you know, in the the isle seat there is not a place to lean your head against unless you have a traveling buddy. Not a problem for the queen. She has an elaborate system of carefully placed neck pillows and blankets to ensure her head does not move once throughout the entire 14 hour flight. Turbulence or not. You are 99% sure that the airline lost her 1st class ticket… but like a queen she handles it with dignity and no small amount of annoyance.


Common Characteristics: Wears a shawl and plays Sodoku… hours and hours of Sodoku.

And there you are. Sitting in the middle. With your t-shirt, ripped blue jeans, (genuine rips guys, we’re not going for stye here) frizzy hair, hoodie, and age-old iphone.

Normally, I enjoy putting a little effort into how I look. I really do. It’s just that… at that time I didn’t have very many cute articles of clothing, and the ones I did have were being saved for America. Plus, no matter what you wear on a 14 hour flight, you are going to feel disgusting afterwards. Fine! I’ll quit with the excuses! What I’m trying to confess is that when I travel, I look like a hobo.

(Side Story)When I go through security there are always women walking through in heels and little black dresses.

Security Officer to them: “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Security Officer to  me: “thanks.”

My Brain: “Hey… I’m a person too.”

My hoodie: “Lol, no.”


Anyways, back to the middle seat. You are just a little redheaded hobo sitting in between the two nobility.

After a few hours of using the little TV screens and trying to be invisible, it is time to go to sleep. “Boss Man” leans his head against the window, and “Persian Queen” sets up her array of neck pillows and they are both fast asleep.

You, my dear little hobo, are used to traveling with your family who’s shoulders or heads usually provide a place for you to lean against. But not today.

You awkwardly try to use your tiny airplane pillow to prop your head up to no avail… Who are we kidding? You know that you will have to turn your head completely in order to be able to sleep. But… that means you will have to be staring one of the THEM right in the face as you try to sleep.


Face right. Persian Queen.

Wake up 15 minutes later.

“10,000 years will give ya such a crick in the neck!”


aladdin genie

 Face left.

 Boss man.

Now repeat that process 15 billion more times.

Pro Tip: Avoid the middle seat at all cost.

…Or invest in a good neck pillow.

P.S. I actually planned to include more stories and pro tips about my traveling escapades in this post, but I didn’t want it to be a mile long. If you wanna hear more of them let me know. I mean, in this story we haven’t even landed in LAX. Oh, and don’t even get me started on JFK.


One Does Not Simply Walk into Peanut Village

Hello My People.

It has been forever since I added a new post here. I just felt bored… uninspired. I kept thinking, “Uh! If only something funny would happen!”

I just have one thing to say… be careful what you wish for.

First… Back Story. Recently Benjamin and Isaac have started taking Muay Thai (Thai Kick Boxing) lessons in a nearby Thai village called “Peanut Road.”

Uncle “Rich Man Mustache” who we shall refer to simply as “Uncle Mustache” from now on, is the coach who owns the place. It seems like Muay Thai is a culture in his family. Many of his and the other coaches family members gather around and hang out there every night while the boys train.

There is a 19 year old girl there named “Nam.”  She is the first person from that family that we ever met. When I say “family” It is because it seems like every single person that lives in Peanut Road is related to Nam.

Benjamin and Isaac go every night from 5 pm to 6 pm. They really like me to go with them and I end up going about 2 times a week.

Anyways, It had been quite a while since I had gone with them and they were all “Here we go… All by ourselves. Did you hear us, Marg? We’re going… all ALONE.”

I gave in and grabbed my shoes and tea and we headed out. As we drove up we saw “Uncle Mustache” leaving. He was spiffed up wearing a shirt. Yes, that is a notable detail because it is the first time I have seen him do so. He told us he was going to a “Prachoom” and that we should just have fun today.

After we had been there for about 10 minutes, Nam drove up on her motorbike. She said, “Hey Kaimook! Do you want to go to a Prachoom with me?” There was that word again.

Me: “What is a Prachoom?”

Nam: “Oh, it’s like a meeting… function… thing. You know, a Prachoom. It’s right beside my house.”

I didn’t want to go. I was very comfortable chilling on the inclined sit-up bench. But I couldn’t say no.

Me: “Sure! Let’s go.”

We drove about a minute up the road and arrived at the Prachoom which I finally figured out was a sort of HOA meeting/village council for Peanut Road. And since everyone in Peanut Road is related, we can chalk it up to a monthly family reunion.


There was a small canopy tent. It had about 50 chairs set up underneath it. There was a sign in sheet and a loudspeaker, and a few people standing around.

