The Cocoon

A friend of mine were talking yesterday about quarter life crises and becoming a better person and digging yourself out of a whole and stuff. Which is ironic because in comparison to last year, when I was falling asleep in wine bottles and treating my job like it was my own personal daycare, my life right now is considerably agreeable. But this sage, wise friend of mine brought up an idea that I find pretty insightful. She called it the cocoon. Basically you reserve a month for yourself - meaning you isolate yourself from certain vices - to flourish into a BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY. You know. Like Mariah! In my case experiments like this always come out half-assed and I end up looking like a moth that listens to Mariah Carey (by that I mean I wiggle to this song on repeat). However, I'm determined to make this go round work. I have several goals, all of which involve embracing things that would make me more presentable to a co-op board and less of a candidate for the Maury Povich Suze Orman show. Here are my goals for Yoo-lie:

1. Blog at least four times a week. I am an astute woman with an articulate voice and I will project it upon my community.
2. Do one crossword per day, preferably something that is released by Highlights-for-Adults.
3. Lose ten pounds - sans celebrating each pound lost with nine drinks and a trip to Crif Dogs.
4. Pay my bills. For real this time. I've learned I can't get by on life anymore by smiling and pretending to think store credit cards are the same as gift cards.
5. Go to yoga twice a week.
6. Finish each Jeopardy episode on my DVR queue at some point over the weekend.
7. Join a book club.
8. Stop eating every bit of my $100 grocery purchases in two days.
9. Strengthen my professional social networks. Yes, Twitter, that means I'll probably pay more attention to you, also.
10. In an effort to excel at Item Three, stop tucking myself into bed with a Diet Coke and putting myself to sleep with Paula Deen videos. The woman is deep-fried molasses Southern crack, y'all. WATCH HER SHE IS CLOGGING MY ARTERIES I LOVE IT MORE PLEASE.

Aint no love if you don't use a glove (and tell mom)

Finally, MTV has added to its repertoire a program of moral fiber and cultural recognition. The show which is aptly (albeit disturbingly) dubbed "Sex... with Mom and Dad" gains little publicity while quietly reminding kids that, hey, your parents probably know you're bumpin uglies with your boyfriend/ that kid who blindly took you to homecoming/ that person who maybe served you a double chalupe at 2am at Taco Bell... and it's OKAY.

I only caught one episode of the show tonight, and honestly, I don't know when it's regular airtime is, but I strongly petition for this stroke (hehe) of genius to garner a "10 Spot" slot in a Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday night rotation, because it delivers such a well-aimed, pivotally relevant, and seriously important message. Guess what. Kids that watch MTV fuck. And they don't tell mom and dad about it. Hence, there are SHITLOADS of 17-year-olds that can't get birth control (or testing for STDs) without their parents knowing. And this thoughtful, brilliant idea shows these little "sluts" that your parents would so much rather be enlightened, and take the precaution, than have an unpleasant surprise a few weeks down the line.

I'm going to open up now, which is something I've never really done in this blog as far as my personal life goes, but I have a really, really kick-ass mother. She is bar none my best friend, and probably one of the most amazing ladies I've ever been aware of God creating. As part of the "I'm your friend and we're both humans" mantra she espoused while I was growing up, she and I made a pact to be clear with each other about my sex life (because I was at least realistically aware of hers). We agreed that as soon as I started having it, I would be honest, at least so she could get birth control for me? Why? Because she's my mom. She has a moral obligation to look out for me. She's not going to let me run into on-coming traffic, and she would be flippantly remiss to let me dive into Man York without being aware of the repercussions. I admit it. I'm not a virgin (and I've sweat through the crises that such indiscretion can introduce), and I'm not the pristine, pure white female for which my Catholic schooling preened me. But neither is my mom. She's a realistic woman who, with 30 years experience over me, can guide me (as a parent is SUPPOSED to do).

On the other hand, I have friends who are adults. They are not sluts, but they certainly and clearly been sexually active recently and have decidedly NOT been open with their parents (who, by the way, largely spearhead their health insurance) about it. Why? Oh, I've heard a plethora of reasons: I've only slept with 1/2/3 people, and I know they're clean... We used protection... I wouldn't want my parents to know... Blah blah bullshit. This just in - you live in a sexually liberated yet unsound world. Sex is fun and free and encouraged, but just like EVERYTHING ELSE in the world (apartments, bills, drinking, eating good food), it comes with risks and the demand for precaution. Your parents (and you) would be negligent not to have an open dialog about it. And just as an aside, if I had a 20-year-old child who hadn't mentioned a breath about sex to me I would feel one (or more) of three things: a) that I wasn't his or her friend/ that I was unapproachable, b) that I went wrong somewhere in his or her upbringing that he or she can't communicate this sort of thing, or c) that she is ultimately a pariah who cannot get laid.

And, as a good friend of mine declares, universal care starts with the 'rents.

So thank you, MTV, for shedding light on not just a sexual dilemma American families face, but a social one. Parents are obligated to groom their offspring for the adult world. And yes, penises and vaginas are WEIRD - no one wants to talk about em! But when your child finds themselves in trouble, what kind of parent will you consider yourself?