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'm dragging massive ass this morning. It was one heck of an eventful
weekend; more has happened since Friday's update than sometimes happens
in an entire month around here. And I'll have to give it to you in bits
and pieces over the next few days, 'cause there's no way I'm going to be
able to cover it all now. Not even the standard gallon of Eight O'Clock
bean coffee is doing the trick this time.
Man, I'm getting old....
On Friday I bought a new car. I have no picture to share with you, I am
fully unprepared to discuss the subject. But I'm happy about it. It's
the nicest vehicle I've ever owned. And almost as exciting as the new
ride sitting in our driveway: the Blazer is now somebody else's problem!
Oh yeah. I'll give you the details as soon as I can get my heart started
again.
On Saturday we (Toney) finished a long drawn-out bedroom reclamation
project, then split up the Secrets. Each now has their own
freshly-painted and disturbingly-neat bedroom, but it's not exactly
going as planned. By Sunday night they were together again, playing the
fart game and engaging in all their usual shenanigans, and we're having
second-thoughts about the whole exercise. Good times.
And last night all four of us joined Steve and his wife Myra for dinner
at a little Italian place near here, where I surrendered to a full-on
manicotti and beer frenzy. Then afterwards Steve, Myra, and I attended a
Steely Dan concert, on their Pressed Slacks Tour '06 -- where we felt
like America's youth. Wow. Me to the woman at the Yuengling stand:
"I bet you're not having to card too many people tonight,
are ya?" Holy shitballs, Batman.
I didn't get to bed last night until about 1:30 am, a considerable
amount of adult beverages were consumed, and this update is like trying
to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of a depleted tube. (I've got
a lot of nerve mocking the elderly....) I'll elaborate on the above
subjects at a later date. I need to log some serious time inside the
Castanza nap-desk first, I really do.
But I will tell you about our weekend encounter with the local
fire department. Heh.
On Sunday Toney asked me to move something
to the basement, and when I opened the door and started down the steps I
was punched in the face by a powerful funk. It smelled exactly like
lighter fluid, the kind you spray on charcoal while bitching about
camping. And it was strong. WTS?!
I hollered for Toney, her head also whipped back like the Zapruder film
as she came down the stairs, and we started looking around. Maybe we'd
accidentally spilled something? We'd been moving toys and crap down
there during the reclamation project, perhaps a can of paint thinner or
something got knocked over?
But we found nothing; everything was as it should be. What the hell,
man?? The entire space below our house was filled with lighter fluid
fumes, and there's a hot water tank down there as well -- complete with
open flame. I had visions of a catastrophic explosion, and our body
parts and scraps of lumber raining down on the city of Tunkhannock.
I called my Dad, and he had no ready explanations. But he told me I'd
better be careful, which made me even more paranoid.
After searching the basement a second time, I decided to call the fire
department. I only wanted to talk to them, and maybe get some advice,
but it didn't work out that way. I called the "non-emergency"
number, and they answered, "EMERGENCY 911!"
I stuttered for a few seconds, and finally got my story out. The guy was
hell-bent on sending someone out, even though I tried to discourage it.
He insisted that it could be dangerous, and I begged him to not send a
fire truck or anything like that. I was sweating like a sow on election
day just thinking about the spectacle I was about to create.
And as soon as we hung up I heard the city-wide siren go off, calling
all available volunteer firemen to their battle stations. Holy shit!!
Then we heard the fire trucks, sirens blasting and horns honking. I felt
like I was about to start crying. An SUV with flashing lights came
tearing around the corner, went past our house and on down the street.
Then the trucks came rumbling past as well. By this time the neighbors
were on their porches, hyper-extending their necks.
I was about to crap my pants.
They'd overshot their destination and went all the way around the block,
making even more racket and causing more neighborly interest. They
stopped in front of our house the second time around, and four or five
men came sprinting across our lawn in complete fire-fighting
gear, one carrying an axe!
They had all manner of apparatus with them, each apparently designed to
detect some strain of dangerous vapor and whatnot. One was holding what
looked like a divining rod, another was clutching something that
resembled those big plastic horns they sell at baseball games, and they
converged on our basement, serious as all hell. I was walking from room
to room by now, trying to hold back the tears.
Finally they came up and told me there was nothing poisonous or
explosive in our basement. Their guess was that one of our neighbors had
poured "something they're not supposed to" down the storm
drains, and we were getting the fumes in our house. They offered to
leave us a big fan for a day or two, to blow the funk out of there, but
I was too mortified to think straight and declined their offer.
Today it's back to normal, and after I finish with this update I'm going
to try to pretend like none of it ever happened. Sweet Jesus.
--
I'm dragging massive ass this morning. It was one heck of an eventful
weekend; more has happened since Friday's update than sometimes happens
in an entire month around here. And I'll have to give it to you in bits
and pieces over the next few days, 'cause there's no way I'm going to be
able to cover it all now. Not even the standard gallon of Eight O'Clock
bean coffee is doing the trick this time.