nakedjen

Beach. METREAT. Was there something else?

Months and months ago, we hatched a plan. I think it was actually all Michelle's idea, truthfully, but when you say the word BEACH to me, it's like a spell, utter and complete, and I don't really hear anything else that you say after that and just nod my head YES.  You could ask me to then wash all your dogs, paint your bathroom, perform a variety of sex acts and maybe even eat at McDonalds, and I'd just be sitting there nodding YES.

The word BEACH is that dramatically powerful when whispered in my ear.  Now you know.

The plan was to hit the beach in Florida, Destin to be specific, and celebrate the very things that make us friends, take a break together to just hang out and be, to spend as much time as we could laughing.  Laughter, as we know, is great medicine, and it comes in big, bold, tsunami waves when you get to share them with your very best friends.

So we picked a weekend that happened to actually be free (not an easy task when one of us is a kick-ass event planner by trade and another is a press secretary to a Congressman) and then threw open the doors to invite absolutely anyone else who might want to join us.  Seriously.  Doors wide open.  If you wanted to come, you were invited. Just had to let us know so we could make sure there was a beach towel for your ass and a pillow for your head.

I'm leaving on Thursday morning to go.  I can't believe that the METREAT is actually really and truly here.  That I get to go swim in the warm ocean, play in the sand. and laugh until my guts hurt.  It's that last part, the laughing until my guts hurt that I'm looking forward to the most.

Meanwhile, today, there was a flurry of email exchanges in preparation for Thursday.  Because, well, it's this Thursday.  Of course, if someone had not reminded me, I may have missed the entire thing because let's face it, I'm not so good with calendars and dates and knowing where I am supposed to be when.  Not good at that at all.  It's the reason I'm a terrible dance partner, as I mentioned.  I will RSVP yes and then show up three days after the cotillion (of course that might be on purpose because, let's face it, I'm not exactly cotillion material!).

Anyway, here's the email I sent in response to the flurry of emails about arrivals and departures and planes and trains and automobiles.  I'm just really grateful someone other than me is totally in charge.  Otherwise we'd be having this METREAT at a bar in Salt Lake.  With some strangers.  Where we'd have to buy them all free drinks just to get them to be our friends. 

Beautiful People,

 

If Hayden gets in at 5:30, then I can wait until 5:30!  Don't rush.  Do not forget the KOMBUCHA!  Because if you forget the KOMBUCHA, I will perish and die and you will have a dead fairy on your hands that you'll have to bury in a field and then have to create some very elaborate story about how I just never ever arrived in Tennessee and you have no idea where I might have gone and how did anyone even know that I was headed in your direction?  Or you could just tell them that the KOMBUCHA killed me.  The people who are against the modern health food movement would LOVE YOU for that. Forever and ever. 

 

Anyway...

 

Michelle, who wrangles my crazy better than even I am capable of doing, has sorted out that I do arrive at 5:00.  She also has sorted out that someone needs to print out the check-in business and arrival business and perhaps, oh, I don't know, where the fuck we might be going?!?  She's so good at that stuff.  Really top notch.  You want Michelle on your team, you really do, if you're ever cast in SURVIVOR.  Make your alliance with her pronto.  Stick with her to the very end.  In fact, do not stab her in the back.  Ever.  Just let her win the million dollars.  Because, honestly, she'll do amazing things with it.  She'll make the world a much more beautiful place.  And what were you going to do with it anyway?  Save a few homeless dudes with some peanut butter sandwiches?  Now really.   No, let her win it and do great things!!

 

Where was I?  Oh, yes.  About to board a plane.  To a vacation.  A METREAT.  With all of you.  When it does land safely (let's all hope that it doesn't get stuck in a tornado and I'm whisked away to OZ...although, well, there's glitter there and we all know I love glitter...do you think I can get the ruby slippers?!?) I'll go gather my bags and just wait.  For you.  Whenever you appear it will be like magic.  A beautiful thing. 

 

I can not wait.  Can you all tell that I am in desperate need of this vacation??  Only 3 more sleeps!!

 

xo

 

Jen

P.S.  For those of you who like to come to my house and steal stuff, the dogs want you to know that they're NOT GOING.  They'll be right here and Stella has her eye on you.  And her orange frisbee.  So just forget it.  Right now.

P.P.S.  Oh, for fucks sake.  Of course I'm not just leaving the dogs to their own devices.  What kind of dog mama do you think I am?  Buddha would totally burn the house down if he had to cook dinner for the two of them!  There will also be their fab dog sitter who has a black belt in some sort of martial arts staying here with them.  For the cooking.  And, you know, to make sure no one walks off with Stella's orange frisbee.

P.P.P.S.  You're welcome to join us.  For this METREAT.  Or the next one because we're totally doing this every.single.year.  It's a way to celebrate YOU, celebrate friendship, and laugh until there's no more laughs left. 

