nakedjen

Slippery When Wet!

This was supposed to be a post where I came to say "Hail to the Redskins!" And where I was going to say, "Thank God, Joe Gibbs is back!" But I am not here to say either of those things after the absolutely pitiful performance my beloved Redskins gave on the football field this evening. Nope. Not going to even say any more about that. Except this. Sunday we're playing the Cleveland Browns. If we lose on Sunday, I'm going to really wonder if there's anything at all that can save my team from another dismal and gloomy season.

So my friend Michelle found this on Ebay. While it would definitely be even more interesting if this guy was from Florida, what I find interesting is that he's willing to sell his vote at all. I must admit that I myself am pretty disgusted sometimes with our entire electoral system, but I am also grateful, truly grateful, that I live in a country where I am able to participate in the democratic process and the election of my government. Now granted, those elected officials may not do the things that I hope that they will do (or even what they promised they would do) and there is most certainly abuse of power in nearly all facets of government from the city and town level all the way to the White House, but still, I think it is important to remember that in this country we actually do get to vote. There are many places in this world where that is not an option.

I went to a Bikram Yoga class today. For those of you who do not know Bikram Yoga is taught in a room that is about 105 degrees in the shade. Holy mother of Hades, it is HOT. The class is comprised of a series of twenty-six postures that are repeated for a total sweaty workout of 90 minutes.

Let's talk about the sweat, shall we? I had sweat dripping down the insides of my knees. People, I didn't know that knees could sweat. My knees have certainly never sweat. Not in this lifetime, anyway. But they sweat today. Rivers of sweat poured off the insides of my knees. My shirt was soaked completely through. Dripping soaking wet. Peel it off your body and throw it right into the washing machine wet.

There were only four of us in the class this morning. Two regulars and two virgins. The regulars were wearing bikinis and now I understand why. Quite honestly, I think I would have been happiest if I were doing the entire thing completely naked. Except then I would have been even more slippery.

Did I mention that you get slippery? You get very wet and then you get very slippery. So when Mr. Yoga Instructor tells you to do the Tree Pose and put your leg as high up on your costume as possible and hold it there it does absolutely nothing but slipslipslip slide right back down to the floor. You grab it with both hands and they slide right off. You get more determined, wipe both hands on your very wet ass and then try and grab again. You get ahold of your foot, but as you're trying to place it on your costume (by the way, I would giggle every time Mr. Yoga Instructor Man would say "costume". "Place your foot on your costume." Giggle) it just doesn't want to stay put at all and goes sliding right down along with the rivers of sweat from your knees that you never even knew could sweat smack dab onto the floor. Mr. Yoga Instructor Man is quite patient. And quite kind. Does not notice all the sweat and that your ass is soaking wet and that there is a visible puddle on your yoga mat. Nope. He just tells you how great you're doing and that you're making wonderful adjustments in the poses. Well, in the poses you manage to actually do. Because remember every part of your body is slippery. And well, it's just not easy to hold a pose when your legs are sliding in two opposite directions and there is sweat dripping from the tip of your nose.

But guess what? I loved it. And I'm going back tomorrow. Because I'm determined to do that Tree Pose. Even if I have to superglue my ankle to my thigh!

Drew Barrymore Has Insomnia and So Do I

While I was in Vegas, late on Friday night, I snuggled into bed with W (not our president, but one of two of my bestest friends) to watch the Late Show with Conan O’Brien. Drew Barrymore was his guest. It is no secret that I have a “thing” for Drew and that she’s even on my list of people with whom I would like to sleep.

