My Prowess in the Kitchen


A couple of weeks ago my friend had a Potluck. I have never been one to dabble in the culinary arts myself, so when there’s cooking to be done, there’s a mom for that. Not just any mom. My mom.

One of her signature dishes? The baked ziti. So what did I bring to the potluck? Baked ziti.
As soon as I walk into my friends house with the tray, everyone asks me who made the ziti because “of course I didn’t make it, I couldn’t cook a dish to save my life.”

That statement and others like it have been said to me for as far back as I can remember and I take up serious issue with the sentiment.

First of all. I think of myself as a very versatile young lass, quick on her feet with a noggin full o’ common sense and wit. So if encountered with a life-threatening situation that required me to perform some task to live…I’d like to think I would rise to the occasion, fight through the adversity and the pressure and pass with flying colors.

Second. Tis true that I don’t know what “julianning” something is or the difference between al dente and…not al dente. The oven is not my friend. In fact the last time I used it I couldn’t figure out how to shut the thing off (When the hell did they get rid of the on/off buttons??!) But does that mean I am legally brain dead when it comes to culinary expertise?

Many in the world would say yes. I however defend myself because although I may not have cooked through Julia Child’s cookbook or even really know what beef bourgignone (sp?) is… by God I am one hell of a Microwaver!

Ahh the microwave. What once was seen as a magical box full of wonder and mystery, has overtime been downgraded to something you nuke food in, resulting in a less edible heated up version of what once was a delicious meal.

But when I look at a microwave I see a one stop shop for all my cooking needs in one convenient spot. When there’s a fire and you’re all grabbing your iPods, family albums, pets and babies…I’ll be grabbing the microwave.

Of course there will be nay-sayers. Hot shots with their deep fryers and fancy oven mitts will say a microwave is no way to prepare your food. But I say hogwash. My microwave can do anything your oven can do faster and more efficiently while never burning down the kitchen.

Let me ask you this. Have you ever burnt popcorn in a microwave? Have you heated up those pork chops that sent a shiver down your spine when you got to the cold center?

Well what I say to all of you is…amateurs. Popcorn setting? HA what do I look like a rookie?! This ain’t my first rodeo and those factory settings are child’s play. Alls I need to do is eyeball it.

The type of food, the amount, the type of plate all factor in. And of course there’s the microwave.

Are we dealing with a Whirlpool, LG or Hitatchi here. Maybe it’s a Panasonic (betchya didn’t know Panasonic made microwaves). I’m more partial to the Kenmores myself; the classic look is my thing but I can work with any brand you got.

How many watts is this bad boy spitting out and what’s the circumference of the turn table. What’s the CFM speed of the exhaust fan and does it have a heat deflector?

It all means nothing to you but these precise calculations are my life. They’re why I haven’t burned a bag of popcorn since 1996.

So the next time you see a microwave, don’t scoff at it or hold your nose up to it. And when you see me, don’t laugh that I probably don’t know how to turn on/off your oven (seriously none of these damn things have on/off buttons anymore!)

Look at me as an equal in the culinary world because I may not be able to marinate that Thanksgiving turkey, but I can heat up those leftovers better than anybody you’ll ever meet.

So back off and show this Microwaver some God damn respect.


No Good Deed Goes Unpunished


Today I held the door for a woman walking behind me. She smiled at me and said “Thank You”. Normal right?
Not where I come from…

It’s the summer of 2010. One of those beautiful days where the sun is shining and a cool breeze is blowing. I jump in the whip, roll down the windows and hear Cher blaring from my stereo. I start my 5 minute commute to the theatre.

I roll into the parking lot and I’m not gonna lie…there’s a smile on my face as I hop out of the car, throw my string bag over my shoulder and start the walk to the town center doors.

Young, naive Margaret. You can’t even see what’s coming.

I get to the entrance (regular push/pull doors luckily. “I hate those revolving doors. One day somebody is gonna get hurt in one of those,” I think to myself). I see a man in a wheelchair struggling to open the doors. Seeing this I immediately go through the one next to him and start opening up his door from the other side.

