By My Friend Stuey

Stuey was the first face I saw at Serendipity Park, and also the first man with whom I’ve ever had a conversation while he was completely naked. I’m not going to lie. It was weird for me.

That being said, if there were ever a naked man who could make you feel comfortable, it’s Stuey.

In many ways, he’s been an inspiration to me and we’ve talked a lot about a lot of things.  He’s helped me in ways he probably doesn’t even fully understand, and I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.

If you’ve read the Chemo Chronicles, you know Stuey has been battling cancer. After a nasty bout of unsuccessful chemo, he goes into surgery today.

We tried to make light of the situation, but mostly to keep his head up and keep things positive.  Since, I’ve not been able to find much humor and now all I can think about is that he’s going to be okay.

I’m not a writer. I’m a comedian. I murder the English language. There is a writer here in the park, but it’s not me. And if you’re not touched by the words you’re about to read, then I don’t know what will touch you.

Hang in there, Stuey. All your friends are here and love you. 

The following is one in the series of great posts written by Stuart Antrim, a truly eloquent man with a heart of gold.

Monday, November 7, 2011.

It’s the first day of Cycle 3. In just three more weeks I shall be done with this nonsense and able to commence the rest of my life as a disease-free citizen, God willing.

He shuffles in, led on both arms by his wife and daughter. By her body language alone, it is clear that his wife no longer holds him in any high regard, perhaps due to years of faithfully dealing with the various illnesses and infirmities of her betrothed, the one who was SUPPOSED to be her rock. He’s very nearly deaf.

Out of politeness I try to divert my attention to Ellen on the Infusion Room TV, now that her daily dance with her audience and Gina and Nurse Towanda has been accomplished. Instead, I overhear that he is 88 years old.

He looks a little out of it, like maybe he was told that he was going on a picnic and now he can’t figure out why there’s no grass or dogs or sunshine or ants or frisbees. Everybody talks loud to him. Nurse Kim shows him to a chair as a tallish suit comes in and encroaches with her clipboard. She shouts questions at him, writing his answers on her all-important paperwork. Turns out the guy’s pretty sharp…

Clipboard: Now Mr. Little,* what’s your wife’s name?

Mr. Little: Sara.* She’s my angel. I really lucked out with that one.  Can I have a cookie?

Clipboard (totally ignoring the reasonable request for a cookie): And who is Karen?*

Mr. Little: My daughter.

Clipboard: And what is her last name?

Mr. Little: It’s Buehrle.* Now you just try to spell THAT on your paper there!

Clipboard: And is she with you today?

Mr. Little: No no no. (Pointing to the daughter who helped bring him in.) That there’s my OTHER daughter, Mary Jones, easy to spell. Now how ‘bout that cookie?

Exit Clipboard.

Mr. Little spies an old friend in the Infusion Room and his eyes light up. They begin talking, loudly of course. It seems they were business partners once upon a time, quite successful at some Gainesville furniture store endeavor. They talk about old times, and how the streets look different now. These old guys are L.O.A.D.E.D. Or if not now, at least they were, in a culture where wealth was an indicator that you had put yourself out there, taken the risks, worked your freaking ass off, and done it the hard way. Nurse Kim comes over with one of those rolling robot computers. “We’ll have your platelets ready in just a minute, Mr. Little.”

Mr. Little: Huh?

Nurse Kim (shouting): We’ll have your platelets ready in just a minute, Mr. Little!

Mr. Little: Oh, OK. Where do those come from anyway?

Nurse Kim: Where does WHAT come from?

Mr. Little: The platelets, where do you get ‘em from?

Nurse Kim: Oh, they come from people.

Mr. Little (quite alarmed): From DEAD people?

Nurse Towanda collapses behind the nurses’ station. Nurse Kim bites a hole clean through her tongue.

Nurse Kim: No! From DONORS! Live donors.

Mr. Little: Well I guess that’s OK. Can I have a cookie?

He  turns to Gina and me and says, “If you want a cookie, you have to ask.” His eyes are alert and oh so lucid.

Nurse Kim: I’m going to start your IV now, OK?

Mr. Little: OK, then can I have a cookie? **

Choking sounds are now coming from Nurse Towanda’s last known location behind the nurses’ station. Nurse Kim is also now giggling non-stop, MOSTLY on the inside.

Nurse Kim: Absolutely! If we have a cookie left over from lunch, you can certainly have it.

Mr. Little (to Nurse Kim): What does your boyfriend call you?

Nurse Kim: My HUSBAND calls me Kim, or Kimberly, actually. Now I need you to take these Tylenols.

Mr. Little: Are they chocolate-covered? I want a cookie.

Nurse Kim brings a chocolate chip cookie and Mr. Little enjoys it slowly.

Mr. Little turns to me, winks, and says, “All you have to do is ask.”

 I realize that I would love to have a cookie right now.

*Not their real names.

 **Supports picnic theory

Nudism And The Workplace

If you’ve followed my personal blog at all or know anything about me, you know that when my friends are attacked or treated unfairly, I kind of become a lunatic.

I will stop at nothing to protect them.  I will put myself in harm’s way without regard for my own safety and damn all consequences. I’m not thinking about anything else other than their protection.

In the process, the problems I create in my own life will all shake out when I’m done making you go away.

A member of the park posed an interesting question about whether or not she should tell people at work she was a nudist. Of course, since I’m a loudmouth and don’t care what anyone thinks of my choices, I happily stated that I will tell anyone. I really, really don’t care.

Then again, I freelance, work independently and am lucky to have the ability to work from home. I can afford not to give a shit, wear my heart on my sleeve and nothing else. I’m lucky. Unfortunately, not all of us are.

