Slutty von Slutwhore is lurking in the wings…

I’m not GONNA give my friends access to my dating apps so they can handle the correspondence and I won’t freeze up and feel like stress vomiting when I try talking to people I WANT to answer.
But I’ve definitely considered it.
I’m not sure what I’m scared of, exactly, but it’s definitely fear. Of WHAT, Brain? Effort? Failure? Success?
Christ. This is gonna be a LONG year in therapy. She’s already told me, “You can just DATE them, you don’t have to have sex with them,” and I…do not understand that boundary. I’ve waited too long — if a man touches me the right way, I’m-a fuck him. I won’t even WANT to, my body will just DO it, and then I’ll feel bad about it, and then we can talk about THAT in therapy. It’s the Circle of Slut Shame, Simba!

Marky Mark can still finger me. But the Funky Bunch cannot help.

fearI saw this movie WAY too many times during my adolescence, and this is one of the greatest things I’ll see today: Movie Yelling With Jaya and Matt: Fear.

“…The movie was described to me as ‘Mark Wahlberg fingers Reese Witherspoon on a roller coaster and then he murders her dog…'”

“And like, I basically could not stop thinking this family is going to be FUCKED forever. Her little brother had to run over a guy to get keys off another dead guy to get a walkie talkie to call the cops! That’s a lot when you’re 10!”

“That ten year old had a DAY”


And yes, in hindsight, putting a guy’s hand up my skirt on a roller coaster does not seem smart, not least because, yes, “there is NO WAY Mark’s fingernails aren’t busted as fuck.” But hearing that Bush song totally still makes me wanna come on the Kingda Ka.

I’m not ashamed to say I went to Amazon to buy this movie after I read this, so I could watch it as a grownup, but it’s $10, and fuck THAT. How YOU doin’, Netflix?

P.S. “…And THAT’S WHY you don’t change the clock in dad’s office so you can stay out late getting fingered, honey. The moral really should be never get fingered on a roller coaster, though. That’s a terrible idea.”
“Do Not Get Fingered At The Six Flags.”
“The motto of the 90s.”

I get my compartments at The Container Store. They’re a jaunty purple plaid.

“I often don’t say things out loud, even when I should. I contain and compartmentalize to a disturbing degree: In my belly-basement are hundreds of bottles of rage, despair, fear, but you’d never guess from looking at me.”
Gone Girl