Mow Mow Mow My Boat

I can't make this stuff up.

So the woman who sold us our house used to keep the lawn incredibly well-maintained. At least one neighbor has already told me that. Apparently, her commitment to the manicuring of mulch ended the day we went under contract. Because by the time we moved in, the grass was taller than Gary Coleman (too soon?). No problem, I say to myself. I'll just call a few lawn guys to come and take care of my Amazonian side yard.

Lesson: It's not as easy to find a grass cutter at the start of summer as you'd think.

These guys are in some sort of prime time, like looking for a last-minute accountant after Passover (early April for the goys). I called a half-dozen firms and between "Sorry, can't schedule you for two weeks" and the folks who never even bothered to call back, I eventually went a new route. I hired a buddy's kid to do the lawn for me. $25 for a few hours work on his part. We set it up to get done over Memorial Day weekend. I have only held the title to this house for two weeks, so I figured that was moving pretty quick. But the kid had to attend a distant relative's funeral with his parents - and my bluegrass butchering was postponed.

It wasn't until Brooke arrived at the house Wednesday morning - to let the flooring guy in - that she found a violation from the town warning me to cut my "high grass and weeds" or face some sort of punishment. Yup. A neighbor has already ratted me out for property maintenance. True, oh sticklers of fact. That previous sentiment is clearly a supposition. It's possible that a random city official driving through New Jersey's sixth-most populous city just happened to stumble upon my house. Or maybe it was the douchebag a few houses down and across the street who actually clapped in my direction at the sight of the lawn finally getting cut.

Lesson: I think I've found our first prick neighbor.

Never being one to like even the potential of a warning-cum-fine, I immediately to set my lawn for the first time. Via an old friend who lives around the corner from me, I I managed to transport a self-propelled, gas-powered bag mower to my yard. THe bag filled - easily - two dozen times as I slowly chewed my way over and over a lawn grown impossibly large. The process took so long, the phrase "losing the light" actually became applicable to lawn mowing. I never even got to the backyard. All I managed to get was the side yard and the front, which.

Lesson: I will soon enough be purchasing my first mower - and it will be mighty..