Only it seems that should Drew and I ever get the chance to share a bed, neither one of us will be getting any sleep. Drew suffers from insomnia. Insomnia of the most insufferable kind. The kind that actually keeps you awake at night. While she was on Conan she talked about how she lies in bed at night and her mind just goes nuts thinking about all the things she needs to remember to do. Write this letter. Call this person. Fax that person. "I lay in bed at night and you know after five hours I'm just ready to tear my hair out," she complains. "I close my eyes and it just never stops! I can go from thinking about, like, the over-excited weight trainer on a TV show to, like, evolution to, like, what I did yesterday or, mm gee, I'd really like some macaroni cheese! It's like my brain won't turn off. I climb the walls going please, please, please let me go to sleep! I think that my insomnia's one of the hardest things in my life." She complained about how the bags under her eyes have gotten so large that they now have their own set of luggage and while she used to be able to hide the insomnia on the “inside” now that she’s older, she has just given up and the bags under her eyes tell the whole sordid story.
So I’m lying there in bed with W listening to all of this and I start thinking about the fact that I’m studying to be a naturopath and that I actually know of some things that Drew might try to help her sleep. The show ends and we turn off the TV and then I lay there staring at the ceiling making lists in my head of all the possible “cures” that I can think of for Drew’s insomnia. And then I start obsessing about how I’m ever going to get in touch with her to let her know that I might be able to help her. Of course, then I start thinking that she’s going to think I’m some whack job and I start composing letters in my head from other people in this world whom I have helped that can serve as testimonials for Drew so she doesn’t think I’m some whack job. Before I know it, I realize that I can’t sleep. I’m too worried about Drew and her inability to sleep and how I might help her and the things I can do to make it better and what tinctures I might actually mix up myself while remembering that Drew has already been in rehab for substance abuse so I need to be careful that whatever I mix up is non-addictive and if I did how I might just send those tinctures off to her in a small care package and how could I possibly insure that she actually would receive such a package and whom do I know that might know Drew or someone who knows Drew that might be able to get me an introduction because goddess willing I can really help her get to sleep, I just know I can, even if it means I’m not going to get any sleep while I try.
Then it was 6:00 a.m. I had tossed and turned all night. Up and down and all around. Plans had been hatched. Lists had been itemized and detailed. I had reviewed to the last letter every person I knew in Hollywood that might have even the most remote possibility of a connection to Drew. I had written and re-written and re-written yet again a letter detailing the intricate Plan to Sleep for Drew Barrymore. I had made cross-referenced lists and compartmentalized them in various sections of my brain for all the various sleep inducing herbs and techniques that I already knew about and another list of the ones I needed to research. I had officially made myself completely nuts and I had not slept a wink. A single wink. The bags under my eyes were making room for the full luggage set that Drew was already sporting.

Dearest Internet,

Should any of you happen to know Drew Barrymore would you be so kind as to inform her that I have a possible cure for her insomnia. And that she should please contact me. I promise that she won’t have to get naked (unless she wants to of course). I also promise that I’m really just trying to help. Plus, I’d like to start sleeping again myself.

Many thanks,

NakedJen

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Last night was a late night spent wrapped tightly with wonderful friends and lots of laughter. Cards were played, yummy goodness was consumed, nakedness all around. We ended the evening under the stars in the hot tub chatting away wistfully about Hawaii and other warm environs. All of us need to go somewhere where the surf is high, the water is warm and the days just draw out forever. And we all need to go there soon because later just doesn't feel like an option.

We also talked about C’s recent break-up with M which threw all of us for such a loop that we weren't sure quite how to handle it, but C assured us that they're still friends and that we should feel free to include both in party plans in the future and that they've worked out their own little plan if one or the other starts to get serious about anyone else. Just so weird when a couple that felt so right suddenly becomes so wrong and the rest of the gang has to reconfigure itself to accommodate the break-up. C and M have been CandM for as long as I can remember, seriously as long as I’ve known them. How can they not be CandM anymore? It’s hard to say one without the other. And I remember when jenandgreg were no longer jenandgreg and all the pain and the angst and backbends and gymnastics all our friends went through to try and comprehend that jenandgreg were now just jen and greg. We both lost wonderful friendships in that dissolution. Actually, I think I lost the wonderful friendships because most of them “belonged” to Greg to begin with and I think he still has them. I can’t be certain since I no longer have contact with any of those people. I have lots of new friends and a very happy life, but I must admit that there’s a part of me that still mourns the loss of a lot of those very special friends. C and M are trying to avoid that. But the rest of us are still trying to adjust. And last night it was just C. Sans M. And I missed M and his silly little laugh. And I wondered when we might all sit in the hot tub together again.

Hungry. Bagel calls. Going now with Dave. Wander to the Bagelry for bagel and coffee and a slow morning (though it is afternoon) chat. ‘Tis a glorious Saturday and I have nothing planned. Nothing. Absolutely positively nothing.

