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.
--
Since it's standard operating procedure for me to stumble around
sleep-deprived, I've never really had a problem drifting off at night. I
climb atop the raised platform, start to read, and in no time begin to
feel the pull of the creepy-ass insect-like dormancy state taking over.
Then Toney has to prod me awake six hours later, and we start the
process all over again. Sleep has never been an issue for me, during my
entire adult life.
Until now, that is. A couple of nights last week I hit the sack
exhausted, then proceeded to wallow around in the sheets, flipping and
flopping for what must've been a couple of hours. And it happened a
third time earlier this week. One night I actually got up and found
myself wandering aimlessly around the house, like some old man.
This is completely foreign to me, and freaks me out a little. I'm
nocturnal by nature, and am always fighting an inclination to stay up
late. Then I have to hoist my swaddling heft out of bed before the
rooster crows, to get these ridiculous updates written, etc. It's a bad
combination that's surely shearing years off the back-end of my life.
But what's going to happen if I can't even sleep during the standard six
hour window of time?! How am I going to maintain my high-wire act of
family/work/website? Already I'm wobbling, occasionally nodding off at
red lights and whatnot. If I continue to have these flipping and
flopping episodes, I'll probably end up in the lumber aisle of Home
Depot, with a stranger packed into the wheel well of my car, and a wad
of orange vest embedded in the radiator.
And I can't have that.
-- How much you wanna bet this
kid sleeps just fine? Oh, I imagine he has a few nightmares
(especially after this article was published), where he wakes up
terrified and screaming. But he probably doesn't have a problem falling
asleep. You know, since he's fond of committing "acts of
self-love," all over household items. Heh. Wonder if Katie
Couric covered this story?
-- And speaking of terrified, you've simply gotta see this YouTube
video of Neil Young rockin' with DEVO. It features Booji Boy
inside his playpen, and is one of the most amazing (scary) things I've
seen in a good long time. Sweet sainted mother of Baxter Mothersbaugh,
and Todd.
-- I have a sense of recently seeing,
or hearing, a TV commercial advertising a show called Surgery Saved
My Life. I say I have a sense of it, because I can't really remember
any actual images, only the name of the show. But who would watch such a
thing?
I can't even stomach House, because there's always some sort of
medical procedure happening, and it gives me the freakin' heebie jeebies.
I sure as shit don't want to get myself a big bowl of salted peanuts in
the shell, snuggle 'neath the Scrote-watcher, and tune in for another
exciting installment of They Had My Lungs Out and Lying on a Table!
Ya know?
Everybody works with someone (usually a fat woman, for some reason) who
likes to drone on and on about their medical "complications,"
and those of their children. And our brains are always racing, trying to
find some tactful way to extract ourselves from the conversations. Why
would anyone willingly subject themselves to a televised version of
this?
I'm completely baffled.
-- Toney recently overheard two neighborhood kids talking as they walked
past our house, about their MySpace pages. We sorta know one of them, he
used to play with the oldest Secret back in the day. But he's in seventh
or eighth grade now, and is a million miles removed from our kids (who
still act like boys, not pasty-ass gangstas).
Curious, I did some detective work,
and found his page. There's a big Q&A thing on there, where he
answers a million or so questions. One is, "What's the first thing
you think about when you wake up in the morning?" His answer?
Yes, that's correct, "titty fucking."
-- And I know this one is sorta brief, but I need to get to work. Before
I go though, I'd like to get your feedback on something. A few nights
ago a woman, who is working on our mortgage refinance, called our house
around 10 pm. Just as chipper as shit, she said she just wanted to give
us an update.
This irritated me a little, not because I was asleep or anything, but
because it breaks the rules. It's my understanding that you're not
supposed to make business calls after 8 o'clock, and you shouldn't call
friends or family after 9. Isn't that the standard? Or did I just make
that up in my head?
What do you think about this? And what are the other telephone rules? I
need to verify a few things here.
Use the comments link if you have anything on this, or anything else for
that matter.
--
Since it's standard operating procedure for me to stumble around
sleep-deprived, I've never really had a problem drifting off at night. I
climb atop the raised platform, start to read, and in no time begin to
feel the pull of the creepy-ass insect-like dormancy state taking over.
Then Toney has to prod me awake six hours later, and we start the
process all over again. Sleep has never been an issue for me, during my
entire adult life.