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.
--
Tomorrow's one of my "summer flex hours" half-day Fridays, and
we're supposed to leave on our first camping trip of the season in the
afternoon. We had another of our optimistic Myrtle Beach trips
booked (and paid-for), but we canceled because of crapola too convoluted
and boring to go into here. Instead, we've decided to keep it low-key
this year, and not venture too far from the Compound.
The place we're heading to tomorrow is less than a hundred miles away,
and is supposed to be really nice. A few Surf Reporters suggested it to
us, as well as a couple of Toney's Pennsylvania buddies, so we're going
to check it out. We also have a Hershey Park extravaganza set for
August, along with a three-day weekend at a state park roughly seven
miles from our house.
And that'll probably be it for the rolling box o' beds this year, unless
we get a wild hair and go to Cape May before school starts -- something
I'm lobbying for.
I feel a little guilty that the summer is half over and we're just
taking off on our first trip. But things have a tendency to get
complicated. For instance, Toney had outpatient surgery yesterday, which
stressed me out far more than the situation warranted. (Go figure.)
Everything worked out, of course, and she's fine. But it's just one
thing after another.
-- Needless to say, Heat Wave '06 is predicted to descend upon us
tomorrow, and last until the day we return from our trip. Expect soaring
temps and high humidity, the weatherdouches are saying from "the
backyard." It seems to happen every time.
But, luckily for us, we've got a big honkin' industrial-strength air
conditioner clamped to the top of our camper. I'm not kidding, I think
that thing was designed to cool a small warehouse; it has the power to
turn our sleeping quarters into a deep-freeze within seconds. It's
enough to bring a tear to a fat man's eye.
When we were shopping for a trailer, we told the salesmen that A/C was a
non-negotiable item. And one guy immediately launched into the standard
Northeastern PA bullshit speech about not needing it "up here in
the mountains," and I wanted to punch him full in the mouth. It
didn't take long for him to realize that I was serious about the
requirement. And who was right and who was wrong? Hmm?
-- One good sign concerning the weather,
though: yesterday we received the L.L. Bean Fall Catalog in the mail. So
it can't be too far away, right? Back-to-school sales and ducks (or
whatever) flying in a V must surely be right around the corner.
Ahhh...
beautiful autumn. Fireplace smells, the baseball playoffs and World
Series, Halloween, copious amounts of bourbon.... It's the most
wonderful time of the year.
-- On the back front (get it?), things are much better today. I didn't
exactly spring from the bed this morning, but I got up without
engaging in a ten-minute production of speaking in tongues and making
faces like Renee Zellweger. A huge improvement. By tomorrow I'm
confident I'll be in good enough shape to re-injure myself hooking up
the camper. Pretty cool, huh?
-- I found out some distressing news this week: the cafeteria at work is
closing. For years they had some shady outfit running the operation and,
despite the fact that everybody mocked the quality of their
"food," we all co-existed quite nicely. But then a
bean-counter somewhere monkeyed with the program, and sacked the first group of
people, and brought in a whole new crew of criminals and derelicts. And
it's never been the same since.
In the old days I'd walk over there between the two ball-busting
conference calls, and order up a nice turkey club wrap. The snaggle-toothed
woman who worked that counter liked to talk, and would entertain me with
tales of debauchery and screen door-exploding fist fights from the
trailer park where she lived. I was always happily humming this song as
I made my way back to my office.
Then I'd enjoy the mean-ass impeccably-built wrap she'd prepared for me.
It was a good set-up, so naturally it had to be ruined. I never warmed
to the new people, they folded their wraps like a burrito for one
thing(?!), and I usually just bought pre-packaged garden salads from
them. The woman who ran the cash register couldn't be trusted either.
She was always getting "confused" and giving you change for a smaller
bill than you'd handed her. I was always amazed at the way her confusion
only ran one way.
And now they're crying the blues, claiming they're losing money, and
shutting the whole deal down. Which sucks. We work out in the middle of
nowhere, and it's a trek to the nearest fast food ass-plumping
establishment. I'll probably end up eating out of the vending machines
more often than not: a bag of Jolly Ranchers today, a double-decker
Little Debbie oatmeal cookie tomorrow....
I wish they could bring back the original crew, but I know, deep down,
that the spell has been broken, and we'll never go home again. The
meddling smartest-guys-in-the-room bean-counting basta'ds....
-- What do you do for lunch at work? I'm entering uncharted territory
here, and need some guidance. The thought of carrying in a sack of
sandwiches every morning, and putting them inside the upright-butthole
that is the department refrigerator, doesn't really appeal to me.
But eating Tart n Tinys for lunch every day doesn't sound very good
either.
Help me out, people. I turn to you, once again, in my hour of need.
And I've got more, lots more (including this
NSFW video that Wordnerd
sent in, which I can't decide whether or not to link to...), but it'll have to wait until tomorrow.
Have a great day, and I'll see you on Flex Friday.
--
Tomorrow's one of my "summer flex hours" half-day Fridays, and
we're supposed to leave on our first camping trip of the season in the
afternoon. We had another of our optimistic Myrtle Beach trips
booked (and paid-for), but we canceled because of crapola too convoluted
and boring to go into here. Instead, we've decided to keep it low-key
this year, and not venture too far from the Compound.