Those days are the best.

Naked Friday Two Days Late

You get me. With Pink Hair. And no dreads. Taken in May. Now go get naked and enjoy that wonderful body of yours.

False Eyelashes Make All The Difference

There are those among you who seem to think that I am most stunning when I am sporting cow ears and false eyelashes.

I will be the first to tell you that I have absolutely no idea how to apply false eyelashes and that watching me try to apply false eyelashes could be the subject of a very funny Candid Camera bit. I think most of you know that I never wear make-up. Ever. So I’m not used to putting things on my eyelids or near my eye or all that jazz. I think that make-up gene that most women so obviously have (and some men, too, given how positively lovely so many transvestites manage to make themselves look) skipped me. I didn’t get the make-up gene because I have absolutely no idea how one applies it and whenever I’ve tried I end up looking like a reject from clown college. Bright reds, too much blue and a whole mess of black where it doesn’t belong seem to transform myself into some sort of mixed up Dali painting. It’s not at all pretty. Dali does a much better job.

So as I mentioned when I last posted I went to Las Vegas. And because I was in Las Vegas, I decided to don cow ears and false eyelashes. This is what one does while in Vegas. At least if you’re me. And lately I’m quite certain that I am I and no one else, so false eyelashes and cow ears it was. When in Vegas, if you’re me, you also drink copious amounts of my very famous champagne punch.

You might play a game of Life when your very best friends and discover that even though you’re a doctor, you do not make much money, make stupid choices regarding home insurance and while you may win a Nobel prize, you’re still going to loseloselose and find yourself with two hungry children and a lesbian wife to support. That is, of course, if you’re me. If you’re you, you may find that your life as an artist or an accountant pays you quite handsomely and that you make very wise choices in both stocks and insurance and you wind up at Millionaire Estates with all kinds of kudos including having been elected President of the United States. But that’s you, not me. And this blog is about me, not you, so let’s continue, shall we?

If you’re me, whom you’re not, but I am, and you find yourself for the weekend in Vegas, remember next time to bring the sunscreen. Because you always seem to forget the sunscreen and then spend more than half the day on a search for just the right sunscreen that results in your purchase of two bottles of hair color because, well, you’ve gotten tired of the lavender hair already and are ready for something “more normal”. Like blonde. Just plain old blonde from the bottle. And since you’re in Vegas and you’ve got your two best friends available to squeeze all the hair color onto your head and make sure that it soaks in to all the difficult to reach parts, well, why not? What else were you going to do on Saturday afternoon anyway? And don’t worry darling, you’ll look lovely sitting by the inflatable pool with a plastic bag on your head while you’re waiting for the hair color to bleach all that pink and purple from your poor tired roots.

Also, if you’re me and you find yourself in Vegas, remember also that things seem to go much more smoothly at dinner if you avoid all the political talk. Just don’t even bother to go there. The oysters are quite good at Morton’s. Order those again. And don’t forget the mushrooms. Wow. Amazing.

Finally, a walk to Ben and Jerry’s for ice cream just before the Emmy’s begin is a good idea. Even if it doesn’t seem so at the time, just go for it. You’ll be really glad that you did.

Nekkid Jim for a Nekkid Friday

We might have to start referring to this site as NakedJim instead of NakedJen. Seems we have another Jim who isn't afraid to share all that he is with all of us. He refers to himself as NekkidJim and has sent me a few photos to share with all of you.

NekkidJim lives in Texas, so I think he gets even more brownie points (or Clyde's Cookie Points) for being willing to bare all in the Lone Star State. He's also a regular attendee at Burning Man, as you might guess from his pictures.

I hope that all of you will join me in letting NekkidJim know that he's both a beautiful human being and a creative one, as well.

For those of you keeping score, I'm in Las Vegas again this weekend. If I get naked in any interesting places, I'll be sure to share.

One of THOSE People

I used to laugh at those people who insisted that they had to cook for Fluffy because she only liked tuna. I used to think the people who purchased special beds for Mopsy and Topsy were going a bit overboard in their love for their pets. I could never understand why Tinkerbell needed a jeweled collar or why Rigsby had to have the best rope toy.

