It’s that beautiful time of year, when Horror Fanatics like myself get to strut our stuff and gush over all things scary. October is the one time of the year my mad devotion to the macabre and the horrifying seems almost appropriate.

For Quarantween this year, movie marathons are the safe and responsible way to celebrate Halloween. But how do you navigate the sea of options available to you? How do you know what will wet your whistle, and what will suck the joy right out of you?

Why, the stars, of course! The answer is always in the stars!

Think of this as a Halloween horoscope for scary movies. …

I don’t like my hair. This is not novel or unique; it seems like most people dislike their hair. People don’t usually get why I dislike my own, though, the same way I raise an eyebrow whenever someone with seemingly flawless hair complains. I always wished it was thicker, fuller, less curly, more manageable, more tamable.

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Photo by Alberto Bobbera on Unsplash

Back when haircuts were a thing you could get regularly without breaking quarantine, I used to dread them. I never knew what I wanted or what I should ask for, and I inevitably hated the result. …

It’s the stupidest argument, every time. It’s a reflexive thing, the thing people say because it’s scripted that way. It needs to be said, and I am no longer convinced it is even supposed to be for my benefit. It has more in common with an elegy or a prayer, spoken by the penitent and the fearful.

This must be what talking to a flat-earther feels like, I think, not for the first time. The willful disbelief of what was right in front of them. The conspiracy theory that was my body.

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Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

“Oh, you’re not fat! You’re so pretty,” they tell me, or something of a similar ilk. The formula is as follows: “you are not fat,” followed by a backhanded compliment like: “You have such a pretty face,” “You’re not, like, fat fat,” or “You’re not thin, but you’re not fat!” …


E.E.W. Christman

Queerdo. Writer. Gamer. Witchy. She/Her.

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