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.
--
When we were in a Target store in WV last week, Toney and I looked at
outside Christmas decorations. I think we generally hang a wreath on the
front door, and that's the extent of our efforts. The Secrets are always
pushing us to string up lights, and all that nonsense, but that takes
money, effort, and the climbing of ladders. So, screw it. I'll just
pretend I don't go in for such ridiculous suburbanite rituals, and sit
on the couch instead; when I can be both above it all and do
nothing, I consider it a victory.
But we came across these strange-looking blue lights that were
shockingly bright, and really cool. They were cobalt, or some deal, and
I'd never seen anything quite like 'em. Hey, wonder if we could buy a
bunch of these babies and decorate the little tree in our front yard? I
said this in a rare fit of optimism, and actually meant it. Toney agreed
that it would look good, and I banked the idea deep beneath the scar
tissue of my brain.
On Sunday I was still feeling the pull of our little tree agenda, and
decided to ride over to the local Target and buy-up some of those
strange blue lights. Toney was with the oldest Secret, at swimming
practice, so the youngest youngling and I went on a mission. By God, by
sundown we'd have the best looking little tree in town!
"$11.99 a box?! What are we, the Vanderbilts here??" I
couldn't believe how expensive they were, but it's typical. Whenever I
like something, it's almost always the highest priced thing in the
house. Rarely do I become enamored with a product, then find that it's
some cheap crap straight off a Chinese freighter. Ya know?
I looked at the regular lights, the ones offered at normal-people
prices, but just didn't feel the magic. It had to be the weird ones, or
I wasn't bothering it all; there would be no half-stepping. I could
sense my blood pressure rising, and my right hand started to move
towards my hair, involuntarily. All the assholes crowding me in their
laughable pastel "workout" clothes didn't help anything
either. I was about to start throwing haymakers.
I called Toney, who was inside the pool complex at the University of
Scranton, and it was like this: "He-? I -an ---- he-- you. I-- --eak--
-p!" I think I literally growled like a dog in frustration, and the
baby blue "athletes" ceded me a little extra room, with
concern in their eyes. I was on my own here, and would be forced to make
the final decision. Everything rested on my shoulders, and I don't like
that.
I wondered if I could get by with just one
box? It is, after all, a very little tree. But deep down I knew I
was engaging in more of that "hopeful estimating" I'm famous
for, and not living in the real world. Reluctantly, I grabbed two boxes
of the expensive-ass things, and we made our way to the checkout stand.
The Secret asked if he could get some candy, and I told him he could.
And as he contemplated his many options, I snagged a York peppermint
patty, that gayest of all candy bars. Don't tell anyone, but I love
those things. Every time I buy one, though, I look around to make sure
there's not someone from work there, to witness it. May as well slip
into a leather face mask, and a pair of assless pants....
I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and handed the eleven year old girl
my bank card. It didn't take long, the pain was over before I knew it,
and we got out of that madhouse.
And as we drove I actually started feeling good about it. For once I was
doing it the right way, and not cutting corners. I got the lights I
wanted, and plenty of 'em, and it would all pay dividends when we got
home. I felt as if I'd risen to the challenge, without the help of
"--ney," and did the right thing. I was feeling almost like an
adult. While polishing off a discus of homocandy.
When we arrived at the house I went immediately to work. I wanted
everything to be in place by the time Toney got home, so she could see
the splendor of our little tree that very same night. I got the
extension cord out of the garage, and ran it across the grass. I wished
it wasn't neon orange, but whatever. I then broke into the first box of
NASA lights --
-- and the string went around the tree one time.
It made a single pathetic loop, all the way at the top, and that was it.
When I added the next box (another $11.99!) it made a second flaccid
loop, leaving roughly 75% of the tree still lightless.
If I'd been Mr. Krabs my arms would've fallen off. I couldn't believe
it. And I walked straight into the house, closed the door, and made
myself a bourbon and water.
When Toney got home, she asked what the heck was going on. There was an
electrical cord stretched across the lawn, so orange it could've been
spotted by aircraft, the very tip top of a tree was decorated
with the Rolls Royce of Christmas lights, and I was slamming back
cocktails in the kitchen. All I could do was wave my hand in the general
direction of the front yard, and grunt a little.
The next day she went from store to store and found the same cobalt
lights, for $6.99 at K-Mart. They were on sale, marked down from the
regular price of $9.99. (Grrr...) She bought three more boxes, along
with a green extension cord, and went home and finished the job. All in
all, we now have more than sixty dollars in that so-called little tree,
and all the fun has gone out of it for me. Every last drop.
We shoulda just stuck with that old sandwich bag wreath, or whatever
it is. Sure, some of the "berries" fell off around 1997, but
you can't really tell from the street. I should've known better than to
aim so high.... Pass the poofter patties.
-- And I don't know how this happened, we didn't synchronize our watches
or anything, but Metten has a similar tale to tell. Right
here. Be sure to check it out, it's excellent as usual.
--
When we were in a Target store in WV last week, Toney and I looked at
outside Christmas decorations. I think we generally hang a wreath on the
front door, and that's the extent of our efforts. The Secrets are always
pushing us to string up lights, and all that nonsense, but that takes
money, effort, and the climbing of ladders. So, screw it. I'll just
pretend I don't go in for such ridiculous suburbanite rituals, and sit
on the couch instead; when I can be both above it all and do
nothing, I consider it a victory.