Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: kumquatdesign

My last post gave me certain qualms. Primarily because I know that my dad (obviously) reads this site, as do others in my family, and certain of my parents’ friends—the cool ones, of course (hey guys!).

Now, we all know that I’m an adult (regardless of whether I cashed that check from M&D last week for $3,000), and adults do the things that adults do. It wouldn’t be out of line for a single 33-year-old to, say, take a guy home with her and spend an evening on her couch with him listening to the Beatles’ White Album, or perhaps to go home with a different guy (on a different night, okay?) to peruse his Pet Rock collection. No one would be shocked.

At the same time, I was watching Sideways in the theater with my dad back when it came out, and let’s just say the full-frontal nude scene was a little … uncomfortable. I don’t come from the sort of family that hugs and kisses all the time, especially not in the buff. We don’t talk about sex.

In fact, my initial introduction to sex was a book my mom gave me when I was in maybe fourth grade—it was called What’s Happening to My Body?” and, to my great delight, it has continued to be reprinted and updated with the changing times. I should probably revisit.

(Aside: When I got my period, my mom offered me a consoling “Awww, shit.” So you see.)

At any rate, when I post something that I deem potentially questionable, too revealing or risque about a certain unemployed person’s extracurriculars, or containing too many drops of the f-bomb, I will categorize it as “NSFP.” (Those of us who work, or used to work, are familiar with the ever-handy “NSFW,” warning us not to open that graphic sex link while our boss is standing right behind us.) Well, NSFP is just like that, except I don’t work in an office! Or it’s the Norwegian Society for Philosophical Practice, pick your poison.

So if you’re a parent, a good Christian, a philosophizing Nord, or just a prude, you can be aware and skip that one. K? Sometimes things are better left unknown. Oh, and if you do decide to read the dirty bits, please refrain from referencing them at the Thanksgiving table.

I feel so much better.