Sunday, June 29, 2008

We love and hate the patio...

...As we love and hate ourselves.

As mentioned, we moved approximately 13 butt-tonnes of material to make this shiznit happen. We had this long list of to-dos that precursed the actual construction of the patio:
clean the garage (once and for all),
get fences put in, get trees taken down,
push Stilgar into the garage so we could stack up 3 butt-tones of Pennsylvania Irregular Bluestone (what is this mysterious blue stone? it's not slate...) that we'd scattered around the yard years before.
All this in preparation, before we'd even begun the digging of the mudpit.

(note, this magazine article is not related to patios. It is about drywalling, which is an even stupider pastime.)

The long list of precursing ended with the item "GET HELP!" in caps, followed by an exclamation point.

Yet did we?
No, for we are glorious asses. What were we thinking? We are nincompoops and do things like throw our 13-year-old kitties onto gravel piles hoping for a funny picture and feeling bad afterwards.


Let me amend - we are assish idiots. Do you have any idea how much some of these larger stones weigh? Much. Much, much too much to be arranging in neat patterns - picking up, putting down, flipping them, and then picking them up and putting them back in the pile.

We made a last minute decision to go with our original plan that included a firepit. Let me be clear: we love this was the easiest, cheapest thing we've ever done to the house and we lurve it with all our ass hearts. We recommend firepits to anyone who enjoys fire. If you're human, that's probably you.

Yes, we have open flame close to scattered straw. Don't judge us.

These pictures don't do it justice. Having a stone patio has more than doubled our outside living space - yes, there's the lawn, but that's mostly dog poop and mosquitos. And it's just so pretty. When we're home and chillaxed, we sit on the deck, sip our coffee, and grin foolishly at our work. It is good.