Tentacle Porn

I talked to Brian 1 tonight. I am doing a custom guitar for him. Weed-themed Telecaster ‘69 Thin Line in emerald green. Reefer madness decoupage with velvet weed leaves and a built-in roach clip and dual humbuckers. It should be a beauty.

I actually am almost done with the original guitar that started my guitar building obsession.

The Octopus’ Garden.

There was an octopus inside joke between {D} and me. There was also an octopus inside joke between {S} and me, completely unrelated. So they were both, at one point, my octopus. Now, in terms of sealife, {D} is a fucking shark who strangely has been bitten by a shark. If {D} tasted better, we would not be having this conversation. Fucking sharks. Now {S}, on the other hand, is a sea turtle. Loves sea turtles and is basically the sea turtle from Finding Nemo personified. I, of course, being from Maryland, am and shall always be a crab. So we were all bi-sealife related. Octopi all, with another sea creature. I guess that’s leans new meaning to eating sushi

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Anyways, now that I have firmly explained the sealife paradigm in which we all existed at least in the vast ocean of my mind, there was an octopus thing.

{S} was first. It was the moment I fell in love with him. We were, of course, stoned and watching My Teacher the Octopus because we were stoned and also naked. At one point, joint pressed firmly between his lips, {S} got out of bed and said, “This is the best part! The octopus dances!” Then proceeds, nude, to dance like an octopus. This was the funniest fucking thing I had ever seen because I was high and it was hilarious. I’ve never forgotten, and that was the dorky charm nail in the coffin for me being in love with {S}.

Then {D}. {D} and I did not actually physically sleep in the same bed well. He is very still and doesn’t like being touched. I, on the other hand, am overly affectionate. I used to kiss his back at night as both fell asleep. I would get clingy and snore, and he would sleep on the couch every once in a while. {D} would tell me that I was “Octopusing” him. I liked the term. One night I woke up with {D} holding on to me tightly, asleep. He had octopused me. I gave him shit the next day and he said, eyes sparking, “You’re rubbing off on me.” On my birthday, he bought me an octopus necklace. I never received it because it came in post-apocalyptic mail. Green glass. He said he picked it because he was connecting.

Now, I the post-apocalyptic world, I ran with telling {D} that {S} was always my REAL octopus just to piss him off.

Over Thanksgiving, I was going to be alone, so I got a project, a kit guitar. I thought I would work on it and finish it, and it would be a fun, distracting project for a 4-day weekend. Tentacles on the front and full octopi on the back with sharks and sea turtles, and crabs. It was going to be my art to deal with the whole relationship aspect of both {D} and {S}.

I never finished it. I sanded it down, stained it, and sanded it again. Nothing looked right. Until last night. I put a new stain over the tentacles and octopi and the whole underwater mess of my past, and suddenly I loved it. A little bedazzling later, and this weekend it’s finally going to be done.

It only took nine months. Congrats to me — I was pregnant with a Telecaster, and it’s a bouncing baby blue octopus.

Fuck sharks. Female octopi, when they don't want to mate, strangle their mate and eat him.

I aspire to be the octopus.