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Archive | Fred

These plants mock me

Plant know-how is not hereditary as I’m barely able to keep a plant alive and my mom’s barely able to kill one, as evidenced by the foliage in the above picture, similar versions of which exist in numerous places in this house. In fact, if some kind of angry shrub appeared at her front door with intent to do harm, and she made the all-too-common mistake of letting the aggrieved plant into her home, I worry she wouldn’t even be able to kill in self-defense, that’s how much she can’t kill plants. In this day and age needing to take arms against flora is a very rare occurance so I think she’ll be okay, but I do worry about her inviting these monsters into her home.
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Puppies, wisdom teeth, Dustin, socks, hoarding, babies

I’m the kind of person who can feel attachment to just about anything, as evidenced by the way I name my plants and can’t bring myself to buy a fish because I know it would crush me to find Fred or Skippy (the name of my fish) belly up and to feel I had failed him. The irony, and now I’m not sure if that’s the correct usage of irony or the casual incorrect usage which eventually will become the correct usage since words are losing their distinct meanings and pretty soon we’ll all walk around “bemused” with “notorious” iPads that “literally” say “MLGHRF” on them and what was I saying? Oh yeah, the odd or unexpected thing here is that I can’t bring myself to buy a fish and yet I dream of having a puppy. You might be thinking, “Don’t you mean a dog? You know that puppies don’t stay puppies forever, right?” however I really just mean a puppy. I definitely don’t have time to deal with anything that’s losing cuteness and gaining size by the day. In fact, I fully intend to make any puppy I purchase sign a contract stating that either party may terminate the arrangement at any time.

I was thinking about attachment though because vronsfan2005 got his wisdom teeth out and tweeted about it and I got mine out some years ago and I was remembering that a few days before the procedure I was sitting in my chair at Time Out New York thinking, “These teeth will never be in this office again.”

I can also recall having trouble throwing away a sock many years ago, and Dustin (who is not my boyfriend! I realize that my blithe references to him may scare off potential suitors and I’m in  no position to scare off any potential suitors since my biological clock is ticking hard and I really want to get married and have babies immediately, in fact that’s what I tell guys I go on dates with when I explain that Dustin is not my boyfriend). Where was I? I really need to quit going on these long parenthetical tangents and then thinking I can get myself back on track. I’m a writer, so if anyone can I can, and yet it’s as if I’m driving a car and while trying to get back home I lose interest in retracing my steps and instead decide to just pull over and build a new different home. So my point was that Dustin is not my boyfriend, we’re just friends, but once  he busted me about my socks.

Anyway, I think maybe I’m a proto-hoarder. I have hoarding tendencies. Of course, I think probably everyone does which is why that show is so popular.

Oh and RSVP to my Ustream show on Wednesday, won’t you? It may or may not feature Jim Norton. It will definitely feature me talking about this whole online dating thing.

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A moment of silence for Fred

Blog readers, I have some bad news. Fred the Jade Plant has left us for the great garden in the sky. In fact, he shuffled off his mortal coil a few weeks ago but I haven’t thrown him out yet because I’ve been thinking I need to take a picture so I can make a touching tribute video highlighting the impact he’s made on our lives. But I don’t think I’m going to get around to doing that. So basically a very dead Fred has been sitting on my kitchen table for three weeks getting deader and more shriveled with each passing day and instead of giving him a proper burial I just look at him and think “Huh, I should do something about that.” What kind of monster am I?!

But I choose to remember Fred as he looked in his youth.

Fred as a young houseplant
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Brooklyn can't keep its hands off me

Yesterday I went to this cute little antique or secondhand store near my apartment that had all this cool old furniture which smells cool and old and maybe a little like mothballs, but very hip vintage moth balls, not mass produced moth balls. I mean, the craftmanship that went into these balls. The elbow grease and the sweat. Someone labored over these balls. You don’t find that in the city. So anyway I was talking with the woman who worked at the store because I can be garrulous and winning when I so choose, or when the moment chooses me, I mean, who’s to say you know? So we’re talking and she asks how long I’ve been in the neighborhood and I tell her three days and she comes out from behind the counter to give me a hug and say welcome to the neighborhood. It was so sweet I almost cried! And then I told my sister later that day and she almost cried! It’s like we’re just so relieved that anyone likes me! And then today I met my landlord’s wife and daughter (they live above me) and they were super nice and gave me a sweet housewarming gift (a cute teapot and some tea) and told me I was home now and if there’s anything I need not to hesitate to ask and she gave me a hug and it was so nice I almost cried. And then I told my parents and they almost cried! I’m telling you, it’s like I’ve never known the touch of other human beings or something. Anyway, photo tour? I think so:

