This is The Thing

33 invitations sent out. 10 attendees “in the flesh”, and 3 clear “virtual attendees” (who either committed to spending some part of my birthday naked, wherever they were, or who sent me a lovely photo of themselves, all dressed up in their birthday suit).

That’s how my naked birthday party went. Not bad, I’ll say — a 39% return on my invitations.

So, for those of you who have never had, or been to, a naked birthday party, you’re probably wondering — what does one do?

Play mah-jongg in the buff. Perform and listen to au-naturel live music. Get in the hot tub (well, duh). Eat ice-cream cake. Grill steaks in the Weber (carefully). Sit on the back porch in the sun. Make sure that there are no gaps in the laurel hedge.

I want to make it clear here — I cannot claim to be a “nudist” — I think that this term is reserved for braver souls than I. A real naturalist is a very committed being, in my opinion. I am just a wannabe.

Besides wanting to create a memorable 50th birthday (which I did manage to do for myself, as well as, I suspect, for a few other people), I wanted to create an opportunity for myself, and everyone that I invited, to “get over it” at some level in terms of fears/concerns/shames about the physical vehicles we are tooling around in — or at least spend some time thinking about the issues that were brought up for them as they considered whether or not to come.

In point of fact, I found that I talked and thought about the concept of hanging out in a social setting with a bunch of other people without wearing clothes way more in the weeks and days before the party than I did when I was actually at the party. Once we were all in the room and in the raw, it was, for me, not only not challenging in any way, but weirdly mundane. (No, that’s not the exactly the right phrase, I think — Oddly blase? Strangely commonplace? — how ’bout this: No big fucking deal.)

I intentionally did not announce my intention for the party until two weeks prior — I didn’t want anyone “getting in shape” or “tanning up” for this fest — and everyone I talked to who was considering coming expressed some level of challenge around the party theme.

I think that we all have things that we judge, or fear that others will judge, about our bodies. Those lumpy thighs — that place where your fifty-year old buddha belly is threatening to (or has already) flopped over your panty line — arms that are thinner than Fitness Magazie says they “ought” to be — breasts that have nurtured children and as a result, are pendant-ic rather than “perky” — a scar here, a lopsided testicle there, cellulite, long and unexpected hairs sprouting from odd places, those rolls of fat on your back (what someone I know once referred to her as her “back titties”, which cracked me up completely — I have them, by the way), eczema, acne, dicks that are too small, or too big– or parts of your body that are so “culturally desireable” that they are sure to result in a lewd and unwanted come-on when all you wanted was to sit in the hot tub and enjoy the stars without some schmuck making a pass at you. (”Nice tits,” complete strangers used to leer/sneer at me on the street.)

The thing about the “perfect” body is . . . . . either nobody has it — or –everybody does.

In speaking with people prior to the party, I was surprised when a couple of people mentioned to me that they felt challenged about coming. In terms of the cultural projection of a “good” body (if you don’t know what this cultural projection consists of, check out the magazine rack at the check-out counter), they were way closer to that projection of “perfection” than I am.

I think it’s disengenuous to say that this cultural projection doesn’t exist, or to deny that most of us spend at least some energy comparing ourselves to it in some way. I know that I do (even when my politically correct dyke-self screams that I “shouldn’t”), — and from what I heard from nearly everyone who considered coming to my party, I think they do, too.

It has been my observation that even those who have altered their bodies with implants, or lipo-suction, or self-induced starvation, or injury-inflicting workouts, (or, or, or) in order to attempt to meet this cultural projection, still don’t feel “OK” about their bodies, much less think that they have met the “perfection” goal — I base this observation on actual people I have known who have undertaken these procedures, sometimes at the risk of their lives.

So, either no-one has this “perfect” body — or everyone already has it already

Yesterday simply re-inforced my belief that the latter is full of truth.

Sitting in a room with a bunch of people that I enjoy, watching them in their native attire, I was struck again and again by the beauty that was revealed once the mask of clothing was gone.

Freed from the tugging-down of shirts, the readjustment of a biting bra-strap or waistband, they seemed, to me, to move in ways that flowed more easily with the current of true Self.

A friend told me “how thoughtful of you to send us an invite and relieve us of the need to decide what to wear!” — she also said, “And your invitation — you thought of everything — you should have been a lawyer.”

