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.
--
How ya'll doing this morning? Getting any? Personally, I'm in a really
good mood. Because of something called "summer flex hours" I'm
allowed to leave work, on every other Friday, as soon as the one o'clock
ballbuster conference call ends. And it just so happens that this is one
of my weeks -- right up against a big honkin' four-day weekend. How cool
is that?
Originally we were supposed to work on Monday, and get Tuesday off for
the holiday. But The Company ended up giving us Monday as well. The day that
email arrived, early last week, Toney and I began frantically calling
around to various campgrounds, to try to secure a space. But it was not
to be. There's not a campsite within a two hundred mile radius of our
house.
So I guess it'll just be more lazing around the house, and maybe a deck
feast or two. But that's OK. Any downtime is good time.
I hope you're getting some time away from your job as well. Got any
special plans?
-- A few doors down from us lives a giant white dog. I don't know what
breed he is, but he's massive. He can literally walk up to the front of
our house, and look straight through the living room windows. He's big
and goofy and good-natured, and you'd have to have a black black soul
not to like him.
However, he eats shit and garbage. Those are his big character flaws. I
think I mentioned, a long time ago, that we saw him strutting up our
street one day with an entire Thanksgiving turkey carcass in his mouth,
aluminum foil and all. He'd dug it out of somebody's trash, and had his
head all ratcheted back, happy as crap.
He's always rooting through garbage cans, and ripping open plastic
sacks, and stringing moist, funky trash throughout the neighborhood. He
also eats, on a regular basis, Andy's yard biscuits, hot from the oven.
Blechh.
One of our neighbors had loads of
expensive landscaping done last summer, and this outsize hound dug up
their flower beds, within hours of completion. I saw him doing it, and
nearly wrecked my Blazer doing a cartoon double-take.
Sometimes I'll see a person chasing him away with a broom, but nobody
can stay mad at him. He's just so happy and stupid, and has a bark that
literally sounds like woof! His personality earns him a lot of
leeway, and that's for sure. If he was unlikable, I'm convinced he'd
already be poisoned or shot.
Anyway, when I was driving home from work last night, I took a slightly
different route, because I saw Half-Shirt in his yard and didn't want to
have to wave to him.
There's a house near us where the people apparently hit the lottery, or
had a rich aunt die, or something. Over the last year or so they've
completely remodeled their place, put in an in-ground pool with
waterfall, re-sodded and landscaped the yard, etc. It went from being
your average home, to something out of Architectural Digest.
And yesterday evening, as I drove past, the big white dog was lying on
their manicured lawn with his head completely inside a sack of garbage,
just going to town. The trashcans at the end of their driveway were
tipped over, and crap was strewn everywhere. Hilarious.
I told Toney about it when I got home, and we had a good there he
goes again laugh. She asked if I could take the oldest Secret to
swimming practice while she finished up dinner, and I purposely went
past the house again.
The guy was out there cleaning up the mess, returning big stringy gobs
of super-saturated paper towels (or something) to the trash cans, and
patting the dog on the head. I drove real slow, and heard the man
speaking in baby-talk: Dat's right big boy, dat's right.... You such
a good dog.... And he was saying this as he used a square of
cardboard to scoop something that looked like fettucine alfredo off his
driveway.
What kind of crazy hold does this dog have over us?? I'm convinced that
eventually we'll all be doing his bidding.
-- Something just happened to me that unlocked an ancient memory that
was, I'm pretty sure, almost lost forever. I went into the downstairs
bathroom, flipped on the light, and walked straight into a spider
dangling from the ceiling on a string(!). The thing was face-level, and
nearly went into my mouth. I almost tore down the shower curtain
flailing about like Skippy Hicks, and I have no idea what happened to
the spider. I keep thinking I feel it crawling in my hair....
And this reminded me of a story that a co-worker told me in Atlanta,
back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. She said she'd gone into the
bathroom at her apartment, to take a wizz. As she sat there, and without
realizing it, a cockroach dropped out of the air vent above the
toilet, into her underwear. Then she stood and pulled up her drawers,
with the roach still inside. And comedy ensued.
Heh. I hadn't thought about that in years.... I guess there's still a
little life left beneath the scar tissue?
-- And, since we're coming up on the Fourth of July, I was going to tell
you about some of my boyhood M-80s adventures. Like how they were
extremely illegal, yet I bought hundreds and hundreds of the things -- from
a South Charleston cop. Yes, good times. But Buck had the same idea,
and did a much better job of it than I could've, so I'll just let him
take it from here.
I'm not sure when I'll update again. I'm getting a feeling that it won't
be until next Wednesday, but we'll see. Today Toney and I are breaking
down and allowing Secret 1 to buy an airsoft gun, against many of your
warnings. So I might feel compelled to tell you about the resulting
mayhem on Monday.
In any case, have a great holiday, and I'll see ya next time.
--
How ya'll doing this morning? Getting any? Personally, I'm in a really
good mood. Because of something called "summer flex hours" I'm
allowed to leave work, on every other Friday, as soon as the one o'clock
ballbuster conference call ends. And it just so happens that this is one
of my weeks -- right up against a big honkin' four-day weekend. How cool
is that?