They put it WHERE?!?

scarred for life Pictures, Images and Photos

I need therapy.

I need a lot of it.

And I need it now.

All of my life my parents have been telling me things I never, ever, EVER wanted to know about. Other people seem to do this as well but it’s never as disturbing as someone telling you how good (or bad) one of your parents is in bed.

I KNOW that I am not a miracle of God. I KNOW that I wasn’t the product of an immaculate conception; but I REALLY REALLY REALLY like to think that I was. Can’t you say that you found me in a cabbage patch? Can I not be one of those magical babies that were air mailed from God via carrier stork? These are the things that children need to hear, not, “He wasn’t very well endowed… if you know what I mean” (this isn’t about anyone in particular, by the way). OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN!

I do not want to flip through old family photos and reminisce about the picture where there’s a dildo sitting on the table beside my step-father! Where did it come from? WHY WAS IT EVEN THERE?!?

Five year olds tend to have a lot of questions when you send them to get the mail and an hour later you find them sitting in a corner, a look of sheer horror on their face, while they flip through an Adam & Eve catalogue.

I had “the talk” when I was seven. I knew what penetration was and that it wasn’t required in order to conceive. I had to use my little brain that was full of Power Rangers and genetically enhanced crime fighting sharks and turtles and Care Bears to try to figure out the complexities of things like “pre-cum”, “just the tip”, “sperm”, and “OH MY GOD, they put it WHERE?!?” instead of wondering why Stacey in the Babysitter’s Club seemed like such a slut and why dorky Mary Anne had the hot boyfriend who probably spent way too much time with small children on a regular basis. (I’m pretty sure the Asian one was a stoner, who else has 15 hidden stashes of candy in several different locations across town. And who was watching THESE kids?)

I blame the movie “Milk Money” for that one. Who knew that a quick screen shot of porn in the background would lead to so many life altering discoveries? Who else started to “bloom early” and had their mother ask them if they had any hair down there yet? WHO?!?

I have inadvertently seen each of my parents and step-father naked more than once in my life. It’s traumatizing as a child and it was traumatizing when I got up to go to the bathroom and saw the moon reflecting off of my step-dad’s lily white ass as he tried (too late) to plaster his front into the cabinet where he had been foraging for food naked. WHO DOES THAT? To this day I don’t like to touch anything at waist level in this house.

People don’t seem to realize that little pitchers have ginormous and bat-like radar ears that hear every single thing you (and they) didn’t want them to hear. Seriously Mom, I’m like five feet away. Stage whispers don’t work and I know how to spell. “I can hang on for more than an 8 second ride.” Fuck. My. Tiny. Life.

Ever walked in on your parents having sex? Ever woken up in a hotel room to your parents having sex in the next bed? Ever been forced to give up your bed for company and sleep on a hard ass pallet on the floor beside your parent’s ancient, squeaky, creaky brass bed while they were going at it? You know how to stop that? Wake up in the morning, sleepily rub your eyes and ask “Mommy, what’s a pussy?” I never had to give up my bed again.

“Your mama used to like it rough.” “Your mom…. (Insert variety of disgusting sexual proclivities)”. “We used to have sex all the time.” “If I could get it up…” *Grabs boob* *Grabs ass* *Grabs crotch* *Grabs own crotch* “Oh, honey, he just says those things because he knows it bothers you.” Fuck yes it bothers me! YOU’RE MY MOM!!! And he’s… *insert vague hand gesture*... him…

My dad though… my dad takes the fucking cake here. From an early age I have refused to sleep in his bed when visiting. By the time I was 9 he had figured out why and would make a point of informing me that he had washed the sheets that day and they were clean and not to worry about it. Fuck yo sheets. This bed has been tainted. This bed has seen so much action that I fear that sleeping in it alone would constitute as an act of incest in some states.

My dad is a self-proclaimed man whore. He takes his job seriously and he likes to tell me about it. I’m not exactly glad that our definitions of “graphic detail” do not match. I’m afraid that his idea of graphic detail would include instructional videos, a pamphlet, and personal testimonials from people who have tried out the product.

I never really wanted to know what an Eiffel Tower was, much less that you’ve experienced it with a person that shall remain nameless. I don’t want to know what you’d do to that bartender, that waitress, or that homeless lady on the corner. I don’t want to know what you’ve already done to them. I don’t need to know the side effects of your blood pressure medication or how insatiable your “lady friends” are. And I definitely do not want to know positions, smells, sounds, toys, and about what you have in your glove box!

Facebook has recently taken this to a new level. I always said I wouldn’t add my parents or many close relatives because I post things I either don’t care to have them know about or don’t care to explain. Oh boy, it turned out I didn’t need to worry about it on my end. Over our family vacation (where I learned the length and girth of my cousin’s penis from his girlfriend and where my dad went skinny dipping with them and my sister’s 19 year old friend) I had to add my dad on Facebook because I had taken pictures he wanted to be tagged in. I knew there was a reason I didn’t want to add him, and I will now present to you four of those reasons. I will not be editing these.

1. “Here's my day. Iy started out wonderful had a 9am bottie call. God bless those Rutherford County women!”

2. “So i stopped the leak washed my ex G friends trike i've been rideing 4 a month so i can take it back 2morro and 4 the first time in 3 months its frigging RAINING I guess i should stoped after the bootie call1 I'm just to old 4 all this shit.” (YES YOU ARE!!!!)

3. Good night all the day has finally taken it's toll and i'm done! On the bright side so there's another Booty call 4 2morro....................”

4. I'm takeing a lady friend to my x girlfriends for dinner hmmm I wonder how this is going to play out?

Why are you turning your Facebook into a Penthouse Forum?!? WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!? Oh God, I think I just threw up in my mouth again.

I feel like I need to take you to the free clinic and never touch you again unless I’m wearing a body condom. At this point you’ve traumatized me so much that I’m pretty sure my children are going to come out messed up.

I’ve not even written about the really good stuff either. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. One more status old man, one more, and it’s ALL going in the book. Even the thing you said you’d disown me for telling people about. If you don’t want anyone else to know then why in God’s name did you decide that your youngest daughter should be your target audience? I know that alcohol loosens the tongue but there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to erase that mental image from my mind! Nothing will ever kill this pain, nothing.


Brianne said…
LMAO I am just laughing at how many hits this is going to bring your blog, you must share what keywords were searched!

Anywho, on some level I know your pain. My mom decided to go ahead and give me the truth from a very young age. I wasn't blessed with baby carrying stork stories either. From a very young age I knew what a period was, and how my mom got knocked up even though they were technically having intercourse. And when I say young, I mean like 5. However, it was not nearly to the extent of your experiences. (Thank God!) I think I will be praying for you every night Heather. For you poor, poor memory.

Hilarious post, though I must say I do feel guilty for laughing at the expense of your psychological well being. lol
The Randomist said…
Brianne, I find that people generally laugh at my pain and anger more than they do at my actual jokes, so feel free to enjoy them as well. :)

It's tough going through grade school and sex ed knowing more about sex than your teachers do. I think being emotionally damaged as just made us more awesome than everyone else.

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