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 took a vacation day yesterday (you know, since I have fifty of them),
and got a lot done. After finishing up with the daily bunker broadcast I
went to my eye appointment, where, I'm happy to report, I wasn't asked
to close the door behind me. The only downside? More eye doctor
casualness.
The doc greeted me with, "Hey, man!"
Am I the only one that feels uneasy about this sort of thing? Shouldn't
medical practitioners be older gentlemen, with white moustaches? Or, at
the very least, carry an air of authority? All of my opticians from the
last ten years or so have looked and acted like guys I went to high
school with. And if that won't scare the shit out of a person, I don't
know what will.
After my appointment, and after ordering a fresh pair of NASA contact
lenses, I made a beeline for Waffle House. There, I got myself perched
on a stool at the "high bar," ordered scrambled eggs, sausage,
hash browns with cheese, and sweet tea. (Never order coffee at
Waffle House, trust me.) My waitress nodded, backed up a few steps,
stood at attention behind a strip of tape on the floor, and hollered out
my order to the cooks. Except she didn't say it the way I'd said it;
among other things, she instructed them to "drop a ring." I
didn't like the sound of that, but tried not to think about it.
Then it was time for a haircut. The Jiffy Pop situation upstairs was
once again tall and unwieldy, so I shuffled out of Waffle House and
drove to a "men's hair salon" not far from our house. They
have a lot of sports memorabilia in there, and other "manly"
touches. One time I wasn't paying attention and almost knocked my front
teeth out by walking into a Penn State football helmet bolted to the
wall. Other than that, though, it's a pretty good place to go for a
quick sheep-shearing session.
But, dammit, SHE was working again.
I've thought about it, and can't really come up with a clear and concise
explanation, but I can't stand one of the women that works there.
She has hair straight out of Charlie's Angels, and wears
high-heels all the time. There's not a drop, not a single drop, of
hipness about her, and that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Yet, she's not
some Jane Hathaway librarian-type, either; hell, I'd welcome that. This
is a more difficult thing to get my arms around....
I'd bet good money that she has Celine
Dion CDs in her car, watches Desperate Housewives and Grey's
Anatomy, and reads a lot of self-help books. She never colors
outside the lines, and does everything expected of her, in the order
dictated. She almost certainly goes to dance clubs on Saturday nights,
but not because she enjoys it. She goes because she's in her
mid-twenties, and that's what she's supposed to do.
Know what I mean?
I went out with a girl like this once, in Atlanta, and it wasn't a
pleasant experience. She had no sense of humor that I could relate to,
wanted to talk about all the horrible problems she'd had with other guys
(yeah, no shit?), and tried to have her way with me on our first date by
walking into the room naked, and purring in some sort of hilarious
"seductive" voice, "Tonight I want to explore your
body."
I mean, how can a person be expected to keep a straight face in a
situation like that? It wasn't my fault that I busted out laughing. Man,
some people can be so sensitive....
Anyway, this heebie-jeebie chick cut my hair and I sat there and tried
to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. By the time it was over
I'd come up with the above-mentioned reasons for disliking her, but I
have a feeling there are plenty more. And it drives me crazy. I like to
get to the bottom of my strong reactions to people and situations, but
this one is complex and challenging.
Perhaps I'm expending too much energy on it?
After the haircut I went home and mowed the grass. Then I did the weed-wacking,
raking, blowing, etc., and brought everything back up to code. Hopefully
that'll make the Michael McDonald fans next door happy....
There was even enough time left to finish the last few pages of a
Bentley Little novel, with good ol' Black Lips Houlihan curled up beside
me, before Toney and the Secrets got home. And after dinner I took the
younger Secret to his soccer practice, and watched (away from the other
parents, of course) -- something I'm never able to do, because I'm
always at work.
It was a day of high-achievement! And I celebrated with beer.
-- All that stuff you just read was supposed to be three or four
paragraphs, then I was going to move on to other things. But I got a
little carried away.... Oh well, there's always next time, right? I'll
leave you now with a few bits of coolness sent in by your fellow Surf
Reporters.
Here's a breathtakingly beautiful Smoking Fish sighting, captured for
the ages by Kyle. And Scott was in the actual town of Deadwood this past
weekend, and snapped this picture for us. Heh. That would be perfect for
a wedding engagement portrait, wouldn't it? And finally, Buck wants
y'all to see the trailer for the upcoming West Virginia-based film, We
Are Marshall. He said it gave even him, a self-described
"cynical insensitive bastard," goose bumps. Here's your link.
And finally, the question of the day.... Since I told you about mine,
what was the worst date you ever went on? Use the comments link to tell
us about it.
Have a great weekend, folks. I'll see ya on Monday.
--
I took a vacation day yesterday (you know, since I have fifty of them),
and got a lot done. After finishing up with the daily bunker broadcast I
went to my eye appointment, where, I'm happy to report, I wasn't asked
to close the door behind me. The only downside? More eye doctor
casualness.