Chronicles of a Girl on the Edge: I Was Abducted By Aliens and All I Got Was This Lousy Tee Shirt

So I’m feeling a bit nostalgic tonight. I was cleaning out my messy closet and found a box with a ratty old faded black tee shirt with faded, flaked off, silver foil letters that once said, “I was abducted by aliens, anal probed, and mind wiped and all I got was this lousy tee shirt”.

My dad wore that ridiculous tee shirt proudly at least once a week for years, even when it was a tattered mess. He said it was the best gift ever. And I was the sick-o who gave it to him.

The tee shirt was part of a themed birthday gift I bought for him 10 or so years ago. The complete gift package consisted of the shirt, a deed to a city on the moon named “Big Dickville” (my dad’s name was Richard), a map of the moon that showed the exact coordinates of Big Dickville, a UFO conspiracy magazine, and a butt plug. He laughed till tears streamed down his face when he opened it. We both did.

My dad and I didn't have a traditional father/daughter relationship. (Honestly, not much about my childhood was terribly traditional. Explains so much about me.) My parents divorced when I was 7ish. My dad was away a lot with his job. He missed a lot of my childhood. I think picking up the father figure role once a month was a bit awkward for him, and honestly, it really never was his style. He made up for it by being the one person in my life that I could tell anything to without worrying about being judged. He told me later on that he figured he had enough shortcomings in life; it would be hypocritical of him to judge me for mine. It's one of the coolest things anyone has ever said to me - and something I try to remember when I'm feeling overly critical of someone else.

I credit (or blame, depending on how you look at it) my dad for my warped, and slightly wrong sense of humor. He was a crusty old stud rancher with a sick sense of humor. I called him the “Equine Pimp Daddy” or just “Pimp Daddy” for short. Time spent with my dad was usually spent around other crusty old cowboys who were just as sick, or sicker, than my dad. They taught me to play poker. They taught me to swear. They taught me the perfect geometric angle to skip a rock across a pond. They taught me to spit over a fence post. Then they taught me that a real lady never did those things in mixed company. Talk about mixed messages!

Sex ed from my mom consisted of The Talk. The Talk was this: Sex. If you do it, I’ll kill you. (And she really, really meant it.)
Sex ed from my dad consisted of showing me how nasty it was to watch two horses “get it on”, and let me form my own conclusion.
Both methods were fairly effective in their own rights!

I had a little period in college where I was having trouble figuring out what I wanted to be in life. This was about the time my dad had branched out in the horse pimping business to include artificial insemination services. He had bought 2 artificial mare mounting dummies – one big, one small - which I promptly dubbed “Spankmaster” and “Spankmaster, Jr.”. The artificial insemination business was pretty darn lucrative for him. He was shipping horse sperm (Liquid Gold, as he called it) all over the country. So he offered to send me to school to become an artificial inseminator.

I told him, “There’s no way in hell! I couldn’t tell people what I do for a living with a straight face!! Oh yeah, I could call my business “Jane’s House of Equine Spank-a-torium”. What do you do for a living, Jane? I jerk off horses! I don’t think so, Pimp Daddy!”
After he picked himself off the floor and stopped laughing, he looked at me with his patented sardonic smirk and said, “Then git yer head on straight, girly. I’m sick of ya jackin’ off in school. If you wanna jack off in school, then I’ll send ya to school to jack off.”
I picked a major the next day and never bombed a class again.

My dad died a few years ago and I miss him terribly. He wasn’t the best parent in the world, and his methods were a little off kilter, but he was the only person who would tell it like it was. He was my best friend. I sat in my closet, tonight, holding the permanently smelly tattered old UFO tee shirt and smiled.

In honor of my dad (and with the holidays right around the corner), I thought I’d compile a gift guide for the nontraditional father/daughter relationship. (Proven and tested – these are all gifts I have given my dad.)

Gifts for the non-traditional father/daughter relationship:

The BBQ Gift Package: A BBQ grill, BBQ tools, BBQ sauce (I recommend KC Masterpiece), some seasoning rub, a rubber dead rat, and The Roadkill Cookbook.

The UFO Enthusiasts Gift Package: A UFO tee shirt, a deed to a city on the moon named “Big Dickville” (it helps if your dad’s name is Richard), a map of the moon that shows the exact coordinates of Big Dickville, a UFO conspiracy magazine, and a butt plug.

The “Spank-a-torium” Barn Warming Gift Package: A box of latex gloves, K-Y Jelly, a box of extra large condoms, and a custom sign that reads “Big Dick’s Spank-a-torium” (again, it helps if your dad’s name is Richard).