Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant guy

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me



    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    The Side Eye from a Ficus

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon, a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on your stomach. You glance up, and there it is: that look. You know the one— a mixture of disappointment and disdain— from your houseplant. Okay, maybe I’m projecting, but hear me out. My ficus, Ferdinand, has been throwing some serious shade my way lately, and I’m convinced it’s because he secretly judges my life choices.

    maybe that was just the wind.

    Exhibit B: The Curious Incident of the Takeout Containers

    I’ll admit, I have a weakness for takeout. Pad thai on Tuesday? Why not! Sushi on Friday? Obviously! But apparently, Ferdinand finds my culinary choices appalling. I can practically hear him tut-tutting as I unpack yet another styrofoam container, his leaves rustling in disapproval. “Honestly,” he seems to murmur, “a salad wouldn’t kill you.”

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices



    We all have our quirks. Some of us talk to our pets (don’t judge!), others burst into song at the most inopportune times. Me? I swear my houseplant is judging me.

    The Side-Eye From a Spider Plant: A Plant Parent’s Journey

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a plant parent. I envisioned a lush oasis, a testament to my nurturing abilities. What I got was Horace the Spider Plant, a creature of apparent habit and, dare I say, opinions.

    Horace took to his new home quickly enough, sprouting new growth with gusto. But then, a shift. I was having a particularly rough week – deadlines looming, love life nonexistent, questionable pizza choices – and I noticed Horace seemed…droopy. Not just regular “I need water” droopy, but a full-on “I am deeply disappointed in the life choices you’ve made” droop.

    At first, I laughed it off. Plants can’t judge…right?

    The Curious Case of the Coincidental Wilt: A Pattern Emerges

    But then the coincidences (or were they?) began. A disastrous online date? Horace’s leaves practically curled in on themselves. A particularly triumphant work presentation? The plant practically did a victory dance, new growth unfurling like confetti.

    My friends, initially amused, now fuel the fire.

    • “Did you water Horace with your tears after that text from Dave?”
    • “Wow, Horace is THRIVING. You must have finally folded that laundry pile.”

    I mean, they’re not wrong. The evidence is compelling.

    My Houseplant Stages an Intervention: The Final Straw

    The peak (or should I say, the wilting point) came during a particularly epic procrastination session. I was supposed to be finishing an important project, but instead, I found myself four hours deep into a reality TV marathon, fueled by leftover birthday cake.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices




    Do Houseplants Judge Us? My Leafy Roommates Seem to Think So

    We’ve all been there. You’re having a particularly rough day, and the only witness to your shame-spiral is a leafy friend sitting on your windowsill. But what if that leafy friend wasn’t just a silent observer? What if, behind those vibrant green leaves, lived a judgmental roommate who chronicled your every move?

    My Fiddle Leaf Fig Takes Sides in Family Drama

    It all started innocently enough. I was chatting on the phone with my mom, a woman whose love language is unsolicited advice. As she launched into her weekly critique of my dating life (“Honey, you’re not getting any younger!”), I noticed a change in Ferdinand, my fiddle leaf fig. His leaves, usually perky and full of life, began to droop. Was he…wilting?

    At first, I brushed it off. Maybe he needed water. But then, as my mother continued her well-intentioned but brutal assessment of my life choices, Ferdinand took it up a notch. One by one, his leaves began to yellow, like tiny, botanical surrender flags waving in the face of my existential crisis. It was as if he was saying, “She’s right, you know. Get your act together.”

    Choices

    Ferdinand isn’t the only one with opinions. Penelope, my peace lily, is a master of passive-aggressive judgment. Take, for instance, the Great Instant Ramen Incident of 2023. I was having a particularly harried week, fueled by deadlines and two-minute noodles. As I slurped down my fourth consecutive bowl of sodium-laden goodness, Penelope took a stand. Or rather, a slump.

    Her once-proud blooms, which usually resembled delicate white sails, shriveled up faster than my hopes of ever owning a home with my current dietary choices. I swear I even heard a faint, disapproving sigh coming from the general vicinity of her pot.

    Of course, it’s entirely possible that I’m projecting. Maybe Ferdinand was just thirsty. Maybe Penelope was battling a nasty case of aphids. But it’s hard to ignore the feeling that my plants are privy to my deepest insecurities, silently judging my every move from their ceramic pedestals.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (Spoiler Alert: It Totally Is)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (Spoiler Alert: It Totally Is)

    Ever feel like your houseplant is silently judging your messy life? You’re not alone! This hilarious take on plant parenthood will have you laughing along with your leafy roommate.