Another member would post a warning that co-workers can’t be trusted. That ultimately, nudism is equated by many with “swinging” and once someone knows, they’ll begin to work against you. They’ll begin looking for other reasons to dismiss you, scrutinizing each and every move you make. I hadn’t thought of that. It made me angry.

Lastly, a resident commented regarding his wife’s recent job loss, which coincidentally, happened shortly after her residence became common knowledge.  This made me froth.

First of all, what happens here is not swinging. Serendipity Park is a family park and 5-time recipient of the AANR Friendliest Park award. This is because the people are genuine, kind and welcome strangers with open arms. Strangers like me.

There’s no public sex and the displays of affection are no different than one would see at a baseball game or any other public situation. That’s number one.

Number two, personally, I know very few people who won’t admit to having skinny-dipped, having kicked around the house naked from time to time or even quite regularly. My best friend falls into this category and even he won’t visit me, though he often won’t miss an opportunity to chill out at his house in the nude. It makes me want to slap him.

His excuse? Well, he’d prefer not to hang around with other naked dudes. Fair enough.  I can see having a problem with it, and personally, yes, it is an adjustment and not the norm. However, you get used to it and before long, you don’t even notice.

I was like him. I get it. I’m not going to be that reformed, reborn person who tries to convince everyone they’re missing out on life. I’m just going to say, “Shut the hell up about mine and don’t try to hurt me,” unless you want me to put a microscope on your choices, personal life, etc. and return fire. Because I will and it won’t be pretty.

Everywhere I’ve ever worked, I’ve known people who have done some pretty questionable things;  cheating on spouses, renting hookers, having sex in backrooms or hooking up for a random encounter at a hotel while supposedly at a meeting. 

I’ve worked with men who have hit their wives, and worked with women who have hit their husbands. I’ve worked with people who cheat their customers while management turns a blind-eye because the sales are there. I’ve worked with people who show up for work drunk or high on something.  And I’ve seen all of them make it through with their jobs intact, even those who were sometimes caught.

I didn’t know these people because I worked at a place that attracts them. Every business attracts them.

We are imperfect, often deceitful and most of us have something to hide.  So when a woman is descended upon from the very people mentioned above and fired because she likes to hang out naked, I want to punch everything.

Whatever your reasons and whatever your hang-ups, that is exactly what they are: Yours. If you’re the type of person who would actively seek to damage someone because they choose (without hurting anyone) to be free in a way that you can’t understand, then, ummm… you are very much the problem.

There is a word for this: Discrimination. It’s not only morally objectionable, but in fact, fills our courts with stories of injustice.

So yeah. I’m pissed. And I’m waiting for your argument. I’m waiting for you to tell me why my friend deserves this treatment, and why her choice to live here is a valid reason for her being fired. Or why she’s less of a person, incompetent, morally questionable or someone who cannot be trusted. I already know none of these things are true.

And if by chance the people who are responsible for this (or anything like it) are reading, you suck. How you can sleep at night is beyond me, and this will come back to haunt you. Karma is a bitch. And she’s very, very real.

If you want to know more about us, who we are and my choice to live here, it might be best described in a Facebook comment to one of my status updates:

I watch a lot of survival shows to remind myself that I’m going to die when we have to eat lizards.

Neighbor’s comment:

We won’t let you starve, or have to eat lizards, you are always welcome here.

This is who my friends are, and shame on you for judging them.

Happy New Year From Serendipity Park

After spending the holidays with family and friends, I slid into the nudist park at about 9:00 pm on New Year’s Eve. Truth be told, after a couple of weeks of being on the road, Christmas shopping, re-stapling the plastic walls on my outhouse… pretty much the same thing everyone else was doing, I was very tired and it took all my will to get to the party. Though for whatever reason, I knew I needed to be there to welcome in 2012.

The thing I love about Christmas shopping is when it’s over. I love to give gifts, I just don’t like knocking people over to get them.

For example, I was watching the news and saw some people trampled in a doorway during a Black Friday sale. And I remember thinking, “I wish that doorway led into space.”

If you’re the type of person who tramples another person to save 40% on an iPod, iPad, or any other iPhenomenon, then I don’t want to know you. I think that’s fair. Because when my very safety becomes less of a concern than your ability to save like never before, I want to be as far away you from as possible. I also think that’s fair. God forbid that it’s food or water we’re after.

Scenes like this remind me of my choice to be here, because I know I’ll never see a man’s spine become the beaten path to one day savings. I know that if I’m in crisis, everyone will do their best to lift me up, not step on me to get what’s theirs. In what type of place would you rather be?

This ”naturist blog” isn’t about trying to sway public opinion about nudism. It’s simply about my own experiences living in this nudist resort.

We could argue all day long about whether or not walking around in the nude is acceptable behavior (and it totally is), but nudists or naturists get that you don’t want to see them naked and also understand how they’re largely perceived by the outside world. That’s why they do it in a controlled environment around other people who don’t care.

From time to time, one of us escapes and can be seen running across a football field or through a mall, but everyone enjoys the hell out of it. The only person who actually gets hurt is the naked guy and police get the best story ever.

As you'll notice, the two officers without their heads embedded in the man's ass cheeks seem quite amused, as am I. And I'll bet you the person on the other end of the phone is laughing uncontrollably. "Right now I'm at the game, running across the field naked and being chased by three cops!" I never get phone calls like this and I am extremely jealous.