P.P.P.P.S.  Shout out, from the bottom of my heart, to SMILE BOOKS, for their sponsorship of this METREAT.  They make beautiful photo books that can capture every important event in your life.  Like this one.  This one that is celebrating the people that make me laugh the most.

Older women can afford to agree that femininity is a charade, a matter of colored hair, ecru lace and whalebones...

My friend, W, likes to nominate me for silly awards like the person who makes the biggest fool of herself when she orders at a fast-food Drive-Thru window.  Of course, let's think about that for just one moment, shall we?  I don't eat fast-food. Like ever.  But when I happen to be driving with W across the country to move her from one house to another because I'm a good friend like that and will show up to help you move all your stuff from one house to another house when you need me to do that we inevitably end up going through at least one or two of seventy fast-food drive-thrus to get her some food.  I have no idea what it is that is so damn funny, but I can assure you that it is legendary (as far as W is concerned) and it makes her laugh so hard that soda comes out her nose and she pees her pants.  I'm quite certain that it makes all of you just wish that you could take a road-trip with me tomorrow.  

The other thing about me that makes W just laugh until my famous champagne punch flies out her nose and she pees her pants is my own attempts at the application of false eyelashes.  And any kind make-up.  W happens to be really, really excellent at make-up.  She got the make-up gene and she really knows what she's doing.  While I think she is one amazingly beautiful person, anyway, I will admit that she knows how to use make-up to enhance her natural beauty and I really do not even notice it on her. 

You'll notice, in that photo, that my false eyelashes look like a kindergarten student pasted them on a cow while blindfolded.  Well that's because that is precisely what happened.  More or less.  Just insert Nakedjen for the kindergarten student and there you go.  I am not good at this.  Not at all.  W, who is on the left, is obviously so good at it that she looks as if those sparkly beautiful long lashes sprouted right from her own eyes.  And P, who is on my right, well, she's one of those people who also is very astute with make-up.  Like a pro.  Could work at M.A.C. if she wasn't already so damn good as a nurse helping you to deliver your precious babies.  But she's also one of those natural California beauties and doesn't even have to think about make-up.  Ever. 

I shared earlier this week that I have worn make-up on Halloween.  And for festivals. 

 

Of course when I do that, it is all rather garish and obvious and slap everyone in the face with a "HERE I AM, PAY ATTENTION!" kind of over the top look. 

 

And if the rest of me is going to be naked, well, I'll continue to glitter and the make-up on all body parts, not just on my face.  Again, though, it's a really far out and special occasion.  This is not for grocery shopping.  I can only imagine how the folks at Smith's in Utah would react if I came grocery shopping in that particular get-up?  Actually, there's a part of me that is so tempted to do it just to find out.

In this exploration of make-up this week, I realized that what I really focus on far more than the rouge on my cheeks or the mascara on my lashes or even the gloss on my lips is, without a doubt, the color of my hair.

If we're going to talk about ways that I manipulate my appearance (and perhaps even obsess) we can talk about my hair.  However, I'm going to also in the same breath tell you that I'm REALLY LAZY when it comes to my hair and that it is primarily just about color for me and not about style.  I don't even own a blow dryer. Or a hair brush.  If you see me on a daily basis, you know this is absolutely true.

I also, in the gathering of photos for this blog post, came across this one and I wanted to share it because it is one particular moment where I felt compelled to wear make-up precisely because I had no hair.

 

I'm going to tell you right now that I did not do my make-up for that occasion. No way. No how.  I was in Las Vegas for the nuptials of some very good friends (and managed to fall in love myself at the same time...isn't that how it happens at weddings?) and there happened to be a M.A.C. store very near my hotel.  I stopped in there and had them create that face.  For me.  To be honest I felt little bit like a clown.  It itched! 

This feels a bit like a confessional, and I suppose that it is, but I'm going to share that meeting all those strangers for the first time and being practically bald and very single made me feel, well, less than fabulous and I thought I should DO SOMETHING to make up for it. It's true.  I really did.  I felt like I needed to almost apologize for my plain jane nearly bald boring self.  So I went to M.A.C. and had them accentuate the positive.  Or at least that is what I was hoping would happen.  Looking at that picture, I'm not exactly sure WHAT happened, to be honest?  Because I know that I actually feel much more beautiful when I'm truly naked.  I just do.  It is my most truest expression of who I am and when I express my most authentic beauty.  Go ahead and say PFFT.  But for me, it is just the way that it is.

