I know I use the f-word too much. I’m sorry, but not sorry enough to stop.

Here’s the good news: I have a shload (that means a lot) of free pavers in my back yard.

Here’s the bad news: They were all placed in random crackhead-style arrangements, which had to be dug out and hauled.

Let's build a path where no one will ever walk!

Dummy here thought she could squeak by with a 4000 sq ft yard without buying a wheelbarrow. This is me hauling one of many pavers by hand. Stan digs them up and walks them halfway, I go meet him and stack them up. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

That's not a smile, it's a grimace.

This is how many we hauled that way (the dumb brute strength caveman way).

Here’s smarty with her new wheelbarrow!

We got a lot more done with ol’ wheely.

Then there was this beast. In addition to coked-out paver placement, the previous owners apparently enjoyed pouring a good random slab of cement every once in a while.

It may not look like much, but we estimated that it weighed about 350 pounds. We tried lifting it into the wheelbarrow- a laughable idea now.

Since it was time for neighborhood cleanup, we ended up moving it using a complex “end-over-end” and “ok-I’m-tired-let’s-try-walking-it” and “let’s-stand-here-for-just-a-sec” method.

Finally we collapsed into an exhausted hug and enjoyed the sight of it on the curb…

…with all the other crap for the city to come get.

Thank you, Salt Lake.