nakedjen

Tattoo You, Tattoo Me

So I don't know if my body was just rejecting all possible bodily fluids yesterday or what but today there's been no sight of blood at all. So bizarre. I'm happy to report that I was able to get all the blood out of my favorite surfer pants that I was wearing yesteraday. They're now gray again thanks to the miracle of OxyClean. Love that stuff. Of course, I had to soak them for hours and then wash them twice, but now they're back to their regular color. Thank you all so much for comisserating with me. My migraine is gone and so it appears is my period. I can't wait to go to the doctor and find out what the hell is going on with my body. All of these changes that are hitting at 40 are just so strange.

So this anniversary that we just celebrated over the weekend was our fourth anniversary. The traditional gift for the fourth anniversary is flowers and fruit. I am so not a flowers person since I don't like cut flowers. (cruel to the flowers...i hear them say OUCH when you pick them). NakedDave circumvented that with the floral print purse from Cole Haan which I totally adore. And of course he surprised me with tickets to the play, Arcadia, that he chose specifically because it included an apple.

But we wanted to get each other something a little more special. Or meaningful. Or something. And we were both a little stymied on what that would be. I kept suggesting a trip to Maui since there's loads of fruit and flowers there. And we are going to Maui, but not until the Fall. So it doesn't really count as an anniversary gift.

We both lovelovelove the Oregon Country Fair. The logo for the Fair is a peach. A woodcut of a peach, actually. It's fruit! And the fair has always been where we've really celebrated our anniversary. It was a huge inspiration for our wedding and every year when we return it's like we get to celebrate our marriage all over again. What better way to celebrate the fruit anniversary than by somehow incorporating the peach from the fair? Or at least that's what we thought. I'm sure you all are going..."Sure, Jen, whatever!"

Last night we went and got matching tattoos of the OCF Peach. It was so much fun and I love that we both have one and that they're in the same place and that now we're like nutcase forever fair people. This will be my 16th fair. I never miss it. No matter what is going on in my life, I'm in Veneta the second weekend in July. And it will be Dave's 6th fair. He's definitely taken it on as his own. I know that he loves it just as much as I do.

It was Dave's very first tattoo and he did so well. I was bummed because I forgot to bring the camera and he went first, but after he got his he ran home and got it to take pictures of me getting mine. Our tattoo artist was named Dan and he was just the most genuine and sweetest guy. I loved him. LovedLovedLoved him. So much more personable than the tattoo artists I've had in the past.

It was definitely a really fun experience and so much more fun because we did it together. And now we have this fun matching tattoo. Just kind of making our love and marriage that much more permanent and really making our fourth anniversary a quite memorable one.

And On The Third Day

It's absolutely no secret around here that I hate having my period. Every month I complain and complain and complain to NakedDave so much that I know he wants to just shove something in my mouth to completely shut me up but because he is the most kind and gentle of husbands he instead nods his head and says, "Love, there is no "normal" when it comes to your period. Every month you say, "Normally, blah, blah, blah, but we both know that there just is nothing "normal" about it. It just is what it is." Very nice.

I have my period. Everyone in Santa Cruz knows that I have my period. How do they know? Well, it's not like I have been standing on the street corner stopping anyone who is willing to listen to tell them. Oh no. You all know better than that, don't you?

It's the third day of my period. Normally on the third day of my period there is scant blood left to flow as all blood that is possibly going to flow has done so in the previous two days. The third day is kind of like the crumbs left after everyone has devoured and inhaled the very delicious chocolate birthday cake. Might get one good clump, but really there's just nothing left. Nothing left at all.

Again, may I remind you that today is the third day. For the past two days there's been copious amounts of blood. Loads and loads and the usual accompanying cramps that make me scream in agony, but I muffle the screams as best I can and try to stay close to the house so I don't inflict the pain of the screams on anyone who doesn't already really know me and can go, as dear NakedDave does, "Oh right. Period. Cramps. Lovely." But those two days are over. Today is the third day. The day of the crumbs. The day I breathe again and go, "Right, all over. Tomorrow back to regular thong underwear and all that good business."

So being it is the third day and not the first or second day, I thought that I would take a walk downtown and mail our rent check to our landlord who is spending the summer at her grandparents house in Montana. The post office is about a twelve block walk from our little house in downtown Santa Cruz. Not a far walk at all. On the way to the post office you can pass New Leaf Market if you go a certain way and so that's what I decided I would do today. Go that way and perhaps stop at New Leaf and find something yummy for lunch. You see, it was a beautiful day. It was the third day. And I was hungry.

