Sunday, August 23, 2015


So, yeah. We're here. 

In the country.



The bees are here. With a view.

Jada's here. On the horrible carpet. Because she's the only one that likes horrible carpet.

All of our shit is here.

Our hilarious contractor is here pre-filling our new fridge with pink-bowed beer for Bubba.
Jada's new buddies are here

Sure as shit the turkeys are here
I've even cooked a few dinners after stripping clean (except for one. I left one tomato. On each plant. Because I'm a lady.) my vegetable plants. 

I needed help lifting this.

All people use roofing material as a patio coffee table. ALL PEOPLE SHUTTUP.

Weird kitchen with ugly tile countertops and the fabulous fabulous view.

Our Realtor is a hero, awesome and hilarious.
Too bad Jada doesn't love him AT ALL.
What more do you need for move day than (clockwise from bottom left) Fruity Pebbles, Rice Krispies and caramel, cinnamon, dark chocolate old fashioned, bacon maple chocolate, apple fritter, Oreo caramel, dark cherry cordial, sprinkles, strawberry Pocky, glazed old fashioned and salted caramel dark chocolate Rice Krispies donuts? WHAT MORE I ASK?

OK, that also.

Especially after this farewell from San Jose.

Jada was the only one that loved the horrible grass.

So, we're here. We're in the country. We're unpacking and adjusting and meeting the neighbors and marveling at how the movers knew exactly how we wanted our furniture arranged. 


We've built a new stairway and deck.

Put on two new roofs. 
Cuddled our painter's dog

Found some good breakfast spots

Hunted turkeys

Hunted turkeys

 and stargazed (while taking shitty pictures with the phone).

And next weekend is my birthday and do you know what I'm doing for my first birthday in our country house?

Yeah. We're going to be just fine "Way out there so far away from everything! What are you going to do?".

Hey, I might even write a meaningful blog post one day. 


Good to see you guys, by the way. You look hotter from here anyway. 

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

So...the fucking marigolds.

I planted too many marigolds.

Those are bush beans in there. True story.

The flower that I have always maligned has, like, run a-complete-mok in the garden.

I planted too many marigolds.

I tell myself this every time I go to the garden.

Because this past winter when I was planning my garden, all the while knowing we were totally planning to eventually sell our house and the garden and move to the country (yes, we knew. Don't be all mad.), I made a pact with myself.

Or something like a pact - like, a decision. Or a mandate! No, that sounds weird.

Anyway, my *strategy*,  let's call it since that sounds marginally less Plant Lady Crazy, was that this, quite possibly my last vegetable garden at this house, was going to be AMAZING.


Over the top with fucking awesomeness.

Like, no whammies whatsoever.

I was going to just kill it. In the way that killing it is having it be the best vegetable garden I've grown ever.

So, all I planted were Sure Things.

Like, firstly I took stock of what plants I'd saved seed from. Those were my home team advantage. I already knew they loved it here.

Then, for the Sure Thing ones for which I didn't have saved seed (like they were hybrid varieties) but I knew did REALLY well here, I went into my seed stash and raided whatever I had left to grow out into seedlings.

Then I set out a garden plan for the final round of my crop rotation in the garden in which I have grown vegetables for 10 years and, as extra insurance for the AMAZING HOLY SHIT garden, I also chose and sowed marigold seed that I hoped wouldn't make me sad every time I went to the garden.

Because marigolds are really good in the garden and also terrifically ugly.

They repel pests and attract beneficials while all the while looking like burned up wads of tissue paper that somehow missed the trash can and blew into the yard. But they do all that fruity shit for the garden that is actually quite good and real but for which people think I'm insane and, like, a whimsical moon maiden to believe and I don't care because fuck those guys.

I'll have burned up dark orange tissue wads protecting my last garden in this house because it has to be AMAZING HOLY SHIT or, like, BUST or whatever.

