For the record, when we moved into our Hell Hole(tm) known as a house, the renters before us left a serious mess everywhere. Strange foods such as garbanzo beans, Crisco butter, and Hickory Smoked Cheerios inhabited every corner of the kitchen. The bathroom, once believed to be carpeted, was merely caked in pubic hair. There were empty beer bottles on every window sill and spider webs in every corner. The yard, which still needs some serious landscaping, was so overgrown with grass that mowing it was probably a feat to be seen. Fortunately, my roommate Ryan pulled that duty and we discovered we had a yard buried under the grass. Other things in the grass: three tennis balls, empty beer bottles, four hobos, My Little Pony Deluxe “Pink Prancer” Set with Interchangeable Pony Heads and Cute Little Brush, and also rocks.
The part of the yard that was most disturbing was a growth of weeds at the front porch nearing three feet in height. I could be exaggerating, but I rarely tell the truth on this website anyway. Most of you believe I am a male dancer named “Chimpy” from Puerto Rico; this is proof of your gullibility, stupidity and that you sucked at four square in elementary school. I am really a male gardener from Puerto Rico, and this where this story gets exciting. It turns out that underneath the large weed haven there used to be a garden in our front yard. Well, I had to use a hoe for two hours (unbelievable, it was so hot! It was over 110 degrees! Fahrenheit!) to get through all the weeds, clay, and rock and discover the garden. After two hours, I was ready to just give up and be happy with a beautiful dirt garden. I could set up my Pony Set and play house. Fun would be had. The little garden bugs would be our large flock of sheep, and the worms our dinner. Or at least it was tonight.
I decided it would be best to travel to Home Depot to pick out a selection of fine and inexpensive pretty flowers. I walked around the garden area, and I had no idea what any of these things were. How do you pick out the flowers? You can’t smell them or squeeze them to tell if they are ripe. Instead, I picked the homeliest looking ones, because I felt sorry for them. I felt that if they were given a loving home, they could turn their lives around. I got back home, looked at the plot, and found that three plants weren’t gonna cut it, and I needed like 15 more to make the garden look at least halfway decent. So I went back, picked up more plants, some weed block, and two bags of mulch. The mulch was so the plants would have the fine nutrients required to live about six hours in the hot Arizona sun and die.
So I worked another four hours. Laying the weed block, cutting holes in the sheet, building new homes. The dirt was about as hard as Ted Williams’ head. We don’t own garden tools I found out today. So, equipped with a putty knife and a spoon I dug little holes. I swear to you, this isn’t a lie like when I told you I was Andy Rooney. I think I ruined the spoon, and the putty knife is now a weird shape. Alas, a small price to pay because it was someone else’s stuff! God bless you, person who trusts me enough to leave his best spoon handy!
In the end, this was the result. Beautiful! I had to take a picture because in two hours the plants will be limp and dead. And so will I. Covered in spoon-shaped bruises from whoever owned that fine silverware.