today there are 10 people who came to see the spot

Wow. I look back at my summer and I am not only impressed with my  variety in incidents survived. But I am also feeling impressive. This might be due to all of the gushing, but things seem possible these days. I’m not sure if this whole medical miraculous stuff has finally affected me. Or if I’ve just been there, done that, and need a change of scenery.

I went to the nude beach this summer. For any of you who know me, I nod yes, be impressed. Those who are close tend to know about my body issues, what I consider terrible about mine sometimes what makes me upset.

The interesting thing about the nude beach was I never really figured out how I felt about the people should be naked stuff everyone likes to use to support their free willy romping. I’m pretty sure that the people who actually should be naked would not be the ones making the return an ideal. The lack of hair we have in important places, more specifically. And for those more than blessed, I’m sorry, but hairy back rugs kind of freak me out. Not that I have dated hairless men ever, but the rug..the rug that always smells clean because the hair keeps it from actually ever touching skin? Ew YUCK.

I didn’t see so many women but was with my friend J. We ended up seeing her good friend there, a big black dude with dreds. It’s much stranger to meet someone when they’re all bare-assed with no pants than when they are sporting coverage. The strange thing I did notice, aside from the inordinate amount of guys who wore polo shirts and baseball caps with little else on, was that everyone still walked as if they were wearing clothing. I’m not sure exactly how to describe that because it was like your worst nightmare realized, but instead of just you forgetting to put your pants on and go to the office, the whole beach has somehow forgotten to put their bottoms on. There’s a certain form, a certain stiffness that fabric has…almost like an outer garment, an “outerform”. It sustains us while we are in clothing, but even then, in a beach full of scrotum and flapjack, people walked as if they had clothing. I suppose this might be a more dignified manner of existing. But I really figured everyone would be running through the wind like a Stayfree commercial, arms extended, hands out. Granted this is my expectation unrealized, but still. You would think in a beach full of corporate executives and delivery men, that they might be a little more excited to not have to walk stiffly and shake hands. I wonder if that is a nude beach faux pas…shaking hands is definitely a no no at the nude beach. But you would normally then wouldn’ t you? This is why I need to be making film. Just so I could discover new reactions based on certain stuff.

So interesting that the hottest body was my friend J, too. Lots of old men. And women. And I imagine how life has been for them, secretly wanting to run naked as Harold and Gladys who lived in the corner house with the petunias and garden gnomes.

People tend to look down only when you walk away. Otherwise the etiquette is eye contact only. I could feel a little alarm from some people I did walk by, but I am also not 5 feet tall and 500 pounds. Me and all of my flat chested railroad scarred beauty, romping around in a place which might prevent me running for president in the future. J was awesome though…we ate wraps and ran off before it got too late. So nice to snatch George’s car on the random occasion I might need it.  Sandy Hook.

I have recently fallen in love with smoking pot. I know it is not classy to admit, but I could seriously care less. I do also know that I have one more week of it…any regularity and all that. It’s like the summer after high school before you go to college. I imagine it that way given I was working all the way up until the day I ended up in the ER. To not work during the summer is nothing I have known in more than half my life. And I know how much  I should have accomplished with all of this time, but I haven’t gone back to work yet, and shit has been tough. You have got to love the $105 per week in doctor’s appointments.  I need to win the lottery right the fuck now. Or the scratch n’ match with the daily news. I am 10 grand away from financial flatitude.

And drinking, I might add, is far messier, no matter what class you think that elevates you to, enjoying a martini instead of a hit. No stomach pains,or slobbery drunkarding, just mellow cool.

Rar.

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