Anything Lime


Category Archive

The following is a list of all entries from the Miscellaneous category.

Arancio

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Meet the newest addition to my Collection of All Things Weird and Random. This handsome little gem came to me from the MOMA website.

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I came across this little orange piece of heaven months ago and have wanted him since, though I haven’t much need for a paperclip holder. I mostly wanted him as a cubicle knick knack. And a snuggle buddy.

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It was Patrick’s frustration with the swarm of bobby pins living in our bathroom that pushed him to eventually buy this for me.

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And it’s serendipitous the way it worked out, because bobby pins, not paperclips, make this little guy look most like a porcupine.

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I love him.

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The end.

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Overdue

Finally ditched the quaff that made me look like some boring teenager who spent her weekends re-shelving books at a library. Now I’m a grown up again. Except for the shirt, which belongs to a fourth grader.

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E-mail correspondance

Me: “Wicked is coming to Florida (Jacksonville and Fort Myers) in 2009. Would you want to see it? If you have no interest, then we don’t have to go, but I just thought it might be a fun thing for us to do. LOVE YOU!”

Patrick: “I’d love to go see Wicked with you. I think that would be SO must fun. We should definitely go see it. Love, P.”

Me: “So must fun? Then absolutely.”

Patrick: “Lol. Weird I don’t know how that happened. I much have been typing too fast.”


My green thumb is looking a little brown these days

During their mid-October visit, my good friends Aimee and Christine took notice to all the outrageous things on my dream board. We bonded over the fact that the Magic Bullet is obviously the greatest thing EVER created and it’s impossible to watch the infomercial and not want it.

So for my birthday, Aimee sent me something she knew had been on their for months – a sarracenia leucophylla, more commonly known as a pitcher plant.

When I got my little seedling in the mail, it seemed easy enough. I planted her in a shimmery turquoise bowl in some healthy potting soil. Strike one.

Actually, maybe strike one was giving her too powerful a name. I chose to call her Pomona Jubilee. Pomona because it means “powers that protect orchards and gardens” because, duh, she eats bugs. And Jubilee because I tend to come up with extravagant names for my plants and they’ve grown incredibly well, so I wanted to stick with what works. I’m not certain she started wilting because of her name, but I admit I could have gone with Jill or something. Ok, not Jill, but you get it.

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I also decided that the climate control system in place with this plant was my sense of hot and cold and my impulsive decisions as to when she should go out, when she should come in, where she should be displayed, and so on. Little did I know that she is a finicky plant that needs to be slowly acclimated to the changes in temperature. What a fricken baby.

Apparently what Princess needs is extremely moist moss, not potting soil. In fact, potting soil is packed full of nutrients. AND THIS PLANT HATES NUTRIENTS! Nothing like nutrients to ruin your day. Needless to say, we have nothing in common. But I’ve continued singing to her with the hope that she’ll forget about our differences and just be a good plant. One that doesn’t need to live in a rare form of long moss cut into one-centimeter pieces. And the bottom of her habitat, she prefers sand. WITH ALL THE SALT REMOVED. She drinks only rain water and needs 16 to 18 hours of sunlight each day. Going back to the point of the name, I’m considering “Snob.” I think it suits her.

So last night Patrick and I ventured out and spent hours looking for a terrarium, yes, you heard me, A FRICKEN TERRARIUM to house my innocent little Snob. Her beautiful color has faded and she’s begun growing brown patches. I’ve spent the past two days sitting at my desk poring over all the research I can find about sarracenia leucophylla plants er… doing my work… and I discovered that the brown patches might be because of fungus. Not only does she prefer water with NO minerals or gases, but her pot has to have an ample drainage system so the water doesn’t sit. Apparently my breed of plant is more susceptible to fungus and root rot than any other carnivorous plant. Had I paid better attention to the shipping label, I would have seen that she came from HighMaintenanceCarniverousPrincessPlants.com/brat.

Two hardware stores and a few closed nurseries later, we settled for one bag full of moss and another full of sand. We headed to Whole Foods to pick up dinner, and I spotted a whole congregation of pitcher plants potted outside the store. They looked huge and happy and healthy. Rather than spend money experimenting with glass enclosures and mirrors and anti-fungal spray, I decided to take a different route. I decided to surround her with a family of plants that was obviously harboring positive energy.

I pulled her out of the poison potting soil and gave her roots a bath. Her rhizome, or root base, looked a little brownish in color, but still felt firm. I nicked off a little piece and saw that it was bright white underneath. She was alive. After potting her with the moss and her new family (which believe it or not remains nameless) she looks as though she’s doing better.

Watching my plant gives me a strange perspective about life and a sense of peace. I feel like an observer always examining her and learning to understand the stages of her development. I hope this is the first of many years I can watch her continue to grow. Because, yes, it takes her years to reach maturity. Four to six years. Weirdest plant ever.


