I never really got into the show "The L Word" until it was well past its glory day. For those of you poor, deprived creatures who haven't been exposed to the beauty of this show, I'm delicately going to tell you to WATCH IT ASAP.
It's a show about a group of impossibly sexy Los Angeles lesbians (get it, "L word" LA, lesbian, freaking genius) attempting to navigate the dark and stormy waters of life and love in the sparkling City of vixen-like Angels.
Just don't do what I did. Don't ever watch it with your mother in the room. I'm going to tell you a cautionary tale today, kittens.
Let me backtrack: I'm about 24 and I want to show my mother that it's possible to be both chic AF and gay AF. I secretly think that mommy dearest fears I'm going to suddenly live a life made up of crew cuts and hideous Birkenstocks (shoot me, I think they're sinfully ugly).
I want to show her that I'm not trading in my silver strapless cocktail dresses and red lipstick for bad tattoos and excessive body hair any time soon. I'm trying to break her narrow view as to what a gay woman looks like, because I'm just a trailblazer.
So what's a young lez to do? Expose my glam mother to a Showtime series about gorgeous, well-manicured lesbians living in glam Hollywood, that's what a young and eager lez does obviously!
So I rent every single season from Blockbuster and pop season one into the DVD player like it ain't no thing, sweat pea. And I'm watching my mom's eyes light up like a Christmas tree as a beautiful girl with raven hair dramatically sweeping across her royal blue eyes realizes she's a lesbian and is suddenly taken in by a pilate-bodied group of power lesbians.
"She's starting to get it!" I think, my entire body buzzing with youthful triumph. Until the show takes a turn.
And the girl with the dark blue eyes is having full blast sapphic sex with a swarthy European woman with an intense gaze and skintight jeans. They're doing things I've only read about in books and at 24, I'd been around the block (and back. And back again. And again).
Suddenly, I'm riding down a long and dark emotional rollercoaster of horrific thoughts and feelings.
1. I'm in a state of complete and total denial...
"This isn't happening," I sweetly think to myself, stretching my lips into a manic, psychopathic smile. "They're just being wildly affectionate with each other, they would never do something so lewd as scissor on television." THIS IS A FAMILY SHOW.
2. I'm in a state of complete and total horror...
"Oh shit, it's happening, it's happening, it's HAPPENING."
My brows begin to furrow. My body breaks out into a cold sweat. A fever is making its way through my frail, frail bones. My legs are bedazzled with a bevy of hives.
The only way to describe what I'm feeling is complete and total horror. Like, horror movie horror. Like, the lead girl's head is about to be chopped off but worse.
Watching sex scenes with your parents are worse than watching an innocent blonde get decapitated by crazy serial killing demons, any day of the week.
3. I'm beginning to wonder if I have the ability to morph into the walls...
"What IF, what IF, I concentrated hard enough, I could melt into the walls like Alex Mack did on Nickelodeon in the 90s?" I'm closing my eyes and channeling my inner science fiction goddess. Maybe if I just concentrate hard enough, I could disappear.
4. Maybe sensory depravation is the answer...
"Maybe if I just close my eyes and I can go away, sift into my imagination and go to my happy place. Meditate the sex scene away." Only when I close my eyes, the moans escalate. A soft moan sounds like an epic, animalistic, orgasmic scream.
5. I'm making deals with baby Jesus...
I'm not religious, but I'm suddenly pleading with every fiber of my being to the higher power up above that this increasingly intense sex scene on a kitchen table doesn't escalate into an increasingly oral sex scene on a kitchen table.
6. I'm suddenly wondering if Mom has ever had sex on a kitchen table...
And as soon as the thought enters my brain, I'm in a state of complete and total trauma.
7. I'm judging myself for having such lewd thoughts...
"Do you need to see a therapist, ZARA?!" I'm asking myself, with the furrowed brow judgment of a nun.
8. I'm thinking about the last time I had sex...
I dare to open my eyes for a second and BAM. It's pretty hot. I forget she is in the room and my mind circles right back to the last time I got down and dirty. Until I look to my left and catch a glimpse of my poor mother blinklessly staring into the static of the TV screen.
9. I fear I might have lost my sex drive. For life.
Suddenly the idea of sex is repulsive to me. The whole concept of bodies rubbing up against one another is nothing short of disgusting. I don't want anything to do with it! Maybe I'll become a nun so I can at least get paid for my celibacy. Do they accept Jewish lesbians into nun school? Is there such thing as nun school?
10. Maybe I should just RUN.
I know my mother. I can feel her curiosity becoming irrepressible. She's about to ask me about my sex life. I know it. I can feel it coming. My mother is about to ask me if I'm having sex, who I'm having sex with and if this scene is similar to the way I HAVE SEX. And she will ask me these questions because she has zero boundaries and neither do I, which is the whole reason I chose to watch the L WORD in front of my mother.
It's an endless cycle. The only thing to do is crawl out the window and RUN. Because running is so much easier than confronting it, right?