I hate doing yardwork. Correction. I despise doing yardwork. Just give me the responsibility of mowing the lawn and I will be content. Let someone else go around trimming bushes, pulling, weeds, and hauling the debris to the street.
Of course I picked a really warm day to do battle with Mother Nature. I had an idea of what to do and it just got out of hand. I walked along pulling weeds here and there until I came upon this annoying tree and a vine that was growing wildly over a fence I ended up getting the pruner out and cutting a number of small branches off and then attacked the vine. 15 minutes later a pile of green was on the sidewalk. I finished doing some other work before going back to move everything to the street. I was hot and sticky but all the debris was in the street for the city to pick up. Only problem for me was I wasn't finished. I hadn't even pulled the weedwhacker out to take down some high grass. Just over an hour after I had started my shirt was wet and my ball cap drenched with sweat. That beer never tasted colder or better.
I guess I should be grateful I was able to get the yardwork done. Just before heading out to the bar on Friday, I was playing the drums on Rock Band. The song was Foreplay/Long Time by Boston and I was killing it. Hitting my notes, slamming the sticks on the drums, making cymbals crash. I was really in the zone. Thus when I was finished and saw I had crushed my previous score I stood up and let out a victory cry as I thrusted my fist in the air. I then took a step to my left, tripped over one of my boots and nearly did a face plant right into the coffee table. Thankfully no one was there to see me make a fool of myself. As I picked myself off the couch I couldn't help but laugh. It was pathetically funny.