A smart dude friend of mine recently lamented that he wanted to marry a girl he could do shrooms with. He was referring to grown-ass adults who hide weekend recreations from their spouses, not a general inability to do shrooms without guidance, but the point hit home: you’ve got to find another person who likes the same weird stuff that you do. Then you have to go do those weird things together.
I was on a week-long road trip through the southwest a few weeks ago, and (after an excessive amount of begging on my part) we visited the Hole N the Rock, an unrepentant tourist trap centered around two crazy people who blasted a giant hole into a mountain in Utah to make a home for themselves. Albert and Gladys Christensen were in love. They were also amateur restaurateurs, taxidermists, and painters – all sans electricity. They were into some more-than-kinda-creepy shit. And they did all of it together. It was perfect: insanity and hobbies run rampant in a borderline-obsessive one-room relationship nestled inside a fucking rock. Dude painted his wife like ten identical portraits of Jesus looking like a hunk, and she surrounded them with her doll collection. Obviously soulmates.
So, what I’m saying is: thanks to some batty marriage outside Moab, it dawned on me that nothing would make me happier than finding a dude who also digs road tripping to skeezy tourist traps. If you wanna visit Dollywood with me, we’re probably getting married.
Know thy weirdness. Amen.