Actually, the way I have come to understand nudism is that it has nothing to do with looking at naked people or having other people look at you naked, but everything to do with the freedom of just not giving a rat’s ass and being comfortable in your skin.

It’s not about voyeurism, exhibitionism and if any “ism” can be applied, it should be applied to the word freedom. So, freedomism. That’s what I’m calling it from now on. So there.

This nudist blog is a crazy story about a man who had everything, lost everything and is now trying to piece it all back together.

I was led to this place for a short visit. Now I live here. And even though it’s 43 degrees in my cabin right now, I’m doing what I love in a place I love to be.

I think I’m finally starting a year the right way and hope that everyone feels the same. (Meaning that you think you’re starting out the year the right way, not that you think I am. That’s kind of irrelevant. I realize some things aren’t about me.)

Happy New Year, people, and please stop crushing other people in value-driven stampedes of fury. It’s not nice.

Christmas At The Nudist Park

As many of you know, I bought a little mobile cabin on craigslist built by a man who is probably insane and I love him. This is a man who said, “I’m going to build something crazy and awesome,” and then he did it.

He installed a windmill, a solar panel, and then apparently got bored and didn’t finish any of it. This is definitely my kind of guy.

He had a vision, invested tons of time, money and then probably went on to almost build something else. I can relate because I’ve been there several times. You have an idea, it seems great at the time, you chase it, and then decide it’s not what you want or isn’t filling the hole you expect it to fill.

So we chase and we chase and we chase some more, perpetually looking for that slice of heaven, not finding it and moving on. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been there.

Now I live at a nudist resort in this man’s broken dream and I can’t help but wonder what he’s building now (I hope it’s a bigger one of these with a slide or something).

Maybe it’s a boat car, a treehouse, or a purple three-handled family gredunza. Maybe it’s a catapult, a hovercraft, or a recliner with an engine. (Basically all things I will totally buy from him when he gets bored with them.)

And when I think about his pursuit, I reflect on my own plans and how thankful I am they didn’t work out as I planned. That my failed plans have resulted in where I am today, and that’s a pretty great place.

If you had told me a year ago that I’d be living in a nudist park, I would have scoffed, perhaps even hissed at you, thrown things and insulted your parents (not really). This was not my plan, and I guarantee you the man who built my homemade box on wheels did not plan on a) it residing in a nudist park or b) me residing in it. 

Like many of my own plans, his plan also failed, but I’d like to think (and hope) his own failed plans have led him to a similar place. That a certain karmic synergy exists between us and that he’s been rewarded in kind. Because as I stare at the fog-capped mountain outside my window, I now know that my failed plans were merely steps on a path to this peaceful place. It’s a good feeling and I wish I could give it to him, and everyone, as a gift (but since I can’t, you’ll probably get an Applebee’s gift card or a snowman made from macaroni).

Merry Christmas and the Happiest New Year to my family, all my new friends, old friends and even the people I’ve not met, because I’m sure they’re reading this and it would be exceptionally rude not to include them.

Why I Live In This Nudist Resort

Many might wonder what inspires a man to move to a nudist park and live in a box. And I say, “What doesn’t?”

All one has to do is watch the news on any day or any episode of “I wish the Kardashians would explode” and it’s easy to see why I chose to be with real people who don’t give a rat’s ass what everyone else thinks, while also doing what makes them happy, and in the process, not hurting another soul.

Some people think it’s weird to want to be naked and those who partake in public nudity are weirdos. And if that’s how you feel, then you also must think George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston fall into this category.

All the above mentioned and a host of others we hold in high regard enjoy and have been linked to public nudity. So they don’t live where they can be naked all the time. That’s their problem. Not mine. 

I guess that’s not entirely true. George does have an Italian villa where celebrity skinny dipping is “a rite of passage” and it’s expected of all guests. Weirdos.

In my opinion, if you have a problem with being naked or seeing another person naked, if it turns your stomach or you’re too uptight and wrapped in your own self-hate to be naked in front of other people, I would please like you to explain why that is a good thing. I’ll give you all the words you need and have the time to hear you out. Just be prepared to lose the argument.

I understand the stigma of my choice, and I might have even felt a similar way at one time, but now that I’ve done it, that stigma… well… it pisses me off. Because my choice was to not muddy my mind with the inconsequential and be. Just be.

I’ve made the decision to get in touch with the gift I was given without squandering it on things that are just… so not important. Some might call this decision”wasted potential.”  I call it “unwasted life.”

I came here to live, to breathe, to live life and to love myself again. (I say “again” as if I ever have.) I came here to experience something real, something pure, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. 

If you think it’s easy to fight the world and go in a different direction than what all conventional logic and society tells you, then you’ve obviously never done it.

To some, I’ve thrown my hands in the air and given up, when in fact I am fighting for what’s most important in this world and what most have long forgotten.

Tonight is the annual Thanksgiving dinner at the nudist park. Tonight, I will sit with friends who were strangers not long ago. That genuinely care about me and my well-being. That offer me heaters and food and support and concern and… love. Love.

This is what I’m thankful for, and to everyone, I truly thank you for allowing this stray cat into your lives.

The Chemo Chronicles Part II: An Interview With Stuey

Stuart is now in the home stretch with only a few more weeks to go. The guy is a trooper, and is still able to accomplish more while going through this than I have… probably in my entire life.

He continues to be an inspiration and anyone going through a similar plight should use Stuart as an example of how to stay strong, upbeat and even productive. Truly amazing stuff.