    Okay, I know this might sound crazy, but hear me out. I think Gerald, my prized monstera deliciosa, is judging my life choices. And not just a little side-eye judgment either. I’m talking full-on, withering-glare, “I can’t even” energy.

    The Time Gerald Staged a Silent Protest

    It all started a few weeks ago. I was having one of those weeks, you know? The kind where you survive on coffee, dry shampoo, and the sheer will to exist. Laundry piled up, dishes took over the sink, and the only green thing I consumed was a questionable spinach smoothie from three days prior.

    Gerald, usually a beacon of lush, tropical vibes, started to droop. At first, I brushed it off. “He’s just dramatic,” I thought, misting him with some lukewarm tap water (because let’s be real, boiling water for a plant when you haven’t even showered in two days is a Herculean task). But the drooping turned into a full-on wilt. He looked like a defeated feather duster.

    It was then that I swear I saw it – a judgmental tilt to his largest leaf, as if to say, “This is your life now? Really?”

    My Plant Thrives When My Life is Together (Coincidence? I Think Not!)

    The guilt trip worked. I cleaned my apartment, ate a vegetable, and even managed to sleep for a solid eight hours. The next morning, Gerald was practically glowing. His leaves stood tall, proud, almost smug. Okay, maybe I was projecting, but the difference was undeniable.

    And it wasn’t just a one-time thing. I’ve noticed a direct correlation between the state of my apartment (and let’s be honest, my life) and Gerald’s overall mood.

    • Weekends spent binge-watching reality TV and ordering takeout? Gerald gets a little crispy around the edges.
    • Productive week of work, balanced meals, and maybe even a yoga class? Gerald unfurls a new leaf, like a green high five celebrating my achievements.

    The Struggle is Real, But So Is the Greenery

    Now, I’m not saying Gerald is some kind of plant deity here, judging my every move. (Okay, maybe I am a little.) But there’s something oddly motivating about knowing that my houseplant thrives when I do too. It’s like having a leafy life coach who communicates solely through passive-aggressive wilting and the occasional triumphant new leaf.

    So, tell me, am I crazy, or are our plant friends silently judging our life choices? Share your plant parent stories in the comments below! Let’s unravel this botanical mystery together.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    We all have them, those little quirks that make us human. Maybe you leave the dishes “soaking” for a suspiciously long time, or perhaps you’ve mastered the art of wearing the same pair of pajamas for three days straight (no judgment here). But what if, and hear me out on this, our houseplants are silently observing these quirks? Judging them, even?

    The Side-Eye From My Monstera

    It all started innocently enough. I was gifted a beautiful Percy, naturally, and placed him on my bookshelf, imagining our future filled with leafy companionship and Instagram-worthy photoshoots.

    However, my idyllic vision of plant parenthood quickly took a turn. I’d be curled up on the couch, shamelessly binge-watching reality TV in my rattiest sweatpants, when I’d catch Percy‘s leaves subtly angled towards me. Was it my imagination, or was that a silent judgment on his velvety green face?

    Percy‘s leaves quiver. Was he…disgusted? Appalled by my lack of baking prowess? I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but still. It felt personal.

    The Curious Case of the Wilting Fern

    And let’s not forget about Fiona, the fern who met an untimely demise. Now, I’m not saying Percy had anything to do with it, but the timing was suspicious, to say the least. Fiona started wilting the day after I accidentally blasted her with hairspray (it was a windy day, okay?).

    While I mourned Fiona’s crispy fronds, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Percy was somehow… smug? Was he secretly relieved to be rid of the competition for my (admittedly sporadic) attention?

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    Confessions of a Newly Minted Plant Person

    Remember that time I swore I’d never become “one of those plant people?” Yeah, about that… Fast forward to me, elbow-deep in potting mix, cooing sweet nothings to a droopy fern named Ferdinand. The truth is, becoming a plant parent is a slippery slope, a delightful descent into a world of photosynthesis, propagation, and yes, a touch of obsession.

    But here’s the thing: nobody tells you about the unspoken rules. It’s like there’s this secret society of plant lovers, exchanging knowing glances over their thriving monsteras. Well, fear not, fellow plant enthusiasts, because I’m spilling the (organic, fertilizer-enriched) tea on the unspoken rules of being a plant parent.

