Five Things I Really Don't Want To Tell You - Taboo Tuesday #3

First things first, I know I told you I'd talk about suicide next, but:

 ... it turns out that that's not the MOST fun thing to write about. Plus, I've talked a lot about that in general, and I'm like... come on, let's try not to beat a dead horse.

Except for, instead of a horse, it's my dead mom.

So you'll just have to wait for that little joy nugget.

Yay! Suicide!

No, this week we're going to talk about something I want to talk about a whole lot less than killing myself.

I'm going to tell you five of my deep dark secrets.

Shhh... don't tell anybody.

I wanted this post to be "five things I haven't told anyone" until I realized that I tell my Todd everything.

I also tell the people I'm dating most things.

And sometimes I use it as dinner talk when the other person has been quiet for too long.

But other than that, no one knows these things.

I honestly tried to pick topics that I really don't feel comfortable making public because the whole point of Taboo Tuesday is owning those things that we unnecessarily feel embarrassed about, right?

So, before I change my mind...

FIVE THINGS I REALLY DON'T WANT TO TELL YOU

1) PORN

I watch porn.

That's not much of a secret. Right Kobe?

I rape people!

Right.

But I'm pretty much of the mindset that everyone watches porn, and if you say you don't than you're either a liar or are unable to type porn urls because you're missing your hands and/or your "x" key.

Her greatest struggle.

Back to the point -- 

--or should I say, the pornt.

Yeah, so I watch porn. Porn is one of my oldest friends, circa blowjob popups from 2003.

Because I was of the mindset that if you actually visited an porn site, you immediately got a virus.

I soon realized that that was not true and threw my sexual caution to the wind!

Turns out some viruses are more catchable than others.

I'm not too embarrassed though, because porn is nice.

If you too haven't accepted porn into your heart, well, you might be missing out, because porn loves everyone.

"Hey there! Can we come in and talk to you about the screaming, gurgly words of Tori Black?"

The thing I don't usually tell people is what I watch. And the answer to that is -- some super weird shit. I'm not going to get into the details in case my Mormon Grandma is reading this. But it gets pretty weird.

You can ask me specifics, but overall I'd say that my philosophy is that if it isn't hurting kids or animals, and everyone has consented, it's A-Okay.

Squidchard Roeper says two tentacles up.

2) I Fantasized About My Mom Dying

Super awkward placement of this one, so I'll clarify.

Not that kind of fantasizing.

Ya fuckin sicko!

I mean the "wouldn't life be so nice" kind of fantasizing.

Huh. I guess that doesn't sound a whole lot better.

Let me start at the beginning. My mom was hard to live with. Her mental illness made her life miserable and that misery would bleed out into those who lived with her.

And I'm not going to lie, there were times, especially during adolescence, that I fantasized about what it would be like without her.

I would imagine how much sympathy I'd get and how I could get out of homework and... frankly how much easier my life would be.

Turns out life is not easier when you're mom dies.

Life Hack: But it does make for a heck of a college essay!

I felt a lot of guilt after my mom died, and those fantasies were a big reason why. It took me some years before I realized that lots of people have similar thoughts. Usually they are fleeting, and because your mom doesn't ACTUALLY die, you don't worry about it.

Then it's not so bad.

Life Hack: Just don't have your mom die!

  3) They call him Lester,  Mo Lester.

That's the humorous way of telling you that I was inappropriately touched as a child.

I'm here all night, folks!

I could probably write a whole post about this one too, but basically my mom was crazy, and for a period of her life (when I was in elementary school) she wanted to date men who had the same illness as her. 

As a result, she associated with some pretty questionable people from the time I was 3 to the time I was 13. One of these men tried to kill my dad by breaking into our house and strangling him. Another one touched my hoo-ha. There was even one who thought it was okay to cook with cilantro.

I know, but we're not talking about that maniac right now.

I honestly don't remember much of it. I remember that sometimes we would stay at his house, over the period of a few years when I was in elementary school , and that if I told him I had a tummy ache (I had a lot of tummy aches) he would sneak into my room and give me his special "remedy." 

I have flashes of what he did. I can sort of remember when it would happen, but my main memory was just thinking that I was so, horrifically embarrassed about the whole thing.

No! Not the hoo-ha!