Stuey: Aw shucks, Mayo, knock it off.  Use me as an example? Good God man. I’ve just had a really easy time of it, compared to most. At the start of Cycle 3 consult, Dr. Oh-My-God-She’s-Hot  said she was really pleased with how well I was handling it physically with such an intense chemo regimen, and she didn’t want to tell me beforehand how bad it could be because she didn’t want to “put ideas in my head,” as if THAT hasn’t already happened like a million times. She also said I must have tiger blood and I can’t possibly be 100% human and even though that creeps her out a little she’s powerfully intrigued and wishes things were different and she wasn’t already married. Well, she said that last part with her eyes anyway. I’m pretty sure I read that look correctly.

Mayo: If you do have tiger blood, I think we can sell it on the internet. I’ll look into the legalities. Well, we’re past the halfway point and I have to say, you look amazing. And while I’m a little disappointed that you’re not able to climb walls or hang upside and kiss hot redheads, I see that you’re now generating electricity.

Stuey: Oh my God I had a blast at the Halloween party. We should totally do it again next year. Special thanks to Nurse Nichole, who gave me the go-ahead to have not one, but TWO Sam Adams Coastal Wheats that night. Those had to be the 2 best-tasting beers I ever had. <Smack>

Mayo: I’ll bet. I usually like to have a couple of beers before I have four more. Listen, my cabin is a little under-powered and I’ve been having some heat issues. I woke up this morning and my butt cheeks were frozen together.  Since you’re generating a substantial amount of amperage now, would you mind standing outside my place and holding an extension cord for let’s say… I don’t know… April? I’m willing to pay… trade for things. Do you need a lint-roller, gum or any unopened workout DVDs?  Got a ton of those.

Stuey: I’ll check my calendar and get back to you on that. Maybe when my powers kick in I can shoot some webbing around as insulation, but I understand that stuff disintegrates after a time. No offense, but no way in hell I’m getting anywhere near your sub-zero butt cheeks, no matter how germ-free, we covered that last time, NTTAWWT. For the record, I can still hang upside down and kiss hot redheads, and at the soonest opportunity I plan to do both at the same time. Paging hot redheads! <Picks up cell phone, hits speed dial.> Kirsten, get over here! What d’ya mean you’re not a redhead anymore?  <Hangs up. Rubs stubbly bald head.>

Mayo: I can’t hang upside down at all. I’d get a headache and might throw up in her mouth, a very uncool, unspidey-like maneuver. Speaking of throwing up, one of your larger concerns going into this whole thing was the potential hurl factor, or PHF as it’s known in the medical circles I roll in. Especially considering that you chose the more intense, shorter treatment. Describe to us, without talking about puke (so I don’t puke), how you’ve been feeling, the intensity of the program, the side effects and if there’s any food you can’t eat that you’d like me to come get from you. You know, because just looking at it makes you queasy. I’m here to help in any way I can. (Nothing with coconut, please.)

Stuey: Wow. We jumped straight over fart jokes right to inverse intermouth ultra-yuck. You’re really gross, you know that? But yeah, I figured by now I’d be spending all my time either in bed, or at the throne, or low-crawling back and forth between my bed and the throne. It just hasn’t been that way for me, I’ve been very lucky with it I guess. I’m kind of worried that talking about it will piss people off who have had a hard time with it. I know I’d be pissed if I felt like total crap all the time and some clown came along saying, “Pbbbt! Nothing to it! Chemotherapy’s a complete doddle!” Yeah that would crawl all over me. But if it helps, I think the two critical keys have been making sure to stay plenty rested and listening to my cravings. Eating nearly always helps with the quease. Buddha-belly isn’t going away as hoped, but most days I feel at least 70% normal. Strangely enough my biggest craving has been for coconut, it’s in everything I eat now, so come on over any time! We’ll do chow.

Hey last time I told you about the nurses, you want to see them? They let me take a photo with them in the infusion room (cause they liked my shirt)…

        L to R: Nurse Towanda, Nurse Minty, Nurse Nichole, & Nurse Kim

Mayo: Grrrrrrrr… you weren’t kidding (eyes bulge like in cartoons, makes whooping noise, trots around box he lives in while smacking rear). They are some fine looking ladies. I want one of those shirts, too. Not the one you’re wearing. I like the one that Towanda is wearing. I would also like Kim’s stethoscope and two… make that three tongue depressors. I think it’s only fair that you try to hook that up, especially since I’m taking all that food off your hands at no charge (additional charge).  I also notice there’s a line going into your chest. So, in this picture, are the chemicals going in? Because I have to say, you look pretty relaxed.  You’re not crying, swinging wildly at everyone around you or screaming for your mom to make it end… basically all the things I would be doing. What’s it feel like and why aren’t you crying?

Stuey: Crying time was over for the day and all the patients had pretty much settled down when this was taken. But these nurses, to look at them you’d never know that one of their many daily tasks is pumping (literally, there’s a pump) toxic chemicals into my bloodstream. It goes through that tube into my awesomely cool cyborg chest port and is delivered directly into the jugular. Doesn’t hurt a bit, just a bit of a sting when they “access” the port, which means a needle goes through my chest skin into the port. No biggie. Beats the ever-loving crap out of having to get an IV every day. I’ll get you Nurse Towanda’s shirt and Nurse Kim’s stethoscope (it’ll be OK, they’re all mad about me, of course) but you’re on your on for the tongue depressors. Those things are on total lock-down. Something about the North Koreans.

But you were asking about the drugs and side effects…I have that here somewhere <throws cat from desk, shuffles papers around.> Here it is.

