OW. I cleaned up the front lawn today, with the aid of my neighbors. These are really nice neighbors. Our yards connect and so they helped me clean up all the leaves (no, these are not from autumn, jeez. ok, well, mostly they're not. We have a giant looming tree that is running a little behind, apparently,) and we used their giant black bags when mine ran out. I have thirteen huge black bags by the curb now. And I am, it would seem, way the fuck out of shape. All those fried pickles probably don't help. Do alcoholic misanthropes just not take care of their yard? I guess if they are financially well off alcoholic misanthropes they pay someone else to do it? But it is all clean. Now if only I had money to put out pretty flowers. Ones that eat small children.
And I was happy to learn that the bushes in front of our house (the ones that weren't destroyed by the foundation repair people) do indeed match our street name. I think it's cute. The neighbors used to own some as well but had to rip them out for whatever reason. I got the backstory on the previous owner, his girlfriend (his wife died a few years back), how much he spent on various parts of the house, the fact that we almost didn't get a fridge out of the deal, and that had this happened a few years down the road, the kitchen would have been remodelled. Oh well!
All I know is that if if I lived here, I wouldn't have to worry about the yard. Or the carpet. Or people. Just, how is the next shipment of wine arriving? Thanks for the link, dad. I'll let you visit. If a wave doesn't destroy us. (Keep scrolling down to see inside my house).
My whole body aches. It's all I can do to lift the beer to my mouth.