less than elegant

In effort to nurture and care for the lovely plants that adorn my apartment, I brought some outside to spray a little "go away bugs" mist on them. This particular bottle has the tendency to miss the actual target and go for walls, shelves, tables, etc. so I played it safe by spraying in a wall/shelf/table-free-zone.

Maybe you have been to my apartment, maybe you have not- but I'm here to tell you, the only wall/shelf/table-free-zone is the ledge surrounding our patio.

This one.


"Go away bugs" spray complete. Mission accompli..... @#$^&*@!

Down goes the fuchsia. *SPLAT!* I do not push it over, I do not even think I brushed against it or slammed a door or exhaled with gusto against it. This plant committed suicide. ON MY WATCH. So I forgot to water it every once in a while, I didn't sing it songs, and I might have let the bugs go a little too far. But plant suicide? Common!!!

Despite my medical training and rapid response, the fuchsia had some seriously damaged appendages. I'm not much of a surgeon, so I amputated.


Me: "Branches? Who needs branches!? Not you little guy!"
Plant: "WTF, first you try to kill me, now you chop off my limbs?! Bitch!"
Me: "Its okay, its okay. I'll put you outside where you can get some sun."
Plant: "Are you kidding me? I like SHADE lady, SHADE. Do you even know how cold it gets at night? It stinks out here, and its windy. I bet you wont even remember I'm out here."
Me: "Suuurrrreee I will little guy, hope your arms grow back!! Best of luck!"



So I was in an amputating mood. Cut cut cut. Remember how hard it was not to cut all of Barbie's hair off? Or how good it felt when you did it anyway? Remember how good it feels to snip snip snip away at a piece of construction paper, unfold, and reveal a snowflake? Or slice into a perfectly prepared grilled cheese sandwich? Good times.

I have three fuchsias. All were thriving. I hacked two to bits, and left a third untouched. My rationale? If the two dismembered plants thrive and grow to be healthy, full, and magnificent spectacles then they can rub it in the other leggy, droopy plant's face (it always feels good to be better than someone else, right?). If they turn brown, crisp up, and shrivel, then point their mangy little tendrils at me, at least I will have one healthy plant to show off to them. (SEE, I cared a little bit! One survived my masochistic ways!)

Dismembered limbs.


The one that escaped unscathed.


Wish these plants luck- they need it.

I dont know what we're yelling about!!!!!

I cannot say for sure, but I think the world might be a better place if people would whisper or speak softly when they would like to be heard.

Enough yelling. Enough. You do not need to raise your voice to be heard. I hear you. Believe me, I hear you. If what you have to say is so important that you feel the need to shout, just stop and reflect for a moment. Think about it. Still need to scream in order to get your message across? Fuck it. Fine. But I'm not listening.

What do you think?

So I was watching a movie with Mer the other night and I said, "dude, that guy looks like my grandpa."

After looking up photos of both my grandfather and Mr.Ackland I can say that yes, they do look sort of alike. I can also say that Mr. Ackland looks pretty much identical to every single "grandpa" I've ever met.

Grandpa Brunick


Joss Ackland


And you guessed it folks, that adorable blond bombshell in the arms Mr. Brunick? Yours Truly!

Thanks Shannon!!

I would like to introduce you to my new bicycle, graciously donated to me by the lovely Miss Shannon. Tomorrow I'll walk it down to the bike shop next to the apartment to see if they can't help me get the tires in working order and maybe clean it up a bit.

Seriously, how rad is this bike!?

growth

Fuchsias:
A couple months ago...


And now.


Cilantro:

A while ago...


And now.


Basil:

Three/Four weeks ago...


And now.


What can I say, I'm giddy!

they call me mellow yellow

So a while back, about the time I was doing all that overreacting to James heading to Thailand, I had a bad day. A crabby, angry, poor poor me, I'm-going-to-sit-right-here-and-pout day.

Thankfully, Mer, being the brave woman she is, asked if I would like to go to Lance's with her. I probably snapped at her and grumbled some more, but I rounded up what was left of a bottle of vodka and took her up on the offer. Bless her soul! I was still feeling quite sour, but when we got there I tried hard to turn off "bitch mode" and go into "I'm fine, really, just tired mode." It may or may not have worked ("may not" being more likely).

Lance stepped up and escorted me outside to smoke a cigarette. And now it was time for booze.

Ladies and gentlemen, a discovery was about to be made. A dangerous yet oh-so-fabulous discovery. Citrus and starch. Lemon and potato. Happiness in a shot glass. *A healthy squeeze of fresh lemon juice topped with an even healthier portion of vodka.*

This drink deserved a name. Brainstorming commenced.



Mellow Yellow was born.



I've said it before, but I want to say it again. I have wonderful friends. While Mellow Yellow didn't hurt in lifting my spirits, it was Mer and Lance that brought me out of my funk. They have a way of just knowing what I need. Aside from creating a delicious drink, Lance and I did some kitchen gardening- planting some basil/chive/cilantro/parsley seeds. Aside from watching out for me, getting me out of the house, and driving around, Mer got me some flowers, a rockin' card, and picked up my cluttered room for me.

Who does that!?

^ THESE GUYS ^