Single in Sandpoint: Peace, love and skinny dipping: Scarlette has a nude-in with her inner hippie
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
People need to relax. Live a little. Enjoy themselves. I've never seen so many people so uptight in my life. The economy is a hot mess, OK I get it. We all get it. Many people are desperately wondering “How did this happen to me?” The real question should be “How am I going to make it through this sh*tastic economic situation with my sanity?”
I've asked myself this very question many times in the last few months. Today, I'm going to share my secret: The answer my friends, is blowing in the wind. You need to get in touch with your inner hippie. I mean it.
Now, before I go on with this story I'm going to tell you, I'm not talking about the “modern hippies.” They suck. You know the type; they drive a hybrid, slather their bodies in patchouli oil and use their $10 recycled grocery bags while glaring at a teenage mom for buying disposable diapers.
I'm all for going green, I am. However, if you’re doing it because it’s trendy or to show much better you are then the next person, then that’s just gross. That’s not the kind of hippie I want to be.
My kind of hippie burns bras, visits communes, sells homemade wares so she can buy tickets to some sort of concert.
Some people will deny that they have an inner hippie, but we all have one. It's that part of you that gets out of the shower and dries off, then takes a nude walk to the kitchen and drinks milk straight out of the carton. It’s that part of you that knows that you never get hung-over on vacation. It’s the part of you that knows it’s OK if you talk to your dog.
The hippie is within, you just have to dig. And guess what? You can still shower and shave your pits, real hippies don't care about how you manage your personal assets; they celebrate individuality.
Doesn't that sound peaceful? Are you with me?
OK, here’s the deal, the first step in reaching your inner hippie is going to be the most painful. You’ll need to unplug – just a little. Seriously, you’re going to the grocery store, no need to update Twitter or Facebook. Trust me, no one will care. All your “friends” in cyberworld are actually vapid whores who’ll find someone else to comment on or “tweet” back to.
Your cell phone and computer are both lifeless pieces of plastic, wires and metal. They are no substitution for having real friends or real sex (or real fun). You’ll realize this when you detach yourself and find a live human to talk to (or hump).
The next step is to go somewhere and do something and tell NO ONE ABOUT IT. Don't flick your Twitter, or talk on your cell phone on the way there. Walk out your door and leave those time-sucking addictions at home.
I realized it was time for me to get a grip when my cell phone broke and I went more than 48 hours without it. I felt like someone had just reached into my skull and removed the part of the brain that controls communicating with others. There was a point when I thought I should just stay at home until the “phone” store was open.
Why? Because I didn't have a cell phone and the thought of going anywhere without it created mass anxiety. Sick I tell you, sick.
I can't speak for everyone else, but I feel like that kind of electronic dependency is a problem, and my first step to solving any problem is to make a list. If I was going to find this inner flower child, I was going to have to be proactive about it.
It was at that point when I made a “Layoff List.” It’s a 10-item list of things to do while I'm floating down the river of unemployment to a distant land called POVERTY. A 10-step “deprogram,” if you will. (You can read about my list and see pictures of the various activities on my blog: www.corporatewhoracle.com. How’s that for irony?)
The items on my list are inexpensive and simple. They range from “riding a mechanical bull” to “writing a book.”
Not every item on my list is about free love and nature, but there are definitely some “hippie approved” activities on there. Take number 6: “Go skinny dipping.” If that isn’t a way to appreciate nature and disregard The Man then I don't know what is.
Consequently I had a few problems with crossing skinny dipping off my list. One is that it normally has to be done at night; and two, it’s a lot more fun with others.
Most of my friends are not enlightened enough (yet) to disrobe and frolic in the chilly waters of Lake Pend Oreille – it was like asking a bunch of nuns to do coke off a stripper's thigh. Not every person is into shedding their false skins.
When it finally got warm enough to swim I realized I was going to have to do it alone. Just me and that damn inner hippie.
So, a couple of weeks ago I was invited to a girls’ night. No men? What a perfect time to take off all your clothes and go for a swim. The reason I’d been dragging my feet on the big dip was that I didn't really want a co-ed audience. (Many of you might be wondering what my husband thinks of this. The somewhat simple answer is that he has accepted that I do things like swim naked, but he hasn't found his hippie yet. Have I ever told you guys that he’s a saint?)
Anyway, I bar hopped all night and the pack of girls dwindled to just two. The more I drank the more I kept talking about skinny dipping. It didn't matter who was saying what, my response was always: “I’m going skinny dipping.”
It was annoying to others – I'm sure – but necessary for me. Besides, I love the sound of it. Being so rebellious was intoxicating. Remember back in the day when you could split a Boones Farm with a friend, and both of you would get a buzz? Half the buzz was from the drink, and the other was from the adrenaline high that can only be achieved when breaking rules. Sweet memories…
Finally it was way past closing and we got tossed out of the bar. It was time for me to take the plunge. My friend had her camera ready for documentation. I walked to the nearest body of water, stripped and jumped in. JUST LIKE THAT.
I did not hesitate, wondering if secret perverts were watching in the bushes. I did not worry about what people would think. I took a nice leisurely swim. AND IT FELT GREAT.
My inner hippie is so proud.
Did I really make this list while sober?
Scarlette Quille
The photographic proof:
;)
Reader Comments (6)
Ahhhh Scarlette my friend...it is like you have a tie-dyed colored soul. Groovy.
One note: I am a product of two hippies. Can I make a suggestion to the hippie parents out there? Can you *please* think really hard before you name your child "Moon Beam"? or after "Weed"?
Oh my! I just typed your web addy into my browser accidentally leaving off "corporate"... www.whoracle.com, scared the shit out of me!! I didn't think it was a good look for your site.
YOU CROSSED IT OFF!!! YAYEAH...great article. I have a lot of poser prius hippies in my hood, I live by the Co-Op. My dad always says there are no more hippies, that his generation invented them and they're not willing to gift the term to us. I say we can be just as paranoid and naked as his generation..
Yeah, the posers suck. But I met the real thing today. Her armpit hair was blowing in the wind, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't "flush" unless its number 2. And then only if there's company.
Dude, I recycle everything I can recycle, I compost all of my kitchen waste (including egg shells for Pete's sake), I am saving up to put solar panels on my house and I have an organic garden where I not only grow food, but hops for making beer too. If I smoked weed and didn't take showers, I'd be a full on hippie. Hellz yes. Thus, this post rocked my world. Well done Scarlette, well done.
Holy crap, I looked at the photo and thought, my god she has a big ass! But I clicked to enlarge the photo and realized it was your head, you cheeky thing.