Archive for December 27, 2009

The Spider Plant Saga – a.k.a. Peter and M.J.’s Not-So-Grand Adventure

December 27, 2009

Recently someone suggested I get some plants for my room. Since I value this person’s opinion and since I could always use an extra dose of Oxygen — hey, who couldn’t? — when my friends Mike and Rebecca offered me a peaked-looking plant in their living room window, I eagerly agreed. He was a spider plant, so I immediately named him Peter Parker and resolved to nurse him back to excellent health — this being opposite of my usual M.O. of taking perfectly healthy plants and killing them in record-breaking time.

I brought Peter home, watered him and left him in the sink overnight, and the very next day, instead of procrastinating for weeks, which again would have been the usual protocol, installed a hook into my bedroom ceiling, tied a pretty ribbon onto it, and hooked his pot onto the pretty ribbon, where he has been hanging for the last few days and at least in my imagination seems to be improving health-wise.

But tonight I got home and something unsettled me a little bit. Nothing even tangible, but something about his leaves gave me a very, very slight case of the willies. And this reminded me of why I didn’t already have a room full of plants, why I’ve never even purchased one single houseplant, at least not for myself. I will make no bones about it — plants are creepy! I look at Peter, and it’s like his leaves are tentacles lurching out at me, or maybe they’re strands of hair on the head of a tiny troll submerged in the dirt of the pot. Either way, there’s no escaping the fact that plants are alive, and just because they don’t speak doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t plotting a coup against all animal life. It makes me shiver.

Mind you, I’ve never gotten anything but friendly vibes from Peter. I assume he must be grateful to me for rescuing him from the negligent parenting of my friends and giving him water, sunlight, and his own hook in the ceiling where he can swing merrily all day and observe goings-on from high up. I mean, he should be grateful! But plants need more than water, sunlight, and prime real estate, from what I’m told. Like animals, plants, I’m told, also need love. And folks, I’m just not sure I’m ready for that. I’m just not sure I’m ready.

*****

Update: I wrote this about a year ago and didn’t post it for whatever reason. I’m pleased to announce Peter is still alive and has accompanied me to my new apartment (new as of last March). The bad news is, my plant-care habits have waned down to a level that keeps young Pete alive, but barely. I regret to admit that he is much less full than he was at his peak. (His health really did improve at my last house; I’m thinking it was all the sunlight. Oh, and the watering). In fact, about a third of him died altogether. There were about three sets of spriggles planted in his pot, and one set completely died. Also, he had a baby! Who died. Not sure how familiar you are with spider plants, but when they’re healthy, they form baby spider plants at the ends of their tentacles; and he did, and I intended to plant the baby and let her grow up and name her M.J., but alas, she died, and it’s all my fault. I did find her pretty creepy, but I didn’t mean to kill her. Sigh.

Improv Arms

December 19, 2009

One time recently I was at the gym and ran into a male person whom I know from the comedy theatre where I took improv classes and spend a disproportionate amount of my time. And when I saw him, I cleaned my proverbial glasses (“squeak, squeak!”), because “improv” and “the gym” are two worlds that rarely collide. Too often for my comfort, men who are comedians (or in a band, for that matter) seem to have an excercise phobia. It’s such a widespread phenomenon that it caused me to coin a term for it: “improv arms.” I think it’s a shame, because funny guys and musicians have a degree of automatic hotness because of their talent, so if they’d do a bicep curl once in a while, they could likely be an unstoppable force of hotness. It seems like a waste.

And that leads me to my next point: I love men’s arms. I love them so much. Every day that I wake up in the morning, I love them more than I did the night before. If I could only take one object with me to a desert island, I’d take a man’s arm. I can’t get enough! Men’s arms to me are what boobs are to many men. I love looking at them. I love touching them. Sometimes I stare inappropriately at them. When they’re covered up, I wonder what they look like underneath all that pesky fabric. I love kissing them and squeezing them and rubbing my face all over them. I’m serious, Internet! It’s true! It must be a cavewoman instinct. Probably if you were a caveman, no woman would mate with you if you had improv arms, because you wouldn’t be able to protect her from beasts or wrestle tigers to the ground to bring home for dinner.

If you are a man who has nice arms, you are automatically 75% more likely to get into my pants than if you have improv arms. I’m not saying IAs are a definite dealbreaker… no, if you’re perfect in every other way, I’ll still give you the time of day. But don’t be surprised if you wake up with a set of weights jury-rigged around your wrists, or if I ask you a little too often to lift heavy objects for me. Just bein’ honest.

I Did It!

December 19, 2009

I upgraded to WordPress 2.9, and it actually seems to be working ok! Now to find some fun new themes, and actually write more often. Yay!

Update: I swear my Archives tab was working fine, or maybe I just imagined that, because now it’s not. But I’m still proud of myself for figuring out the upgrade. And how do y’all like this new theme? I like it for now. Can you tell that I like turquoise and red/orange together? How can you tell?

Nerding Out

December 19, 2009

Today I’m snowed in at my parents’ house in NC, and while I wait for my mom to remember that she was going to bring me some boots so I could go try to shovel the driveway and/or finish her phone conversation so that I can remind her, I’m trying to upgrade this very blog to the most recent version of WordPress. It seems as though someone hacked into it pretty badly and put “pornstuffs” (in the words of the web host tech dude) all in the coding. I’m not even sure how it’s working right now, because for months there was an error message when anyone tried to access it. I haven’t messed with the nerdy side of my blog since I originally installed it and installed a couple new themes in like 2006 (hence the ease with which someone hacked it), so I’m a little nervous that I’m going to break the whole thing, and all that will remain is the pornstuffs. Wish me luck, Internet, and I hope I’ll be seeing you soon!