A Study In Relaxation

I laid my head back on to the pedicure chair and relaxed into the simultaneous manicure-pedicure I was getting. Suuuuuch decadence should not be fully enjoyed, not really. No, my guilt must play a part in the indulgence, my nagging brain has to interject her opinion about how much money I am wasting and how I shouldn't drool on my shirt, or even relax enough to fart. But, I see people do these things all the time all over the city. And, granted I don't think I can ever get that relaxed that I can just rip a good one in a public place, there is something so ballsy, so adult, about fully enjoying oneself.

At work the other day, my work husband (The bartender I work with the most: we fit like a hand in a glove. It's a pleasure working with this guy) and I were chatting under our breath like we usually do when a particularly boring show is going on when, without warning, a loud juicy fart erupted from somewhere beyond the bar from an undisclosed location. Simultaneously my work Hubby and I broke into gales of uncontrollable laughter. Someone FARTED! And it wasn't me! And it wasn't the work husband... so who is the culprit? Don't laugh too loud, you'll disrupt the show! I felt tears well up with the effort to suppress the loud guffaws I wanted to release. I looked at the other suspects in the area of the blast. No one had moved. No one had shifted. All was still the same. They must have heard that as well though. How did they all keep their composure? Magic. Adult Magic that must come when you reach a certain age that a massive fart can't interrupt your composure.

I see people sleeping on the subway all the time. It's no big deal. However, a person openly drooling on their shirt is a sight that takes my breath away. Are they aware that they are drooling on themselves? What a wonderful thing... They are so relaxed that drool can puddle on the front of their shirts and New York City can watch them do this. I can't get that comfortable in a public place. Nope. Not happening. Recently I have been so fascinated with the idea of people passing out in the subway; that I've been filming some of the sleepers. Everyone is unique. Everyone is trying to stay upright (some more successful than others) and some even magically open their eyes to the right train station. Sleeping on a subway is an incredibly ballsy thing to do, in my opinion. And, although it won't make me break into waves on uncontrollable laughter, it still makes me pause and stare for a minute.

Are these sleepers and gas-rippers fully enjoying themselves? Are these things just a side-effect of certain conditions? Accidents that occur due to a busy life style? Who knows. But, whenever I am witness to one of these acts I feel changed. These acts are so honest, and as they occur there is no apology, only afterwards, when there is a reaction amongst the natives. And just as a disclaimer: I am not a 5 year old. I feel that children are exempt from these judgments because they can fully enjoy whatever the hell they want since they haven't fully learned what it is to have a filter in their subconscious.

So, I was leaning back into my chair while one girl worked on my toes and another filed my finger nails. I thought to these occurrences in which there is no filter. I relaxed. I didn't fart though. Nor did I fall asleep. But I forgave the guilt associated with enjoying myself and tried as hard as I could to give myself up to the relaxation. Being an adult can also mean being poised in moments of extreme comfort, too. That's magic as well.

Naked

There was a line of butt-naked people doing cartwheels on stage. One actor picked up a shake-weight and proceeded to bounce her whole body up and down. I watched agog. I'd never seen a burlesque show like this. Christmas songs were sang. Santa hats were worn, except on the other heads of the actors who wore them. I giggled when two actors picked up an actress, held her aloft in the air and a parade of the naked cast did a Limbo line underneath. Holy cow. The message I got from the show was: Yeah, we're naked. So what?

I left the theatre and went to grab a drink with my friend David who took me to see the show. My mind was buzzing. To be naked, in this country, is so... taboo? I thought back to other times I had seen live nudity. Not many instances came to mind. In fact, I've never even been to a naked beach! All those people on stage: I could clearly see how different they all were. Every person was incredibly unique in ways that were not the type of fabric they wore, or the colors of their pants or even how tight their shirts were! No: these were differences that were as honest as differences between humans could be. After the first 3 minutes of trying not to stare at pivotal points of their bodies, I became used to the idea of the nakedness. That is how we all are, all the time. I thought.

I so rarely see anyone naked though, that the only readily available reference for a naked human body is myself. But: people are naked! There are showers taken naked. And clothes are changed. And sex happens. And occasionally sleep is in the nude. The list goes on and on. But, all of those acts are so personal: done behind closed doors, and only in the company of a person that is very trustworthy at that moment.

Naked is beautiful. I thought back to the only time in my life when, surrounded by other females, I took off my bathing suit and swam and sunbathed with only my bottoms on. That was in a secluded place at 2pm during the summer. It was so freeing. So natural. I felt more woman than a tight push up bra on a hot date could make me feel.

So, I guess the biggest lesson I came away with from last night would be: Naked does not mean perverse or sexual. It can simply be a state of being. A Powerful one, too. I certainly will grab a lot of attention at just the word "Naked." And yet, as attention grabbing as that state can be, it is so hidden in this country. I don't see nudity in this country like I'd seen it in Europe. It's not part of the culture. But it's always there... Just hidden by a thin line of fabric, or a closed door or a strong religious cover.

Estro-Toster-One.

My face is now back to full capacity for everything (yay sneezing, nose blowing and nose picking!). I keep spending a few extra seconds in the bathroom at work (you know, because at work spending those few extra seconds makes a whole shift go by a little easier...) analyzing my nose for any kinks, and honestly: as a professional Natalie Allen, I can say that I notice very little difference between what I look like now and what I looked like last Halloween. It's incredible how lucky I am. I broke my nose and lived (and looked) the same after.

So... what else has been happening in my life lately? I have been around nothing but boys. Boys everywhere. I come home to boys, I go to work with boys, I hang out with Boys. Testosterone seems to be my eau du toilette. So much so, that when I agreed to begin rehearsal for a 10 minute play directed by and starring only women, I was quite taken aback at how much I have missed spending time in the company of females. Granted, I've noticed a bit of a change in myself in that social respect. Since I've been hanging with the fella's pretty exclusively I'll have no qualm with cracking a poop joke and laughing really hard at a loud fart. But, the ladies have offered a number of other great ways to enjoy life. At rehearsal earlier this week there were quite a few jokes shared about period blood and vaginas (which, I don't really have to point out are somewhat of a taboo joke subject with the Dudes). I laughed pretty hard watching one of my co-stars flop around on the floor like a rag-a-muffin over the potential idea of a hypothetical party being over. Would a guy lose his shit over a party ending? Maybe not.

Another rehearsal tomorrow with the ladies before our performance on Monday the 12th. I'm psyched about bathing myself in some positive estrogen waves before going back home to the apartment where currently 4 boys are living, eating, drinking and existing in one place, with only little old me to hold up the dirty sheets they sleep on and exclaim in my most annoying voice: "you guys are sleeping on SARS sheets! Gross! Do your laundry!" Such is my life. And a few extra seconds in the bathroom before bed to stare at my nose can really go a long way to pass a shift at home too...