July 25, 2015
Last Wednesday was hot. According to all the internets it was the hottest day of the year (Thus far. I see you, August) and while the rest of Manhattan was out doing hot-day things like enjoying the residual breeze from an oncoming A train, I was home dusting the leaves of my fiddle leaf fig. Ya, ya heard me! See, as any well-educated plant owner will tell you, without a proper wipe down dust will accumulate on your leaves therefor hindering the plant from receiving any proper sunlight. So there I went, one by one, wiping down the leaves of all my plants (cursing myself for leaving the little sponge I usually use to do this at work!) when suddenly it donned on me-I have more plants than friends.
What really happen is that I had become the crazy plant lady; closely related to the crazy cat lady but a lot less crazier and somehow not as off-putting. See, I coined this term about a year ago--right around the time that the coolest thing you could post on Instagram was your bush (no, not that bush), succulents and air plants. I noticed that people were taking on more plants than they could handle but it didn't matter cause #cleanair and #iwanttonurturesomethingbutdontwantababy. Those plants were dying but it was only us CPLs that were taking it to heart.
Around this time last year, my grandmother accompanied me to Union Square Market and bought me one of those hanging plants that are just so darn cool and ~oBsCuRe. I tried so hard to keep it alive but little by little, I saw it withering away. Finally one day, Nicholas told me it was time to get rid of it--the plant was clearly dead and nothing I could do would make it come back to life. In that moment I actually shed a tear. I remember it clearly--I was all like, "Nicholas, I'm going to take a shower" which was code for "I just killed a living thing and I need the privacy of a shower to contemplate what a horrible person I am!" It wasn't even a swift death! I was a murderer. But in that moment, I was also a bit crazy.
I'm happy to report that since then, I've only ever killed one other plant and while I was initially sad and in denial of what was happening, I was nowhere near as devastated as I was in the great plant death of 2014. This gos victim was palm tree that at first transformed my bedroom into a tropical oasis. However, this time I am blaming it on Home Depot for selling me a not so healthy plant. Still, I like to think I handled this one a lot better. Especially when I walked into the living room to find the last remaining frond keeled over on the floor as if it had been shot and didn't even give a shriek!
So am I a crazy plant lady? Not sure. But judging by the fact that I just spent half an hour writing this post, I'm afraid to say that I might be.
Illustration by Jen Collins.
July 13, 2015
What no one told me about moving to Brooklyn is that no one would follow. Those Manhattan friends we had spent years cultivating a friendship with? Yeah, don't expect them to visit. After all, it's not like I ever visited Brooklyn on my days off. In fact, I'd only ever cross the east river for important occasions (think: birthdays, engagements, etc.), if that!
Still, I can't help but laugh at the irony. For the first time in my adult life, I have room to host parties. A bedroom in which transient friends could crash. An oven that fits a normal-sized sheet pan. And yet, it seems as if it's just a bit too far.
None of that makes me sad, though. As I sit in my bedroom, located more than five feet from my toilet, I feel as if I live in a mansion. My own little mansion in which time is spent alone watering my plants and wondering why we didn't move to Brooklyn sooner.
December 18, 2014
December 17, 2014
December 15, 2014
The other day I was in my office and all of a sudden, half the computers and lights in my area shut off. Someone had blown a fuse but who could it have been? An office mate set out to investigate. Oh yeah, it was me. Just me and space heater, trying to make things warm. The struggle is real, my friends and I want to let you know, you're not alone.
Here's to 90 degree weather and blazing sun; the only time our bodies feel warm. Because I know that if Nicholas has to hear the words "I'm cold," one more time, he might strangle me.