So I stopped at New Leaf and saw that they had their Organic Harvest Salad today. Perfect. Lots of vegetables and tofu. Just what I needed. I also at that very moment started to get quite the migraine. I rarely get migraines anymore, but this one was fierce. Grabbing your head and moaning kind of fierce. Feeling a bit nauseous kind of fierce. Small gremlins running around inside your head banging pots and pans kind of fierce. For a moment I reconsidered eating anything, but was truly starving, so I asked for a small container of the Harvest Salad and then went and found some bottled Tazo tea to go with it. I figured the caffeine might stave off what was proving to be a migraine that knew no limits.

I took my salad and tea to their little courtyard outside where I also grabbed a weekly paper and sat down for some lunch. I had been sitting there just a moment when one of our notorious homeless men (this one really is rather notorious) sat down opposite me. I said hello. He was completely incoherent and just pointed at my food. He was covered in grime, his eyes were rolling into the back of his head, there was drool gushing from his mouth (on which he had painted the most interesting color pink lipstick) and in his other fist was a bouquet of very dead flowers.

I asked if I could help him. He threw the flowers on the table in my direction and then grabbed my salad and started eating it with his hands like a rabid dog. Slobber flying everywhere. Tofu being smashed against both cheeks. Vegetables making every last effort to jump into his gaping mouth, but somehow missing and falling all over his purple tank top. I sat there dumbfouded, really. And then he just got up and walked away carrying my salad with him, leaving me with the dead flowers and my tea.

I figured he definitely needed the salad more than I did and I just let him go. I finished my tea and then headed for the post office. But of course, because I have this damn need to pee every twenty minutes, my twenty minutes were definitely up and I had to find a bathroom. Thank goodness that Bookshop Santa Cruz has lovely and clean restrooms that are open for anyone to use. It was there that I soon found myself sitting on a toilet and noticing that the bowl was full of very bright red blood. Not just crumbs, but what surely felt like the entire three-tiered birthday cake.

Remember, this is the third day. Not the first. Not even the second. It's the third day. I had never, in my life, seen this much blood before. No wonder I had a headache.

It should be noted that I was also at that very moment wearing a SUPER DUPER OB tampon. You know the kind that can stop a tidal wave? The kind that grow so wide and thick inside of you that there is absolutely nothing that is getting by that sucker no matter what? That tampon was completely soaked through. Completely. Absolutely. 100% saturated.

So I sat there contemplating what I was going to do. I had another one of those SUPER DUPER OB tampons in my fanny pack that I just also happened to have with me. So in it went. And I sat there for a few minutes and waited and made sure that there was no more blood and no more surprises and prayed that this was just some freak thing and that everything would be okay.

Bookshop Santa Cruz is one block from the Santa Cruz Post Office. One block. Maybe 300 steps at the most. So I walked over to the Post Office and bought a stamp from the vending machine for the rent check. And while I was standing there (by the way...have you all seen the new nickles? the ones with the Louisiana Purchase on the "b" side? they are very cool) I felt something wet drop on my foot. I looked down and just as I did there went another drop. Of blood. Bright red blood.

I was having my Carrie moment. I looked at my pants and there was blood everywhere. We're not talking just the small little blood stain in the crotch of your pants that you hope and pray only you can see. Oh no, nothing as simple as that small embarassment.

I had blood all over the front and back of my pants. Bright red blood. I looked like someone had stabbed me in the stomach and I just hadn't even noticed. And to make matters even better? It was also dripping down my legs.

Completely and utterly mortified, I walked as quickly as I could back to my house twelve blocks away. For twelve blocks I marched, trying to keep my legs close together so no more blood would go spilling down them. For twelve blocks I tried not to make eye contact with anyone and prayed that I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. For twelve blocks the blood stains on my pants grew larger and larger with each step. By the time I got home I might as well have been wearing red pants. There was no distinguishing what color they were when I started. And my migraine had gotten to the point where all I could do was strip off the bloody clothes and lie naked on the couch. A bloody nakedjen writhing on the couch holding her head in pain. Lovely picture, isn't it?

This is the third day. This is not normal. Whatever this is, I know it does not fall into the "normal" category.

