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I enjoyed the banks of unlabelled buttons and dials the most. Operating a spaceship must be HARD.

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Britt: Curiosity killed the cat.
Hank: Yeah, but I hear the cat had that shit coming.

(Terriers: still amazing.)

Last night I saw Alien for the first time. (As a fraidy-cat child, I spent most of the 80s watching The Care Bears Movie until the tape wore out. Don’t judge me. My cultural frame of reference is missing huge chunks because I tend to pick a movie and then watch it for a decade. The 90s were devoted almost exclusively to Point Break and Empire Records.)

You know the person who dies first in every horror movie because they WON’T LEAVE? The girl who goes towards the scary noise or the guy who insists on poking at the GIANT SECRETING ALIEN EGG?

Me. Totally me.

I would absolutely be that person. It sucks to know, because I’d like to believe I’d be the hero and save the day and, you know, LIVE. But the truth is that, in that scenario, I’d be the dude poking at the pulsating alien and saying stuff like, “but guys, it’s LEAKING! Hold up! Let me just sniff this…”

I’m a nosy person. It’s very close to being a compulsion. My friends know this, and frequently like to torture me with it. Rach likes to ask me on a regular basis if I want to smell her feet. Or her armpits. Or lick her face. Because she KNOWS that if she plants the idea in my head, I will feel obligated to follow through. In fact, it’s fair to say that I won’t be able to think about anything else until I do.

(This, in a round-about way, is how I ended up with two people trying to simultaneously hickey my legs last weekend. Which is COMPLETELY as weird as it sounds. There was a CONVERSATION, and it called for an EXPERIMENT, and I like concrete answers to these sorts of things.)

It’s kind of why I write, because I want to UNDERSTAND STUFF. I want to figure people out and experience things and have the freedom to discover the scent of unborn alien or what happens if a zombie eats your face. Or whatever.

Like, you know how when you’re standing on the top of a very tall building, all you want to do is jump off? Other people have this, right?

Thomas has taken to using this against me in a quest to systematically destroy any remaining shreds of innocence or hope I may possess. As a connoisseur of the sickest corners of the internet, he is working to show me things that will scar me for life. He wants my dreams to be haunted and my heart to be black. I’m finding it very hard, because even when I KNOW I do not want to see something — and may in fact be RUINED FOR LIFE by it — I still find it all but impossible not to look at it anyway. Or google it. Or research it extensively and then rock in a corner weeping and chewing on my fingers. He is promising to show me things that make 2 Girls 1 Cup look like the teddy bears’ picnic. I DO NOT NEED TO SEE THESE THINGS.

But part of me is curious.


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Writer of things. Annoyer of cats. Mother of very small dragons.

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