Bleomycin (if NOT administered with the steroid pre-med) after a 3-4 hour delay gives me the flu…chills, fever, violent shakes, dread, total loss of all super-powers, fetal curl, debilitating fatigue, hair loss. Sort of makes me feel like this:

When administered WITH the steroid pre-med, then I get mild yawning followed by grocery shopping. I love my oncology nurses, they now let me have steroids before every Bleo.

Cisplatin, the way I understand it, this was the one discovered in the 1970’s that raised the cure rate from 10% to 96%. It causes cancer cells by the skillions to commit suicide horribly and with gruesome overkill. Side effects: hair loss, mild to moderate quease, and the spirits of my ancestors don’t talk to me and tell me cool stuff about the other side or my own journey. Of course they never did before, thank God, cause that would really scare the sh** out of me, and so it’s really not fair to blame the cisplatin for this one.

Etoposide wins the prize for least favorite – chills, prodigious amplification of production quotas at the gas factory, and the occasional random unwarranted boner, all DURING infusion, mind you. After etoposide, they could give me a wheelchair and it would be self-propelled, if you catch my drift, which I do NOT recommend at all. And please do not dwell on the mental image of a blanket-wrapped bald guy zooming along in a fart-powered wheelchair with an entirely inappropriate bulge leading the way. It’s not healthy.

Mayo: Perhaps they swapped your meds with refried beans and Viagra. Probably an inside oncology joke…  “It’s time for the Etoposide (giggle).”  By the way, I love that thing that holds people’s eyes open.  I could use one of those for when I’m trying to watch the presidential debates.  Do you think you can get one on E-bay?

Stuey: I’ll check with Nurse Minty, I bet she can find you one. But I think you’re going to have to come in and let them all meet you first. And if you want to try an infusion, who knows? Maybe they won’t be really busy. I’ll hook you up myself, I like to help out. I’m an expert now. Sort of.

Mayo: That sounds awesome! Maybe we can just use that expanding foam to keep me cozy for the winter. In all seriousness and if memory serves correctly (which it almost never does,) you had a treatment today, one next Monday and you’re done (hopefully). Just in time for Thanksgiving. Awesome. I think we’ll do one final wrap-up, but until then, any thoughts you would like to leave us with?

Stuey: Just want to proffer my thanksgiving to the multitude of friends and family who have been on fire sending prayers and well wishes my way. Even your blogosphere friends, Mayo, who don’t know me from Adam’s housecat, and used to scare me a little bit but not anymore. I am utterly convinced that you all have had a profound effect on my experience, for the good. And I want to thank everyone for keeping the same spirit of healing mojo rolling for fellow Dipster cancer warriors Deena, who was just diagnosed, and Claudia, who continues her long fight. Your thoughts really do make a positive influence physically.

Thanks again for the time, Mayo! Can’t wait for the wrap-up. I have a couple more infusion room antics to tell. It’s a good thing the nurses are not humor-impaired, heh-heh.

Halloween At The Nudist Park

I haven’t been to a Halloween party in about twenty years, and that ended badly. Let’s just say I was wearing a diaper, a bonnet, holding a teddy bear, was one of four people dressed up like anything, and a giant we used to call “Grape Ape” decided he wanted to beat me up.

Of course, everyone else at the party wanted to see the legendary Grape Ape dismantle another innocent party-goer, as it was typical and almost not a party until he humiliated someone.  And what better target than the guy dressed up like a baby? It’s humiliation galore. Had I not been wearing a baby costume and the target of the potential assault, I might have been chanting “Grape Ape” along with the dozens of others. That’ll teach me.

If you’ve never been wearing a baby costume while simultaneously having a large group of people chanting for you to be bludgeoned by a Yeti, then you’re probably doing something right. I was clearly not doing whatever it is you are.

Anywho, long story short, I was able to avoid destruction at the hands of this true freak-of-nature. I’d like to say it was because once confronted, I delivered a powerful head-kick that taught the monster a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. And since I’m writing the story, that’s exactly what I’m going to say. So there. It was amazing. Best kick ever. Wish you were there.

Actual Photo taken that night

Since then, I’ve avoided baby costumes, Halloween parties and jilting women adored by large, angry men. Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Whatever. He was still in the wrong and she didn’t like him, anyway. Take that, Grape Ape.

So tonight we create new, happy Halloween party memories, and I’ll even try to limit my alcohol consumption to retain said memories.  

I don’t want to paint a picture of a bunch of people who can’t control their drinking.  That’s just me. I don’t get out much and when I do… well… at 2:00 am, you might find me asking if you can cook me breakfast at your house, which will sound something like, “Eggsausage? Mmmm biisgiit…..food.”

Amazingly, at least at this nudist resort, someone will say, “Sure! Come on up!” and feed you awesome food until you burst. (Thank you, kind, kind feeders of the drunk and obnoxious.)

Despite the cold weather, the cars are rolling in and I can already see it’s going to be a great time. I understand there’s going to be a band and this is one of the bigger events of the year.  It’s very exciting.

I just finished insulating my box in the woods with expanding foam, which is now all over my hands and has coated my skin with a sticky goo that I can’t seem to remove. The can says that’s a bad thing, and I’m sure it is.

This was on the label. It's for Halloween, right? That's what I thought, too.

Starting to get dizzy now… seeing spots and stuff.  Probably shouldn’t have tried to lick it off. Had it actually removed the sticky goo, it might have been worth it, but now I’m kind of sleepy and my hand is stuck to my tongue.

Well, I should probably go ahead and call 911 before the party. Does anyone know the number? Forget it. I’ll just call information. Does anyone have the number to information?

The Chemo Chronicles: An Interview With Stuey

A recent post talked about Stuey’s little stint in the hospital and of course we made some fun. One of the reasons we did that is that right now a positive attitude is of the utmost importance, and laughter is truly the best medicine.