This is where you come into the story, dear readers, if you've managed to read this far. My grandmothers are both dead. My own mother had a hysterectomy in her early 30's. I can't see my doctor until the end of July. But I just need to know. What the fuck is happening to my body? Turning 40 can not also mean that your periods suddenly turn into tidal waves of blood that leave you standing in the Post Office with blood literally flowing down your leg. It can't possibly mean that, can it? Because if it does, please shoot me now. I'm done with this whole period business, people. You all can have it. After today, I think I've bled enough for this lifetime and perhaps a few of my lifetimes to come.

And on the third day, I had my Carrie moment. God I hope this isn't a trend.

Finding Yourself In The Internet Gutter

When you haven't been writing in your blog for what feels like an eternity, coming back to write in your blog can feel like quite a daunting task. So daunting, in fact, that it's quite tempting to just abandon all efforts to write anything at all. It would be quite easy to just come in here and say, "Hey, not writing today. Nothing new to learn about the Nakeds. Move on."

Actually, there's probably lots of new things to learn about the Nakeds, but I won't be writing about that today. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm even here, except that I had this nagging feeling that if I didn't show up and write something new then my blog would just wither away and die an unseemly and far too early death. And I would overhear folks talking about it at those cocktail parties that I so often frequent.

"Heard about NakedJen? Closed up shop."
"Really? I hadn't read anything substantial on there in months anyhow."
"Probably wasn't really NakedJen posting anyway."

Which brings me to the news I read today about Plain Layne. I used to be a regular reader of Plain Layne. I got all caught up in her daily soap opera of a life. In fact, Plain Layne is one of the reasons I actually started my own blog. If she could write about all that stuff and have people read it, well maybe, just maybe they'd also want to read what I had to write.

And today I find out that Plain Layne isn't really Layne at all. I'm not angry that I was duped. I'm impressed by the guys bravado and ability to carry on the charade for so very long. I know all about that particular kind of charade, but I'll save that for another post when I'm feeling very introspective and melancholy and like I should drag another ghost from the closet that I keep closed rather tightly shut with a very large padlock and lots bars nailed across it for good measure. But seeing as I've just admitted that much, I do want to assure those of you who just happened across this site because you were looking for a naked bed and breakfast in Maui or were searching for girls who pee on themselves that really and truly I am NakedJen. The one and only. The girl who gets naked at the drop of her dress. Badump dump.

I am NakedJen, the woman who was laid off six months ago by her evil empire company and has yet to find gainful employment...not that she's looking very hard, mind you, but still, I'm not working. Speaking of the Evil Empire, they recently laid off a whole slew of additional people. My friends have now joined me on the ranks of unemployment. And they let go the very CEO who had handed me my walking papers. He's no longer there, either. Nor is his right hand woman who made my daily life there a living nightmare. In fact, half the employees are gone.

Two of those employees are being good old Silicon Valley entremanures (spelling intentional) and are starting up their own little business. One that I think has a good chance of becoming quite popular among pirates. Are you a pirate? Do you like to have the treasure that everyone covets? Do you like renegade ideas and subversive technologies. Most importantly, do you like to chat? Meet new people? Would you like to chat live and in person with NakedJen?

Well, if that sounds like you, you should go to www.internetgutter.com and sign yourself up for a free account. In a little while, Internet Gutter will be launching and it will be like no other chat service you've ever experienced. And if you sign up right now, your membership will be absolutely free. Forever. Because my two friends believe that renegades should always be free to speak their minds. Always. And if you go sign up, you'll be able to join me for a weekly live naked chat. Imagine that? A NakedJen speaking to you live in the comfort of your own home. Makes you shudder, I know, just thinking about it. Of course, attendance at the NakedJen Explains It All For You chat sessions is NOT mandatory. But you can't join the session at all if you don't have a membership. And membership is free. So go sign up.

P.S. A shout out to Alicia for inviting me to join Tribe.net. Love it.

P.P.S. A shout out to LaVonne. I'm wondering how you are?

P.P.P.S. A shout out to Billy...just because.

P.P.P.P.S. Now that I've written this post, I suddenly have loads I want to say. Don, I'll be writing more. Promise.

Making the Soul Whole

There's morning fog in Santa Cruz. Morning fog that generally burns off by noon or so. Morning fog that makes it hard to jump out of bed and say, "Oh yes, it's a glorious day!" Santa Cruz fog is heavy. Grey. Sometimes it's even wet. It's not warm and welcoming, nor is it the kind of fog one finds in London. The London fog is dense and dark grey, dripping with secrets, wrapping itself around you like a shroud.

