Backyard fire pit sore back extravaganza part I

OK, so Amanda asked me to write the blog on our backyard project. This will probably be a mistake, and the last time she allows me to talk to you. Because I’m a terrible writer, and I’m drinking Maker’s 46 from a flask. Yes, a flask. I can’t decide if that makes me a 13 year old desperately trying to be cool, or an old, weathered cowboy who probably smells like horses and loneliness. Hemmingway did say “write drunk, edit sober.” Maybe it was Hemmingway. Twain? De Vries? Someone. Anyway…

We decided to install (is that the right word? Apply? Lay down? Drop?) some concrete pavers in our backyard because we have a lot of grass and we live in the desert. And California is in the middle of a drought. This is like, 3 levels of stupid already. We’re gonna add concrete, beer, and 80’s rock and see how many horrible mistakes we can make along the way.

So, to recap, this is the state we live in:

This is what we are desperately trying to keep alive:

And this is how successful we’ve been:

So, pretty good, if you asked me. No one asked me. Amanda insists it's terrible. Something about not liking our backyard looking like the surface of Mars. She also takes issue with our puppy eating dirt and digging holes. Maybe if she raised a dog and not a groundhog we wouldn't be having this problem. The part of me that likes to live dangerously told her that.  

She wasn't amused.

Fun fact: If you *think* astroturf will be an affordable alternative, you can go get an estimate done, and the number they give you will be so laughably enormous you will actually, seriously consider installing an irrigation system to pump water from the ocean directly into your yard. True story, maybe.

Solution: Tear up half of the yard, pour a bunch of concrete pavers, and then get the estimate redone and *hopefully* the number drops somewhere below NASA's annual budget. 

This is a really long-winded way of saying we decided to put in a walkway and set up a fire pit area. As it turns out, it's actually pretty easy...unless you want to do a good job. We were willing to settle for "OK." 

Based on my half-hearted research, which I squeezed in between reading articles on ISIS's inexorable advance across the Middle East, and looking at endearing pictures of cats falling off of things and being cute, laying concrete involves tearing up the sod, leveling the surface, laying an even layer of gravel, and...and...

Sorry. Got distracted.

Anyway, here's Amanda tearing up some sod:

Leila is there for moral support.

Here's the arsenal of things I don't know how to use:

900 lbs of concrete.

Stacks nicely. Are we done?

I guess not.

So, Amanda's friends - wonderful human beings that they are - decided to take her out for her birthday, leaving me to finish tearing up grass. How hard could it be? It's just grass. And I'm only taking out like, a couple inches of it. 

Oh my god, this is the most horrible thing I've ever done. 

Why is grass so heavy!?

Hank! Helping or hurting? We've talked about this. GO AWAY!

There is not enough beer in the world to soothe this kind of torture.

Once again, Hank, NOT helping.

Yes. I've decided I'm done.

Definitely done.

Ah....damn.

After 800 years of hard labor, I present to you: The saddest fire pit in the world. I guess I'm not done. Bummer. 

But I'm done for tonight, because this blogger site is starting to crap out on me and I'm the only one awake in the house. Even Leila, the perpetually amped up psychopuppy has decided it's time to call it a night. 

And she is much, much smarter than I am.