What we didn’t talk about is why Stuart’s lung collapsed, which was the result of a lung biopsy. After a bout with testicular cancer at the end of last year and into the New Year, the cancer resurfaced on his lung.

The good news is that it’s the same type of cancer with a very high cure rate.  The bad news is that Stuart began his chemotherapy on September 26 and will be going through it for a total of 9 weeks.

If you know Stuart, he is a laugh-riot. He loves to smile, joke, and it encompasses his personality as much as anything. I haven’t known him for too long, but I’m betting it’s his sense of humor that’s gotten him through a lot. It will also get him through this.

If you’ve been reading my posts, you know I like to laugh and make people laugh, even regarding as serious subject matter as this. So keep in mind that what you’re about to read is not only intended to update Stuart’s loved ones on his progress, but a therapeutic exercise to help Stuart through this difficult time. (That means don’t get offended or try to beat me up. I know karate. Well, I’ve seen it done and am reasonably sure I can do it. Let that be a warning.)

I caught up with him at the park office:

Mayo: Wow, Stuey. You had eight feet of hair the last time I saw you. Now you look like Bruce Willis. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little turned on right now.

Stuey: Look Mayo, you’re the one coming down here in your bathrobe with your Dog Star* and all your accoutrements for “showering” and looking all…ahem…look, let’s just stay on opposite sides of the service counter here, eh?  Just not my bag, nor yours, NTTAWWT**.

Mayo: Agreed. So what happened to your hair?

Stuey: Buzzed it. Actually, I didn’t do it, several friends had a hand in it. Lucy cut the pony tail, and the remainder of the carnage is well-documented on the park’s Facebook page and October newsletter. It was a magical night of shearing and sharing. I hated to see it go, but at least now I will be spared waking up one morning to find it detached and curled up on my pillow like some hideous mystery road kill that people take pictures of and claim it’s a chupacabra. Plus, the pony tail is destined to become part of a high-quality wig for someone else who’s maybe having chemo and can’t rock the Bruce Willis like I can. And actually wants a grey wig. Hey Mayo, if you post this and then someone Googles “Bruce Willis chupacabra” will they find The Dip Skinny?

Mayo: That’s an excellent question and I think I can actually make that happen. I’ll add it into the keywords and see what happens. The key is in working it into conversation fluidly, like so:

So, I went to the store Bruce Willis Chupacabra and lettuce was on sale.

See how I worked that in like it’s supposed to be there? Now we just wait and watch the searches roll in. Personally, I’d like to see Bruce Willis fight a chupacabra, but I know I’m not alone in that boat.

Stuey: Certainly not. We must find a way to make it happen. <Speaks into digital recorder> Note to self: Call Demi on her cell.

Mayo: Tell her I said she looks fantastic and Ashton is too young for her, then tell her… just tell her I’m thinking about her and to call me.

I just want to say I think it’s awesome that you donated your hair to Locks of Love rather than letting it become some kind of deceased animal in your bed.

Stuey: I’ve had quite enough dead animals in my bed for this year, thank you very much.

Mayo: Maybe you should sign up for Locks of Love and you can get your own hair back styled, like maybe something in a Pippy Longstocking or Bob Marley. Or blue, because blue is nice. But I think what everyone wants to know is, three weeks into your treatment, how are you doing? Can we get you anything? You can ask for anything you want and we’re obligated to get it for you.

Stuey: Well I can always use a near-mint Spiderman #121, but don’t go to any trouble. How am I doing? At the tail end of Cycle 1, I guess I can’t complain. The chemo-brain is the worst part.

Mayo: Who couldn’t use a near mint Spiderman #121? Santa gets tired of hearing that one, I bet. Chemo brain?

Stuey: Yeah. As you know, my brain normally makes even the fastest super-computers seem sick by comparison. I’m looking at you, Cray Titan <squinty bad-ass Clint Eastwood stare.> But since my girls started pumping me full of toxins, I’m having trouble multi-tasking and staying focused. And my mind to make word things is not too also. With liberty and justice for all.

Mayo: May the force be with you. I know about that focus thing. Like, just the other day I was… man I’d love a doughnut right now. Did you say “my girls”?

Stuey: Ooh, sorry. That was freakin’ rude. You’ll edit that out, right?

Mayo Pie: Of course. I’m a professional.

Stuey: I meant, with all respect of course,   Nurse Kim and Nurse Minty and Nurse Nichole and Nurse Tiwanda. They’re mad about me.

Mayo Pie: I’m sorry, I thought you said Minty. Once I get hungry, I really can’t think of anything else.

Stuey: Yeah Minty, like Certs with retsin. <Blows hot stream of noxious chemical breath across the counter.>

Mayo: She sounds delicious.

Stuey: She’s a real live sweet-heart. I guess her parents liked the way she smelled as a baby or something. Maybe she’ll let me smell  her hair and I can form my own opinion. Kim has a quick mind for come-backs. She’s almost as big a smart-ass as I am. My kinda gal. Nichole has a spirit that would be right at home at the Dip, I bet. It’s a work in progress kind of project. Tiwanda handles files and phones and smirks a lot when “The Doctors” is on the patients’ TV and they’re talking about…breathing and stuff. All the nurses are sweet and professional. And hot. Did I mention hot?

Mayo: You didn’t mention that part and I insist on driving you to your next treatment. It’s what a friend does. Seriously, it’s no trouble at all. Minty…

Stuey: Actually Gina is handling the driver gig with expert motoring abilities. The girl’s got skills. Plus she helps me keep the nurses entertained. Annoyed, entertained. Whatever.