So back to my hair.  Obviously, that trip to Las Vegas, I had none.  I also had chosen not to color it at all and that was because, in that particular moment, I was trying to decide for myself if I was going to just stop with the colors on my head.  That didn't happen.  As soon as my hair got long enough for it to really matter, well, I got bored (and I will admit that a lot of the stuff I do to my hair is derived from boredom) and changed it up.  The thing is with hair that you can do that easily.  Or at least with my hair you can do that easily.  My hair is really forgiving.  It is thick, it is curly, it will "dread" in a matter of days because of my lack of a hairbrush and it loves color.  So just as so many women enjoy using their faces as a canvas, I use my hair as one.  One continually changing canvas. 

To wit, my hair just over the last few years.  What's missing are photos of my long, red hair.  It was really pretty.  I sometimes think I should go back to that, but my favorite, obviously is PINK.  I need to go back to pink.  Which means I need to quit my job.  Because the hospital has forbidden pink.  Which is like saying that the hospital has forbidden ME, don't you think?  And that just feels like a crime.  

* This blog post is part of No Make-Up Week.  Rachel Rabbit White is encouraging the entire world to explore their own personal relationship to make-up.  I'm participating.  I think all of you should, too.  Because whether you wear make-up or not, it is still a choice and is truly a part of all our daily lives.

Wrangle My Crazy

December 29 Laugh. What was your biggest belly laugh of the year?

No question.  It happened while lying in the dark on a marshmallow bed recounting the sex-advice emails that I often receive as Nakedjen.  People, you can’t make that stuff up.  But what made the whole experience belly-laugh funny?  Hearing what Michelle just might have to say in response to all of them!  If only I could hire her to answer my emails instead of having her wrangle my crazy at Blogher.  Seriously, folks, the woman deserves her own stand-up comedy hour.  The world is a brighter, happier, shinier place because she lives here.  Every day.

Just You

December 20 New person. She came into your life and turned it upside down. He went out of his way to provide incredible customer service. Who is your unsung hero of 2009?

You are my unsung hero of 2009.  And you, too.  Also you, if you’re reading, which you probably are not since you think this blog is rather silly and it makes you blush.  I would be particularly remiss if I did not include you.  Thank you, all of you, for every ounce of love and inspiration.  It’s been such an incredible year and it wouldn’t have happened without all of you.

Love in Three Parts

WE DON'T NEED NO STINKING LEASHES

I am running, nearly out of breath, my lungs filled with the smells I love and know so well of sea water and rotting kelp.  The sand gives way beneath my feet and each step reverberates up to my heart thumping it just a little bit harder, bursting it open just a tiny bit further with joy.

I pass the fallow field.  The same field I fought so hard and diligently to keep filled with happy tail-wagging dogs and their smiling owners.  Dogs chasing balls and frisbees and each other off-leash. Dogs communing.  Dogs being dogs.

The field is empty and sorry and sad.  Trash billows against tree trunks and no one even ventures to cross.
It is a wasteland of used condoms, discarded syringe needles and taco bell wrappers.  It is a loss to everyone, but mostly to the dogs that I now pass tethered to leashes, pulling towards the ocean, longing to run free.

If I lived here, now, surely I'd be an outlaw.  My dogs don't live at the end of a leash.  Neither do I.

GOOD VIBRATIONS

I've landed on the planet Saturn for lunch.  Not truly, but it might feel that way to the casual observer.  It certainly feels that way to my two BFF's who have never eaten at this all vegan restaurant before and have agreed to meet me here for lunch because if I'm in Santa Cruz, I'm going to eat a Cowgirl Blues Salad at least once, if not twice.

I'm so happy to see them and they're both already tucked in to beers and sweet potato french fries having learned that the menu is void of any meat at all.  Courage, they said.  For the non-meat food items.  I love both of these women more than I can possibly ever express to either of them, but I do my best and we spend the entire lunch laughing loudly (oh boy do I laugh loudly) and sharing deep and emotional and heart-felt secrets of the sorts that you can only share with the friends who have known you forever and a day plus one. 

The lunch lingers and I don't want to say goodbye.  I never want to say goodbye.  I'm terrible at the goodbye.  I assure them I'll be back soon, perhaps even in two weeks and maybe we can squeeze in hugs and kisses and a hello when I'm here?  Life is so full of hellos and goodbyes and some days.  I linger on the sidewalk, not wanting them to go, knowing we have to leave Saturn and return to our lives on Earth.

Lives on Earth. Lives that don't come with batteries included.  Lives that instead of ending in goodbye ended with the three of us discussing the various best and worst attributes of twenty different kinds of vibrators in one of Santa Cruz's only adult sex toy stores.  Lives that celebrated my BFF's purchase of her very first vibrator.  Because, well, sometimes life needs some vibration.  Or a lot of vibration.  Along with the love vibrations of your very best friends.

