Sunday, April 3, 2005 | by nathan

Star Trek, The Renaissance Fair, and Leather Sex

“There’s like this whole creepy connection between Star Trek, Leather Sex, and the Renaissance Fair.” - Margaret Cho

Che weekend!

Played golf with mom on Friday afternoon. It was sunny and cold; perfetto. Of course, when I say that I “Played Golf With Mom,” what that means is that I drove a golf cart around while she played eighteen holes. I read a book and breathed in the fresh air.

Saturday I went to the Renaissance Fair with Jaye, Laurie, Todd, Steve, Adam, Brian, and Scott; what a trip. It was so huge and crowded. The Daily Oklahoman predicted that 300,000 people would visit over the weekend. That’s almost a tenth of the population of this state.

The whole experience was freaky and wonderful. I got up yesterday morning and was wiped out. Still, I compulsively, completely cleaned my room, because, well, for some reason I have the incredible ability to generate an entire Glad Bag worth of trash in two weeks. Also, I needed to wash my sheets. I can always tell when it’s time when, promptly, every ten days or so, I wake up in the throes of a horrible allergy attack.

So I did that. Peg came down and she and mom went golfing. Jaye and Laurie came by and took me to lunch at McDonald’s. This was the beginning of a problem, because, although I had all morning to work out, I didn’t. I decided that Saturday would be my day off. Fine.

(PS, I’ve lost probably 2 inches off my waist. I’m so stoked by this, but also incredibly tired. And my ass is no longer shaped or moving like that mound of pudding at a salad bar).

I decided that it was such a nice day outside that I would live it like it was my last day on Earth. The problem, of course, is that I am not remotely suited to doing things like this. Still, we got to McDonald’s and I ordered a Double Quarter-Pounder with Cheese, fries, and a real Coke. If I’m drinking Diet Coke on the last day of my life, I will be sorely disappointed. So I ordered that, with a great deal of trepidation - “Hi, I’ll have the snakes and spiders Happy Meal, and super size it.” When we got up to the window, there was some confusion as to what we ordered, but Jaye and Laurie and I were in the midst of a fairly interesting conversation and couldn’t be bothered to check the order. So I ended up with an order of six chicken nuggets and a regular Coke.

I cannot express to you the relief that washed over my body. I felt like I’d been saved from dealing myself some great harm; also, I felt like I must be crazy.

I want to be healthy and fit so badly, but I just really love food. I think, actually, that my love for food might be a bit unhealthy; I have noticed this since I started working out again. I have made it a habit to eat exactly enough to sate my hunger, but not to fill me up. And this - paradoxically - leaves me feeling energetic and lively throughout the day. When, on occasion, I flout this rule, I notice in myself this kind of crazed eagerness, this unsatable desire to eat until I literally explode. To gorge. It’s gluttony, and it’s horrible. Also, it feels great.

So I was relieved when I got the chicken nuggets. And also, when I let myself have a chicken gyro and some Dippin Dots at the Renaissance Fair, because I do not want to get a seat in Heaven next to the jazzercize instructors and Tom Ciola, inventor of Bible Bar.

We were all walking around googly-eyed at the Fair; it reminded me so much of the Oklahoma City Gay Pride Parade. One, because there were all kinds of gay people. Lesbians especially, with big dogs on leashes. Also, there were a couple people on leashes in leather. Margaret was right. I was walking around, for my part, goofing on everything on one hand - “Oh, that guy’s just a pirate!” - and taking it all in on the other. Many of the costumed people looked like members of Gwar, or extras from a Mad Max film. Others were just strange. My favorite were the belly dancers.

The beautiful thing about belly dancers - and also the thing that freaks me out about them - is how much they jiggle. They have these curvy little tummies sticking out under midriff tops, and they jiggle when they dance. This used to unnerve me a great deal, because I was always taught that your body should stop moving when you do, and, as a person whose body doesn’t, I am, at best, going to get a B in life.

These women were fully flaunting their undulating, unpredictable bellies. I stared, agape. It was all so unpredictable, so uncovered. Jiggly tummies are something we don’t talk about, because most of us have them, and most of us wish we didn’t. But there it was, and as I watched, I became kind of entranced; at first it was like watching a car wreck or a freak show. Then it was transformed - or rather, I was transformed - and it became this weird kind of beauty. I realized, again, that I am a feminist, and a Christian, and that these things teach me that we are not our bodies, and that we are REALLY not what other people think about our bodies. Especially a bunch of white men in New York who are dating cracked-out jazzercize instructors.

So I had my chicken gyro, and my two lemonades, and my Dippin’ Dots. I let myself have the occasional beer, and - God help me - I let myself keep working out, because some sick, hated part of me really does enjoy it. The difference this time, as opposed to every other time I’ve ever tried exercise in my life, is that I’m not picturing the people I hate, the people who have broken my heart or hurt my feelings, when I swim, lift, kick, whatever. I’m thinking, “You can do this. You can do this for yourself. And at the end of it, you’ll be a little jiggly still, and you can pat yourself on the tummy and say, ‘I love you anyway.’”

I do this while rolling my eyes greatly, because I sound so dumb in my head. I really enjoy swimming, and lifting, and running, at least eighty percent of the time. I love that breathless, hopeful feeling you get when you’re done. But I also love the hopeful feeling I get when I go into public looking less than fabulous, when my flaws are apparent, because then I’m hiding nothing.

Slept through church this morning. I suck. I miss Beverly and all my people at Holy Apostles. I’m at work now. Twelve minutes to go.

Health, Oklahoma