Here’s me on moving day in the middle of the WORST allergy attack ever. I think my nose was swollen. I cannot emphasize enough how bad this allergy attack was. It was like a cat exploded on my face. And not in a good way. A less confident person would burn this photo, not upload it, but what the hell. I dare you to love me.

Here’s one of the pieces of furniture I bought from the antique store near my apartment. Usually I like white furniture but new borough, new woodstain. Also, don’t I look like a fussy little old man with this nightstand? You can’t really tell but there is an umbrella and a bottle of aspirin on the shelf. It’s the umbrella that makes me look geriatric for some reason. I should also stick a hot water bottle under there. And my reading glasses, even though I don’t use reading glasses.
Oops, out of order. Here’s me on moving day, transporting my precious plants. That’s me with no makeup, by the way. None.

Here’s the adorable teapot I received as a housewarming gift from my landlord. I also received a tin of tea but that isn’t in this photo.

Here’s another piece of furniture I bought from the antique store. Doesn’t it kind of look like a smiley face or the face of a robot/computer in an 80s movie? I liked it until I wrote that.

Here’s a lamp I bought at this little furniture store I discovered called Ikea. Who knew I like funky lamps? I didn’t. But I do!

Here’s a rounded edge bookshelf thing I bought from that store. Not Ikea, the other one.

I also bought a “secretary” although thus far this pink thing hasn’t made me any coffee or filed anything.

Here it is, opened. It’s blue inside! I totally didn’t need this at all, however now that I have it I’ve made it my correspondence corner, in case I need to send anyone a postcard. Note: the last postcard I sent was in 1994.

Here’s a bathroom storage thing I bought from someone off Craiglist. Now my whole bathroom smells like whatever hair products the person who used to own this used. It’s a distinctive smell but I can’t place it which is frustrating. I like to think I know my Garnier from my Aquanet from my Sebastian.

I love ducklings but I realized that the love I have for my dishwasher is a close second. I LOVE this dishwasher. A friend of mine told me he finds doing dishes relaxing. I find not doing dishes relaxing.

Inside my dishwasher.

Remember how I said my freezer smells like asparagus? Well asparagus, you’ve met your match. I’m tackling the problem head on. This baking soda was lovingly shot and backlit in my freezer.
And lest that smell think of laying down roots in my fridge? Think again.

I guess that’s all for now.

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dogs, parents

I think my dad just kind of encouraged me to get a puppy! It’s pretty sad that at my age I still need my parents’ approval for basic life decisions—like inviting adorableness into my heart and home—however I would have guessed they wouldn’t think I was mature enough to get a dog—which is also funny since I suspect they think I’m mature enough to have a child. Speaking of, I should water Fred.

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The actual plant discussion

The following will only be interesting to people invested in the drama that is my sister and I both naming our plants Fred. Now, to be fair, eight hundred years ago she went out and bought brown Doc Martens, and then I went out and bought the same ones even though I’m older, which may have created an irreparable tear in the older sister/younger sister dynamic. Which is to say: perhaps I had this coming.

[More about the Doc Martens, you ask? Well she was really into My So-Called Life at the time. I think she even was mistaken for goth around then, which is rare for her since she’s more sunny/colorful stylistically whereas I am kind of always mistaken for goth even though I’m so not goth. Except kind of recently someone who has known me a tiny bit for about ten years said, “Wow, I never knew you had such a twisted sense of humor” and then I asked him, if he’s surprised to find this out, what did he think I was like for all these years. He said, “I just thought you were… normal.“]

Anyway, here’s the plant discussion:

My sister: Did I tell you I got a plant for my office?
Me: Yes.
My sister: I named him Fred.
Me: [slow burn] That’s my plant’s name.
My sister: Huh. No wonder it worked well.
Me: Yeah, Fred and Rita.
My sister: Rita’s the other one?
Me: Yeah.
My sister: Rita looks skinny.
Me: Thank you!
My sister: Mine looks more like a Fred anyway.
Me: I highly doubt that. Wait, is yours Frederick?
My sister: No, just Fred.
Me: Well mine’s, uh, Fredley.
My sister: Well then they don’t have the same name.
Me: Yeah but no one calls him that!