And so I found marigolds that were in a color I could stomach and wouldn't make me think that I had a bunch of blossoms on my vegetables because they were the same yellow color as the majority of my crops' blossoms. Which was the other reason I came to hate marigolds because I have only ever grown the yellow ones and I'd get all, "OOH! The tomatoes have blossomsohnotheydon'tit'sjustastupidmarigoldjerk."

Less jerky

Hate that.

So, I got these. Dark orange. I love orange. You know this.

And then because I hardly ever grow marigolds and have, obviously, very little idea how big they actually get, I planted about 105 of them in and around my vegetable garden that is not even 100 square feet.

So, yeah...the fucking marigolds.

I planted too many.

Are you seeing the burned up wad of tissue paper thing here?

And every time I come out here to check on how the AMAZING HOLY SHIT garden is doing, I think to myself, "WOW! This garden is doing AMAZING. HOLY SHIT!" and then, "I planted a too many marigolds. This is fucking ridiculous."

The "Watermelon" bed. Mmhhmm...

Also, "Wow. Those are way bigger plants than I remember them being. No wonder my work crew thought I was insane for wanting to put 3 plants to a 1 gallon pot at the entrances to my greenhouse. They must think I'm a moron."

Whatever. They're huge and the garden is really AMAZING HOLY SHIT so I'm fine with it.

The "Cucumber" bed

The Tomato bed that was saved the indecency of being overrun by marigolds but instead by nasturtium.

The tomatillo bed - spared the marigolds, but still a little scared.

Though I am having a hard time finding the AMAZING HOLY SHIT vegetables I was so intent on growing.

Beans? Are there beans in there? I think that no.

Because they're pretty much lost forever behind all the muther fucking marigolds yikes.

I'm thinking of pulling a few plants out, but you know how I am and how I hate to throw plants away, especially ones that are doing so well and clearly helping the garden so much.

Though I can't really say how much because I am having a pretty hard time finding the vegetables in there.

But I've found some.

And they've been pretty AMAZING HOLY SHIT so far.

The pole beans (Fortex, Blue Coco) and cucumbers (Lemon, Boothby Blonde) that I've snatched from the grips of marigolds.

The first pink lemon which I'm told tastes like grapefruit.

Kinda looks like grapefruit if you ask me. Which you are, right? That's why you're here? So, yes - grapefruit.

And I've, thanks to the not-yellowness of the marigolds, found lots of tomato blossoms and tomatillo blossoms and no watermelon blossoms yet because their sun may be getting blocked by, but I can see their spotted leaves!

The first lanterns! Not at all obscured by tricky lying ass marigolds.

Some more beans. Because OH MY GOD WITH THE FUCKING BEANS.

That's a cucumber blossom which is OCCUPIED.

Yeah - watermelons. For reals.

Some tomatoes already setting. 

Yes. The blossoms are on the plants, fruit is on some of the plants, we'll probably have our first tomato by 4th of July which is almost 2 months before we move, we've already harvested nearly 10 pounds of beans and another 10 of cucumbers and it's really looking like my post productive garden ever.

Also we have grapes and this artichoke.

This artichoke

These grapes

And, like a billion sweet peas and nasturtium and we did have this volunteer Lemon Queen sunflower that I just hacked down because it was leaning unattractively and shade-blockingly in front of the melons that just grew up out of nowhere without my help or water.

I won't take credit for that one. It was just the annual, "Who's this fucking guy?" sunflower that I have gotten each year for the last, like, five years at least.

Man. I'm going to miss that next spring.

Friday, April 24, 2015

We *may* eat a lot of peaches. If we can get out of here without murdering anyone. I don't think they get a lot of peaches in jail, is what I'm saying.

So, we're kind of in the middle of some more crazy crap in our quest to become the least responsible adults, but instead of diving into that just all right out of the gate, I'm going to talk about plants.

Cheaper than a therapist right here.
Because I'm a plant nerd and also because this crazy crap involves me leaving a garden that I have so literally poured in blood, sweat and tears. And swears and The Money Chicken and bees and a load of seeds and an apple tree that we chose special for Bubba out of a farm stand line up of, like 20 varieties.

