Saturday, July 30, 2005

Please don’t let this keep you from trying Vitner’s.

Life is momentarily boring and currently undeserving of being written up in blog form, so I thought I’d post up another lost entry from my time in website limbo. Enjoy!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

I need a new #1

I think one of the most pleasurable feelings a person can experience is that first breath of air you take after removing a wad of Kleenex from your nostril following a nose bleed.

Of course, the only reason why that’s so high up my list is that I have yet to experience what sex feels like.

Monday, July 25, 2005

I enjoy the sound of my fiancee’s screams, apparently.

One of my friends once said she thought that when I finally ask a girl to marry me, it would be one of the most creative proposals ever. Honestly, I’d never really thought about it before. I’ve been thinking about it ever since then, and here are a few of the ideas I came up with:

1. My girlfriend is in her home doing her daily things. Little does she know that I’m hiding in her closet. When she comes into her room, I jump out and yell, “Will you marry me!” This way the surprise of being asked to be married is doubled by the surprise of me jumping out of the closet.

2. My girlfriend comes home to see the front door ajar and blood smeared all over the threshold. She rushes in to find me on the floor in the hallway clutching my bloody chest. She tearfully grabs me as I gasp for air trying to talk. Then I pull my hand from my chest to show her an engagement ring in my palm and ask, “Will you marry me?” This way the joy of being asked to be married is even greater when it comes right after the horrible sorrow of thinking I’ve been murdered.

3. My girlfriend and I have just got back to her place from dinner when we start making out on her couch. A minute or so into it and I use my tongue to move an object I’ve been hiding in the back of my mouth into her mouth. She stops and pulls it out of her mouth to see it’s an engagement ring. She looks up at me and I ask, “Will you marry me?”

Right now I think number 3 is the frontrunner. That one doesn’t involve blood and terror, and it lets me get some action in the process of asking. 

Friday, July 22, 2005

A week of wed.

I was in California for the past week for my brother’s wedding. So it’s really not my fault for not updating this site. Blame Sam and Sarah’s undying love, not me.

I got to be the best man. At least one of them. I was the one who handed the ring over to the groom, so I guess that makes me the better best man. Or does that just make my co-best man the better man while I retain the best man designation?

Who knows? Who cares?

Along with ring dispersement, my responsibilities also included serving as a mic stand. My brother decided to write and sing a song for Sarah onstage, and with me being the closest upright object, I got recruited for microphone-holding duties. Unfortunately, I kept holding the mic in front of his hand-held lyrics, so my brother yanked away the sound-amplication device midway through and finished up the song without my hindering aid.

I guess that’s why they make microphone stands out of stainless steel rods and not half-Filipino guys in tuxedos.

I’d have to say that all in all, the only thing to really suck during the week was my pairing off with a particularly attractive maid of honor. For most people, this would be a good thing. Unfortunately, I am a shy piece of shit, and developing hopeless crushes on incredibly cute girls that I am required to walk arm in arm down an aisle with rarely works out for me. I could barely even talk to the girl. Most of the time I was either standing there silently next to her like a loser or avoiding her at all costs.

So if anyone reading this knows Vanessa Castro, please tell her that Andrew McCash thinks she’s lovely and that he would love to see her smile again on any occasion. If I were to attempt to say so myself, I would probably vomit uncontrollably in fear.

And I’m pretty sure that’s a turn-off.

As for Sam and Sarah, I’m glad they found someone that will love them for the rest of their lives.

I can’t even find someone to love me for five minutes.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

For fear of fur.

When I’m home alone for a few days, I’ve been known to occasionally freak out. I’m used to living in my randomly creaking house, but without someone else occupying the premises to blame the clatter on, I tend to get a bit paranoid. One night after hearing a bang downstairs while alone for the weekend, I scoured the house for burglars for half an hour with the base of a music stand in hand as an impromptu weapon only to find my alarms had been raised by the fall of a loose Plug-In air freshener.

My parents are currently away in California getting ready for my brother’s wedding, so this weekend was no different.

Well, a bit different.

I woke up yesterday morning to the sound of frantic scratching above my room. I figured some wild animal was touring the roof, and after a few swift hits to my ceiling, I went back to bed. A few hours later when I decided to get my ass out from under the sheets, I went to the bathroom and found the drop-down attic door had dropped down.

So I started thinking. What if that scratching hadn’t been on the roof? What if it was really coming from the attic? What if whatever animal had managed to get in there had fallen through the ceiling door and now was running about the house?

I began to freak out.

I searched the house for knocked over décor, paw prints in the carpet, or any other signs of animal intrusion. I couldn’t find anything out of order. So I gave up, called myself an idiot, and went to go take my shower.

I was out for the entire day and got home late that night. When I crossed the living room to go upstairs, I swore I heard wrestling behind the potted palm tree.

I began to freak out.

I stood there motionless. I didn’t want whatever was in the palm tree to go crazy and run up my pant leg. So I just stood there. And nothing happened. I started doubting my ears. What if it was just a dead leaf falling off the tree or something lame like that? Still, I was too scared to approach the haunted house plant, so I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and threw it straight into the palm tree.

And nothing happened.

So I gave up, called myself an idiot, and went up to bed.

This morning, I woke up and thought nothing of it as I went downstairs. As I reached the end of the staircase, I saw this.

I guess I should given my paranoia a bit more credit. I began to freak out.

I stood there motionless. I didn’t want the squirrel to go crazy and run up my underwear leg. So I just stood there. And it just stood there, huffing and jumping in an attempt to scare me off. After opening the front door to give the animal a way out, I tried giving huffing and jumping a shot too, but it proved as ineffective as the squirrel’s attempts. He wouldn’t leave the chair.

I needed back-up. I gave Deanry and Darrel a ring, and when they showed up we set up formation. Darrel would bang on the windows, scaring it from its perch. I’d stand in the dining room to make it go the other direction towards the door. Deanry would stand on the upstairs staircase in front of the front door to shoo it outside.

It didn’t quite work. The squirrel ran through an unguarded hole between the couches and made it into the dining room and deeper into the house.

After chasing it through the various rooms, we nearly got it out the front door, but the rodent decided to go behind the door instead of out of it. Deanry managed to scare it out, and as it scuttled across the doorway towards the living room again, he kicked it right out the door.

You can always count on Deanry’s ability to punt.

Now I must deal with the disgusting task of finding and cleaning up all the feces. Unfortunately, most creatures can’t go a full twenty-four hours without relieving themselves. And apparently, this squirrel needed a lot of relief. So far, I’ve found pellets strewn about in four rooms in addition to ground zero by the palm tree.

It could have been worse, though. At least he didn’t have a case of the runs.

Sunday, July 3, 2005

Barbery.

Haircuts happen.

I was leaving Subway the other day when I noticed their next door neighbor was a hair salon. So I decided to get a snip along with my sub. I drove home with foot long in hand and four inches less on head.

Unfortuneately, I forgot to shower before bedtime and woke up with a pillow coated with hair clippings.

No wonder I was so itchy in my dreams.