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My ascetic lifestyle; plants named Fred

Since placing my reproductive organs high on a shelf in a seldom opened closet and removing myself from the world of human entanglements/relationships/interaction for the most part except to shuffle around in a bathrobe and slippers, smoking a cigar, scratching my belly and yelling at neighborhood kids and then belching, I’ve been remarkably surprised how much I don’t miss being out there. Maybe I really am dead inside, I’ll occasionally think. There are certain things that penetrate the strange satiety though—strange because it seems unearned—and make me suddenly remember what it was like to go to parties and date and go to dinner and put on lip gloss with that nervous/excited feeling in your stomach. (now I just put it on with a “what’s the point of it all” feeling mixed with a “damnit Sally Hanson, why did you have to discontinue Always Asher, WHY WHY WHY?” feeling) The things that get through to me? Well, certain people I’ve met in the midst of all this, and for some reason, the movie Walk the Line.

Wait a minute, my sister just told me she bought a plant for her office and named it Fred. I told her my plant was named Fred and she said her plant looks more like a Fred than mine. THOSE ARE FIGHTING WORDS!

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I'm in CA

Sorry readers, didn’t mean to be so cryptic. Or did I?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Anyway, I’m back in California playing guitar at another wedding. Not really. I’m getting my hair straightened. Not really, I’m here for work. I thought it would be super awesome but now that I’m by the beach and on deadline(s) I’m realizing that I wish I were just on vacation! Not that I like the beach, but that the beach makes you want to be on vacation.

Could I possibly say and then negate anything more in the above paragraph? No. Get it?

I was thinking about liveblogging the flight, except I wouldn’t be able to truly liveblog it since you have to turn off the internal transmitters of the [this is where my brain tunes out] but anyway, the things I would have said were:

1. I found a loogie sitting on the floor of the airplane bathroom. I thought of cleaning it up, and then decided that I didn’t want to come in that close contact with it. Instead I had to basically do this uncomfortable hopping gyrating thing to move around in there so as to avoid accidentally dragging a shoelace through said throat snot. Just thinking about it makes me want to retch.

2. okay, maybe it was a small puddle of soapy water

3. I’m not sure though

4. it was about two inches from the toilet. I don’t even want to think about what it was.

5. Foamy urine?

6. ugh

7. Hell’s Kitchen is entertaining. I’d never seen it before. But Bobby? Infuriating!

8. Real Housewives of NYC is kind of boring.

9. Six hours and 17 minutes flying time is long time to try to get into a show.

10. The male flight attendant smelled good. First I thought he was albino and I was thinking that were I liveblogging this I would say that the flight attendant is albino, and I wonder if that’s good luck. But by the end of the flight I’d totally come around to realizing he both had pigment and smelled good.

11. I really liked that band Belly. Liked/like. I was listening to King on the plane which I recently found and put on my iPod and then I was thinking that I listened to this album 13 years ago or something and am I a relic? Are my tastes fossilized? I liked/like Throwing Muses too and I still list them when people ask about my favorite bands, but I’d forgotten about Belly.

12. So then I decided to listen to Whatever Hits from the 90s or whatever it’s called. But I only listened to a couple songs. I had to scroll past a lot of them.

13. I’m procrastinating.

14. I mean, the funny thing is that I don’t even really like girl singers, or in the old days I didn’t. With the exception of Kristin Hersh and Tanya Donnelly.

15. The old days being before I started playing in a band because I think that changed my tastes.

16. Tobey is as cute as ever, in case you’re wondering.

17. Fred the Jade Plant and Rita the Golden Pothos (yes, I have another houseplant. I was waiting for the right time to tell you. Number 17 is as good a time as any) are doing well, for those who asked.

18. “Wouch” or “WOWCH” is what you should say when someone surprises you by saying something insulting. (wow + ouch)

19. Guyvice is when a guy offers you guy advice (guy + advice) except I was recently told that “guyvice sounds like a device to make my head explode.”

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