We went in and greeted the people who “Uncle Mustache” was already there talking to. Then we went to sit down and wait for more people to show up. It was around this time that her 62 year old “Yai” (grandma) came up to talk to us.  If you need a mental image of Yai you can just imagine the disney character “Yzma.” Just less evil and more crazy.yzma

Yai had had too much to drink that day. She just LOVED me. She called me BEAUTIFUL, LOVELY, KIND, and SMART about 15 times each. Although I can’t remember getting more than a few “Thank you’s” out before she would start talking again, she was AMAZED at my ability to speak Thai.

All of a sudden she just needed to hug me. That is different for a Thai granny. Usually I only get an affectionate arm grab and a sniff.

Yes, I did say sniff. It is sort of like a kiss, only it’s a sniff.

You know, like Julie Baker… or the Nazgul.



Cute babies get sniffed. The bride and groom sniff each other at their wedding reception.

But instead of the normal sniff and arm pat, I got a full on bear hug. Three of them actually.

After this incessant complimenting and hugging had been going on for about 15 minutes, Nam excused us. She said, “Ok, Gram, we are gonna go get some snacks. See ya.”

As we were walking to the store Nam said, “Oh man, she was SO drunk!”

Me: “Oh, It’s fine. She was cute.”

Nam: “Let’s get a snack and then we can sit over at that table so we don’t have to go back and sit by her.”

We grabbed some mini donuts and butter cookies and headed over to the picnic table. There were only a handful of kids sitting around there. Nam told them, “We’re sitting over here ’cause granny is drunk.”

We sat down and began to giggle about escaping the craziness of her inebriated grandmother when another one of her uncles approached.

As I was trying to figure out how to describe this uncle to you I realized that he looked EXACTLY like the troll face.

You know… This one:


Same grin and everything!

Wait… something isn’t right…

Here we go:

Troll_Face uncle

BEHOLD! It is the uncle! I know you are laughing right now, but I am SO not kidding.

He came up and started talking to/at/about me (I’m not exactly sure which it was). Nam told him that I could speak Thai but he decided not to believe it until he had tested me.

He was even more drunk than crazy granny had been. Nam looked at me and said, “Oh, he’s drunk too.”

To which he exclaimed, “I AM NOT DRUNK!”

He began asking me questions in his heavily accented, redneck Thai. As I struggled to understand and answer him he decided to walk directly behind me and ruffle my hair. RUFFLE. MY. HAIR. Like I was a 2 year old trying to learn to say “Cookie” or something.

First rule in Thailand: Thai men (no matter what age) do not touch women, unless it is to shake their hands.

And by the look on Nam’s face… This is not a rule I have concocted in my farang brain.

After that he decided he was having a great time and sat down right next to me. I mostly kept looking at Nam, who was sitting directly across from me, and he just sat there beside me… staring at my face. His trolling grin never once left his face.

Troll_Face uncleEventually I asked Nam what time it was.

It was 6 O’clock. Muay Thai lets out at 6 O’clock.


It was time to leave. Nam asked if we could run back into to the store before we left so she could grab a drink. No Problem.

I followed her back to the cooler. “Uncle Mustache” was standing back there with a few of his buddies. He knows that I am leaving for America on the 13th, because it is all they have wanted to talk to me about for the last week.

He called me over.

Uncle Mustache: “So Kaimook, are you going to bring me back a gift from America?”

Me: “Uhh, sure. I will bring you back some american snacks.” (May I please state here that in Thailand, snacks are a completely acceptable gift. If you go to see government officials and bring them some coconut cookies and peanut brittle, you are BUDS.)

Uncle Mustache:


(Apparently Redneck Muay Thai coaches expect more than government officials)

Me: “Or… not. Well, what would you like?”

Uncle Mustache: “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

Me: “Ok,  you can just let Benjamin know…”

Uncle Mustache: “Good. I’ll let you know when I decide.”


We finally got out of there. Nam and I exclaimed and laughed about all the awkwardness. She said that her uncle’s hair ruffle had totally freaked her out.

Yeah, You aren’t the only one, Nam.

As we drove into the Muay Thai yard, Benjamin asked me where the heck I had been. I told him the readers digest version of what you have just read, ending with the story of the hair ruffle.

To which Benjamin replied, “Oh! Is that why your hair is all crazy?”


A Day in the Life… Or Three

Ollo Peoples!!!

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve graced you with one of my scintillating posts. I know you’ve missed me terribly… I know. It’ll be ok. This post is going to be kind of a ramble. Several bloggable things have happened but they are just short stories, so I decided to mash them all in here together and call it “A day in the Life… Or Three.”

