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Reasons #2-11 Why I Shouldn’t Be Trusted With Flowers

23 Jul

I don’t get sent flowers. This is largely because I tell people, “don’t send me flowers.”

It’s not that I don’t like flowers, or that I don’t appreciate the gesture. It’s just that I kill plants by looking at them. It’s kind of my super power, if we’re being honest. I water them, I put them in appropriate levels of sunlight, I read to them from encouraging texts (Flowers for Algernon, The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Black Dahlia, you know- flowery books.) And yet, still they die. I just don’t get it.

So imagine my dismay when I received a basket of flowers and house plants today from my coworkers.


Seriously. It was a lovely basket of flowers and house plants.

It was meant as a sympathy arrangement, the kind that softly says, “we’re so sorry to hear about the recent ugliness in your life. Here’s something beautiful to help.” But all I could hear is, “sorry someone you loved died. Here’s something else you can watch fade away.” (If you’re new here, my brain is kind of evil to me sometimes. This is one of those times.)

I immediately reached out to my gardener friends for advice on how to give these plants a life expectancy that exceeds 3 days. They’re still considering that question (or more likely, considering how to let me down easy), so I turned to some others for advice on plant care. I present the collected responses below, in the event that it helps anyone else with a similarly black thumb.


Bilbo suggested I consult the forest elves. And then asked for directions back to The Shire.


Picard just kept yelling, "There. Are. Four. Plants!"


Carol suggested that I spend my time simply looking at the flowers.


Daryl was too mesmerized by the beauty before him to help. Or to notice the danger behind him.


The Harvest Moon animals couldn't stop laughing long enough to be of any use.


Twilight Sparkle is 80% sure she has a book on plant care, but only 20% sure she knows the way out of the fern.


The Doctor, despite having improved his camouflage abilities, ignored my question and kept trying to sonic the assistant gardener.


Like Picard, the assistant gardener only had one phrase: "POLLINATE!"


Finally, the dragons had the only actually helpful bit of advice: fire-proof the lilies.

This post title makes a lot more sense now, doesn’t it?

Fire Engine Red

26 Jan

Tonight, as I stood in the 39-degree evening wearing only pajamas and a bathrobe, watching smoke pour out of the next building and taking stock of the pocketful of items I’d grabbed on my way out admist the alarms and strobe lights, I found myself deeply frustrated that I hadn’t grabbed my Walker Stalker Con Disability Services binder.

Not that I was woefully underdressed. Not that I’d spent 10 valuable minutes chasing two panicked rabbits around the apartment while visions of smoke and flames filled my imagination. Not even that I’d left my external hard drive with my entire digital life on it sitting on the desk. No, I regretted not grabbing that blue binder.


My life in page protector form

This is what Con life has done to me. However, it did give me an opportunity for another awkwardly empowering moment.

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