My wrist is better! While I wasn't totally perfect with regards to giving it a writing break, its condition has definitely improved, and I'm a much happier being. Slowed down on the gung-ho yoga practice, stuck to minimal pressure, and kept it as still as possible. Good stuff.
Didgeridoo Boy and I have had a bit of back and forth all week long with regards to my new obsession - grilling. It all started with a Weber "Smokey Joe", which has only been with us since Sunday. I have grilled out every night since. Please notice that I am not telling you he got it wrong on Sunday when he was in charge. I am also not telling you he tried to "school" me prior to getting it wrong. Yes, he does cook professionally. OVER A GAS GRILL, but anyway, I'm not telling you that. I am also not telling you that I learned that you don't put veggie dogs on the grill yesterday, just like I'm not telling you I flat forgot regular hot dogs are pre-cooked. Did they all wind up looking like shriveled fingers, almost making me scream when I took the lid off the grill expecting plump, juicy perfection? Yes, they did. But I'm not saying anything about that. I am, however, telling you that the foil-packed potatoes with onions and cheese were absolutely divine. And the back and forth? It's moved from who's the better grill artist (me) (unless you ask Mr. Who-Gets-Paid-To-Grill - - - OVER GAS) to why on earth is GoKittenGo willing to shell out almost two hundred dollars for the blue Weber One Touch Gold. I have not told him I am looking at the model up from that - - but he reads this blog, so he'll know in short order and be reminded again that I am using my money to buy it. And, really, that's not a lot of money for a grill. He should know this because he's a pro. Over gas. We both play with fire now, only mine can't be turned off with a switch, bucko. Your grill might be bigger, mine might be cute, but who's the badass? DING DING DING, we have a winner! Me! Sorry.
Anyway....
The neighbor situation. "Jungle Path '10 - The Bullshit" continues. The landlord is being given yet another one more chance to comply with a nice request from the HOA before the property management muscle moves in. That's not really the gist of the bullshit, though. The bullshit is this: Remember the trash can drama? We can't put ours to the side of that unit? Okay. The landlord was fine with it. The male half of the equation next door? Fine with it. The HOA? Fine with it. The problem? The wife next door. The wife half of the equation living in the place with the yard going into such disrepair that legal muscle is about to come into play is the issue. And why is that so deliciously ironic? She raised hell after her landlord told her it was fine because she was afraid we would mess up her yard. I am no longer talking about it, as I can no longer say anything positive. Just know that I am embracing this (grrrrr) as a lesson (grrrrrrrrrr) in something. I'm a little too peeved to identify what, but will detach myself from the drama and not let it get to me. Anymore. Grrrrrrrr.
I'm just going to focus on the fun. The fun. Focus on that. Fun.
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