So anyways, Day One… We went to a chicken farm.

Really, Marg? A chicken farm? Really?

This was no ordinary chicken farm. It is the THE chicken farm. It is here that they breed and raise the Liam Neesons of the chicken fighting industry. If these chicken’s were race horses, they would be comparable to Sea Biscuit and Secretariat. True Story.

Why were we at this chicken farm? Well, Boon Lurt, (Yeah, the guy who looks in our windows) raises fighting chickens to sell. He helps to support his family this way. He wanted to go and check it out, and as it is only a 30 minute drive away, we took him. 

When we walked into the gate the first thing I saw was a fenced in, recently sodded, orange gazebo – complete with a portrait of the rooster to whom this gazebo belonged. That’s right, this gazebo was the home of only ONE rooster. I thought it was a bit much for one rooster until I found out that this rooster had won around 2,000,000 Baht in his four fights. (That is about 600,000 USD). WUT? 0_o


When Dad told them that I would like to take pictures for an english blog (He was all like, Free advertising, YO!) they were very excited and decided to get the rooster out for me to take pictures.

This rooster knew he was big stuff. He was only about 2 feet tall, but I’m positive he was looking down his beak at me.



 Don’t judge me, rich chicken. I know, you won 2,000,000 baht but, I… uh… I write a blog… and I have opposable thumbs.

These guys down here didn’t have their own gazebos… I guess because they only won 1,000,000 baht. (300,000 USD)



Freaky Little Ninja Chicken. He’s looking at your soul.

Yours today for only 25,000$


These are just a few of the hundreds of roosters that were on this farm. This farm sells hundreds of chicks every month. If you want to buy one, there is a waiting list as they are usually backordered for at least two months.


Rows of Roosters


Boon Lurt’s life was pretty much made. Actually, I just ran out there to ask him some questions and make sure I had my chicken facts straight. When I showed him the chicken’s pictures he got all excited and called his wife over to look.

 “Uh, Margaret? Can you print those three chicken pictures out for me? You know like… big pictures? I’m gonna decorate with them.”

So, if any of you want to buy a gladiator chicken. Make sure you tell them you heard it from me. “That girl with the English blog brought me here!”

Anyways, a week or so after the chicken looked down his nose at me and made me feel inferior I decided to learn some new skillz. Yes, “Skillz” is spelled with a “Z”. Your argument is invalid.

Day Two: I learned to weld.


Actually learning to weld had nothing to do with the chicken and everything to do with the fact that my dad is Awesome. He is a man of many skillz. One of which is welding and another is teaching. So yeah, all credit for my new skill set goes to “Dad – The Awesome.”

Can I just say that welding is amazing? The process of wielding heat and molten metal to merge pieces of steel together is bad. Bad as in good. “Bad to the bone. DA na na na na.”


Ok. Day Three.

We decided to go to The Mall. Which, seriously, is no big deal. It is pretty much the only place to go and hang out in our city. Whenever anyone invites you to go somewhere other than their own home, it is pretty much guaranteed to be The Mall. And yes, I keep capitalizing “The Mall” because that is literally it’s name. SUPER CREATIVE, I know.

However, this was no ordinary saturday. We stepped on to the escalator headed to our favorite movie store and stepped off smack dab in the middle of a Thai Anime Cosplay. Red contacts included.


IMG_1634IMG_1640420688_10201087731654233_1032551331_n537834_10201087729214172_1392909400_n389007_10201087743174521_438326147_nIMG_1630575626_10201087741494479_2008935781_n575484_10201087736774361_512137251_nIn closing,

My Life is Awesome.

Love you guys! ❤

Be Awesome Instead.

Hey Peoples!!

This Morning we left Benjamin at the airport. He will be gone for three weeks. Three weeks is too long. Your argument is invalid.

Anyways, I was feeling sad and then I remembered this:


and Blogging = Awesome. I mean, right?

About a week ago Benjamin and I headed to Bangkok.


Our first stop on our adventure was a sleepover at our friend’s house. They live a lot closer to the bus station than we do and offered to drive us there to catch our bus at 3:30 AM in the morning. Now, those are true friends.

Kim, however, obviously does not understand the unspoken rule of etiquette, that you let your guests beat you at whatever game you are teaching them to play, at least once. She owned us all twice and did a victory dance over our poor, defeated, newbie selves. She is amazing… at being a friend and at Fist of Dragonstones.

After our game night we got about 3 1/2 hours of sleep before Cory drove us to the Bus Station.

