The best joke the Internet has yet contributed to the list of reasons why it’s ruined humanity is the meme that circulated a few years ago – or months? In meme years, a month can be a lifetime, so who honestly knows – which depicted Taylor Swift with famous historical douche bags’ quotations superimposed.

Some were pretty believable, because the teen pop star does write her own lyrics and it’s realistic that the below quote could be an insightful teen inspiring her adoring fans, but the actual reality is that this is a quote from Hitler and we all know he should have done a whole lot less comparing because well you know what happened:



But not all of the quotations were as philosophically (or historically) ambiguous as the Hitler quips – probably “quips” is not the right euphemism but it’s Saturday so we’ll work with what we’ve been given by our Saturday brain – some were pretty fucking clearly nothing T. Swift would have business saying, or even thinking (we hope) (please don’t be a psychopath, T.Swift).

Like, this bit of Robespierre – whose Wikipedia biography includes (to summarize) the fact that he was heavily influential in France’s Reign of Terror (it was as bad as it sounds, if you’re not a history buff) – wisdom, which could never rightly be attributed to the unicorn who is Taylor, regardless of the context:


I mean it’s possible that T is just a Trump supporter and I haven’t found out yet because I get my news from Buzzfeed, but I’m thinking that the more realistic option is that in spite of the fact that this is indeed clear and obvious bullshit, someone, somewhere, at least one time but more realistically thousands of times, THOUGHT THIS AND THE OTHER ONE AND ALL OF THEM WERE REAL THINGS THAT TAYLOR SWIFT SAID.

Because otherwise they wouldn’t have become such a big joke, and also because it’s so easy to be fooled, on account of all the idiot bullshit that festers in the overflowing Vegas spring break hotel swimming pool that is social media.

This is among the reasons why I wanted to start gardening. Yes, that is a weak-ass segue and I’m not stressing about it because, although it’s 11:29 AM, I’m already two beers deep and allow me to tell you why that is not only okay but amazing: because gardening.

I know I didn’t invent gardening, but I have grown up around it (Mom, I know you’re about to die because you’re so excited that this is happening) and I have quite a few friends who know a lot about it, so – like a political affiliation or religion – it seemed like something I should buy into as well, on account of “everyone’s doing it” or whatever.

I’ve tried having plants in the past, but they were only ever indoor plants and it was hard to keep anything alive because I forget that plants need water and I also forget that cats need food, so the cats solved both of those problems by eating the plants every time.

This happened, like, three times I think. In three different apartments. So the problem was clearly me. 

But now I have outdoor space, and my cats are perfectly content never leaving the threshold of the house (or my bed, some days, depending on the weather and how broody Rorschach is feeling) so it was time. Time to let my freak flag fly or my green thumb soar or I don’t really know, it was just time to take some living plant shit and buy it then dig holes and shove it in the holes and hope it doesn’t die.

The first thing I did not know about gardening is that it is fucking cheap. Before I went to Home Depot, I made a pretentious cup of coffee and put my crappy black Target clutch in a fucking reusable linen sack so that I wouldn’t look too poor browsing the annuals, because I anticipated at least a $50 investment for the amount of plants I wanted.

(I was looking for resilient flowers to fill a six-foot window box. Maybe you’re a gardener and you now know how dumb I am, but I was basically shopping at a Kia dealership with an American Express Centurion Card (the black one made of unicorn diamonds that has no limit and a $50k monthly spending minimum) (I maxed mine out it’s fine though everything is fine Bernie will fix it).

I actually thought the bored lady behind the nursery register had (intentionally, I considered) not rung up all the plants I picked, because I wasn’t looking at price tags. I had a ceramic coffee mug. I was wearing sunglasses. My reuasble bag kinda matched my dress. I was not dressed to consider price.

But I bought five flower boxes and it was $12. I’m pretty sure I giddily ran to my car with the cart, because I was positive the bored lady would suddenly get inspired to realize she sucked at her job and run after me demanding the other $60 I was sure I actually owed her, but it’s a good thing I didn’t bring that nightmare to fruition because when I got to my car and finally, smugly checked my receipt I saw that she had indeed rung me up correctly, flowers are just cheap as fuck.

My first instinct was to go back and get $60 more flowers since I’d already mentally prepared to spend that much but then I remembered my maxed-out Centurion card and decided I should cap it at $12 for today.

When I got home with my now liberatingly cheap new little friends (because if I kill $12 worth of annuals, who’s going to cry? No one whose tears matter, that’s who) I wasn’t sure what I should do next. “Dig holes in the widow box, then put the flowers in the holes and I guess water them” seemed a little too simple, but it’s what I did and it turned out pretty okay.

I mean, I forgot how patterns work and had to replant one of the flowers once, and I spaced one too close to the other at first and had to shift it, but the box came out pretty rad. Pretty FUCKING rad, actually.



And yeah I look hella cute, but let’s focus on the plants here because this isn’t Instagram and I have a lot to say about them so you’ll need to be paying attention.

First of all, that hat is fabulous and the dress is adorable – was also like $2 at a thrift store so cry over that – but let’s move on to the plants on the shelf. These are all succulents that I’ve been gifted by various parties, all of whom have promised that succulents are so hard to kill that “even you can’t fuck it up!” but boy are they in for a paradigm shift because I’ve killed every succulent I’ve ever owned and I’ve had more than three.

They look real sweet on that shelf though, and I’m pretty sure I would win Pinterest if I knew how to upload my own crap and make interesting descriptions and use hashtags but I pretty much exclusively use hashtags when I’m texting which I KNOW is wrong, but I also am shit at photographing because above is the best I could manage and below is what the majority of the rest of my attempts to take a cute “hey look I gardened” picture came out as:


IMG_4888 (1)

I actually really like the vibe that this picture gives off, and it’s not only because it’s among the two pictures from my photoshoot in which I didn’t have a Jabba the Hut chin or horse teeth or a seven-month pregnancy that I’m just now noticing. But it’s like it scoffs, “garden? Nah I have better places to go, I’m over this garden because I’ve been gardening so long which is obvious because look how advanced my fucking garden is, people.”

“I mean it includes a metal shelf, what more do you want?

Anyways enough of the weird transcription of my internal monologue; time to talk about the window box.

I took a conspicuously long time to pick out the flowers I’d commit to maybe killing, but as I mentioned earlier the only employee working was so bored I think she probably forgot to even be interested in breathing a lot of the time, and the only other customers obviously knew more about everything than me because they all had serious looks on their faces and kept picking up different plants and examining them in ways that, I have to be honest, seemed a little disrespectful to the plants.

I only recently found out that plants literally come with directions so I was doing my own fondling to examine tags to try and decipher sun exposure symbols, and I know that I’m more self-conscious that an entire eighth grade dance so I think no one actually noticed I was completely clueless, which was a nice sort of anonymity.

I chose Begonias and Marigolds, and I won’t lie that decision was influenced heavily by the fact that, when I said the plants’ names together in my head, I pictured two wealthy Victorian-era British girls drinking tea in stupidly elaborate dresses with, like, some teddy bears and shit and I was like yes, I want British aristocrats having a fucking tea party in my window box. I will 100% buy and try not to kill these little b-words.

So I bought the b-words, and even though my peasant ass could afford to replace them if need be, I think I can keep these ones alive this time. Considering I’ve given them names and personalities, I mean; to do otherwise would I think be murder according to 2016 interpretations of the Bill of Rights or Bible or I actually forgot which one.

3 thoughts on “So-ing

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