Making pictures

I took my camera to flyball practice to test out the feature specifically for unpredictable moving objects such as animals. Though out of the whole batch of photos from that day, this is my favorite. It was a day of running, jumping, retrieving, training and more, but this was just a still shot of my favorite whippet, George. And I think I captured him perfectly.

Excitedly waiting for his turn to play flyball.


Back from blog vacation

It seems as though it’s been forever since my last post. What? What’s that? It HAS been forever? Ok, well, my apologies. I’ve been up to so much throughout the last month – friends visiting, battling the flu, making holiday plans, celebrating my birthday, eating baked potatoes for dinner every night (with chives!), going to the always-amusing flyball Saturdays, experiencing the effects of iron deficiency and more. I even bought myself a little something for my birthday. Ok, a big something. A huge something. I saved up for a while and now it’s mine. It’s a Canon Rebel. So, be prepared to look at ten zillion photos …of my dog.

So, while I’ve been busy, know that I haven’t abandoned you. I like to think of this break as a little hiatus while work was overwhelmingly hectic and I was worrying about more important things, like flyball.

I’m back.


I love New York City. Oh yeah. New York City.

This weekend I saw the Statue of Liberty for the first time as my plane descended toward LaGuardia. Patrick and I had flown out for his brother, Andrew’s, wedding. It was a good opportunity for me to meet Patrick’s extended family and dance so hard my feet swelled up. I walked …er limped out of there with Fred Flinstone’s feet dangling from my ankles. My feet eventually fell off and now I’m forever confined to a chair. Lucky for me I took a few practice walks down Cherie’s aisle before the ceremony started, so I got that out of the way.

The ceremony was beautiful, and we were able to look closely at all the tiny details that went into making it magnificent. I looked around at the draping on the walls, the wide array of decorative pillows and matching seat cushions and could only imagine the many months of preparation that Andrew and Cherie the wedding planner had to endure.I was, as with every time I’ve ever found myself in NYC, overwhelmed. The noises, the smells, the constant sense of business, it’s all way too hurried to deal with on a regular basis. Lucky for me, I was a tourist, so stopping to take photos on the sidewalk, like this one: NYC on foot

…is perfectly acceptable. And by “perfectly acceptable,” what I mean is “possible if you act quickly before an angry New Yorker has time to spit in your face.” We roamed around the streets in between rehearsal dinners and brunches and other wedding activities, and it was just what we needed to get the most out of our New York vacation. Patrick ate about 16 hot dogs from street vendors, so it’s probably good we left when we did.

We stayed in a beautiful room at the Flatotel, where we enjoyed days of stunning views. And the people of New York did the same, I’m sure, as one of the many large windows in our room was in our shower. I kept fighting the urge to throw my hands up and shout “SPRING BREAK!” Which would, in reality, be much less fun than I’d planned. Because New Yorkers are probably used to this. And because no one else was around. And because no one else laughs at my jokes.

One theme of the weekend was “Undo Whitney’s calorie-limiting eating plan,” which entailed eating meal after meal after meal. I have to admit, though, that things do taste better in New York. Some people would think that grilled cheese, French fries and a chocolate shake couldn’t be vastly better than any diner across America. SOME PEOPLE WOULD BE DEAD WRONG.

The rehearsal dinner began almost forty minutes late, as all the guests were engaging in another theme of the wedding weekend which was, “Wait hours until the bride and groom arrive, however long after said time that might be.” Even if that means not starting your rehearsal dinner on time. Even if it means not having a rehearsal.

It’s easy to get caught up in the glam life New York. The whole lifestyle is wrapped in this cloak that’s three parts fashionista, nine parts confidence and two parts bravery. People throw one two random things they own, put a pair of leggings underneath it, carry a designer bag and spike their hair out in all directions. The trick, I’ve found, is to OWN IT! Even I got swept up in this, looking at Patrick wearing two different shoes going, “I can totally rock this.”

The view from our hotel room could hardly compete with the view from Andrew and Cherie’s 39th floor apartment in Manhattan. Out one side of the corner apartment you can see the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building and out the other side of the room you can see the Statue of Liberty far off in the distance. I was in awe. What a magnificent city. And after days of hailing cabs and having heart attacks watching guys clean the windows of skyscrapers, I was both relieved and sad to leave.

One thing’s for sure though, I definitely plan to go back to Santos’ Party House, where the dancing never stops.


Ah, the magic of rediscovery

Two-ball fetch: noun 1. A game of retrieval played with two balls rather than one to avoid having to wrestle the single ball from the mouth of the dog time after time. 2. Kya’s all-time favorite game to play.