Big Mistake. Big. Huge. (Name that movie)


Who said that and to whom, I wonder to myself. Surely it can’t be directed at me. I stand still with the door open.


Now I see what’s going on. I see clearly. Its my punishment for being in a good mood. It’s what I get for walking in with a stupid smile on my stupid face. C’mon Marge you know better than that! #RookieMistake

“I’m sorry I was just trying to help—” I said it with true sincerity..but that kind of sincerity gets you know where at the theatre. “GET YOUR HAND OFF THAT DOOR! I CAN OPEN A DOOR!”

I let go of the door immediately, contemplating if a jump from the roof  could kill me…nope I’d break a leg at best…

I watch as the man gets through the door…eventually. I turn my head to see a nice little audience watching the show. With nothing coming to mind to say, I start heading towards the theatre. Thankfully there’s not far to go so I start walking…briskly…to safety.


The sound of his screams and profanities muffle away as I walk through the theatre doors. I’m safe.

I start thinking over what just happened. Did I really do something wrong? I didn’t huff and puff or roll my eyes about holding the door.
I had a residual smile on my face from my blissful car ride, so certainly I didn’t look aggravated..

But apparently in my act of opening a door for someone I was sticking my middle finger up at all people in wheelchairs, all across the land! Had it been an old lady, or a 30 year old handsome gentleman or an 8 year old bratty child walking in, I would have held the door open. It’s just what I was taught. It’s just how I was raised. So clearly there’s only one guilty party here.


Thanks a lot mom for teaching me to hold doors for people and all about manners and saying stupid shit like “thank you”. Screw you ma for showing me to be nice to other people and to treat others how I’d like to be treated.

By your dumb logic I’m supposed to help someone in a wheelchair struggling to get through a door! You dumb biddy!! You haven’t prepared me for life and you certainly haven’t done your job. What else have you lied to me about?

You’re dead to me.

About Me


Known aliases: Marge, Margie, Junior, Peggy, Margarite, Margarita, Mags, Maggie, Grape Juice, Welch, Mrs. George Clooney, Gret, Large Marge, Margaret Mary Mary, Margo, Argy, M, Mrs. Jack Bauer… AKA Margaret Welch. (#NameDrop)

People say to me a lot, “you have the best laugh!” I can’t really do it justice typing it so you’ll just have to take my word for it. But if I could type it, I would type it really fast…over 120 words per minute kinda fast–thank you Mavis Beacon.

I’ve never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, fun fact. I’m a juggler in training who can only train once every few months because I get discouraged and ashamed of my ineptitude.

Finally, and some may say most importantly, I’m the greatest Tetris player this side of the Mississippi…and the other side as well. Challenge me if you wish but you will lose…and you may cry. I won’t think any less of you.

…Oh, hey! Didn’t see ya there.


I’m Marge. This is me


Notice the glitter lamp and disco ball behind me in this pic. Yes those are mine and you can purchase your very own at “5 Below” (not a paid spokesperson..but willing to be).

I started working at the movie theatre in 2009 at the innocent age of 19. I wish I had taken a picture of myself on the day before my first day…to capture that happy young girl, full of life. That sweet, care-free lass would never recognize the shell of a human being that theatre turned me into.

Sure it seems glamorous on the outside. I got to watch unlimited free movies; eat all the popcorn and drink all the soda I wanted; all while getting paid! Ahh, the high life. But behind the scenes the theatre is a very dark and scary place where dreams are shattered and corpses lie.

Luckily I made it out about a year ago when I started my full time job as a video editor in the hustlin’ bustlin’ city o’ Manhattan. But the memories from that place still haunt me and I’m hoping that by writing about my time there along with new experiences I have, I can expel those demons and the nightmares will stop.

Haha, but you don’t know me that well yet and this over-exaggerated sarcasm and dramatic antics may be misconstrued as delusional and scary. So for now I’ll just say “‘Ello there govnars!”

I’m looking forward to you getting to know me.

Welcome to the Mind o’ Marge 🙂