I was a super shy kid. I couldn't even tell my parents when I had to go to the bathroom (but we'll get to that later). At five-years-old, the idea of telling anyone that someone had invaded my personal space like that was just too much. 

I was fortunate in that this Mr. Lester seemed to be a bit nervous about the whole thing. 

I wasn't threatened, and I wasn't raped, so when I stood up to him about it, he eventually backed down. 

I recognize that not everyone is that lucky. A lot of people scoff at the "1 out of three women are sexually abused in some way" fact, but if you get to talking to people, you'll find out how horrifically accurate it is. Men and women alike. And I think the biggest disservice that can be done to these people is to treat sex and sexual assault victims as being taboo. 

That, of course, was my problem. I stuffed the memory away. 

I honestly don't think that my mom ever knew (though she incidentally broke up with him for watching child porn, apparently). 

I'm shocked.

I ended up suppressing it until many years later when it suddenly came back to... and proceeded to only tell one friend. It wasn't until college that I told my family. 

Even now, of all the things I feel obligated to tell new boyfriends about my series of unfortunate events, this is the one I'm inevitably most nervous to bring up. 

Which is pretty fucked up if you think about it.

I didn't do anything wrong, and for some reason I'm too ashamed to talk about it.

I've dealt with several serious traumas in my life, and I can tell you that it isn't the sexual abuse that continues to bother me. It's how people react when they hear about it. 

Plus, suuuuure, when I was in Kindergarten it was all great, but now that I still look like a child no one's into it anymore! 

Loooooveeee meeeeeee....

What's up with that? Ammiright?

But I'll talk about that more on another day , you get the gist. 

*If you do have further questions/comments, feel free to contact me though. Again, open book.*

4) Makeup

I'm not even kidding when I tell you that this is the item on the list I really, REALLY did not want to tell you.

So, you remember when I went to that German therapist to rid me of my phantom penis?

Well that Nazi bitch kind of might have mentioned that I probably have a little bit of body dysmorphia when it comes to my monster face.

"But Queen, you dun't haff a monsta face."

Yeah. Because there's makeup on it.

Stupid Nazis.

But so that whole extra testosterone thing--which is great for making me happy and have abs--gives me acne and a man jaw. 

*~*~ JuSt NeCkBeArD tHiNgS ~*~*

I refused to date in high school because I figured that if someone ever saw me without makeup they would be so upset/embarrassed that they'd instantly break up with me.

I also was scared that if they ever saw my weird, muppet-like pear body that they'd tell everyone I had a weird, muppet-like pear body.

Joke's on high school me. Turns out dudes love muppet-like pear bodies.

My therapist made me do a bunch of things that scared me, so that I wouldn't be scared of them any more (but I'll talk about that in ANOTHER post), and the only item on the list I didn't complete was going out without makeup.

But frankly, that's because I'm a humanitarian.

Hey Guys!

Now adays I'm much happier with my face. I still just like makeup though. It's pretty. 

Plus, I've done some studies, and it turns out that dudes like 100% of things, regardless of makeup and fruit-shape, so long as they are naked and less than an erection-length away.

So that's nice

5) Poop

Ughh... this last thing is something I have been keeping secret since I was conscious of Eve's sins.

Which is to say, the sin of Swag.

I poop.

Oh god, now the world knows.

You don't understand how deep down the pipes this secret goes. As soon as I could take my first steps, I would hide myself in the closet when I had to do Satan's business, leave my diaper at the crime scene, and hope that no one suspected the cute blonde one.

No one ever does.

They knew.

People always know. But I keep it to myself anyway.

In fact, I went all fucking out.

I refuse to use unfamiliar bathrooms without a strong escape strategy. 

I never go at school/work.

And just in case, I mapped out all of USC with appropriate, hidden toilet locations. 

Sometimes I still visit and make sure they're still safe, because you never know when an emergency situation will arise.

One of my exes seriously questioned whether or not I did--

Of course, he never found out, because, like a true sane person-- 

I never reveal my secrets.

But, I'm baring all in this stupid fucking blog. So for the sake of the truth and honor.

Yes... I do... poop.

But only like once a year in Spring. And it comes out as a chain of beautiful flowers that I then send to women in a war-torn countries so that they can weave my flower-chain-poop into baskets that they sell to unwitting tourists. 

And that's all I've got for now.

I have more secrets, but that's just a sweet, sweet taste.

Happy Tuesday.

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