Here’s the text of my invitation – maybe you’ll see what she means:
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1. Bring with you whatever you want to eat and drink — I’m serious about this. I’m not catering and there will not be an open bar (”We’re not hosting an intergalactic kegger down here.”). If you want a beer, bring the beer you want to drink. If you want juice, or pop, or liquor, or wine, or whatever, bring that. Filtered water will be provided, and we’ll probably have a cake or some other festive sweet on hand. The grill will be going from 2 pm to 5pm, and you can barbeque (carefully) whatever you want to bring to eat if you want meat or tofu pups — you can use the microwave, fridge, whatever — and you can bring food to share if you want to. We’ll have ice, places to store cold drinks, cups and plates and utensils to eat with, etc..
2. Come anytime you want from noon to 7 pm on the 21st. Cake-cutting/or something like it will be at 3 to 4 pm. We may linger longer than 7 pm, but I reserve the right to close the party down at 7 pm if I want to. Come when you want and leave when you want — that’s up to you entirely. We will be cutting and eating cake/gathering together at 3 to 4 pm — If you want to target the party “nexus” time, this will probably be it, but you can arrive earlier or later than that if you want.
3. Come prepared to get naked and stay naked. You agree to wear clothing at the party only for the following purposes and in the following forms:
   1. A “drape” (blanket, sheet, sari, etc) for the purpose of protecting your sensitive parts from sun, wind, rain, cold, dirt, or damage (bleeding women or the incontinent may wear underpants if they are pad-ridden) — but you agree not wear clothing or wraps for the purpose of hiding, obscuring, or shielding part(s) of your body that you are ashamed of, or parts of your body that you don’t think anyone (including you) will like, or that you think will “gross someone out” or, or, or — if you choose to get back into any close-fitting clothing that is not simply to protect your body from the above-named “dangers” (or to catch your menstrual blood or manage incontinence), I may ask you to leave the party. If it’s chilly, we’ll probably have a fire in the fireplace, the house heat will be high enough to be comfortable, and we hope to have the hot-tub up and running by the 21st. If you want to warm up in the shower, you’ll be welcome to use the bathroom any time you like while you’re here.
   2. Eyeglasses, medically-necessary braces or supports, and jewelry (as long as it’s not designed to “hide” anything) are permitted. (Protective aprons during barbequing are both permitted and advised.)
   3. You agree to give me (and you’re only agreeing to give me this) at least one hug during my party — “in the nude” — that’s right, naked flesh to naked flesh! You don’t have to hug anyone else in the flesh, but you do agree to hug me in the flesh — and you agree to ask everyone else whether you can hug them naked before you do so, but I encourage naked hugging. Not for any sexually perverse reason, but because I think it’s high time we all “get over it” (shame, fear, separation, etc.
4. I had originally thought that I would just throw the invitation open, and allow anyone to come who was willing to get naked, but I have changed my mind. I am inviting you. If you want to bring someone else that has not been specifically invited, you agree to clear it with me before next Tuesday, the 20th. This is because I want to enjoy myself with people that I know I enjoy. Also, before you ask me if you can bring someone who hasn’t been specifically invited, please ask them first if they agree to the following — if they don’t, please don’t ask me to take my time considering them as a possible guest.
   1. They agree to attend in accordance with all the “agreements” I have listed above.
   2. They must at least “like” me. Please do not consider asking me to include guests who have expressed to you unresolved hostility or dislike toward me. The point of this party for me is: I want to enjoy myself with people who enjoy me, and who I enjoy.
   3. Let me know, at least 24 hours in advance (noon Tuesday 6/20), that you want to bring someone that I have not specifically invited. A good way to know whether I have specifically invited them is to ask them — “Did you get an email invitation to Carol’s 50th birthday party — the one about being naked?” I’m guessing that they’ll remember whether they got the invite or not.
   4. If you ask me if you can bring someone and I say “no”, I’m going to ask you (and ask that you encourage them) not to take this as a personal rejection of them or judgment about them as a person — it may be because I don’t enjoy them, but it may also be that I don’t know them well enough to know whether I spend my 50th with them, or because I just don’t feel like it at that moment, or it may be some intuitive thing that I can’t fully explain to you intellectually.

Those are the agreements — here are suggestions: Bring musical instruments, drums, music — whatever (probably nothing with spikes, though — and come only if you really want to participate in this experiment — (feeling nervous or scared or challenged about it is fine). We’re thinking about a session of body-painting or some other joint creative venture. Since I will be naked already, I will probably cut my hair that day (keeps the hair-bits out of your undershirt that way).

If you come to the conclusion that this just isn’t your cup of tea, or you can’t muster up the courage to do it, or you adamantly absolutely cannot support this sick, perverse activity — but you still want to see me on my actual 50th birthday, I will be having a “nudity-optional visitation period” from 11 am to noon that day. If you want to drop by, bring a gift, or make a greeting, please feel free to come over — I may, or may not, have clothes on during that time.

So, you probably read that bit about the “naked hugs” — to me, this was one of the highlights of the party — not from any prurient place at all — but from the dearness of getting to hug people I love “flesh-to-flesh”. Some of them were slightly cool to the touch, others very warm, some soft and squishy (like me), others muscular and more springy to the touch — many of these people are folks I have known for years — we have talked, cried, eaten, kvetched, and spent hours on end with one another, but until yesterday, I didn’t know what they actually felt like. It was, for me, very sweet, nurturing, and freeing.

The event that really spurred me to pick up my work with Carruch was the passing of a friend in the late 90’s. During her final days of life, she was, as always, very funny. On one day, while she was drifting in and out of communication with the people on “this side” — maybe a result of the morphine, maybe as a result of the amazing journey she was treading — she suddenly opened her eyes wide and said loudly: “I need a ticket!” I got all weird and serious and leaned into her bed, thinking she was imminently passing over (she was with us in body for several days after this), and said (in what I now imagine was probably an absurdly melodramatic voice): “Are you at a gate? What do you need a ticket for?”

“For the naked dancing!” she exclaimed.

I teased my friend’s fundamentalist Christian mom with this — 13 of us (including mom) kept vigil for the next three days, and during that time, several of us threatened to strip down and give my friend the naked dancing she had anticipated, to which her mother would give a faux-horrified “Oh no!”, throw up her hands, and laugh with us.

Yesterday, I finally did the naked dancing. I hope you’re watching, my friend — or at least off at an equally interesting party of your own.

Signing off on this, the first day of my 51st year, and flaunting my back-titties proudly.

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