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.
--
I stayed up way too late last night watching at the Academy
Awards. I'd planned to see it in the conventional manner, but there's
only so much a person can take. All those "dancers" doing
forward rolls behind partitions, that sound effects choir, the serial
fellating of Al Gore.... I was on the internet in short order, just
kinda listening to the show from the next room, and shuffling back in
there if it sounded like something interesting was going on. And, I'm
sorry to say, there wasn't much shuffling required.
The only reason I stuck with it to the end was because of Scorcese. I
wanted to see if he finally won, and I think that happened around 12:30
am. Big deal. I should've just caught it this morning on Headline News.
My brain feels like it's expanding and contracting inside its housing.
-- We also got more snow overnight. So much, in fact, the schools are
closed again. And that means I'm going to have to shovel the driveway
before I leave for work, and get soaked all the way up to and
including my ass. I wouldn't be expecting much from this update
today.... Just a bit of friendly advice.
-- Toney finally got home from her funeral trip on Friday, and the
downward spiral was arrested before it got out of hand. We're now
caught-up on LOST and Friday Night Lights, the Secrets are
getting to eat food that wasn't passed through a car window by a
fart-scented zit farmer, and all is right with the world again. Andy's
even semi-relaxed, and no longer pacing from room to room making fax
machine noises.
And speaking of funeral trips.... Would you have a problem sleeping in a
bed where a person died just two days before? Toney said her uncle
(brother of the deceased) did exactly that, and I don't think I could
handle such a thing. In fact, I'm getting a full body shiver just
thinking about it. I appreciate the offer, but I believe I'll just
sleep in the car. I ain't wallowing around on no death sponge, thank you
very much.
Am I wrong about that? What's your feelings on it?
-- Toney asked me to take the Secrets for haircuts on Saturday, and I
did. While waiting, a man with a thick British accent came into the shop
and sat down beside me. He acted like he knew the girl who was cutting
the oldest Secret's hair, and told her he'd just returned to "the
States" after a quick trip home to Great Britain.
Once that conversation petered out, I
asked him what part of England he's from, and he said it's a small
village outside Bath. This, of course, was pronounced Bawth. We
talked for a few minutes, and he seemed like a nice guy. He said he now
lives in Philadelphia, and comes up to the Scranton area about twice a
month to visit an old friend he grew up with in England. Isn't that
bizarre?
I told him we planned to get to London next spring, and he said it's
best to go in May/June, or September. And, he warned me, it's shockingly
expensive. Whatever things cost here, he said, just double it and you're
in the ballpark. Gulp.
He was very friendly, and used phrases like "on the clearest of
days," which you don't hear in these parts much. One thing
though.... He smelled like shit. And I don't mean he smelled bad, in a
generic sense, I mean he smelled like shit itself.
I assumed he'd stepped in dog crap, and didn't know it. He looked
affluent and well-groomed, and it was the only explanation I could come
up with. After we left I asked the oldest Secret, who'd flopped down on
the other side of the guy, if he'd noticed anything unusual about him.
"Well, he smelled like poop," he said.
So it wasn't my imagination. I voiced my dog crap theory, but the Secret
was skeptical. For reasons that are still unclear, he believed there was
some sort of wiping problem in play. He asked me if people wipe their
butts in Europe, and all I could do was laugh at that one. Then we got
into the whole bidet discussion, which seemed to boggle both boys'
minds. I don't think either of them believed me.
And by the time we pulled into the driveway, we were all doing British
accents and saying things like, "Yes Poppy, I'm sitting here with a
bum-crack full o' poo. Will you please cut my hair?"
Good times.
-- Yesterday Toney sent me on another excursion. She asked me to go to
the grocery store and pick up a few items, while she was busy with the
oldest Secret and his swim team. I said no problem, and the younger
youngling and I made a beeline for Five Guys Hamburgers. Hey, it takes a
lot of fuel to wander aimlessly around a supermarket, with tears
streaming down your face.
I don't know what they do differently there, but Five Guys has the best
burgers in the world. I'm not kidding, in the world. Check it
out. That's the one I polished off yesterday, and I wish I had another
right now. Damn good. And just so you know, the potatoes were from Teton
on Sunday. You simply can't go wrong with the Teton taters.
The grocery store was packed. Mostly, it seemed, with women wearing
high-heel shoes and sleeveless ski vests, and carrying Starbucks cups as
a fashion accessory. I have no idea where anything is in that place, and
it took forever. I saw a bin of giant sausages along the way, and the
brand name caused me to snicker like Beavis and/or Butthead. Take a
look.
Yes, I'm 44. What of it?
And as we were finally leaving that horrible joint, I found somebody
else's receipt. Maybe I'm weird, but I always like to look at other
peoples' receipts. I like to play detective and attempt to construct a
portrait of the person who dropped it, and possibly even a psychological
profile. You know, like on Law & Order LMNOP.
And I think I'll use that as our Question of the Day. What conclusions
can you draw from this? Help me out, people. Together I have faith
we can put it all together, and catch the whore-killer before he kills a
whore again. Or whatever.
--
I stayed up way too late last night watching at the Academy
Awards. I'd planned to see it in the conventional manner, but there's
only so much a person can take. All those "dancers" doing
forward rolls behind partitions, that sound effects choir, the serial
fellating of Al Gore.... I was on the internet in short order, just
kinda listening to the show from the next room, and shuffling back in
there if it sounded like something interesting was going on. And, I'm
sorry to say, there wasn't much shuffling required.