« Comic Relief | Main | V-Day Trivia »

February 13, 2006

Entre Nous

We come from France. ~ Jane Curtin and Dan Aykroyd as Prymatt and Beldar Conehead (assisted by far too many writers to credit)

Every so often a totally bizarre snippet from adolescence makes a comeback in my brain and I'm shanghaied by silly memories.

It will likely come as no surprise for those of you who read my blog to learn that I have been a rather twisted little screw for quite some time. In fact, my earliest sexual fantasies go back so far most reading this would not believe me. Now, granted they were not sexual by the strictest sense of the word, merely situational, but the context was there and Freud, for all his faults, would be on my side. Some of my most explicit and erotic fantasies are based on seedlings that were planted in my subconscious when I was a very wee little lass.

So what tawdry tidbit has recently surfaced in my noggin, you ask? Well, during a snippet of the 16 hours a day I commit to the Olympic Games (yes, fuck you, I like the Olympics and, yes, I cheer for the home team, flawed as we are) a French athlete got 15 seconds of fame (Bally someone-or-other in the women’s' biathlon), the oddest rusting of silt quivered in my gray matter.

When I was a girl engaging in taboo fantasies (yes, my pretties, they stretch back that far) the endpoint of all my fantasies was "and then we move to France." France – of all places -- was, in my mind, the cure-all for any wicked, twisted, debased sexual relationship problem. It was the resolution to all things sinful and naughty. Some extension of Pleasure Island that Pinocchio never dreamed.

Where did this come from? How did it start? Did I wildly misinterpret the lyrics to Gigi? Could the subtext of Pink Panther cartoons strew my childhood mind with too much double-entendre?

Maybe, but I don’t think so. My working theory, in fact, will likely make you spit coffee on the screen. I’m serious. Put the cup down. Swallow. Okay. Now read on.

I'm thinking Coneheads. Yes. Those Coneheads.

As a child I had a case of near-permanent insomnia. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. It would be more close to the mark to say that I have had what I now know to be Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome (even though it didn't have a name when I was a child). What this basically means is that my body doesn't have a normal sleep cycle. I'm nocturnal (what was once called "a night owl") and I also sleep in short phases of four hours here, five hours there, instead of a full eight hour span. Not to mention I prefer to sleep in afternoon as opposed to night hours. Most people only suffer from DSPS on a temp basis, or else are able to manage their DSPS through diet, ritual, and/or drugs. But then there are the people like me. By and large those like me are either rich, drug-addicted, or working third-shift jobs. Sometimes combinations of these. I've had DSPS since the day my mother brought me home from the hospital and after too many sleep clinic sessions to document, I'm convinced that diet and ritual are not a factor (the drugs might be, but long-term sleeping pill usage is not my idea of a good thing). I managed it in my youth by not sleeping and being a work-a-holic. I manage it now by sleeping when I am sleepy and being awake when I’m awake. It’s much healthier than that whole not-sleeping thing.

But I digress. This is all a long-winded excuse to explain why I was up watching Saturday Night Live as a five year old (although SNL wasn't the worst I got into back then). And, despite being five (or perhaps because of it) I thought the Conehead sketches were about the funniest fucking things I'd ever seen. To be completely honest, I retain, to this day, a great affection for them (as well as a crush on Dan Aykroyd that endures despite Caddyshack II, Exit to Eden, and Canadian Bacon).

I can only assume that because it was okay for obvious aliens to come from France and have people buy it that I assumed my brother/sister incest fantasy characters could end up there and have it be no big deal. Sure, you can blame VC Andrews for the fantasies, but those characters never ended up happy or in France ;-) Also I’m thinking that whole "European royalty who marry their family members" element was tossed in there somewhere – although why I would have isolated France out of Egyptian history, European history, and US Southern history is beyond me.

Still. It cracks me up.

Forbidden older man / younger underage girl fantasy? They end up in France.

Brother/sister or daddy/daughter incest? They move to France.

All taboo roads led, in my mind, to France.

And other than being subjected to Jerry Lewis movies for the rest of their lives, they might even have lived happily ever after.

Of course - alas - my stories rarely get such closure these days. I've matured to the point of fast-forwarding to the dirty parts as I wank off and then just drifting away into contented slumber...comme il faut.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 5:46 AM | permalink | talkback (1)

Comments

Posted by: msuniverse2k6 at May 1, 2006 5:03 AM