To be clear, the bees are coming with us. As is The Money Chicken. 

Plus, also a billion weekends, half a sabbatical, a business, after work cocktail hours and a cat.

Yes. Rocket's back there.

All buried in her old sunning spot (In an urn. Or whatever's inside the little wood box the vet gave me. Not, like, all alarmingly stiff and taxidermy-y wrapped in a blankie or something.) with her middle paw toe just standing at the ready.

So, yeah. Memories and shit.

Oh, and also the front yard meadow. Bye, buddy. You look effing amazing. FINALLY.

We're moving!


But for now - the plants.

I'm having these discussions with each plant sort of non-verbally.

Carpenteria californica, we need to talk...

Like, I look at the bush anenome and in my head I'm, like, "Hey, buddy. Remember the good times we had when I went to that hippie nursery in the woods and picked you out of all those other sorta boring-looking native plants just based on the little picture stuck in your pot and the fact that you didn't need summer water? Yeah? Remember? And then you got awesome. I never watered you after that first winter and BOOM you've gotten bigger and flowered more and when I pruned you properly thanks to all the horticulture classes you got all gorgeous and then I read this thing at a nursery about how come more people don't grow you and I felt proud. Remember? Yeah. You're cool. I'm going to plant you again."

Or whatever.

Each plant is like this. I'm fucking losing it. How will I really drive away and leave behind the grapes that like their fall pruning and making of wreath from their prunings behind? Who will do that now? HUH?

Um, no one. Because most people are normal.

And the citrus trees with their monthly fertilizing?

Um, no one. Because no one fertilizes their citrus trees adequately.

And the everything else with their everything else needs?

By having some shitty ass neighbors, that's how.

Oh - you didn't think this was going to be all about plants without any bitching, did you?


Anyway then, don't misunderstand me, the majority of our neighbors are AWESOME. And by AWESOME, I mean AWESOME. You know this.

As I type, they're out there dropping off treats, voluntarily taking Jada to their houses when agents have to come show our house to clients, hosting dinner at their houses so that we can get in our hanging out time before moving, texting us with well wishes, offering to help us pack and all kinds of nice awesome things. You know - awesomey stuff that awesome neighbors do when they find out you're moving and want to help/show that they'll miss you/be awesome some more.

But those aren't the neighbors I'm talking about.

I'm talking about the shitty neighbors and the only purpose that they're serving right now is the one that will make it possible to leave all the plants, our sweet house and everything else behind.

Because of fuck those guys.

THANKS SO MUCH TO THEM for providing the crucial "How do we get our asses to the country?" puzzle piece.


Because yesterday, after eight (!) years of saying nothing about the fence that we installed (on our own dime mind you because they refused to pay a cent - you remember) they want it changed.

Before we move.

So that they can reclaim a 10 ft2 space next to their house in the name of "We need access to clean our windows."

Access which they'd have if they'd open the gate.

Which apparently they're unable to do because of they're retarded and want to fuck with us.

And they want it done NOW so that they don't have to go through this with The New Neighbors.

Because, you know, we're all just so close already that it's easier to do with us than unknown new people.

Or maybe because they know that, aside from my oft-referenced aluminum bat, we're unarmed and, with The New Neighbors - who knows, right?

Whatever. These neighbors are asshats.


Thankfully, we have the grooviest, savviest, and also very AWESOME realtor who smoothed everything out with these chuckleheads and coached me on how to smooth everything out with them without using the bat as encouragement.

Poor bat - barely gets any skull time.

So, yeah, we're moving y'all.

99% of our neighbors are awesome and we'll be sad to leave them. 1% of our neighbors are complete assholes and will be lucky if I don't take a farewell swing at them with Cracky the Bat.

But either way we'll be leaving the suburbs of Silicon Valley behind and going to farm country.

Prepare yourself, countryside, for full time facecuddling.

Because that's what you do when you are two kids in adult bodies and are left unsupervised to make life choices.

I'll facecuddle you too, Hawk Carrying Freshly Killed Mouse.