Months ago Kya and I were playing in the park when we lost one of her two heavy, yellow balls. We play fetch with field hockey balls, which I discovered to be more durable and less likely to collapse under the jaws of Kya than tennis balls. They’re hard to come by, which is why it saddened me after 30 minutes of hunting to leave the park with one ball short of what we came with, a sadness that made me feel a deep emotional connection to Lance Armstrong. Eeesh, ok, I take it back.

The next day we went back out to the park in search of the mysterious vanishing ball. I spoke to a few of the maintenance workers who spend much of their time in golf carts out in that area. I talked to a few kids who frequent the park. But even though they all said they’d keep an eye out for it, I was quite discouraged. Mostly because it was about this time the landscaping trucks were pulling up. If my ball was out there, it was a) in a bush, in which case I’d never find it or b) about to be run over, chopped up or drilled into the ground by the industrial mowers. I heaved one of the neighborhood children into the dumpster in an act of protest before realizing that it was not, in fact, a good idea. No formal charges have been filed.

One-ball fetch: noun 1. A game of retrieval that takes much longer because it requires having to wrestle with the dog to get the ball back after every single throw. 2. Not fun. 3. An explanation as to why my body is covered in bruises and bite marks.

Days in the park were much less enjoyable. Kya wouldn’t get as much exercise,  but would instead spend all of her time chewing the ball and running away from me. She’d find a spot in the shade, lie down, and then I’d find out on the walk home that she’d rolled in something even more unpleasant than a game of one-ball fetch. Like dog poo. Like a snake’s nest. Like a pile of McCain-Palin buttons.

I almost didn’t believe it when I saw a tiny patch of yellow peering up at me from the ground. I recognized it right away, and realize that the landscapers had run over the ball buried all but a tiny bit of it.

“Kya!” I shrieked in my most excited voice, which I have to use when she’s preoccupied chewing on her ball and rolling in the shade. “Kya, what is that?” She was immediately intrigued by my excitement, not like that time last week when I caught on fire and she did nothing, but instead poked Soto a few times before trotting off to chew a dentabone.

“Kya! Look, Kya, what’s that? What IS that?” She looked around the ground for a few seconds, and the minute she recognized it, I thought she was going to collapse and fall asleep. This dog can only handle so much excitement.

Her ears perked up, her eyes widened to resemble those of a demon, and she pounced on the ball and dug it up instantly. She reached down and scooped it up, then looked up at me as drool and dirt and worms and a few bits of grass dripped slowly from her mouth. She flashed me a smile as if to say, “I found my ball mom. Look at it. I have it back now.”

I’m picturing my mom cringing at the thought of my dog’s dirty mouth. It gets worse, mom, I LET HER KISS ME WITH THAT MOUTH.


And maybe a side of hummus

Me: We’re going to a vegetarian restaurant for lunch today!
Patrick: Oh wow. How cool.
Me: I think I might get the Fakin, lettuce and tomato sandwich.
Patrick: Fak yeah!

My life in syllables

It’s been 15 days since my last entry. In lieu of providing an explanation, I offer the details of my life shortly and simply in the form of haiku. One for each day I’ve slacked off.

August 13

Little sister came.
Had some good laughs and hard cries.
Her belly’s empty.

August 14

Saved a life today.
Lifted a dog’s death sentence.
He peed in my car.

August 15

Patrick missed the cut.
Wasn’t having a good day.
Still his biggest fan.

August 16

No flyball for Ky.
Eye swollen, red and gooey.
Conjunctivitis.

August 17

Overwhelming smell.
Dog pee plus car seat cleaner.
Time for a new car.

August 18

Named the dog Soto.
Clean bill of health from the vet.
Pooped all the way home.

August 19

Starbuck’s after work.
Forgot about milk in car.
Bad smell has worsened.

August 20

Kelsey got married.
Beautiful beach in Key West.
Call me “The Spinster.”

August 21

Kya is healing.
Globs of ointment in her eye.
Good dog; here’s a treat.

August 22

Scale says one nineteen.
I guess I don’t hate the gym.
Goodbye, my blubber.

Fit into old jeans.
All my hard work has paid off.
Old jeans out of style.

Got a new haircut.
Added highlights and got bangs.
Fricken love my bangs.

August 23

Feeyonce returned home.
Forgot what his face looked like.
I remember now.

Had fun at flyball.
Learned to go onto the box.
Kya, get your ball.

August 24

Love lazy Sundays.
Wanted to relax all day.
Patrick made me clean.

August 25

Coworker’s birthday?
Picked up a card before work.
It’s not ‘til Thursday.

Roof leak near my cube.
Could collapse at any time.
Smells worse than my car.

August 26

Delicious dinner.
Made some eggplant parmesan.
Was full to the brim.

August 27

Repainted my nails.
Watched a dog show on TV.
Best team got kicked off.

August 28

Making wedding plans.
We chose our centerpieces.
Can’t wait to make them.