Friday, May 29, 2009

I Married a Serial Killer

I just got Midnight Meat Train in the Netflix. I believe I squeed when I opened my red and white padded envelope of glee.
Expect a review soon.

Until then? Another True Life Adventure.

I was convinced my husband was a serial killer.
I am an avid SCAer. For those not in the "wow, that's really nerdy" world, SCA stands for Society of Creative, Anachronisms. It sounds impressive but really it all boils down to medieval reenactment. I'm one of those people who prance around in medieval clothes and shouts "Huzzah!" a lot. I do not throw magic missiles though. Those are LARPers and my involvement is strictly historical and alcohol related. On the geek hierarchy I fit somewhere between Civil War reenenactors and Ren Fair Rats. I'm also extremely paranoid. I've watched enough horror films and episodes of Dateline to be convinced that anyone could be a maniac slasher killer out to get me.
The SCA is where I met my husband. He was the "newbie greeter" when I decided to join the society after grad school. I emailed my soon the be husband asking him for information on where to get started. We exchanged pleasantries and he emailed me his cell phone number to contact him with any other questions. I hesitated then took a chance and called him. My husband has a deep voice. Deep enough that it conjured images of a large, twitching man in a dirty T-shirt sitting in his mother's basement playing with a butcher knife. Yes, this is how my mind works. We chatted a moment and I mentioned that I was going to the newcomers meeting. I found he was WAY to enthusiastic to pick me up and drive me. Of course, my brain instantly went to the "he's a serial killer!" scenario and I declined the ride. I even gave him a fake description of myself when he said he'd look out for me at the newcomers meeting. I did eventually come clean that night and introduced myself after finally seeing him. He wasn't a large dirty mama's boy to my relief. His reply was "Hey, you're not Mexican!". He asked me out shortly after. I did say yes because he was funny and good looking. But as usual, I still had the nagging feeling that he could be Ted Bundy. Ted Bundy was funny and good looking too right?

On our first date, I insisted I drive. Because I felt if I was behind the wheel, I was in control. Keep in mind that I absolutely hate driving. I hate driving with a passion. If public transportation in San Diego was actually worth anything, I'd probably spend my time taking buses and trolleys instead of sitting in traffic cursing out the lady with the breast implants in front of me putting on lipstick in her rear view mirror whilst running over a small child. But regardless, my need to survive outweighed my road rage. I got lost on route to his house, almost ended up in Orange County somehow (don't ask), then finally made it to his place where I met up with him and his roommate at the time. His roomie was a stocky bald man who had an insanely intense gleam in his eye. A gleam that said "Nice ass, I'm going to make a hat out of it". Perhaps they worked together to grind up women's bodies and stuff them into sausages? I didn't want to know. But I felt uneasy when his roomie muttered in a low guttural voice "Have a good tiiiiime" then laughed manically as we walked out the door. The date went well other than my soon to be husband holding me hostage in his living room and forcing me to watch episodes of Firefly. Luckily I enjoyed Firefly and did not see this as torture.

The final scenario of this on going thought that my husband was a serial killer came when he drove me to my first SCA event down in the deserts of Imperial Valley aka...The Hills Have Eyes territory. The site was about an hour drive away through rocky hills and long lines of desert. I'm sure there was more than one hillbilly behind a rock with a sniper riffle out there. My soon to be husband picked me up with his good friend. His good friend was a six foot tall gangly guy who had pointy teeth wore goggles, a kimono, and a paint ball belt. He talked with a British accent but was NOT from England. I blinked, swallowed, and foolishly went with them anyways. Any good horror movie girl would have slammed the door in their face but being the adventurous type (I.E. stupid) I went along.
We all sat in the small cab of my soon to be husband's white Ford Ranger. It was cramped and I was stuck in the middle with my feet on the hump between a could be Ted Bundy and his friend Samurai Shark Boy. I really had no idea where we were going since I was still relatively new to San Diego. The scenery became more and more rural. The houses started to disappear. Soon we were driving through rocky desert terrain with no other soul in site. We were the only friggin' truck on the road. My soon to be husband and his friend proceeded to talk paint ball and guns. LOTS of guns. They own guns. BIG guns. They like to shoot things with guns. Guns go Bang. I Own fifty bazillion guns. Lets go shoot some guns. Boy do we like guns!
I had the following plan all mapped out in my head. They'd soon pull over to do me in right? Probably over by that rock pile since its a good place to hide the body. As soon as the truck would come to a stop I would punch the little Ted Bundy one in the balls then jab my keys in the tall one's eye and twist. I could blind the tall one long enough to push him out of my way and run for the hills. I'd take my chances with the hillbillies. My keys were at the ready in my hand the entire ride.
Luckily nothing came to pass.
On the way home that night, my soon to be husband and I were sitting alone in the truck. Samurai Shark Boy caught a ride home with another friend so it was just us. My soon to be husband looked at me and asked 'You seem tense."
I replied "A bit"
"What's up?"
"I think you're a serial killer"
He blinked, then laughed and said "Ah...guess I'll have to kill you now."
Yeah, after that, it was love.
Well first some screaming, then love.

We dated for three years and we've been married for seven months now. I'm still trying to find the bodies of his previous girlfriends but I figured they'd be pretty hard to find in our tiny apartment.

...I'm still looking though.


Stac said...

Oh come on, Max is too smart to hide 'em where you live. They're out in the desert, and I'll bet you money that Cap'n and Joe both know where.

That story is redonkulously adorable! Now tell the one about how you told him you didn't want to date and then made out with him at Disneyland. Go one, that's my favorite! >XD

Cins said...

*L8 It wasn't Disneyland, it was May War when that happened.;)
And honestly? I' wouldn't be surprised in Joe and Capt'n know where the bodies are buried.