The following quote has adult language, you have been warned.
I look just like my dad. That scares me to death. Afraid I’m going to wake up one day and start acting like my dad and I know he was a kid at one point. At what point did he become a goober? That’s what I want to know. Shoot me the day before that goober transition. And all dad’s are goobers I don’t know what it is, life just breaks a man. One day men just wake up and go… “Fuck it! I don’t care what people think of me any more. I’m going to wait for the paper boy in my underwear… I’m going to go to the mall in a Bermuda jumpsuit… I’m going to walk around the house in a robe that won’t quite close… Hello, daddies fixing breakfast! Who wants sausage?” Dad, you’re a GOOBER! I’ve seen my dad go into Mcdonalds and ask if they serve hamburgers before. Major level gooberosity this. “Scuse me, ya’ all serve burgers here?” …dad just wait in the fucking car, roll the windows up. Luckily the kid behind the counter was acting like his dad. “Wait a minute, I’ll check… Nope.” Telling you an, you guy’s ever find yourself sitting around in the house… not really thinking like that… that goober moment is almost upon you. When that sock starts dangling and you don’t care you got some serious fucking questions you better start asking yourself. You’re about to start worrying about your lawn. “I wonder how the lawn is…” I be stripped to my Jockey’s… Go stand in ma lawn. My goober Castle. Survey my goober domain. Let me pick at my ear at a hundred miles an hour…”.
I have never cared about my yard. It’s never been anything more than one of my earthly trials. I inherited a 1/2 acre of land from my grandparents and ever since I can remember being able to work in the yard I have been mowing that damn field. I usually let it get too high and my lawnmower no longer is able to handle it so I have to lug around a line-trimmer just to get it low enough to then go over it with the mower. Great fun.
I am a indoor being. Mowing lawns and trimming bushes are not my idea of a necessary thing. When I was little my grandfather used to let the mustard plants grow taller than me so I could run through the field and cut out paths and fortresses. Grass taller than me is not bad, it’s an adventure. The fire marshal feels differently and sends me nasty form letters to remove the hazards. So out I go, mowing and trimming. Sweating and swearing.
An old neighbor of our’s was a lawn obsessive. He’d mow every week, sometimes twice, always perfectly straight lines back and forth. He’d edge and trim. He’d water and fertilize. Even as a little kid I thought he was nuts. It’s just grass. It will just grow back. For awhile in my teens I pretended that mowing the lawns was against nature, we humans are screwing up the planet, things are supposed to grow, that’s how it works.
Last year I bought my first bag of fertilizer. Scotts Turf Builder or something like that. I got a little hand spreader and followed the directions. I did a little fraction of my yard, just the little area in front of my porch. I only did it twice, the results did not show or were to slow to keep my attention. I do mow more often but I do it out of necessity rather than passion. It’s been raining and the stuff grows fast.
A few days ago I came across this awesome Homemade Outdoor Waterbed. Suddenly I care about my lawn because I want to build that and it need an awesome lawn.
I’m going to be the best goober. I will stop caring about what I’m wearing and embarrass the neighbors. I will have the coolest outdoor waterbed ever.