FISH FULL OF LOVE

There's a spider web, made from white crepe paper, carefully woven on the ceiling.  The first time I ate at this sushi restaurant, I had to stand in the pouring rain, outside, waiting for one of the twelve available seats at the bar.  That was it.  The bar.  It was all that was available.  Now, the restaurant has blown through walls on both sides, sports two different sushi bars, and seating for what feels like the entire town of Santa Cruz.  It is overwhelming, but the same waitress I have always had is still here and so I don't even have to explain my allergy to avocado, I barely even have to order, I just smile and basque in the love of my friends who will always be glad to join me at a table here.  Always.

We're noisy, full of laughter, sharing stories about this, that, oh and yes, that too.  I can not believe how very blessed and loved I truly am.  I live thousands of miles away from this small hamlet by the sea in a city that has, I will admit, wrapped its tendrils around my heart is holding it gently and steady.  I am loved now in Salt Lake, and I am loving Salt Lake right back.  With all my heart.  I am also so very well loved here.  Santa Cruz wraps its arms around me, squeezes me very tight, tucks me in its bed at night, kisses my cheek and wishes me only the sweetest of dreams.  Those dreams?  They're very sweet, indeed.

The Tiny Moments Wearing Pink Skirts

Then there are those very early morning moments when the tears are caught, just there, in that space behind your throat above your chest, pushing hard against your heart, making it difficult to breathe.  The cold unforgiving Utah morning air is biting against your cheeks, the dark sky is pressing down, the stars still sparkle, but it all feels just a tad lonely, a little bit empty, the city is truly cold. 

But into your head pops the tried and true image of the gorgeous, toned and tanned half-naked hippie wearing only his flouncy pink skirt that he no doubt snatched from some sweet girl dancing near him the night before as he explains to the police officer that that pink skirt?  It's the only piece of clothing he currently has. 

Instead of tears, you surprise the silence with your own laughter, gasp for air, and thank the gods that your soul brother, NakedIan, is such a dear sweet part of your life.

25 or 6 to 4

A couple of Fridays ago, I entrusted the care and feeding of Buddha and Stella to someone other than myself (thank goddess for Alice, I'll say that right now) and I hopped on a jet plane and flitted away for what felt like, in all honesty, a few short hours with one of my very best friends in the entire universe who happens to now reside in Chicago.

We all may remember when she first lived as a hot sexy single person in Las Vegas.  And then as a hot sexy married woman in Tennessee who became the even hotter mother to two.  Now the whole family has moved to Chicago and I have to admit I think it's a good fit for all of them.

I haven't seen W in a year.  A year that was filled with some not so happy moments for me and a move for both of us, obviously.  In fact, the last time I saw her was just two weeks before the dreadful "I'm Done" Monday.  So we obviously had lots of girlfriend catching up that needed to be done.

And this is the part of the story where I'm going to positively gush about the wonder that is her husband.  He knew.  He just knew that what she needed and what I needed was a night of unadulterated special one on one girl time. 

R surprised us with a hotel room in downtown Chicago.  Not just any hotel room.  A room at the Intercontinental.  He also took the time to go there before we arrived and outfitted the room with fresh fruit (strawberries! raspberries! apples! oh my!!) and cheese (brie!!) and champagne and wine.  There was a gift card to Nordstrom.  There was a box of chocolates from Ethel M's.  There was so much love and goodness that I actually told R that I would gladly have sex with him I felt so very loved! 

W and I were just giddy with the goodness.  We drank.  We talked.  We giggled.  We drank some more.  We gabbed.  We laughed so hard that tears streamed down our cheeks. 

Eventually we decided that the Nordstrom gift card was going to possibly implode if we did not go SPEND IT RIGHT NOW THIS VERY MINUTE!!  So we walked across the street to the store and as quick as you can blink we each bought new adorable outfits (trust me, totally adorable!) and accessories even though the store was technically closed.  Remember, folks, this was Nordstrom.  They are never going to tell us we can't shop even if they are not really open! 

Flush with our fabulous purchases, we marched back across the street, dropped off our packages and then headed to one of Chicago's best Italian restaurants.  Where we may or may not have finished a complete bottle of wine between the two of us and decided that for the rest of the weekend all things that we couldn't remember would just be referred to as SHANE! 

The food was delicious, but what was even better, honestly, was just sitting there in the glow that is W and soaking all of it in.  I mean all of it.  I soaked and soaked and tried to have some of it rub off on my pale pasty Utah self. 

We eventually rolled out of there and back to our hotel where we yakked far into the night.  Let's face it, we were face to face.  We couldn't possibly let the few hours we had go to waste.  As much as we talk, there will always be more to say.  I don't think I'll ever run out of words to share with her.

The next day found us shopping some more together on Michigan Avenue (we are just the best shopping team!) and then R came and scooped us up with the two adorable mini W/R's in tow.  Gosh they've gotten so much bigger in just the year since I saw both of them last.  Bigger and more adorable!  Absolutely more adorable.