Hello, my name is Jennifer. I have become one of those people.

Clyde had his first Feldenkrais appointment yesterday. His practitioner came to our house to visit him. I realized while she was working on him that my dog has more holistic practioners who leave phone messages for him on our answering machine than Dave and I combined. Clyde has his cranial-sacral therapist, his acupuncturist, his chiropractor, his reiki masseuse and his own psychic. And let's not forget his swim therapy that he gets at the pool. He eats only organic dog food mixed with organic chicken and vegetables that I cook for him every day. He takes organic tinctures twice daily and has a whole cabinet full of herbs and vitamins that he gets three times each day. He wears a custom leather collar and has enough leashes to share with all the other dogs in the neighborhood should they ask. He has four beds in our two bedroom house.

And even though I have become one of those people, I have to say that I wouldn't change a thing. The care and feeding of Clydesdale certainly costs me as much as most people's monthly mortgages, but the love that dog gives me with just one glance, well, I sometimes wonder if I'm even doing enough.

I can't explain it, really. He's way more than a dog. He's my heart walking around on four paws. And if that means that I now have to reside in the People Who Love Their Pets Just A Little Too Much Club, well, that's just the way it will be. Because I'm certainly not going to do any less for a dog that has given me so very very much.

Pilar's Birthday Cake

My dearest and sweetest Pilar turned 14 this past week. 14. Goodness. She also started the ninth grade. High school.

I feel old, to put it mildly.

I've known Pilar since she was 2. And still in diapers. Our lives careened into one another and we've been stuck like glue ever since. I consider her one of my very best friends. I honestly do.

It's a tradition that I make Pilar's birthday cake for her each year. Sometimes she has so many gatherings and celebrations for her birthday that my cake is just one among many that she has. In fact, this year, Pilar made her own birthday cake for her actual birthday. And when her mother called me to discuss the birthday dinner we were having tonight so she could celebrate her birthday with me and with Dave, she even told me that I was off the hook this year and did not need to make a cake.

Not make a cake? How can I not make a cake? I always make a cake. It just felt too weird not to make a cake. Honestly, it was as if I'd somehow be letting her down. Even though I knew that she'd probably just hug me and tell me that she had made her own cake this year and it was okay that I didn't make her one, I just couldn't do it.

So I told her mother I would make a small cake and bring it to dinner.

I spent today up to my eyeballs in chocolate. Literally. I had chocolate on my eyeballs at one point. Chocolate on your eyeballs, hot melted chocolate on your eyeballs, is not a spa treatment that I recommend any of the rest of you try. Ouch. Double ouch.

Pilar's birthday cake every year has been some sort of chocolate concoction. Tonight we laughed about the one year when I made her a large sheet cake that was decorated to look like a roller rink and had Mickey and Minnie Mouse skating around together. Only on the way to the roller rink where Pilar was actually having her birthday party, our friend Kaeta had been in charge of holding the cake on her lap and by the time it got to the roller rink it had transmorphed into the Loma Prieta cake of 1994. Massive earthquakes had torn the roller rink asunder and whole chunks of cake were now breaking off from the sides. Pilar's mother did her best to "glue" it back together with the copious amounts of frosting, but the damage had already been done and it was forever after referred to as "the earthquake cake". As her mom said tonight, it was a true lesson in learning to just let go.

This year's cake was a six inch 4 layer chocolate chip pound cake with chocolate mousse filling covered in bittersweet chocolate ganache. Enough chocolate to put a woman with raging PMS into a seratonin induced coma that will keep her blissful until long after her period has come and gone.

Despite the chocolate on my eyeballs, the cake did turn out pretty well. The mousse was very light and airy and not too sweet and the ganache finally hardened (I think I was being too impatient with it) and I managed not to get chocolate all over my clothes which I think is a first. Honestly. Usually I end up wearing as much of the chocolate as ends up in the dessert. Dave drove to Pilar's house in Watsonville and I held the cake aloft in my two hands so I could tip and sway along the winding roads assuring that we would not end up with an upside down cake covered in Clyde hair.

Dinner tonight was wonderful. It's been forever and a day since we've had dinner at my "family's" house. I've missed being there. Even Clyde was so glad to be "home". There were a few moments of sadness when our friend Irene learned that she had lost a dear friend in New York and we were all sad both for her and that she had to leave to go home.

