and then...

dear world,

so i shacked up with the dirty little man in an old church in a remote hippie town in connecticut. it was ok...much like with the afore-mentioned lunatic portuguese fellow, the entire relationship was primarily based around debauchery, with a shitload of natty ice and a small pup named monkey thrown in for good measure. (and we will definitely be getting to thelonious monkey at a later date.)

let me just say that i'm kind of leaving out the entire part where i was dating another portuguese fellow, who happened to be future-husband's friend, when i met FH. FH and i ended up hooking up on mike ice's floor (just one of the random stupidly-nicknamed losers i managed to find and befriend along the way) one night and deciding at 7 am to go to a music festival in tennessee called bonnaroo. it is there, while he sold acid and i enjoyed the amazing music of the police, tool, lily allen, and dr. dog, that we decided to stop in north carolina and get married. but that's for another day. i will say, however, that portuguese fellow #2 was none too pleased about the situation and there was much puffing up of chests and threats of beatdowns thrown all around. i think someone eventually ended up with a black eye. it was pretty awesome.

anyway, one time FH told me that his crackhead cousin, whom he hadn't seen in a few years, was coming over to our little den of sin. he was going to bring a friend of his who was a tattoo artist and said guy would do tattoos for free if we provided him with a space to do it in and some beer. sounded good to me (and let me just say that at this point i hadn't had a sober day in about 7 years so almost anything sounded good to me), so i went along for the ride. as a bunch of friends and FH and i are chilling, listening to music, etc., a knock comes on the door. i look out the window and see the three largest human beings i have ever seen on this planet. there was a male and two females, and i am not joking, i thought the balcony/deck outside our second-floor apartment was going to collapse. i'm talking somewhere around 400 pounds apiece, and this is not an exaggeration. luckily i was highly inebriated at this point, so i said "screw the floorboards, let's get tattooed!". i'm nothing if not down for whatever every minute of every day. i'm trying to work on that. anyway, crackhead cousin was behind the 3 mammoth beasts, and was actually pretty normal looking in comparison, but looks can be deceiving because he promptly disappeared into the only bathroom in the place for about an hour, came out to the stares of everyone in the place, said "what?" in an accusing tone, and put his dirty spoon in the sink. that began a night of incredible stupidity, crackiness, and oddity that has rarely been matched.

so the male mammoth turned out to be the "tattoo artist", and apparently one of the females was a "piercer". i use these terms loosely. what happens next defies words...let's just say i blacked out and woke up with this: it was supposed to be a skull and crossbones with microphones and headphones, but it has now earned the adorable nickname "dildos and earmuffs". sigh.

apparently sometime after that, crackhead cousin stole the mammoths' car, slipped one of them ecstasy and told her it was vicodin, and disappeared. FH lent the two remaining mammoths my car to go find crackhead and his mammoth friend who he had apparently kidnapped before drugging, and they didn't return for about 12 hours. so i wake up to a missing car, a missing crackhead and mammoth, and the worst tattoo known to man. and now i have a permanent reminder of why it is not a good idea to A. let crackheads into your apartment, B. get tattoos done by random people let alone in your house, and C. be a fucking retard.

the end.

xoxo,
e