Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
Mission accomplished. Both of the Secrets had dinner last night,
breakfast this morning, and are now at school fully dressed. Pretty
impressive, huh? Damn straight it is. By the time I get home from work
tonight Toney should be returned from Philadelphia, and all will be
right with the world again. I might very well hoist a pint or two of the
golden elixir while we watch Wednesday's episode of LOST this
evening, in recognition of my great achievements.
Dinner last night was served by the crew at Damon's. I don't like that
place very well, but the boys seemed adamant about going there. So
whatever.
In case you're curious, my objection to Damon's is multi-faceted. For
one thing, their sandwiches are served on what amounts to a full loaf of
French bread, sliced down the middle. You've got to unlatch your jaw
like a freakin' snake to wedge it all in, and I don't like that. So
sandwiches are out, and that mostly leaves steaks and ribs and whatnot,
which'll cost you twenty bucks just as sure as shit. And what am I,
Cornelius Vanderbilt here?
The Secrets each ordered chicken and fries (the default setting) off the
kid's menu, and I hemmed and hawed and finally went with a giant dinner
salad. I like those things, as gay as it sounds, so I wasn't just
settling. Bennigan's used to serve something called a Club Salad, which
featured every ingredient of a club sandwich, and it was just about the
best thing in the world. Needless to say, they discontinued it.
So we ordered and settled back to absorb the chaos that is Damon's
Grill. They've got roughly a million TVs in that place, three or four of
which are ceiling-to-floor, and individual volume controls at each
table. Therefore, everybody in the house is watching a different channel
with the sound cranked way up, so they can hear over all the other
people with their sound cranked way up.
Oh, it's highly enjoyable. The folks next to us last night were watching
The Fairly Oddparents, and the hyper-amplified voice of Wanda
(through drive-in speakers) nearly exploded my cerebellum. I forbade the
Secrets from touching our volume control, I told them to leave it turned
off. If a person can't pull themselves away from the TV long enough to
have a meal, for God's sake, they might as well just have someone run
over their head with a car wheel right now.
The waitress finally brought our food, and
it was obvious that I was being put in charge of preparing my own salad.
The thing was served in a bowl almost as big around as my cousin's neck,
which means it took up almost our entire table. In the center was a bed
of lettuce with a dusting of carrots and cheese. On top of that was a
full chicken breast, cut into three or four pieces, and around the edge:
alternating slices of cucumber and tomato.
It required about fifteen minutes of sawing to get that shit ready to
eat. I needed to towel-down at one point, and take on fluids. Call me a
radical, but if I'm forking over ten bucks for a salad, I want it to be
ready-to-eat when they bring it to the table. I was exhausted when we
left that place, and my shoulders are sore this morning.
While we were driving home I saw a glowing Dunkin Donuts sign on the
horizon. On a whim, I whipped the wheel to the right when we got there,
walked straight inside and bought a dozen glazed off an Indian woman
with a diamond in her nose. If Toney's going to leave me in charge,
dammit, I'm going to have my own set of rules. And those rules include
fried dough, in copious amounts. I just checked and there are now three
donuts left. Well, actually two after I finish this one....
This morning I tried to talk the Secrets into just taking a five dollar
bill each for lunch, but the youngest wouldn't go for it. He checked the
menu, and it says the cafeteria will be serving something called
"lightly seasoned cheese nuggets" today. I have no idea what
that means, and neither did he, so he asked me to pack him a lunch. And
I did. He got a turkey and cheese sandwich, an apple, a bag of chips,
and a Rice Krispies bar. I don't know if that's enough, or too much, but
it's what he got.
The oldest took the five, and will probably spend the entire amount on
curly fries.
And Toney just called (from the church), and says she should be on the
road by two o'clock. And Nancy WON'T be coming with her, which was a
concern. So it's almost over, my friends. The captain will soon be back
on deck, and I can return to the comfort of my usual role as house
dumbass. Within just a few short hours, my obligations will once again
be sarcasm, mockery, goofiness, and emptying the dishwasher. And we can
all breathe a sigh of relief.
-- I mentioned the crap they're serving at the school cafeteria here,
and I think I'll try that as the Surf Report Question of the Day.... Do
you have any stories to tell on that particular subject? If so, use the
comments link below.
A couple immediately jump to my mind, and I'll
share them with you now.
The first stars my friend Bill (aka Bill in WV), and a kid we called
Shave. I think Shave's real name was Eric. But his head was shaved bald,
back in the 1970s when everybody else had Gabe Kaplan hair, so we gave
him a better handle.
Bill and I were sitting across from him in the "multi-purpose
room" at good ol' Dunbar Elementary, eating lunch one day, and
Shave was giving us a hard time about something. He kept going on and on
with it, and Bill finally picked up a fruit cup and threw it in Shave's
face. The guy just sat there blinking real fast, as heavy syrup and
chunks of peaches slid off his big melon head.
This doesn't have anything to do with the fruit cup story, but years
later authorities (possibly my Dad) fished Shave's lifeless body out of
the Kanawha River. Foul play was suspected, but never proven. I have no
evidence of this, but I've always believed the dude was going on and on
it with it again, and somebody hurled him off the Dunbar Toll Bridge. He
should've heeded the warning of the fruit cup....
The second story also took place at Dunbar Elementary, and it involves
new potatoes.
In those days we were allowed to go back for seconds in the cafeteria,
provided everyone had already been served and there was food left over.
One day somebody got the idea of starting a potato-eating contest. They
were serving-up those little taters with the skin still on 'em, and
there was tons left over.
So we all started eating them, trying to be the person who ingested the
most. A splendid time was had by all. I can't remember how many I choked
down, but it was nowhere near the winner: a kid named Roni who ate (I
think) thirty-six.
The next day we were pulled aside by a group of teachers, and possibly
the principal, and they asked us how many potatoes we'd each had. They
were laughing and joking around, acting like they thought it was funny.
And once we gave them the info, they turned on us. They were pissed that
we'd pulled such a "stunt." (Gulp.) They yanked an arbitrary
number out of their asses (thirteen, I believe), and told us we'd be
punished if we had more potatoes than that.
And for the next week or so we were forced to wear huge pig-shaped
signs pinned to our shirts, made from paper plates, and with the words
NO SECONDS written on the front. Man, talk about your public
humiliation....
Today the ACLU would surely file a lawsuit ("mass potato-eating is a
valid form of expression"), the entire staff would be fired, and the kids
would be given intensive grief counseling. Back then? Fuck you, put this
pig face on your chest, and shut your hillbilly mouth. Ahhh, the good
old days.
Do you have any school cafeteria stories to tell? Well, let's hear 'em,
dammit.
--
Mission accomplished. Both of the Secrets had dinner last night,
breakfast this morning, and are now at school fully dressed. Pretty
impressive, huh? Damn straight it is. By the time I get home from work
tonight Toney should be returned from Philadelphia, and all will be
right with the world again. I might very well hoist a pint or two of the
golden elixir while we watch Wednesday's episode of LOST this
evening, in recognition of my great achievements.