We headed to their new house in the Chicago burbs which really is so very close to downtown and spent the day just hanging and playing with the kids.  There may have been some serious rock and roll jamming going on for a while.  Eventually we all had to get ready to head to another restaurant to meet my Chicago boyfriend.

What, you all didn't know I had a Chicago boyfriend?  Of course you knew.  I haven't ever kept it a secret. 

My boyfriend, Ben, lives in Chicago.  I haven't seen him in over a year, either, and boy oh boy were we enchanted and happy to see one another.

 

Before I knew it, the dinner was over, I was hugging my boyfriend goodbye, and then it was morning, I was eating pancakes, trying on kids' boots and hopping on a plane back to Salt Lake!

WAY TOO SHORT! It's hard for me to decide who I love more?  Ben or his lovely and parents, Anna and Mike?  Honestly, the entire family just hold such special magical places in my heart.  Just as I consider W and R my family, I also consider Ben and his parents part of my family, too. 

But that's the thing about family, isn't it?  It isn't necessarily the one that you're born with, it's the one that you cultivate and collect over time.  The one that chooses you, as well.

Those people, those people who shared their lives with me for those very short hours that weekend in Chicago?

Those people are my family and I love them oh so very much.

My Angel's Name is Grace Davis!

  Marathoners! 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD.

There has been a lot of commentary over the last few days on this blog.  There has been a lot of back and forth and even some questioning about where I stand in all of this and why I haven't said anything in regard to the comments that have been made.

I have refrained from making any comment about the comments myself because, well, I consider all of you not only adults, but friends.  And I expect all of you to be able to work it out among yourselves and that you do not need me to monitor the playground.

I understand that the emotional outpouring I have shared over the last few days here on my blog has certainly provided a catalyst for many of you.  I know that there are buttons that are being pushed.  That there are those of you who have been through similar situations and have very passionate feelings or, yes, even wounds, about this very issue.  Or an issue quite similar.  Because, dear readers, let's face it.  Each of us must travel our own path and our experiences are all unique.  There may be very striking similarities, but my shoes do not fit the vast majority of you (of that I can be almost certain) and since my path is not your path, while my experience feels so very familiar and is bringing up long forgotten hurts for you, I must suffer my hurts just the same.

On Sunday, I chose to participate in the Nike Women's Marathon.  I chose to attempt to complete 26.2 miles in what I kept assuring myself was just a simple stroll around San Francisco.  Despite the horrific week I had had prior that had been composed of vomit and diarrhea and a visit to Urgent Care because I was certain I was going to off myself completely, I decided, no truthfully, I was determined to go to San Francisco and finish that marathon.  In my head, which I admit may have been warped thinking, if I didn't go and if I didn't finish, Dave won.  And I wasn't going to let Dave win. 

As my friend, Dr. Suz, and I were driving to San Francisco on Saturday afternoon, she informed me that she had emailed Grace Davis (of the comments) and asked her to come and meet us at the finish line of the race.  This was the first I had learned of this, so I immediately called Grace and asked her if it was true.  "Of course I will be there," Grace said.  "Malcolm and I will be there with the camera.  And flip flops and all kinds of things that you will need.  Do not worry.  I will be there." 

At that moment, I got quite teary.  I had Dr. Suz in my corner, but now I had Grace waiting for me at the finish.  With flip flops.  And other things I might need.  I had a support team.  I could do this.

We spent Saturday afternoon at the Nike Expo getting our "stuff and schwag" and then scouring Macy's of all places for some running socks.  I had brought running socks, but figured I needed "other" running socks.  I found some that were a tad cushier than those that I had brought and figured they would do.  With that purchase we headed over the Moscone Center for the Team In Training Pasta Party. 

Now people, let's remember that I have no eaten anything substantial since Monday when Dave dropped the bomb.  Nada.  I have been literally living on fumes and water.  I kept thinking that I must stay hydrated so I drank water and more water and more water.  At the pasta party dinner I ate pesto pasta and lots of vegetables.  And a banana.  And promptly redeposited it when we got to the hotel.  Oh well.  Surely some of it had stayed in my body, right? 

Dr. Suz and I pretty much went straight to bed since we had to be in the lobby to meet the Team in Training folks at 4:00 a.m.

3:30 a.m. came very quickly.  I awoke and was feeling okay.  Not great.  Not horrible.  I managed to eat one of my own home made power bars and then drank some home made electrolyte juice.  And I took my vitamins.  Because I always take my vitamins.  Got dressed and we headed for the lobby.

Our start was at 5:30 a.m.  It was dark.  It wasn't too cold.  But I wasn't awake.  At all.  I did quite a few sun salutations to try and warm my body up and stretch out all the muscle groups.  My body felt flexible.  It felt ready.  It felt good. 