We got on the 4 o’clock bus to BKK and I was all like, “Let’s take a picture and make a crazy face!” This was our attempt. I don’t know what face I’m making. I think its a, “Oh snap, I said let’s take a picture but I don’t know what to do with my face” face.


Note the snoozing guy in the back. I think he had the right idea.

When we were seated they came and handed out the snacks. Ok People, this is going to blow your minds but…


Bean Buns exist!


They have now revolutionized the Bean Bun industry so that they never go bad. They are like the Twinkies of Thailand… only less extinct.

Anyways, about 4 hours later we arrived in Bangkok. Our first mission was to get Benjamin to a certain consulate to apply for his Visa.  After a Hop, Skip, and a Jump (Or literally a Taxi, Subway, and a walk) we arrived at the said consulate about 30 minutes before it opened.

First, we needed to get some passport photos made so we walked down the street to find a shop where they made them. What we actually found was this:


Behold! The weird, little self-serve photo booth. I think the ink color was a little messed up in this thing. Benjamin’s awesome tan translated into the “Pale with Fuchsia lipgloss” look. Anyways, photos in hand, we ran back and got in the line which was already backed up down the street.

Ok, time for a little back story. They day before I was packing for our trip and had decided to wear my long-sleeve, flannel, button-up shirt for our trip. Yes, I knew the weather was supposed to be 105 degrees Fareinheit. I justified that it would be fine. The Bus trips are freezing and malls are air-conditioned and, and, and… It’s my favorite shirt, ok?

SO, we were waiting in line, in a little street in Bangkok. The sun beat down, there was no wind, no breeze. Just still, smoldering heat. My body obviously was getting seriously overly emotional  because it started weeping – from everywhere.

And as if that wasn’t enough, my brain got all accusatory like, “Mom was always right, Stupid. ‘Wear flannel to Bangkok’ you said. ‘It’ll be fine’ you said.”

Eventually the line started moving, the AC inside the consulate was calling to me. I could feel a waft of cool heaven on my face as we neared the entrance. Then I had a realization.

*Flashback to 20 minutes earlier* Benjamin and I had to go through a security checkpoint to get into the subway station. He walked through. No Beep. I walked through. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP. They puled me aside and had me open my bag. I showed them my curling iron and laptop and they waved me through. When we were a few feet away Benjamin told me he had a large knife in his backpack. He was all “LOL, they stopped you for laptop and totally missed my knife.”

*back to outside the sweet coolness of the consulate* I look at Benjamin’s backpack and realize we are about to go though the security checkpoint of a foreign consulate with a U.S. Marine Corps, standard issue KA-BAR in the backpack of the person who wants a visa to visit said country.


I decided to sit outside with the backpacks. After about 15 minutes of this, and an encouraging pep talk from dad, I decided to go in and see if I could check the backpacks in somewhere before heading up the stairs to help Benjamin. As soon as I was in the door, the security guard motioned me over and offered to keep and guard my backpacks for me. He must have noticed my frenzied sweaty-ness and taken pity on me. Thank you Mr. Security Guard. You’re a gem. Anyways, it was a good thing I was able to go in because we were there standing in line for about 2 hours.  After a lot of waiting, explaining, convincing, and running around fulfilling all of the wishes of the consulate officer we were told to come back at 3:00 pm to get Benjamin’s visa.

After an hour long taxi ride we made it to our hotel on Sukhumvit Soi 11. Soi 11 has a culture all its own. It is the middle eastern corner of Bangkok. There are falafel stands, suit tailors, and trinket peddlers on every block.

If you are on that side of town you have to go to The Lebanese Restaurant… Actually you should go there no matter wat side of Bangkok you are on. When we finally made it there it was about 2 pm and it was the first thing we had eaten all day. IT. WAS. AMAZING.



Grape Rolls

Beef Schwarma

Lamb Kabob

Eating that food on a date with the coolest brother in the world is just the best. You should try it sometime.



We were happy. The End.

Haha, JK.

After our perfectly scrumptious meal we headed all the way back to that consulate and retrieved the visa.

Still running on 3 1/2 hours of sleep we decided to head over to the Mall. Umm, we’re in Bangkok, Yo. Naps? Who needs that noise?

We got coffee at Starbucks instead.

And then we got Popcorn and a giant Coke. *Gasp* And went to see “Jack the Giant Slayer.” Because Why? Because sleep deprivation and Ewan McGregor.

The theatre at the mall we were at had little seating areas with these huge, star wars “Evil Emperor” type chairs. Benjamin decided to do an Evil Emperor impression for you all.


“You are now my apprentice.”


I love this guy.

We watched some TV and had Krispi Kremes in our hotel room for dinner, and finished up the night by meeting little Cinnamon for the first time via Skype.

