Purple teeth, green thumbs

So I jetted off to Sonoma, CA, for the weekend, like broke journalism students ought to do. My lovely college friend whom I have not seen in over THREE years was gettin married in the wine country oasis and I was NOT about to miss out on that.

I packed lightly for my adult prom event of the season (three dress option, two pairs of shoes and loads of other inappropriate items)and got myself on the 8am flight (public transit and all). I was seated next to a girl no more than 14 who wore a bright pink t-shirt that said "this is so messed up?" (to which she or the shirt were referring to, I'm not entirely sure) and tight, dare I say, stone-wash jeans (are those back?).

An hour into the flight pink t-shirt pulled out a late breakfast/early lunch of Reese's Peanut Butter cups and Cool Ranch Doritos. Two inches away I munched on an apple and dried fruit trail mix, feeling old and ravenous.

But...nothing makes a girl feel more sexy than a bulky, white Dodge Caliber. Ohhhh yes. Here's M showing it off (like it needs it).

Fully equipped with a few doors, roll -down windows, manual locks and a silver plastic dashboard (I'm sorry, but why aren't American-made cars doing well?), M and I were ready to hit the town.

Sonoma is GORGeous, blue sky, California beach weather by day and bone-chilling antarctic mistake by night. Hole-E crap that was cold. I, of course, was constantly scantily clad because bulky jackets did not go well with cute ruffly pink dresses and such. I made do with a wine wrap and hovered around heat lamps (clever Sonomans).

The wedding was breathtaking views, tear-jerking speeches and delicious cakes.

There was dancing and photos galore. Even a harrowing roller coaster ride up and down a mountain side.

Weave in a little John & Kate Plus 8 marathon and that is top five best weekends. I tell you, it was hard to leave. Especially hard to leave our sic ride (miss you already Caliber!).

After a fun weekend hangover and a truly depressing season opener of John & Kate (I am pre-emptively divorcing the show. It's just no fun anymore. I feel like I'm getting divorced and it is no longer cute) I decided I had to look to the future. And that future is margarita.

I told you, yes, of my baby tomato plant? Well in no less than two weeks I finally made it a home. I had hap hazardously scribbled directions from the woman who sold me the plant. I ran down the slightly indecipherable list at my local hardware store:

- A 10-12 inch container that drains. check.
- Organic plotter feed. check, more or less.
- Gardening gloves (not required but they were yellow with flowers!)
- Stakes. Stakes? Hm.
- Nylons with which to tie the stakes? Hm again.

Well. I winged it. And by winged I mean I followed the incredibly terse directions on the back of the Miracle Grow plotting feed (don't tell the tomato woman, she'll be so disappointed). The directions are a little less than helpful. They are so short and vague I'd think they were dictated via gardener hostage at gun point.





Select a pot with a drain hole. Alright, alright...I'm there.











Fill pot about 1/3 full. Uh huh, uh huh...go on







Loosen root ball. Come again? Root...ball, you say?










Add more mix; press lightly. Wait! Wait. I'm still at the root ball. OK. How lightly is too light?


Water; let drain. For the love of GOD, man, slow it down!




Like any knew mother I am riddled with anxiety. Did I over water it? Not water it enough? Is it too cold? Too alone out there on the fake balcony? Will it survive the sudden thunderstorm? Was that really the root ball?

I'm going to let it live its little life on its own, but let's be honest, something about this set up looks ridiculous:


The good news is that I finally got to use the item voted, Least Likely to Be Used Before I Leave -- The frog watering bucket!


It was a proud moment.

xoxoL