    Rule #1: Thou Shalt Talk to Thy Plants (and Occasionally Apologize)

    Look, I know it sounds crazy, but there’s something therapeutic about whispering words of encouragement to your leafy companions. Maybe it’s the fresh oxygen going to my head, but I swear my plants perk up when I tell them they’re looking particularly vibrant. And when I accidentally overwater (it happens!), a heartfelt apology is in order. “I’m so sorry, Philodendron Pete! I didn’t mean to give you swamp roots!”

    Is it scientifically proven that plant whispering works? Who knows! But here’s what I do know:

    • It makes me feel more connected to my plants.
    • It gives me a chance to channel my inner plant whisperer (which, let’s be honest, is a highly coveted skill).
    • It’s way more fun than just watering them in silence.

    Rule #2: The Internet Is Your Best Friend (and Worst Enemy)

    Oh, the internet. A vast repository of plant care knowledge and a breeding ground for crippling plant anxiety. One Google search can send you down a rabbit hole of conflicting advice, leaving you more confused than when you started.

    Here’s my advice: find a few reputable sources you trust (hello, local nursery experts!) and stick with them. Don’t fall prey to the endless scroll of Instagram-perfect plant shelves and the pressure to buy every trendy new variety. Remember, the best plant for you is one that thrives in your home and brings you joy, not Instagram likes.

    Rule #3: Embrace the “Plant Parent Starter Pack”

    Congratulations, you’ve officially entered the world of plant parenthood! This means you’re now the proud owner of:

    1. An ever-growing collection of terracotta pots, even though you swore you wouldn’t buy any more.
    2. A suspicious-looking bottle of “miracle grow” that you’re pretty sure is just sugar water, but you’re too afraid to stop using it.
    3. A deep and abiding love for natural light that rivals a sunflower’s.

    Don’t fight it, my friend. Embrace the quirks of plant parenthood. After all, it’s all part of the fun.

    So, Are You Ready to Join the Club?

    The world of plant parenthood is full of laughter, learning, and yes, the occasional heartbreak (RIP, my beloved peace lily). But it’s also incredibly rewarding to nurture living things and watch them flourish under your care. So, tell me, are you ready to join the club?

  • Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    Is My Houseplant Silently Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. Staring into the abyss of a messy living room, empty takeout containers judging you from the coffee table, when suddenly… you feel it. That unmistakable feeling of being watched. You slowly turn your head, and there it is: your usually placid Peace Lily, seemingly glaring at you with an air of quiet disapproval.

    When My Plant Parent Skills Were Called into Question

    It all started innocently enough. I was a proud plant parent, showering my leafy companions with love, water, and the occasional serenade (don’t judge, they seemed to like it!). But then, things started to change. It began with a subtle droop here, a yellowing leaf there. “Just a phase,” I told myself, misting furiously. But deep down, a seed of doubt had been planted (pun intended).

    Evidence is Clear: My Plants Are Giving Me the Side-Eye

    The signs were subtle at first, but soon, they became impossible to ignore. I’d come home late from a night out, only to be met with what I swear was a particularly withering stare from my Monstera. Did it sigh? I could have sworn I heard a sigh. And then there was the time I accidentally killed my cactus (RIP, Spike). My remaining succulents haven’t looked me directly in the…well, pot… since.

    Here’s a breakdown of the evidence, because even my paranoia needs structure:

    1. The Dramatic Leaf Drop: You know, the one that happens right after you’ve finished vacuuming. Coincidence? I think not.
    2. The Suspicious Wilting: Always timed perfectly to coincide with my most stressful deadlines and questionable life choices.
    3. The Unexplained Growth Spurts: Like, am I being mocked for my own lack of personal growth? It’s a thought.
  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent




    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent


    Confessions of a Newly Minted Plant Parent

    My descent into plant parenthood began innocently enough. It was a chilly afternoon, and I was browsing my local nursery, ostensibly for herbs to liven up my cooking. Then, my eyes met hers – a majestic Monstera Deliciosa, its leaves unfurling like verdant sculptures. “She’d look stunning in my living room,” I thought, completely forgetting about the rosemary I’d come for.

