Last weekend, I hung out with some guys I have known since college and don’t get to see very often. Okay, some I had known since college, and some I have known since last week. I’d get into the details of the two evenings we spent hanging out, but it would only be funny to me and the other people who were there.

Except the part where one of my “friends” was out on my back porch goading the upstairs neighbor girls with charming phrases like “BUTTSEX” and “BIG BONER”.

To protect his identity, I’ll call him C. Green.

No, that’s too obvious. I’ll call him Chris G.

That’s better.

The other comedic situation I got myself into was the following night at Ty’s house. The crowd consisted of myself and one other single guy, and a ton of married dudes. Oh, and one girl I had never met. She told me her name, but I forgot it. Even if I could remember it, I’m sure I couldn’t spell it. She got drunk and passed out on the floor of the dining room, and shortly thereafter I decided to go upstairs and sleep for a few hours before heading home. At about 3:30 A.M., I hear some rustling from the other side of the bed, and a female voice saying, “where are my pants?”

Where are my pants.

Indeed.

I had about six beers between 9 pm and 2 am (not really a ridiculous amount when you are a veteran), so I figured the odds of my blacking out and having anonymous sex were pretty slim. Plus, in the short time I talked to her, it was clear that she was too good for me. My main concern was not being accused of doing bad things to an unconscious girl. I vaguely remember a bunch of guys bringing her into the room. Please tell me they didn’t think it would be funny to take off her pants and put them in my hand or under my pillow.

I said, “Stay right there. Don’t get up. I’ll find them.” And looked nervously around to make sure they weren’t on my side of the bed. I then walked out of the room with my back to her, unsure of the degree to which she was naked, and not wanting her to think I was a creep. I finally found her pants and slid them under the door or threw them into the room or something.

I worry about that stuff too much.

Now to the part that I really came here for.

Ghost Stories

The same night, I was talking to a good friend of mine named Chris. Of course, I think I am the only person in the group aside from my brother who isn’t named Chris, so we’ll call this one “Corey” (to protect his identity). Corey and his totally hot wife Kelly (that’s right, I’m checking out your wife while you aren’t looking. You wanna’ fight about it?) bought a house, and said house has a pool and a Jacuzzi. The pool is nice, and the Jacuzzi is haunted. Maybe cursed is a better word. Corey and his hot wife Kelly are trying to get rid of the Jacuzzi, and have offered it to two people. For free.

What could keep someone from accepting a FREE Jacuzzi?

Maybe the fact that everyone who offered to come pick it up DIED. OR HAD SOMEONE CLOSE TO THEM DIE. ACTUALLY MORE OF THE LATTER…YOU KNOW, WHERE THE PERSON DOESN’T ACTUALLY DIE, BUT A LOVED ONE DOES AND IT’S CREEPY. And I am not making this up even a little.

First there was this dude who said he was going to come get it and give it to his mom. Two days before he was supposed to come pick it up, his mom died.

I’m not sure how she died, but for the sake of the story we’ll call it an axe to the face.

Then, a few weeks later, a woman said she would come get it. She’d be there at whatever time on Saturday to load it up and presumably drive away with it. On that day, her cousin was skateboarding, and went off a ramp or something and broke his neck, killing him. The hot tub was two for two.

I wrote the above three sentences about nine times. Some of it was really funny, but I just can’t joke about that shit. We all have our limits.

Since then, the carpenter bees that reside in the wood around the Jacuzzi have pupated or come out of hibernation or whatever massive bees do in the spring. They are not smart insects, and most of them have drowned in the water that remains in the Jacuzzi. The stench of death permeates the air around it.

Corey asked me to put in a plug and try to get someone that reads this thing to come get his Jacuzzi, but I have proven myself a shitty salesman. “But wait! There’s more! If you order the Deathtub 2000 now, We’ll include ten gallons of Aged Carpenter Bee Stew!!!” Act now! Supplies are limited.

My theory is that we all have haunted things around the house. I bet every American (and some Canadians) own at least one haunted pencil, screwdriver, or other household item that is merely unsure of how best to manifest its hauntedness. I have suspicions about my needle nose pliers. I know they can’t really show that they are haunted, but they have that look about them.

I recently discovered that my kitchen trashcan has a poltergeist. It is one of those with a spring loaded lid that has a release tab on the front. A few times a day, it opens spontaneously. No matter how many times it does this, it scares the absolute crap out of me every time. Seriously, I jump and throw punches at the air. In times of panic, it is better to be punching than not punching. The thirteen-gallon Rubbermaid trashcan has been doing this for several weeks now, and it scares me just as much now as it did the first time.

Last night I was cleaning out my cricket cage (I keep a few dozen crickets in a small plastic cage to feed to my Chameleon), and had just about finished when the damn garbage can freaked me out.

My high-pitched scream startled the cat, who ran away bravely, and I dropped the cricket cage. All of a sudden I had about 40 crickets running around in my kitchen/livingoom area. Catching one insect in your house is tough enough, but try catching 40 of them who see the current situation as their only chance to escape their fate, and you have chaos on 240 legs. Nothing hops around madly like a desperate cricket.

A few of them made a dash for the space under the refrigerator, and then my stupid cat arrived on the scene to help out by sniffing them until they moved and then running away. It was lion-hearted of her and all, but only served to further agitate the crickets.

I spent about a half hour trying to get them all, but I’m sure some are still walking around my apartment. They’d better stay out of sight or they’ll get sniffed.

Anyway, if anyone is interested in the FREE hot tub (I’m sure it’s not really haunted/cursed. Who believes in that shit, anyway?) drop me an e-mail. If you don’t want the hot tub, but just want to find out my phone number so you can call and talk all filthy to me at night…drop me an e-mail.

I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting any e-mails.

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