I’d steeled myself to feel all the feels and FINALLY go see Inside Out.
But what I did NOT prepare for was the bullshit short cartoon they showed before the movie. It was about a lonely boy volcano, with a face, looking for volcano love, singing an insufferable song about being a lonely volcano and not being able to find a lady volcano.*
Now I have a goddamn VOLCANO reminding me that I’m dying alone?! A VOLCANO needs a soulmate?
Thanks for reminding me I’m at the movies alone, Bitch Volcano. Maybe you need to look inside yourself for validation — did you ever think of that?
Pixar can go fuck itself. In 3D.
* “Lady volcano” is my new favorite euphemism for my vagina.
I had far too many feelings yesterday resulting from being social, so of course now that I have a free day to myself, as soon as I woke up they all came rushing back, and it was like a team of squirrels took over my brain and started playing emotional volleyball — “Sad about this!” *pass* “Insecure about that!” *pass* “Oh, hey, what about having kids, wanna rehash that one?” *pass*
Right. So I’ll be here all day with a slow drip of coffee martinis, watching comfort movies. I dare you to be sad when Justin Timberlake is serenading Mila Kunis with Kris Kross’s “Jump.” (Plus…dat ass.)
Or, hell, this seems like a pretty solid state of mind to finally go see Inside Out and just embrace it all. (Obviously with a venti spiked Starbucks and a big fuck-off tray of theater nachos. That’s just being prepared; I learned that shit in Girl Scouts.)