Dirty Mutha Fuss

1. Would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?

[Right off the bat, I have to repress the urge to reblog also the complete stranger’s answers here because awww. Aw man. Never mind. My answers are a go!]

Yes. But my phone died and got lost three days ago, and this genuinely was trying to pin a hookup on this slippery, though tremendously lovely dude. I can only check my voicemail and he, like many of my contacts, eschews those like culottes.

2. You talked to an ex today, correct?

What kind of phrasing is this? It’s like my mother is interrogating me about my love life, which she never does, which is why I love her. And no, though I usually do. He may have @’d me on Twitter re the Spurs/OKC game or maybe he’s pouting.

3. Have you taken someones virginity?

In the process of taking my own, quite thoroughly. (HS boyfriend) Potentially a few others, but I more or less doubt it. More or less. *weird creepy music starts playing* What? What did I do? I was dead at the time!

4. Is trust a big issue for you?

Hm. I think it is for everyone. Nobody likes being flaked on or waking to find a shiv in your back. And for a co-dependent sloth like me, trust may also include “Can I trust you to bring me back that thing from my purse that I need and that you will just man up and do it instead of complaining like literally every man (and woman in fact) I have asked that of for fucking months?” Business partner/friend’s recent retort to all things atomically lazy for me is “You’re fine.” I know, but I still don’t want to move and get my planner so why should I. Right? Right. ‘

[Wait I really need this tangent I’ll cut after this.] But what is the deal with purses? I don’t (ever) mean to sound like Jerry Seinfeld but why does everyone place such massive private emphasis on it? It holds my fucking wallet, my fucking keys, some assorted pill bottles (Motrin, kids, calm down), cigarettes if I’m lucky and whatever. Not usually tampons or pads and even so so the fuck what. But everybody including some very close friends of mine have backed off like it was an angry dripping poison vagina adder, even when I plainly was holding tons of other things in my arms and wasn’t asking to go in on a home loan, but for them to grab my fucking keys.

What…the whole hell, right? I thought that was an expedience thing or something just bros and chicks and bros and bros just did because they have human pragmatism (open purse, get keys, start car earlier) and not human phobias, but I guess it’s about intimacy to a whole shitload of people, so I guess nobody in Vegas feels intimate with me. I’ll fix that. O ho ho. Okay cutting.

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This is made extremely hard when you have lost your phone. Luckily (?) I smoke. After that I have perfected a “stare into middle-far distance for minutes at a go” look.

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