OK, I'm going to demonstrate how much of a spaz I can be with this post, but what the hell. One of the things that's made me insanely happy this week was a sort-of-reunion with an old friend. Kinda.

When I was over at the University of Exeter, in a fit of homesickness I went to this big plant fair that they were holding up on campus. Me, the guy who managed to kill even the most diehard bachelor plants, went walking through all these rows and rows of houseplants that kind of reminded me of my home back in Ohio, where Mom was an absolute garden nut. I'd always resented gardening because she made me spend hours on my knees, picking these teensy tiny little weeds out of the dirt, which seemed like an almost Sisyphean task to an eight-year-old. Now, though, I wanted something to green up my place.

Insanely, I wound up walking back to my apartment downtown with a five-foot-tall yucca palm balanced precariously on my shoulder. I'll never forget the looks I got from people on my way back. It was great. I must have been huge with that thing up there.

Man, let me tell you, I loved that plant. Seriously. I couldn't kill it. Palm trees are insanely forgiving if you forget to water them for a while. They're the perfect bachelor plant. Green, beautiful, and freakin' resilient. I spent hours in that room, studying or working on my laptop, and that plant made the whole place feel more like home. When it came time to leave England at the end of the year, I couldn't take it with me, so I gave it to the housekeeper, who'd remarked on how beautiful it was.

As dumb as it sounds, over the next couple of years I kept my eyes open. I couldn't remember what kind of plant it was, embarassingly enough, so I couldn't ask for one. But I kept looking, whenever I'd go to a nursery or a greenhouse. I never found one.

Until last week. Talon and I went to IKEA to look for coffeetables and bookcases, doing research for the last couple of missing pieces for this place, and then, lo and behold, there was my plant. Seriously. Same size, same three primarily trunks in the pot, this was my plant.

Now, twenty bucks later, there's a beautiful yucca palm sitting in the corner of my room. Talon insists on calling it "Mr. Yuk", but whateversville. I still grin every time I see it. I know it's not the same plant, but what the hey. It makes me really happy nevertheless.

And yes, I know I'm a dork. That doesn't bother me. What bothers me is the idea that I might be slowly turning into my mom. I swear, if I find myself starting to research perennials and planting color-coordinated window planters, I'm seeking professional help.

Enh, whatever. It's all good. I mean, come on -- how bad can it be? I've got my tree back!