Dave and I gave Pilar a set of Tarot cards for her birthday along with a gift certificate for a Tarot reading. She was very excited to have the cards and took them out right away and examined each one carefully. The Star card was a naked woman with dreadlocks. Pilar turned it towards me and said, "Look, it's you, Jen. But then, I've always known you were a star."

Isn't she the best? I just love that girl. I always will.

Clyde Keeps On Ticking

had a scary moment today at the vet with clyde. he was going in for his routine adequan injection. things were CRAZY there today, so i actually dropped him on the front lawn and went to park the car. i told him to just wait. he usually spends a good 15 minutes smelling every blade of grass anyway.

got back, not a minute later, and he was collapsed on the ground. and he couldn't get up. he was trying, but he couldn't get his rear end to work. this was the same way he presented when he had his stroke nearly two years ago. i tried to help him, he couldn't do it.

fortunately, we were AT the vet's office. so i got one of the techs to come and get him and carry him inside. where he promptly collapsed on the floor of the waiting room and i burst into tears along with two of the other vet techs because everyone there just loves him so much. he was just lying there trying to thump his tail, but he couldn't even manage that.

it was decided that we'd have a vet look at him (obviously) but his favorite vet is not in today because it's his son's first birthday. at this point, i didn't care. i called dave and he ran right over. our house is only a few blocks from the vet but i have to drive clyde these days because even that is too far for him to walk. anyway, dave got there and we sat with clyde. then we moved him into an examination room. interestingly enough, he was able to get up and with major assistance, get himself into the room. he didn't want to go into the room because he knows that means something "more serious" is going on. clyde gets most of his appointments in the waiting room. he just walks in, says hello to everyone, lies down on the rug, they come out and talk to him and give him his shot and then he leaves. so he knows if they put him in a room it means something. but we got him in the room and then craig (the doc on duty today who i really do love, as well, he's just not dr. dave) came in and gave clyde a full neurological exam and physical. he couldn't find anything wrong and attributed it to the LONG walk we took two days ago at the dog park, the HEAT we've been having lately and the fact that he's a VERY OLD DOG and these things are just going to happen. we gave him a double dose of adequan and decided to increase his deramaxx (his arthritis medication) for a few days. in other words, he will probably be just fine. and as soon as craig said that, clyde stood up and walked out. silly dog. he honestly just stood up, walked out the front door and headed to the car. as if to say, "okay, thanks for all the fuss. i'm going to be fine. let's go home now!"

and now he's downstairs sleeping. and of course, just happy old clyde. old being the operative word. he is 15 1/2 years old. very old for a labrador. but he's still going. and as long as he's happy and he's still going, well, i'll just keep taking extraordinary care of him.

A Naked Jim for Naked Friday

It's naked friday. Regular readers, by now, know exactly what that means. This week, I have a surprise for all of you. I'm not the one getting naked.

Let me introduce you to Jim. Jim is a recent visitor to the world of NakedJen and wrote to me just last week as he was preparing for the worst that Hurricane Frances might bestow upon him in Florida. He said he had stumbled across NakedJen and wanted me to know that he got a kick out of Naked Fridays and appreciated my positive attitude toward life.

He also asked if any of my regular readers ever submitted photos of themselves to share on Naked Fridays. I explained to him that to date only two others had ever been brave enough to do so. The lovely Goddess Lori and the equally lovely Goddess Simone. Brave women who were not at all afraid to bare all and share it with the Internet world.

That night, while Hurricane Frances was knocking on his door, Jim experienced his first of what I hope will be many naked Fridays (and it wasn't because gale force winds had blown away his clothes). And more importantly, he took a photograph and invited me to share it with all of you.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jim. Naked.

As Jim said, "Not very exciting just me on the porch - but well it will take some time before I dye my hair or "get naked" at the video store! I guess I will be famous. It gives me incentive to take off a few pounds."

Personally, I think Jim looks absolutely fabulous just the way he is. Don't you agree?

Okay, who is brave enough to be next? It really isn't that hard. Just take your clothes off. I know you all do that occasionally, don't you?