This may not bode well for my future children.

When I got a potted plant for my apartment back in May, it was quite the production. But I figured that things like finding the right size pot and figuring out which soil to get were part of my journey toward a more responsible adulthood. Sharing my apartment with and caring for another living thing would be the first step in a sequence that I figured would go something like plants → pets → children.

I was later informed that some very successful parents of children still have trouble keeping plants alive, and thank goodness because I have failed miserably as a plant parent.

Not only could I not figure out the right amount of water and sunlight to keep the poor dracaena's leaves from turning brown, but I also brought a living thing into my home that was accompanied by some very unwanted guests — tiny flying bugs.

Once my mom tracked the bugs to the plant, she put it outside my apartment for a spell, and I was happy to let it sit out there until I could figure out just what to do with it.

Well, today it was gone.

I'd like to think that the plant was just whisked away by someone in need, as usually happens to things left in the Bermuda Triangle on How I Met Your Mother. But really, I'm just counting my lucky stars that plant endangerment isn't a thing.

perfect weekend

This was my first weekend as a free man — free from Saturday overnight shifts, that is — and I made sure to take advantage of my newfound freedom.

The main event was a Fire & Ice party in Seal Beach. There were some NDAs involved, so I think all I can say is that we watched a lot of Revenge, and I nailed Nolan's outfit. Also, I think I'm allowed to tell you that all the #gigglebitchez (a subset of the #fancybitchez) had some unsupervised time together before meeting up with everyone else, and as you can imagine, there were more giggles than a pitcher full of lemonade!

Before any of that happened, though, I was way down in La Jolla to see Hands on a Hardbody, a musical about the famed Longview truck giveaway, before it closed in SoCal and headed off to Broadway. I really enjoyed the show, which was mostly true-to-form, name-checking KYKX, KLTV, the Longview News-Journal, etc., using the differences between Marshall and Longview for character development, and there was even a song about wanting to get out of East Texas.

Also, after Fire & Ice, it was just a short drive up the 405 to see the LA Galaxy beat the Portland Timbers. Though it was my second Galaxy game, it was my first at the Home Depot Center. For the first half, I sat a few sections away to observe, but by the second half, I had joined the Angel City Brigade in their section and started planning future trips to Carson — and section 121.

All that, and I'm still home in time for bed. Real weekends are a beautiful thing, y'all.

M-F like a MF

Ever since I started at The Desert Sun, I've been working Tuesday-Saturday, ending the week with an overnight Web producing shift (the latest in the newsroom) even after I moved to the morning reporting shift (the newsroom's earliest) during the week.

For the first couple years, I didn't mind because Saturdays are quite chill in many ways — from the dress code to the workload. But last summer, many of the cool parts of Saturdays that had crept into my weekday work officially became part of my dayside job, and #mondayshenanigans largely gave way to #overnightshiftblues. Then, when I also picked up the Friday overnight shift because we've been short-staffed lately, some pretty legit sleep problems ensued.

Today, however, that era came to an end as I went to The Work for my first-ever regularly scheduled Monday (!), made possible by a new overnight producer who starts tomorrow and who just so happens to be my doppelgänger.

So adjust your social calendars accordingly, Southern California... and, at least come Sun Devil football season, Arizona. The pre-weekend is no more, and my newly lengthened big-boy weekend falls on the same dates as most of the rest of y'all's.

on sincerity

It's so hard to be sincere sometimes — or at least to come across that way.

We twentysomethings seem to define ourselves and the things we like in roundabout ways:

"I just like that ironically."

"It's so bad it's good."

"So over it."

Or, as some friends of mine recently said about a YouTube video:

"It's so unfunny that it's so funny but it's actually not funny at all
"I laughed out loud a lot, basically"

"You just described everything our generation finds amusement in."

So as you might imagine, I found myself at a loss for words when I watched a short documentary about black women embracing their natural hair that really resonated with me — unironically, sans giggles.

I saw the video when my friend Wayne posted it on Facebook, so I clicked "Share" but then spent the longest time trying to figure out what — if anything — to say alongside the link.

If I left the text box blank, would people assume I was making light of an experience and an ethnicity that's clearly not my own?

Would they think I liked this look at natural hair in the same way I enjoyed that "I Love My Hair"/"Whip My Hair" mashup? That was more about the sum than the parts.

Would it seem as if I was giggling like I did over that one bitch-with-weave moment on Cheaters? That ain't even... correct.

But was there a way to convey that I took sincere delight in these women's decision to embrace the natural beauty they had been suppressing, and it resonated with me as a white man with naturally straight hair because, really, it was about more than just hair?

Eventually, I whittled all that down to this Facebook-sized comment: "Self-acceptance is beautiful."

Based on my friends' responses, it seems I struck the right tone, but it really shouldn't have been so hard to do so.

Since this peculiar bit of writer's block, I've been thinking about how many of the things I say aloud and especially that I send via text message are literally untrue but instead carry a sarcastic meaning. That underlying message is almost always understood on both ends but troubling nonetheless.

It seems that relying on so much snark makes it harder to convey what I mean without it. Well, I see now that I mustn't let my gayforward communication skills get rusty.

‘M’ statues draw crowds here, there

Tuesday, two statues of beloved figures whose names start with M drew crowds as they were installed in places I call home.

Moroni and Marilyn

In Palm Springs, a 26-foot-tall Marilyn Monroe settled into her new home in a temporary downtown park.

Over in Gilbert, it was the angel Moroni who was lifted atop a new temple for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

After a day or so of seeing Marilyn all over my Facebook News Feed, I noticed a photo of Moroni in the afternoon and wasn't all that surprised to learn that the installation in Arizona attracted a similar level of interest as did the one here in California.