The Naked Party

October 27th, 2007

I talked to a friend this afternoon who called to see if I was going to the Naked Party tonight. I’ve never been, although it’s legendary. This year it’s being held on a rustic 24-acre spread and from what I hear, in the past it’s featured naked strippers dancing in cages, men displaying their erections, partygoers getting naked, bands, booze and drugs drugs drugs. This year is supposed to top all previous parties. My friend was hoping for mushrooms, ecstasy and cocaine on top of run of the mill weed. But she’s 30 years younger than I am so she has a stamina for that kind of craziness that I lack–and that I probably never had 30 years ago. I’ve smoked some dope, had adventurous off the grid sex and thrown some scenes in my time, but I started being young too late. When you get married at 17 and have a baby at 19, you can’t sow wild oats with the same abandon of someone unencumbered and unattached. It never comes naturally–you’re always watching yourself be a wild child, which means you’re not really being a wild child. So instead of the Naked Party, I went to a sweet wedding, drank some Champagne, stopped at the grocery for Ben and Jerry’s vanilla and came home to take off my high heels and watch Saturday Night Live. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to throw myself into the fire and abandon my self-ness along with my clothes and consciousness, but instead I’ve had to struggle every day to peel away one layer at a time, fighting the process of exposing myself, being me in the naked party of life.