Tag Archives: condo life

photo friday: intruder

5 Jun


It’s all fun and games until the cat tries to butt in on your photo shoot. Again.

photo friday: just kidding

7 Mar

Remember the amaryllis plant I wrote about last week?


Turns out it was just propped up against the window, and has been dead for a couple of weeks now.



As Swede pointed out, though, we may not be able to keep plants alive, but so far we haven’t killed the cats.

Well done, us.

I think.

photo friday: in the sky

7 Dec

PaintI have a thing for the color blue. And that thing is that I just love it. When Swede and I moved in to our new condo, one of the first things we did (four months later) was paint the bedroom, transforming it from an ugly taupe brown to a calming and serene gray-blue. I adore it.

And as Swede had a moment of free time the other day, he decided to tackle the bathroom, another shade of blue, this one sky and pale and lovely. It was a bright yellow before he started painting, which wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t nearly as happy as this color.

And girl, please. If there is one room in your house that is happy, shouldn’t it be the bathroom?



things i’ve been meaning to tell you, part II

14 Aug

1. I think thumb rings are weird.

2. I have a deep love for—some might even call it an obsession—the Washington Post Food section. This love affair dates back several years; longer, even, than my love affair with The Swede. I swoon for Wednesdays, when the Food staff gets online to chat about the week’s section and other cooking conundrums. I only with that the Trib’s food section were half as good, seeing as how I can’t get the print edition of Washington Post delivered to me in Chicago. God bless the Interwebs for saving me on that issue.

3. When we moved in to our new place, one of the first things Swede and I did was buy plants for the balcony. I wanted all herbs and/or vegetables, but Swede has a love of all plants and thought we should include at least one non-edible in the mix. I’m not much of a gardener—as evidenced by the fact that I once grew a moldy basil plant in my apartment—and the plants are doing….huh…. Well, let’s just say that I’m pretty sure any gardening genes that exist in my family went to my sister. I thought that maybe by naming the plants I could bolster their production. Timothy is the tomato plant, Rupert is the basil plant, and Vanessa is the deep purple (as to be almost a velvety black) petunia plant that Swede picked out and named. I didn’t name the rosemary or sage plants I later added to the balcony garden, because frankly I had run out of good plant names. And the chives, well…I didn’t name them either, but they don’t deserve a name, as they have been the bane of my existence. Not because they aren’t growing, but because one of the jackass cats won’t leave the plant alone. He hops out to the balcony and makes a beeline for the chive pot, nibbling away, and then later barfing it up on the hardwood floor. Jerk.

So, yeah. Chives.

Anyway, the plants are all doing…huh…and if all goes well I will harvest five cherry tomatoes and enough herbs to make half a pot of soup. Well done, me. As for Swede’s beloved Vanessa, the news is not so spectacular.

When we went to Door County for a few days last week, we forgot to ask Wild Turkey Dave, cat-sitter extraordinaire, to water both the cats and the plants while we were away. Alas, we came back to a shriveled and dead-looking Vanessa, and though I’ve tried to revive her this week, I fear she may be a lost cause.

To my credit, the fact that I only lost one plant before the summer is (technically) out, is pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. And I do. And I’ll also say that Vanessa’s death, at least, was not a moldy one.