Santa Cruz fog is kind of like a surfer dude boyfriend. Hanging around just long enough to annoy you with all its hey dudes and party ons and eating everything not nailed down and then just when you're ready to throw it off the couch and out the front door, it sulks out the back door and takes all its surfboards with it.

There's morning fog in Santa Cruz. Which means it must be summer. And if it's summer, that means only one thing (well, two things actually as it also means my wedding anniversary), but one thing for NakedJen.

It means that it's time for the Oregon Country Fair. Countdown has begun. Plans are in motion. Preparations are being made for the most glorious three days ever spent on a mosquito infested river anywhere.

I am just plain giddy with excitement and can't wait to make that 12 hour drive to Eugene.

Currently there's a debate going on in our house about whether or not to take the magic bus we purchased recently. What's that you say? Why not take the magic bus? It seems the absolute perfect home on wheels for your weekend in nowheresville Oregon. Why not, NakedJen, why not?

Well, it seems the Magic Bus needs a bit more clapping if it's going to make a trip all the way to Oregon. I wasn't quite as thorough as I should have been when purchasing. I was blinded and dumbstruck by the magic bus's call to my soul. And my brain stopped functioning when I told that man who owned it that I would take it. Right away. Today. Please.

I didn't get the magic bus checked out by a mechanic. Oh dear. I've always done this. Always. Never purchased a car without having a mechanic give me the thumbs up. But this was a lovely orange hippy van. And it had a pop top. And a kitchen. And a striped awning. And it was orange. Orange is the color of the soul, you know. It was perfect. I had to have it. Right Now! Right this minute! Please.

I took the magic bus to the Old Volks Home on Tuesday to see about an oil change. And perhaps to find out why it loses power when I drive up hills. I thought it would just need a small tune-up. Perhaps a new gasket or something as it was dripping a smidgen of oil.

Nice thought. Wish it was that easy. Turns out the old magic bus needs two new cylinders, a few odd pistons, a new clutch and a whole host of other things that have made my head spin around backwards so that now when I walk forwards I can tell you where I've been, but have no idea where in the hell I'm going.

There were quite a few discussions chez naked about what to do about all of this. Let's remember, for the regulalr readers and introduce for those who have just landed here looking for the naked pictures, that dear sweet NakedDave and NakedJen are currently UNEMPLOYED! Which means that while we're still managing to keep a roof over our heads, luxury items like pistons and cylinders are rather out of the question.

We considered just telling them to give us the van and we'd go find another sucker to purchase it. But then we also considered the KARMA inherently involved in pushing our problems off onto someone else. Neither one of us likes the idea of that. Plus, at the end of the day and all mechanical difficulties aside, I love the magic bus. So, we're biting the biggest bullet yet and we're getting it fixed. And we're hoping that it will now be ready for the long drive to Eugene and every other place we can think to take it. And we're also hoping that when we finally move to Maui we can sell it to someone else in good conscience. Because we did the right thing. We made its soul whole.

P.S. Because it is FRIDAY, here's a preview of the latest in fairy fashion. Don't you wish you were coming to the Fair?

Fahrenheit 9/11

Michael Moore's new film, "Fahrenheit 9/11," opens on Friday, June 25. An expose of the Bush administration's actions after 9/11 and in Iraq, the movie is the first documentary ever to win the grand prize in the world-famous Cannes Film Festival. The New York Times said, "Whatever you think of Moore…[these are] pictures that have been largely shielded from our view."

View the trailer here.

Whatever your feelings about Michael Moore or about the current administration, I think it's important to go and see this film. A real dialogue only happens when both sides of the debate are informed.

Life In Transition

On Wednesday morning, Dave and I got up early (for us), put on some somber clothes and drove the 45 minutes to Mountain View where we attended the memorial service for 1st Lieutenant Ken Ballard.

Wow. It was an incredibly moving celebration for a man whose life ended way too early. I did not personally know Ken, but as I’ve said, I’m a good friend of his cousin. The memorial service was a loving and wonderful tribute with remembrances from many who had known him both as a child and in the military.

During the final moments of the service they did the traditional roll call where they called the names of some of the soldiers present and then called Ken’s name. The officer called his name three times, each time being followed by a heartbreaking silence. This was followed by a 21-gun salute and the playing of Taps. There was not a dry eye in the entire stadium.