The next day was full of adventures and craziness too, but this post is already a million miles long.

Benjamin, you are the best to have adventures with! I love you and miss you so much already it’s kinda ridiculous.


When you get sad, (And it’s ok, because… Duh, you don’t have me there) just remember…


The BIG-tiny, Singular Surprise

Ok, first off, I moved my blog to WordPress. You guys kept telling me that it wouldn’t let you comment and I thought, “Ain’t nobody got time fo dat!

It was a little traumatic at first. I went to download the WordPress.org stuff without a Web Host and the website said something like this:

“Click here to use our 5 minute download instructions!”

Me: *Click* …

That last part is me calling Benjamin to my rescue, as he is  my main nerd. But… even he didn’t even know what it meant. *gasp*

Fortunately some genius on youtube did. Thank you, http://www.youtube.com/user/freeducate. Whoever you are, you are amazing.

So, the point is, NOW YOU CAN COMMENT! …And you better do it too. I conquered my inner horrified Grandma for you. Don’t let me down.

I know the new blog layout is a little plain. Let me know if you are a WordPress genius who can help me make it look amazing. 🙂

Now, onto my main story.

Yesterday, we had a surprise. 

A big one. Actually, it was a little one. And, well, it was only halfway a surprise because we were also kind of expecting it to happen, but giving up hope that it would.

Are you thoroughly confused yet?

A few months ago we bred Cap and Gwen. They are Benjamin’s and my white german shepherds. Actually, they decided on the breeding without our permission. We were kinda like, “Oops… German Shepherd puppies it is.” I was a little worried about Gwen because she is just slightly young to have her first litter. So, I decided to pray that if it would be hard on her either she wouldn’t be pregnant or she would just have a small litter so that she could learn the ropes without having way too many puppies to handle.

Anyways, during her entire assumed pregnancy, she didn’t seem pregnant at all. She was just slim and playful and crazy like she always is. She had a few signs of pregnancy, but not enough to be sure.

When we got to the week of her due date we decided to separate her from the rest of the dogs just incase. At this point she was really driving me and the whole family crazy. Our conversations were something like this:

Dad: “I don’t think she’s pregnant. Wait, Maybe I do think she’s pregnant.”

Mom: “She’s totally pregnant. Wait, Maybe she’s not.”

Benj: *Silence*

Mom and Dad: “What do you think, Margaret?”

Me: “Umm….”

It was a very confusing time for me.

Anyways, yesterday I was in my bedroom with the AC on twisting myself into some kind of nutty Pilates position, (Why do I do it? WHY?) when Benjamin starts pounding on the door and yelling, “Marg! Come see your puppy!”

I shouted, “WHAT?”

we ran out to the little room (ok, the little outdoor bathroom) that we had been keeping Gwen in, and there it was in dad’s hand. One little puppy. I immediately thought it looked exactly like the Golden Retriever puppies, and started thinking, “Cody, I will kill you.” (Cody is our male golden retriever) when Dad apparently read my mind by saying, “It’s definitely German Shepherd.” So, I took his word for it.

Gwen was kind of freaking out, running around in circles. I really think she had no idea what was going on. She definitely knew she cared about the little thing though. Every time it squeaked she would run over and lick it.

Once we were there and I was sitting next to her she calmed down and started nursing it. She just needed me there with her to tell her it was all going to be alright. It felt really nice to be loved and trusted by my dog. Awwwww…  *insert awkward gushy moment about my doggie*

WIth her finally settled down I got a close look at the little one and realized it didn’t look like a golden at all.

It has an amazing Snoz on it, a long tapered tail, German Shepherd hind legs, (You know, where they look like they have elbows on their back legs?) and these amazing little wolf paws.

Golden Retriever puppies have these little, round mitt-like paws. This little one has big wolf feet. Only they are tiny, big wolf feet.

Little Wolf Paw

Little Wolf Paw

Gwen is a great mother. She lays down and wraps herself up around her one little puppy. It just makes my heart melt. IMG_1709

We moved her inside, by the way. I am sitting in here with her as I write this blog post.

So, that was my big, little not-quite-a-surprise surprise.IMG_1711

We knew that if she did have any puppies there would only be one or two. I had decided that if it was a boy I would name it, “Obi-ONE-Kenobi” or “Han-SOLO”

But… It’s a girl! And I have no idea what to name her. Do you have any good One-Pun name ideas? Or just any adorable girl name that I would be crazy not to name her?IMG_1714

Remember, you can now comment. Comment name ideas, blog advice, truth or dares…

Love you people!