    Fast forward a few months, and my apartment looked like a jungle rave gone wrong. I’d acquired a veritable menagerie of leafy companions, each with its own personality and care requirements (who knew?). I’d become fluent in the language of drooping leaves and brown spots, and my Google search history was a litany of panicked queries like “Why is my cactus turning yellow?!” and “Can plants sense fear?”

    Turns out, being a plant parent isn’t just about watering your leafy roommates every now and then. It’s a crash course in botany, a lesson in patience, and a constant negotiation with Mother Nature. It’s also, as I’ve learned, governed by a set of unspoken rules.

    The Joys (and Quirks) of Plant Naming and Rituals

    One of the first things you learn as a plant parent is that every plant needs a name. It doesn’t matter if it’s a delicate fern or a prickly cactus, giving it a name is a rite of passage. Bonus points for creativity – my personal favorites include a peace lily named Serenity Now and a spider plant aptly christened Legolas.

    Then there are the rituals. You’ll find yourself developing a specific watering schedule, complete with pep talks (“You got this, Philodendron!”) and maybe even a dedicated playlist for your green gang (Motown seems to do the trick for mine). Don’t be surprised if you catch yourself talking to your plants, either. It’s perfectly normal, I swear. In fact, some studies suggest that talking to your plants can actually help them grow! (Or maybe that’s just me justifying my one-sided conversations with a Fiddle Leaf Fig named Ferdinand.)

    A close-up shot of a healthy plant with vibrant green leaves.
  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant is Secretly Judging My Life Choices




    Does My Plant Judge My Life Choices? | A Hilarious Take


    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon you swore you’d never watch, and you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye. No, it’s not a spider (thank goodness) – it’s your plant. And for a fleeting, irrational moment, you swear it’s judging you.

    The Side-Eye From My ZZ Plant

    It all started innocently enough. I, like many others during the pandemic, decided to become a Plant Parent™. I envisioned a home filled with lush greenery, a testament to my newfound nurturing abilities. I envisioned wrong. My thumb, it turns out, is less green and more… beige. But I digress. The point is, I brought home a perfectly lovely ZZ plant, named him Ferdinand, and placed him on my bookshelf.

    At first, things were great. Ferdinand, being a ZZ plant, required minimal care. I’d remember to water him every few weeks, give his leaves a cursory dust, and that was that. But then, slowly, I started noticing it. The side-eye. Every time I’d stumble into the living room, bleary-eyed and clutching my third cup of coffee, I’d swear Ferdinand was looking at me differently. Less “proud plant parent” and more “disappointed life coach.”

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me




    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me


    The Side-Eye is Real

    It all started with a feeling. You know that feeling when you’re pretty sure someone’s watching you, but you turn around and no one’s there? Yeah, that’s what it’s like living with Herbert, my supposedly “carefree” spider plant.

    I swear, I caught him — yes, “him,” he has definite “dude on the couch judging my life choices” energy — giving me the side-eye over breakfast the other day. One minute I’m innocently enjoying my avocado toast, the next I feel this…presence. I look over, and there he is, perched on the windowsill, leaves strategically angled like he’s about to launch into a dramatic monologue about the state of my recycling habits.

    Houseplant‘s Wilting Accusations

    Now, I’m not new to this whole plant parenting game. I’ve managed to keep a cactus alive for three years (a personal best!), so I’m not exactly failing at this. But Herbert? He’s different. He’s got this way of dramatically wilting the second I think about being late with his watering schedule.

    I’m talking full-on, theatrical droop. It’s like he’s saying, “Oh, you think you can just ignore my basic needs for hydration? Watch this…” And then, *poof*, instant plant-world drama queen. The worst part? He perks right back up the second he gets a splash of water, leaving me to question my sanity (and my ability to read a simple moisture meter).

    The Silent Judgement of New Growth

    Here’s where things get really weird. A few weeks ago, after what I thought was a particularly successful yoga session (read: I didn’t face-plant on the mat), I walked back into my living room to find Herbert…different. He’d sprouted a new leaf, a big one, and it was unfurling right before my eyes.

    Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Aw, that’s sweet! He’s thriving under your care!” But here’s the thing, this wasn’t a happy, “look at me, I’m growing!” kind of unfurling. This was a slow, deliberate, “I see what you did there” kind of unfurling.

    He’s been holding that leaf like a silent, green judge ever since. It’s gotten to the point where I catch myself adjusting my posture when I walk by, as if a single houseplant could actually revoke my houseplant-owning privileges.