Mayo: Gina kicks ass. She also probably has better music and doesn’t make you sit in the backseat and rub her shoulders while you drive. I see they installed a port in your chest for injecting your treatments. It reminds me of The Matrix. Some think I watch too many movies, but I think I watch just the right amount. Can you put food in there or is it just for the medicine? I would put chocolate milk in it.

Stuey: I always wanted to be a cyborg, and now I can check that little item off the ol’ bucket list. Resistance is futile! Ha ha ha! The port saves me from getting an IV stuck in my arm every time. The best part is it’s just one small step away from killer robot, which I know is a dream of yours, Mayo. Chocolate milk? I dunno. I already asked how I should go about injecting vodka into it, but nobody was willing to instruct me. Clearly none of them have the heart of a teacher. I bet Nurse Martin in the Halls of Collapsed Lungs would show me.

Mayo: I wonder if you could hook it up to a beer bong? Huh. Well, it’s week 3 and you’re not glowing. I also noticed you don’t have any superpowers like when Spiderman was bitten by that radioactive spider. When do you think you’ll be able to climb walls? I think week 5 is a reasonable timetable. I mean, from what I’ve read in comic… medical reference guides.

Stuey: I always wanted to be Spiderman. Except he gets hurt a lot and I have a low tolerance for pain and evil super-villains.

Mayo: I am so that way about evil super-villains. But the ladies love Spidey and he loves them back, am I right? (Fist Bump)

Stuey: (Flawless Fist Bump Connection) He does have excellent tastes in women. So I turned to Nurse Kim for answers on this one. I asked her what super-powers I could expect from these treatments and without missing a beat she said, “Well, in your line of work, you don’t need X-ray vision.” Clearly a non-answer, but I might have to marry that girl. Get the husband out of the way somehow. You’ve got connections, right Mayo?

Mayo: Nurse Kim sounds awesome! And I do know some powerful people. Well, I know you. Do you count as a connection? I think if we work together we can make this thing happen. Maybe we can convince Nurse Kim’s husband to referee the fight between Bruce and El Chupacabra. The last place I would want to be is in between those two. He’ll never make it out alive.

I must say that I’m very impressed with how well you’re doing and you look great for someone who is radioactive. Your positive attitude and toughness are an inspiration to anyone going through… anything, really. You’re kicking ass and taking names, is what I’m saying. What’s your secret to maintaining a positive attitude?

Stuey: Drugs. Insane quantities of controlled substances. Of course I’m teasing <huge theatrical sideways wink.> No, seriously, (seriously, Mom, stop looking at me in my mind like that) there is no secret. What’s the alternative to having a positive attitude anyway? Being pissed off and depressed all the time, ignoring all the silver linings, and doing handfuls of pills every day? OK, maybe that last part ain’t so bad, but see what I mean? Silver linings. You tell me the glass is half empty and I say “Yeah, but it’s half empty of Crown Royal dude. Here’s to new friends.” <clink.>  And for the record I’m not radioactive, no radiation therapy now or later, just chemo, don’t want to confuse folks here. Well, no more than we already have anyway.

Mayo: Drugs. I knew it. I love those things. I mean, the legal ones, of course. The illegal ones are just wrong I’m told. It is possible that the silver linings you’re seeing are just a hallucination. If you want, I can try some and I’ll let you know if I see any. We can make an evening out of it.

Stuey: Silver linings are everywhere if you tune in to them. With the loss of my pony tail, shower time has been cut by 80%, leaving more time for sleep, for working on my secret plans for world domination, or for construction of my awesome Spider-Lair. I haven’t had to shave in a week, leaving more time yada yada. I’ve lost 12 pounds off the ol’ Buddha belly so far, in spite of the awesome fact that my incredible neighbors keep bringing me tons of incredible food. See? They’re just everywhere. Make sure you write that down as t-h-e-y-apostrophe-r-e. Just a little pet peeve of mine. You’ve never dorked it up before though, Mayo.

Mayo: I get it wrong all of the time. In fact, I had to go back and read to see if I did it, but got bored and just assumed I did. I’ve never been much of a reader.

Stuey: Nope. I would have told you if I caught you in a dork-up.

Mayo: That’s great about the weight loss and you can see the pounds are melting away. In fact, I’d say you look like a lean, mean sex machine.

Stuey: I’m well on my way to lean and mean, now give me a doughnut. Sex machine, huh? That reminds me, I’m pretty sure Nurse Nichole has been slipping a little something extra into my etopocide for her own amusement. <Leans in conspiratorially, stage whispers.> Starts with a V, ends with a “gra,” and it’s the reason I don’t wear jeans to the infusion room anymore, if you catch my drift. Muy incómodo. I guess that’s not exactly a silver lining, and I don’t know why I bring it up except that boners are intrinsically hilarious.

Mayo: Boners are hilarious! Just the word is hilarious. Watch this: Intrinsically Boner. I could say it for days and probably will. The nurses sound great and it appears you are in very good hands.

Stuey: Let me say it again. These nurses are professionals and it shows. And they seem to really like what they do. And I love to make them laugh. Giggle. Walk away quickly. Whatever. Mayo I have to get back to work, and you got a shower to take, but this has been fun once again. You’ve got to let me do this again soon. Unless you get too much hate mail about it. In the meantime, keep up the great work on the blog and keep the marketing wheels turning.

