Archive for the ‘Fred’ Category
This makes me nostalgic for the whole ARIYNBF gang!
Happy Cinco de Mayo!
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.
This story is all kinds of sad and for some reason it’s the fact that Travis went to die in his sleeping quarters that’s really getting me. Also the butcher knife thing. Wouldn’t you keep a taser or something on hand for these situations? Or maybe this is just so unheard of. Regardless I’m glad I never had to deal with anything like this with Fred The Jade Plant.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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?
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?
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!