From Mountain View, Dave and I traveled back home long enough to change into festive clothes. I found out that my friend Risa had given birth! Annabel Grace had been born and there were scores of people across the world who were giddy with her blessed arrival. We had just said goodbye to a soldier, but had the wonderful news of a new baby girl. Life was coming full-circle.

Dave and I then went to Monterey to watch Pilar graduate from eighth grade. Pilar attends The Chartwell School and this graduation marked a huge achievement for her and for her entire family. The graduation ceremony was lovely. The school does a wonderful job of acknowledging not only the achievements of those who are graduating, but of each and every student. Every student was personally recognized and given a certificate of achievement. There were a few tears, a lot of laughs, lots and lots of clapping and I know that every student left that auditorium proud of their personal accomplishments.

The proud graduate!

Dave and Xander (Pilar's brother).

Dave commented while we were there how very different his own experiences have been from the one we experienced that night. He didn’t attend private schools. The teachers he had didn’t personally connect with their students and make an effort to learn more about them. He even shared a story about a teacher he had who threatened the students with milk of magnesia Popsicles if they misbehaved. He was amazed at the graduation ceremony and how very much the whole school felt like “family.” Dave’s experience is so far removed from my experience.

I was lucky. I had parents who not only cared about my education (and I know Dave’s parents did care about his education), but were also able to afford to send me to private schools. In fact, I spent so much time in private schools, that I once called my parents from boarding school and asked them why they had never told me that I was autistic! Somehow, I got the crazy mixed up notion that my “special schools” I had attended my whole life were special because I was “special.” Talk about teenage angst in its most devilish form.

My parents assured me that despite being dropped on my head a few too many times, I was normal. Or above normal, actually, as my stab at public education had resulted in an ennui that had lead to near failure. I needed the challenge that a private education provided in order to succeed. And like I said, I was very lucky that I had parents that recognized this and could afford to provide it for me.

Likewise, Pilar is one lucky girl. Her family really and truly cares about her education. And they can afford to make sure that she gets the very best and isn’t lost in our public education system.

I don’t want those of you reading to think that I’m knocking the public education system. I’m not. My sister is one of the many brave teachers in our national public education system and her love and devotion to her students amazes me every day. She’s also a product of this nation’s public education system. She chose to go to public schools. Another thing our parents did do well was provided us the choice of where we went to school. Once I accepted that I did better in private schools, I was still allowed to choose what schools they would be. And both my younger sisters had the same opportunities. (Of course, if NakedMom reads this, I’m sure she’ll chime in with her own version of how this all worked). So my sister, NeverNakedBeth, is a public school junior high teacher in Utah. She’s also a reading specialist. She works so hard and accomplishes so much without very many resources at all. I’m always in awe of her and her devotion to her students. I know that the public education system in this country is absolutely full of gems like her. But I also know that our government does not put a priority on education and that is what makes me sad. I know that a student like Pilar would most likely get lost in the system. She wouldn’t get the care and attention that she needed to actually thrive. So for that reason, she is lucky that her family was able to send her to a private school like Chartwell. And for those reasons, also, I am a very lucky girl whose family was also able to afford my private education.

On a day we said goodbye to a soldier, we also welcomed Pilar to high school. It was a day of transitions. From life to death to heartfelt good memory. From student to graduate. From womb to first breath. The transitions were full-circle. The transitions were Life.

More Hair Transitions...for levity!

Spontaneous Life

Words are coming. This last week has been a week where NakedDave and I have been living rather spontaneously. This spontaneity and willingness to jump at opportunities presented have resulted in the two of us finding ourselves giving our own eardrums pause for concern as we danced in the front row of a Prince concert (there is nothing better than an acoustic version of Little Red Corvette...I am completely convinced), dashing to a matinee of Harry Potter's latest flick, lolly-gagging away an afternoon in a cafe, attending a reading where the top 100 herbs for wicca spells were revealed and even sitting bundled in a field while watching The Secretary on the side of a building. It's been quite a few days.

I do have a proper post that I'd like to share, but at the moment we are selling more things on the street. The junk must be moved, so it's out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone, anyone, would like to pick something up and take it along with them to where ever it is that they reside. Everything is twenty-five cents. Care to come take a look?

So proper post will have to wait. However, I have not forgotten that yesterday was a Friday and thus here is a picture to share.