So we started walking.  I honestly can tell you that I think I slept walked through the first five miles.  It wasn't until we hit the Presidio hill and the Elite runners were starting to pass us that I actually felt my body shift and I felt like I was "in" it.  Until then, I was somewhere way outside my body looking down.  Watching it.  Observing it.  And I was fighting nausea big time.  Every time we would stop at a port-a-potty (and we stopped quite frequently) I would throw up and then pee.  There was nothing to throw up, of course, but this biley liquid would come out and somehow I would feel just a tad better. 

When we got to Mile 6, the Presidio Hill, we were met by our coach, Denise.  She asked how we were doing?  I told her that I felt okay.  Not great, but okay.  She walked with us up the hill.  Honestly, the hill was not that bad.  All that worry over that hill?  We shouldn't have worried.  Dr. Suz and I chose to actually run down the other side of it to make up some time and that actually felt good, but soon after that I found myself needing another port-a-potty.  Vomit, pee, oh yeah.  From Mile 7 to Mile 9 seemed to take forever.  And it was on this very gentle incline.  That, in reality, was worse than the Presidio hill.  Because it fucked with your head.  It all seemed flat and easy, but you were slowly going up.  up.  up.  and you had no landmarks.  Somewhere in there my phone rang.  It was Dave!  Which was really surreal for me.  He said he was calling to wish me luck.  I really appreciated that he was doing that, but my head wasn't in a space to really connect with all of it.  The whole thing felt just surreal.

And then we were at Mile 10.  Which was at the Cliff House.  And the top of the Great Highway.  We both chose to run all the way to the bottom which was so exhilarating.  Honestly, I think this was the BEST that I felt all day.  I just ran and ran and ran.  And I cried and cried and cried.  There were real tears streaming down my face.  I'm not even sure why. 

When we reached the bottom, we headed into Golden Gate Park.  There were folks handing out bananas and I grabbed one.  I don't even like bananas, but I really felt my body needed it.  I gobbled it down, and knew right away this was a mistake.  I told Dr. Suz shortly afterwards that I needed another port-a-potty.  In my head I just kept saying, "Just breathe.  Keep breathing.  You can do this!"  I think we finally found a set of them at Mile 13.  Puke, Piss, Pray.   At this point I was begging Clyde Fairy to please help me make it.  Please.  We were only half way finished and I was not feeling well at all.

This section of the marathon really fucks with your head, too.  You go into Golden Gate Park and as you're going in, you're seeing lots of people coming out.  Lots and lots of people.  And it is really defeating.  You know all those people are in front of you.  And you have no idea how far they've already gone or how far you have to go or where on earth you're ever going to turn around.  You just have to keep going.  And going.  And going.  And eventually you get to a little horseshoe turnaround area where you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around, but instead of that being what it's all about you go right back where you just were!  It's a mind fuck, let me tell you.

Dr. Suz and I started making deals with each other.  Oh look, that mile wasn't that hard.  We just have to do 13 more of those.  We can easily do 13 more of those, right?  Right!  Of course we can.  We can do anything!!

When we exited the park, some of our teammates were standing there with signs and hugs and the most beautiful smiles two struggling marathoners could ever hope to see.  Again, I burst into tears.  My foot, at this point, was burning beyond measure.  I had developed some huge blister on top of another blister so that the entire ball of my left foot was one massive blistered mess.  But I didn't want to do anything about it, really, because I figured it would just make it hurt even more. 

Dr. Suz and I were now on the Great Highway.  Which, when we were discussing this marathon in the early days, we thought would be lovely.  A walk along the ocean.  We do that all the time in Santa Cruz.  But now, again, it just felt like torture.  Because this route was again one where you went out and came back.  So while we were just heading out there were all these others who were coming back...to the finish line.  A place we so longed to be, but we had 9 miles to go before we'd ever get there.

About this time Grace Davis called for the first time.  She asked me where we were.  We were just passing Mile 18.  She screamed and told me how awesome we were and that we were doing it, we were goddesses, we rocked!  Her enthusiasm was quite contagious and for a moment I really believed her.  Then I told her I wanted to vomit and she told me that throwing up was a good idea.  Well, okay! 

But it was shortly after I hung up the phone with Grace that I entered into a very strange place.  A parallel universe.  A Dali painting.  Words suddenly had color.  Sounds suddenly had shapes.  I could see through walls.  And everything was slipping and sliding and nothing felt as it should be. 

I mentioned to Dr. Suz that I didn't think I could make it.  That I was in a scary place.  She asked me if I needed to stretch?  Oh yes, stretch.  Perhaps if I stretched.  So I stretched.  And then found another port-a-potty and wretched.  And drank lots more water.  Always more water.  I drank and drank and drank.  Water.Water.Water. 

