Relieving emotional tension < relieving sexual tension.

Between hormones and holiday stress, I just ended up Ugly Crying over something incredibly stupid, and now my brain is convinced I am unlovable and will die alone. So that’s always fun. I think these particular feelings will need to be handled via pizza.

I almost never cry, so storing it all up for the twice-yearly Ugly Cry is sort of like when I finally get laid — I never realize how long it’s been since I’ve done it, so I just explode from the catharsis of it all. It generally works out much better during sex, but the result is the same: I end up collapsed in an exhausted, lifeless heap. And I feel a lot better. And I demand snacks.

And on the seventh day, there was laughter and puppets and strippers…

This morning I saw Trainwreck, which I loved and everyone should see it because Amy Schumer wrote it and it’s delightful.

Then I took my godson to meet Daniel Tiger.

And now I’m slightly buzzed and going to see Magic Mike XXL. And then probably home to, um…address my tension.

Mine is an odd life sometimes.

Abstinence is bullshit.

Dear Body,

I’m really gonna need you to stop thinking about sex, ’cause…you’re not getting any. So can we, like, channel that tension elsewhere? Work? Running? Compulsive cleaning?

The Lelo is your friend. Embrace it. Love it. Let it love you. We’re not fucking right now. Suck it up. Oh…no, wait…

Love,
Brain

Iron Man 4: In My Pants.

I think if I can sincerely text a guy and say, “I’ve been switched on specifically for you ALLLLL day. It’s starting to hurt a little. Come do unspeakable things to my willing, naked body,” that the recipient should be contractually — nay, morally! — obligated to come service me. (Funny, “come service” is exactly what I had in mind.)

To that end, someone please send me Robert Downey Jr.’s phone number.