Statistically speaking, you have a mom. Moms are interesting creatures. Not only are they capable of not strangling you during the years when you're at your most obnoxious, i.e. most of the years before age twenty, but they are capable of evoking in their offspring, evoking in you, horror that filmmakers cannot hope to ever achieve, and they do it without goring a hot cheerleader five minutes into the movie that is your life1. The worst part is, they don't have to try, and often don't realize what manner of life-scarring words are tumbling out of their mouths. They really don't try to horrify us2, it just happens when they do just about anything as soon as we become aware of what 'cool' means. Actually, that goes for dads, too (especially mine).
Realistically speaking, I think my mom's, like, the coolest mom ever. She's one of my best friends, and I love her to bits. But, at the end of the day, she's still my mom and I'm still at that awkward phase where I can talk about sex in jest with my peers and even write about it, but, God forbid my mother ever says anything even remotely related to sex. For a number of years, my brain would explode any time she even mentioned in passing that an admittedly attractive actor was attractive. Doubly so if she actually said anything about sex. I've only just gotten to the point where my brain doesn't crack in half when she makes a point to tell me that she thinks one of the blogs she reads (most of which, excluding this one, are about the Paleo lifestyle) is written by a really hot guy.
So, there I was, sitting at the table with my laptop in front of me. Normally I would have been in my room listening to loud music and trying to ignore the internet long enough to do something constructive, but Mom decided I wasn't allowed to retreat back to my 'cave,' as she calls it, after lunch that day. So, in keeping with her wishes and because we have a relative visiting, I moved my operation to the living room for the day, because, whatever, maybe a change of scenery would let me get over the fact that I don't want to write the next scene in my novel.
It didn't work, but I did do some world building (because watching Supernatural while they're trying to talk to me is bad form). About twenty minutes before being forced to come out and be less of a hermit, I'd started working on the form for a city-state in Valeris (formerly known as Hell) called Damascus. Normally when doing this there's no problem because filling out these forms is about as interesting as watching grass grow in slow motion. Heck, I don't even usually go into a lot of detail because things change, anyway.
Now, for those of you (i.e. all of you) who don't know, Damascus is a fictional city-state in Valeris that the Cubi3, the incubi and succubi of the world, call home. That's really all you need to know to realize that doing this with my mom right next to me is not the best idea. Truth be told, it went perfectly fine until I started in on the religion portion of the form.
See, I make crap up all over the place for my stories, but I like to base bits and pieces of them off real things and beliefs. So, while making up the religion for Damascus, I decide to look up Lilith on wikipedia (reliable or not, it is where I get information, because screw research, that's why), which leads to me reading about several other figures connected to her. Mom, of course, sees me switching between Word and Wikipedia as I outline the Damascan religion with deities loosely based on what I found and make up stuff about them. "What are you researching?" "Oh, you know, stuff for my novel." "See? My daughter does research while she's writing," she says to my aunt across the table.
I ignore the impulse to close my laptop as she watches me work. "So, is that real?" Of course she means to ask if I'm using real-world deities, and I reply with a smirk and a no. I continue working, because it's better than sitting there awkwardly, trying (and failing) to participate in whatever conversation they're having. I'm out here, she should be fine with it. And then it happened.
"Most Cubi practice Harlotism. The Church of The Harlot is built around five deities, Lilith, Agraht, Nahm, Ishet, and Samil." She starts reading off my document, out loud. "The first four deities (Lilith, Agraht, Nahm, Ishet) are sisters, the first four succubi in existence, and the mothers of all cubi (some sects also believe them to have created the rest of the world’s creatures out of boredom). Samil is the father of all cubi, the first incubus, and husband to the other four. Some people believe Samil is also the brother of the other four deities, while others believe he’s their father." At this point, I start feeling rather awkward, because she just read about incest, so I get up to leave. "And still others believe he’s unrelated; the holy scriptures do little to clear this up, as they refer to him as all three at different points (usually by different ‘prophets’). It’s common for individuals to choose to pray to a single, favored deity," I hear as I walk away under the guise of simply wanting a cup of coffee.
And then she gets to the horrible part. She's reading loudly enough that I can hear her from the coffee maker. "Also known as ‘The Whore,’ Lilith is associated with fire, passion, and all things related to sex. Her cardinal direction is south." The emphasis is mine, of course. She laughs as she finishes reading it, which is just about the same time that I sit back down with my over-sized cup of black coffee. "Is this, like, an outline of your characters or something?"
"Ah, no," I say. "It's worldbuilding stuff. I'm organizing my thoughts on the places in my world, and that's the religion of Damascus." And, of course, I feel the probably unnecessary need to explain why one of the deities is called "The Whore." "They're Cubi, incubi and succubi," I explain, having no idea if either of them know what either of those creatures are. "So, it only makes sense that they'd have a goddess for sex. I mean, I have 'The Hag,' 'The Maiden,' and 'The Mother,' too. Sooo..."
This was followed by some sort of silence. For me, it was awkward, and I spent my time trying to find something to say to remedy the situation. I never did.
Of course, given my luck, I will stroll out of my room tomorrow and stumble upon her reading this post out loud. So, in closing, I ask, 'If Sephiroth can destroy universes, do space eggs have salmonella?'4
1 If your mother did this, she's not doing motherhood right, and you should buy her a manual on how to properly raise children like a non-serial killer. There's probably an Idiot's Guide for it.
2 Except the ones that do try. But they're dicks.
3 Cubi: An adrogynous term used to refer to incubi and succubi as a species. I stole if from DMFA, though I'm sure Amber's not the first person to use the term. Either way, DMFA is a great comic.
4 This most ridiculous question, courtesy of Shelby.
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