But with each step, life became more grueling.  I was quickly losing touch with reality.  And I knew it.  However, I did not want to let Dr. Suz down.  I certainly didn't want to let all those people who had sponsored me down.  And I didn't want to let Dave win.  I know it sounds completely irrational and stupid and insane.  I know this.  But I couldn't not finish.  I could not allow him telling me he was leaving me to be the reason I did not finish this marathon.  I.do.not.quit.  Not on my marriage, not on my dogs, not on the marathon.

We kept going.  The course took us all the way around Lake Merced.  I do not care if I ever walk around Lake Merced again.  Each mile that we walked around the Lake took progressively longer and longer.  Grace would call and ask where we were and I would tell her we had just passed Mile 20.  Then 21.  Then 22.  Then 23.  Finally, we were at Mile 24 and we were back on the Great Highway.  Going back the way we had come.  I was having to stop every twenty-five feet or so just to regain my balance and sense of reality.  The world was spinning without me and I was literally just trying to stay on it. 

And then, up ahead, there in the distance, was Grace.  Like an angel she was standing there with Malcolm the wonder dog.  And when I saw her I started sobbing like a baby.  And she started hollering like a banshee.  "THESE ARE MY FRIENDS!  CHEER FOR MY FRIENDS!!!  LOOK AT MY FRIENDS!!!!"  It was awesome.  She checked in with us and asked us what she could do to help us get over the finish line.  She gave me more water.  She held me up, literally.  And she walked with me, step by step, all the way to to the finish line all the while shouting, "CONGRATULATE JEN AND SUZ!!  THEY ARE MARATHONERS!!!" 

Our Team in Training coaches and staff were waiting for us at the finish line and when I told them I needed to go to the Medical Tent they escorted me there right away.  But Grace did not leave my side.  People, let me tell you this.  If you ever decide to do a marathon or perhaps have a baby or perhaps get married or maybe just, um, oh I don't know, throw a protest....you want GRACE DAVIS on your support team.  That woman is an angel, a goddess, a pit bull and your very best friend all rolled into one. 

The Medics were not quite sure what to do with me.  I sat down and instantly turned blue.  The doctor took my pulse and looked at me and said, "You just finished a marathon.  Your pulse is 60.  That can't be right.  Let me take it again."  He took it again.  "Um, it's 60.  Wow!  Let me take your blood pressure."  "Wow.  It's 110/70  Did you really just finish??" 

"Yes, I just finished."

"So, you've been throwing up the whole race?"

"Yes.  Actually, all week."

"Oh, so you had the flu this week?"

"Um, no, not really.  On Monday, my husband told me he was done with our marriage.  I started throwing up that night.  And I had diarrhea.  On Wednesday I went to Urgent Care because I was feeling pretty suicidal.  But I had to do this marathon.  Because if I didn't do it, then it would be because of him.  And he's already screwed enough things up.  I can't not do the marathon because of him!  So I did it.  And I was determined to finish!"

"Woah.  Um, okay.  You are one determined woman!  Can we get a sodium reading on her?"

So they tried to get a sodium reading.  But my veins had collapsed.  But they did managed to figure out that I actually had  hyponatremia and that I had actually been over-hydrating through out the marathon.  Because of my week of not eating and vomiting and diarrhea, my bodies electrolytes and sodium levels were all screwed up.  And because I was already an epilepsy patient, my brain was a tad more sensitive than the rest.

The good news, though, is that I had Grace Davis as my support team.  Really.  Once those medics were ready to release me, Grace took over and boy did she take over.  Big time.  Remember what I said about having Grace on your team?  I mean it.  You really want her on your team! 

I have never felt so loved, so cared for, so enveloped in warm cozy love as I was in the hours following the marathon when she was determined to make sure that I was okay.  She got me an ice bath to make sure my muscles didn't seize.  She got me lovely miso soup to try and help bring my body back into balance.  She got me special juice.  She got me pretzels.  She provided therapy!  She was just, in a word, a Marathon Mom.

I do not know that I will ever be able to repay her for all of her kindness on that day and the day that followed.  I do know that Grace knows how very much I love her and that there isn't anything I would not do for her in return.  Anything.at.all.

I finished the Nike Marathon on October 21, 2007.  It was not pretty.  It was not done well.  I almost killed myself in my attempt.  Marathons are excellent metaphors for life.  What I proved is that I can do it under the most extreme circumstances and cross the finish line.  And knowing that, well, I know that I can survive anything life throws my way. 

So bring it on.   

The State of Our Union

Seven years ago today, I told DearSweetDave, in front of a beautiful gathering of all our closest family and friends, that love meant wearing your seat belt when you drove your car. 

Until I met DearSweetDave I never wore my seat belt.  Ever.  It was just one of many reckless things I did in my life, but it was quite a poignant and important moment for me when I actually got in the car and reached for my seat belt and put it on not for me, but for him.  Because it was very important to him that I wear it.  I knew then that I truly loved him.

