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.
--
Yesterday I was looking through the ads in the paper, and became fixated
on big-ass televisions. Again. I need one of those things, stat. We're
still using two 1000 lb 27-inchers from the Atlanta days, and they just
don't get the blood pumping anymore. Ya know? Oh, they were big 'uns
when they were new, but now it feels like we're watching something from
the 1950s -- the kind that required you to hook a water line up to it,
or whatever. I keep thinking Toney is about to ask me to climb up on the
roof and adjust our "aerial."
Several times I've been right on the cusp of taking Circuit Shitty or
Best Buy up on one of their "no payments until 2008" offers,
but I just can't pull the trigger. I'm terrified of running up debt,
because of bad experiences in the past. And for some reason there's just
never thousands of dollars laying around the Compound, unspoken
for. So I just daydream with enthusiasm, sigh loudly, then shuffle to
the kitchen and bury myself to the waist in the food pantry. It's
the cycle of life.
When Toney and I first started dating, back in olden times, we were
quite content to take in a $1 movie on a Saturday afternoon, then make a
beeline to Moe's and Joe's for a $4 pitcher of Pabst Blue Ribbon. We had
a good time, and spent very little money -- mostly because we didn't
have any.
Then, for reasons I can't quite explain, we developed (indulged?) a
taste for the finer things. Lunch in the "red booth" at Atsa
Pizza was replaced by fancy-ass Sunday brunches with yuppie scum,
sipping hazelnut coffee and acting all sophisticated in dress shirts.
We'd occasionally drive up to Asheville, NC and spend a night or two in
a bed and breakfast there, and "take some spirits on the
veranda."
So, we already had a tendency in that direction, and it wouldn't be fair
to blame it all on Mark and Sue. But they played a big part in
our financial downfall, no doubt about it.
Mark and Sue were friends we met in Atlanta. I worked with Sue at a
bookstore in Buckhead, and over time the four us became couple
friends. We'd go out for "a beer" after work, and end up
closing the joint down, laughing and raising one hell of a racket. We
got along well, had the same cynical sense of humor, and everything,
against great odds, just clicked.
Mark worked for a large Atlanta-based
cable news network, which I'd rather not name, and Toney and I were still in the record biz. I also
worked at a bookstore part-time, where Sue was the accounting
department. We were basically in the same places in our lives, and were
making roughly the same amount of money.
However..... Mark had family money, and apparently lots of it. He also
had a sense for adventure that led us into all manner of ridiculousness.
One night he called and said he'd been promoted at his job, and he and
Sue were celebrating by renting a suite at the Ritz-Carlton. They
invited us to join them for "a beer."
After dinner we went to the hotel, and saw that we had some catching up
to do. Mark and Sue were already rip-roarin' drunk, and he'd somehow
charmed the staff into sneaking them expensive bottles of champagne and
full-on party platters from the kitchen. The guy could talk anyone into
anything, and it was just one thing after another. By all rights we
should've been bounced from that place, but he had the whole crew in his
back pocket, making (and being granted) the most ridiculous of requests.
It was a blast for everyone except Sue, who ended the evening talking
into the big porcelain phone.
And that set the tone for our relationship. We were in constant search
for adventure, and spending way too much money. Several times we took
weekend trips to the Jekyll Island Club
Hotel, a freaking resort
off the coast of Georgia. I remember sitting in the main dining room
there, having breakfast off fine china, and the black-tie waiter asked
if I'd like my butter "drawn." I had no idea what he was
talking about, and looked to see if he had a sketch pad with him.
On one of our Jekyll Island trips, there was an amputee convention at
the hotel. The place was completely overrun with people sporting less
than standard equipment. The first night we gravitated (needless to say)
to the pub, and ended up enjoying one of the most surreal evenings ever.
Imagine dozens of drunken people, singing and waving their stumps in the
air. Folks were discussing the latest advances in prosthetics, and
detaching and reattaching their legs. I saw a woman sipping a beer held
to her lips by two trembling sweet potato arms, and we were right up in
the middle of all of it. ....Mostly because of Mark, who is The
Bullshitter. I think before the night was over he had several
invitations to visit some of the amputees in their homes.
Yes, it was all great fun, but we were having trouble keeping up with
them financially. When they started talking about a trip to Europe we
had to admit that there was no way we could afford such a thing, and
that made us feel like losers. They went anyway, of course, and met
somebody in a bar somewhere, which led to them being invited to spend a
weekend in a haunted 14th century castle overlooking the water, or some
such thing. Most people just go out for a drink, not so with Mark and
Sue. Spend some time with them, and there's a very good chance that
something unbelievable will happen.
By the time I was transferred to California, all of our credit cards
were maxed-out and we were way up Turd River. Add in the insane cost of
living out there, and it's a recipe for bad. Instantly we went from drawn
butter to a big ol' sack of 39 cent tacos from the Del Taco
drive-through. Toney and I started arguing, and it sucked
for a long time. It literally took us years to dig ourselves out
of that mess.
And that's why I won't buy a TV on credit. Pass the beer nuts.
Mark and Sue? Oh, they're still chugging right along. They eventually
left Atlanta as well, and have a couple of kids. Every year or so I'll
receive an email from Mark that says, "How are you doing? We miss
you guys!" I'll write him back with a brief update, then nothing
for another year.
They used to maintain one of those family websites, where friends and
relatives could read about their latest adventures. I looked at it once
and clicked on photos. The first thing that popped up was a picture of
them at a royal wedding in Saudi Arabia (I think). The caption said that
Mark had met the groom while deep-sea fishing near Greece, or something
along those lines. I just X'd out of it, but not quite fast enough to
stop the full-body shiver.
Holy shit!
-- And now I'm going to turn it over to Buck, and drag my sorry ass to
work.
--
Yesterday I was looking through the ads in the paper, and became fixated
on big-ass televisions. Again. I need one of those things, stat. We're
still using two 1000 lb 27-inchers from the Atlanta days, and they just
don't get the blood pumping anymore. Ya know? Oh, they were big 'uns
when they were new, but now it feels like we're watching something from
the 1950s -- the kind that required you to hook a water line up to it,
or whatever. I keep thinking Toney is about to ask me to climb up on the
roof and adjust our "aerial."