Welcome to the Jungle

All right, this is just redonkulous.


When I got back to San Diego on Saturday, I had a hard time finding my house. Seriously. I got lost twice on my way to the front door and narrowly escaped being eaten by a puma.

Because my yard is apparently now a jungle.

Those damn boys.

But it's not like I can complain. Scott did, after all, shake out the crumbs in the toaster and (allegedly) vacuum the patio. And Nev, bless his little heart, made sure there wasn't a drop of alcohol anywhere in the house just in case I might be tempted to unwind or something while I'm on break.

So I spent all day yesterday weeding the front yard, even though I'm quite sure this activity is not going to help my back heal any faster. I had a friend help me, and even Nev pitched in. He turned on the water to soak the weeds, and in the process gave my computer and couch a bath. Then he took a nap in my honor (it was a rough day for him, what with having to carry a hose from the back yard to the front and all).

Anyway, it felt quite productive, probably the most work I've done all month.


Only now, my hands hurt from all the pulling and my legs are sore.

What the.....

I haven't worked out for 3 weeks, and suddenly my muscles get sore from something as silly as pulling weeds?

This is not good.

My body is going to mush right before my eyes.

Which is why today is day 1 of The Great Detox. I have to do something soon, because somehow I don't think eating everything in sight and not working out is going to do the trick. The trick, of course, is me being able to button up my pants.


Urgghhhhhhhhh.......If it's not a battle through the jungle it's a battle through my closet.

Will it ever end?

Trained Part 2

I returned to San Diego on Saturday. Sunday evening we grilled out and I found out just how much the boys had missed me.

It's pretty much a Sunday Standard that the Neighbors come over and we grill. Sometimes we go over there, but usually it's at our place. Because our place is obviously so much better than theirs. Plus, Neighbor Girl is lazy (and by lazy I mean smarter than I am) and doesn't like to clean up after the boys.

Anyway, the weather was pleasant, it being Spring and all (you hear that, Utah?). We sat outside on our lovely patio, which affords a pleasant view of equal parts palm trees, SoCal sunsets, and concrete.


And even the glorious sight of the hookers working their way down El Cajon boulevard couldn't stop my urge to hurl as I discovered that my patio is full of spit-out sunflower shells.

What. The. Eff.


Boys?


............

Me: Scott, someone needs to vacuum the patio.

Scott: I know, I will. I already vacuumed it once.


I'm not shocked that he cleaned, as I've already instilled the fear of death in him (and by death I mean no P to V contact), but I am surprised that he vacuumed the patio, something he (and everyone else) has teased me endlessly about.

But.........................


I win!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Well, I will win once he actually commences with the vacuuming.