I know it sounds rather silly, a seat belt of all things, as a declaration of true love.  But there you have it.  Seven years later I still wear my seat belt when I drive.  And I'm still very much in love with DearSweetDave.

This past year of our marriage certainly has not been easy.  I haven't written the long and drawn out tomes about it here as much as I have in the past, but I will share that we've both spent a lot of time this year working on ourselves.  Individual work that has lead to some introspection and important growth.  It has also opened the doors of very valuable and naked and heartfelt conversations.  Conversations that have been so helpful and important to both of us reaching a new understanding of what "us" and our marriage truly means.

Our marriage, by our own definition, is not forever.  It is for today.  Each day when we awake, we choose to be married.  In this way, we make a conscious decision each and every day to be married.  To commit.  To love each other for one more day.  In this way, our marriage is always present. 

I have to give a sweet and loving thank you to DearSweetDave today for choosing me as his wife.  For loving me.  For being so very gentle and patient and loving with me this past year.  For loving himself enough to go deep inside and really face himself and to work so hard and diligently to live a passionate life in integrity and love.  I must also thank him deeply  for always being my biggest cheerleader, my very best friend and my greatest lover.  I can't imagine my life without him in it.  I can't imagine me without him.

I'm going to keep wearing my seatbelt.

NakedIan. Dreaming Big.

When DearSweetDave and I were married in 2000, NakedIan was one of my bridesmaids.

I wrote the following about him in our wedding program:

My brother, my best friend and my biggest cheerleader.  There is absolutely nothing that I wouldn't do for him.  When my life was its lowest he reminded me that "It's all good, Jen."  How many times has he told me that?  We've toured together, chased impossible dreams together, been stranded with nothing but the pink skirt that he was wearing...and through it all we've hugged and laughed and seen the brightest side.

So that's NakedIan.  I will share with you that he's been NakedIan for a lot longer than I've been Nakedjen.  A.lot.longer.  I will also share with you that for as long as I've known him, and that's a very long time, NakedIan has kind of been my "project".  I love the guy.  110%.  And I just really want the best for him.  So if that means helping him to find a place to live, or a job, or buying him dinner when he's a little short on cash, well, I'm always willing to do it.  However, I do believe that the best gift we can give someone is to help them to help themselves.  So my mission with NakedIan has always been to gently push him to be the very best NakedIan that he can be.  Whatever his big dream is, I'm always there to support it, but I do think it's my job to also act as a bit of a reality check for him sometimes. 

The good news is that we love each other so much that NakedIan knows, absolutely, that whatever I tell him it is coming from a genuine place of love and care.  I only want what is best for him.  Always.

In September I called NakedIan (IN SEPTEMBER!!) to ask him if I could have a standing date with him on Tuesday evenings to watch my beloved Gilmore Girls.  NakedIan has a very nice HD television set-up.  And now he happens to live very close to me after years of living in Bonny Doon.  So I thought who better to share my Gilmore Girl obsession with than my best naked bud?  But he waited until just last FRIDAY to call me back.  It's a good thing this wasn't an emergency!  I told him that I am not putting him down as the person to contact should something horrible happen to me.  He'll wait three months to call the emergency staff back and by then I'll most certainly be dead. 

Dead or not, I do have a pretty darn good offer from NakedIan to share with all of you.  It seems that he's found the best source for cheap magazines…period. There are hundreds of the most popular titles to choose from and you can get five one-year subscriptions right now for just $29.95. 

Now, here's the thing.  We at ChezNaked only like certain magazines.  And no, Playgirl and Playboy are not really among them.  We do happen to be fans of Rolling Stone.  Which we found on the list!  We also really like Vegetarian Times.  Again, it's on the list.  And I have a bit of an obsession with Vanity Fair even if they do happen to sit around for months before I actually read them.  Again, on the list!  So we ordered.  For ourselves. 

But for all of you?  The holidays are coming!  Perhaps you have family or friends that you'd rather NOT just purchase another gift card for this year?  Well, bingo!  Get them a gift that will keep coming to their mailbox ALL YEAR LONG.  They won't just thank you on Christmas morning, they'll thank you every single time that magazine appears in their mailbox. 

I'm doing it.  For NeverNakedBeth's family.  There are four of them.  They're each getting their own magazine.  And then the extra?   That one is for the WHOLE FAMILY.  That family is always such a challenge because, honestly?  They've got absolutely EVERYTHING they need.  And I mean everything. 

Anyway, I promised NakedIan I'd share his little find with all of you.  So now, I've done my duty.  And notice that I didn't wait for three months to do it.  Now all of you, go play Santa.  Even if it's just to fill your own stockings!