One of the many reasons I am blurting out posts here is the lack of naked friends in my life. Not clothes-naked (not with these babies- and this here- and that area around back, and so forth) but formal social boundary-naked. I've happily assembled a comely group of acquaintances; coffee friends, churchy friends and suchlike, but there is a distinct absence of people I can let my freak flag fly around.
My naked friend Rachael came to town yesterday for a Transiberian Orchestra gig and stayed over to work on perfecting her imitation of the band's dance moves. She sadly failed in that endeavor, but we rocked the house and put up some christmas santa lights anyway. Who else can I call dirty names without fear of offense? Who will eat cookie dough at 2am? She and I can, nay- must, spur one another to the fringe of reason and breathless laughter. It probably makes J ill, but at least he gets cookie dough for hanging in there.
I can't just go calling my current buddies the c-word without fear of permanent damage to their opinion, if you know what I mean. There are a couple of promising candidates (see photo) but we aren't quite there yet, and they're Nazarenes, so the c-word may not impress them much anyway. Wesley would be unlikely to approve.
See how Toby and I are simultaneously performing the universal hand signal for Rock Star? Rad, huh.
It sucks that the times you need a good true friend are often the exact same times you don't have the resources to make one. Moving, popping out kids, teetering on sugar addiction, fighting doldrums- these are battles no one should take on alone. I want to run free, unencumbered, strange and proud and completely, utterly, un-jigglingly nude.
Who will join me? Hippie commune metaphors all around!