This week, there will be no ice cream, cookies or cake in my kitchen. I have cut back on my 10 snacks a day and changed my morning bike route to avoid the temptation of Moonbeans. Last night, I did 200 crunches before going to bed, and for the first time in over a year, I might even find my way to the gym by the end of the week. No, I don’t have a newfound appreciation for healthy living; I am just prepping for this weekend’s Exotic Erotic party.

While it may not be on the official list of 101 things to do before graduating, going to Exotic Erotic is a must — even if it’s just for five minutes to catch a glimpse of the sketchy security guards patting down partygoers dressed only in their edible body paint.

Last year alone, there were at least five guys walking around in just their tuxedos (condoms, that is) and more than a handful of girls donning body tape in the place of clothing. Two years ago, there was the famous girl who taped her pigtails to her chest as a shirt, and of course every year at least a few people stroll over from Synergy in nothing more than their birthday suits — an all-too-familiar scene for anyone who has ever gone to Full Moon on the Quad.

The party isn’t just about what people may or may not be wearing. There is honestly no better place to strike up a conversation with the cute person from your Monday night discussion section, and if you have ever wondered what your best friend looks like naked, just make sure they are going to Exotic Erotic, and then tag along.

If you still aren’t convinced to strip down to your best pair of tighty-whiteys or your laciest, most see-through bra, remember that with the new Alcohol Policy, an increasingly strict Office of Student Activities and the conservatism of Hoover Tower casting a shadow on the campus, a party like Exotic Erotic is our only reminder that we do in fact live in the Bay Area, the Liberal Capital of the World.

Hearing about Exotic Erotic for the first time as a freshman, I had decided that it was just too raunchy for my taste. But when a friend came over with her collection of body stockings and crotch-less panties, I decided to just give it a go. By the end of the night I had been flashed over a dozen times, introduced to the guy wearing just a sock and given a ride home on the roof of a golf cart. And since you can’t get that every day sitting in a dorm lounge, I figured the night was well worth it for me.

This year promises to be equally exciting and even boasts a few guest appearances by Stanford VIPs, including members of the Stanford PD, the OSA’s Joey Greenwell, the groper and, if we’re really lucky, the mountain lion.

I’m sure that by now I have whet your appetite and you are dreaming of corsets and condoms and chains, oh my! But before you dust off your tae bo tapes and try to cram MTV’s three-month “flab to fab” regime into just a few days, consider first a trip to the mall, Savers, or your drawmates’ closets. After all, there is a very strict dress code: one article of clothing for men and two for ladies.

If in the end you decide not to spend $300 on the new leather-and-lace combo at Victoria’s Secret, remember that the mini skirt every girl wears to lecture will probably prove to be very fitting for the occasion. As for me, if my workout regime doesn’t leave me looking like J. Lo, my two items of clothing might just be jeans and a sweatshirt.

Athalie Laguerre is a junior majoring in communication and American studies, who doesn’t actually believe in diet or exercise but still plans to strip down Saturday night. E-mail her at athalie@stanford.edu.