Mayo: This was definitely a lot of fun and we can do it whenever you like. I love fun things so much that I try to do them constantly. Thanks for the kind words and you keep doing exactly what you’re doing. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we’re proud of you, you are in our thoughts and prayers and we all can’t wait until you can shoot webs from your wrists and are swinging around the park. When that happens, can I have your golf cart? Stuey? Hello?

*Dogstar is both the name of Keanu Reeves’ band and the nickname of my beard. Click here for more information, though I don’t know you why you’d want to.

**Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That

A Great Weekend, I Think

I spend a lot of time alone now, and much of the time I’m quite content. However, there are some days (like today) where I crave a little social interaction. Lucky for me, today is Saturday at the nudist park.

I just popped up to the pool and as usual, several people are there enjoying a cocktail and good conversation. This time of year is a little chilly for naked, leaving me wondering what to expect on a chilly night in October.

Me: Anything happening tonight?

Stuart: Pajama party.

Score. I love pajama parties. I haven’t been to one since I was six, which makes the prospect of this one even more exciting.  What’s awesome is, I would wear pajamas everywhere if it were socially acceptable, and still do even though it’s not. That’s right.

“Socially acceptable” is just a term like “potato” or “mullet”. It’s fun to say, but you really can’t live your life by it. Probably. I don’t know. I’ve been drinking. Don’t even listen to me, but maybe you should. It’s possible I’m saying something important. Hold on a second.

As it turns out, I’m not saying anything important. I went back and read the entire thing and couldn’t find one relevant thing.  That happens when I’ve had a couple. Let me start over.

Actually, I’m missing the party and now being rude, so I have to go. Wish me luck. Do I look fat in these pajama pants? I feel fat.

The next day…

Ohhhhhhh…. (holds head in pain) The pajama party was awesome.  I drank far too much alcohol, people were feeding me shots and… smoked oysters… I think… they were delicious. I remember that much. And spinach and artichoke dip. And shots. Lots and lots of shots.

I remember most of what happened last night, or at least I think I do. If I forgot something, I wouldn’t know it. That’s how forgetting works. This much I remember.

(Opens e-mail)

It turns out I forgot something. When I staggered into the cabin after the party, I apparently got on Facebook and wished two people happy birthday, though it wasn’t their birthday. Just found that out, so if that’s the extent of my embarrassment, I can live with that. I’ve done way more embarrassing things than that while drunk, including peeing in an elevator.

The good news is that there are no elevators here, so I doubt history will get a repeat.  I haven’t received any nasty letters, eviction notices or noticed anyone hissing at me and holding their hands in the shape of a cross, which are the usual signs I’ve been drinking the night before.

All in all, I had an awesome time, even when I smashed the door into my face when I got home.

I’ll have to read the research, but I have this theory that alcohol inhibits your ability to make good decisions, react or even perform the most basic of tasks. I’ve fallen out of my bathroom, punched myself in the penis and hit myself in the face with my door. Each of these events coincide with my having consumed several drinks. Hmmmm… does this kind of stuff happen to anyone else? I think I’m onto something here. To Google we ride.

It’s All About The People

My kids are awesome. I’m sure your kids are awesome, too, but I’m very lucky that I get to speak with both of them in a very adult, honest manner and receive feedback that really helps me.  It’s great.

I was just talking to my son about living in a nudist resort, a fact that both my daughter and son think is pretty cool.  When told of my story, one of my son’s friends said, “That’s some James Bond shit right there.”

And that’s precisely what I was thinking. You remember the one where James Bond said, “Screw it, M. I’m going to run around naked forever.” It was one of my favorites. I think it was called “The Man with the Golden #$%!”

I’ve applied for my license to kill, but I’m not sure if they’re legal in Georgia or if you have to be a British super agent or if they really exist at all.  The website said they were only $50 and perfectly legitimate, so watch out enemies. The certificate is supposed to be e-mailed when my check clears.

I’m just kidding, of course. Just because I have an official license doesn’t mean I’ll use it. For $100 I got a brain surgery certification and I haven’t used it once (in this country).

I’m just trying to tell you not to worry, that’s all.

Anyway, you might not be able to tell, but I have focus issues. What I was going to tell you is what I was explaining to my son before I went off on my little tangent about being 007.

Would it be weird to be naked and only wearing a shoulder holster? The tan lines would be awful. Looks like I might just have to use my hands to dispense lethal justice. Either way. Whatever.

So, what I was telling him is why I think one of the reasons I’ve always been uncomfortable in social situations is that, in a certain respect, everyone is a little guarded.  Not everyone, maybe, but most are engaged in small talk and often not the same person they are at home or with a close loved one. You know what I’m talking about. There’s just a certain amount of discomfort and a mask most of us put on for gatherings. And what I’ve noticed when interacting with naked people, at least the naked people at Serendipity Park, is that the discomfort doesn’t seem to exist. Everyone’s an open book, and I think it has a lot to do with the fact that they’re naked.  It’s the greatest thing ever.

It’s almost as if shedding your clothes and unveiling your naked body triggers something in you, and when someone asks you a question, you just blurt out the truth. I’ve heard some of the most interesting stories and found myself telling stories that before I wouldn’t have dared telling to a group of strangers. It’s crazy, but it’s awesome.

I think that’s a major part of the appeal to me and why I ended up here for the long haul. The people are genuine and you typically know exactly what’s going on in their minds. It’s refreshing and very easy to make friends in a setting like that.

You can take my theory on this psychological phenomenon for what you think it’s worth. I’ll admit I’m not a psychologist… well, at least not a trained one. I do have a certificate that says I can provide psychotherapy, acupuncture and palm readings, but I don’t have anything published in medical journals or anything. Yet.