Introducing the Worlds Biggest Douche

The other night, armed with cameras, phones and a notebook The Village People (my fellow residents of Newport Village Apartments) and I ventured out looking for blog material. To say we were successful in our mission would be an understatement. That night provided more material than I know how to cover. Plus, I have now added a video component, as sometimes the real thing cannot be recreated.

However, I am going to start by sharing the end of the night.

On Friday night I was informed by Bear, one of the Village People, that the first night I hung out at the hot tub he has won $100.00 based on a bet as to whether or not I was a lesbian. (To reaffirm he said I was not a lesbian).

On Saturday night I had the opportunity to meet the man with whom he made this gamble. I had the honor and the privilege of encountering Martin Disney, the Biggest Douche on the Planet.

Martin, who sometimes bets people about the time of day, wagered a game of pool with Bear. The rest of us migrated across the bar to watch the rivalry. Martin rarely spoke to me except to say, “shut the fuck up bitch.”

Offended to say the least, Martin, who is so deeply in the closet, started out as annoying yet amusing. By the third time he said it to me I wanted to punch him. Yet, he still seemed benign and when he assumed that Diane—who is engaged to marry Max--is going to wed Doc he revealed his pathetic and clueless nature.

It turned bad when he asked me a personal question that I did not feel comfortable answering. Those who know me can attest that I am not shy and rarely withhold anything. Maybe it is because he has spent much of the day telling me to, “shut the fuck up bitch” that caused me to not want to open up? Maybe it was because what he asked was simply none of his business? May it was his insistence that I answer like it was his God given right to know? In the end the why doesn’t not matter. Please click on the links below to get the rest of the story.

(Please note these links are rated R due to their adult content)


bit.ly/Martin2
The Beginning of the End

bit.ly/b5Bk3b
The Man will not Give UP

bit.ly/Martin3
The Ugly End

Also available on my You Tube Channel adyksterhouse



I ran into a neighbor yesterday and told him I met Martin. His response was, “I bet he kept telling you to shut the fuck up bitch.” It seems that everywhere Martin goes he encounters “bitches” that tells to keep quiet. I wonder how he does with the women? Yep, and the problem was me….

Am I insane but if you tell a stranger you do not wish to discuss something shouldn’t they let it go. Drop it.

I am interested in knowing your thoughts about Martin The Biggest Douche on the Planet. Do you know any one who can rival Martin?

Managing Up? And Oxymoron

Have you ever been told, “you really need to manage up?”

I used to cringe when I heard that statement, as I wasn’t really even certain what it meant. I knew “managing up” was not part of my job description. I knew that I needed to do my tasks, those things for which I was accountable. Also, in the moments it was said to me it was usually when my boss had failed to train or manage me. Which, by the way, is the function of a managers.

Managers manage. Managees are managed.

I am not going to argue about or deny the value of managing up. Employing this skill can illustrate leadership and make you indispensable. I assert that it is not something I need to do in order get my job done. If I choose to do so, I have given you a gift. It indicates I want to be considered for advancement.

I think it has become a buzz word employed by executives to manipulate and embarrass employees for questioning or not tolerating mismanagement.

One aspect of this concept is being able to anticipate desires of the person who is managing you. Isn’t their job to ancipaite and manage your needs? If I was able to supervise the wants of my boss or of my boss’s boss then shouldn’t I have their job and their pay? What happened to communicating your requests? Do you look for clairvoyant on resumes?

In my experience, when one is told, “you need to manage up,” they have become a scapegoat for the organizations inability to employ the appropriate person—their manager. I have had brilliant bosses and bad bosses. The difference, early on in the relationship the good ones outlined their needs. I knew what to do to get my job done and please them. We had a give and take relationship and I would go to the ends of the earth to satisfy them. The awful ones never communicated and were erratic at best. I cannot fulfill on my accountabilities let alone anticipate their wishes.

Many times I have been left blindsided at an outburst when the expectations I failed to meet were not meant and I was told I needed to “manage up.” How about you manage me? If I do not know, or you think I might not know, tell me what to do. If we require more people than usual for an event let me know. Don’t get angry after the fact.

Also, if my energy is focused on “managing up” how can I take care of the job I have for which I have been hired? If my job is sales and I am trying to anticipate the needs of my sales manager when do I get to sell? If my job is marketing and I am trying to anticipate the needs of my marketing manager when do I have time to market?

I am not saying, by any means that “managing up” is wrong. Just consider, are you doing it by choice or by threat.

Too Stupid for a Job. A Statement not a Question

Last week I posed the question, “too stupid to work?” Today, after a conversation with my Doctor’s office, I wonder how some people can manage to get up in the morning or navigate their way to work let alone hold down a job.

Following a hunch, I phoned the office to double check they had filled the prescription.

Good thing.

“You called in a prescription? For what?” Pause. “For Prozac?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who you spoke with?

“The person that answered the phone when I called last week Wednesday.”

“Ok. Let me check with the nurse. Did you want us to call this into the Pharmacy or where you gonna stop by the office and pick it up from us?”

“No, when I called last week I specifically stated that I wanted a three month supply via mail and provided a website per the Doctor’s instruction.”

Subtext: If I wanted a one month supply from CVS I would have phoned in the refill and saved myself this whole annoying process.

“Ok, well I have to check and see who took this.”

“Great, my insurance expires on Friday so I really need to get this taken care of.”

A few hours later, they call back. “Hi Alyssa we have the prescription. Do you have a phone number for us to call this in?”

Oy vey…

“No, I wanted a three month supply I provided a website last Wednesday.”

“Well it would be much easier if you had a number to the Pharmacy. We are not members of that website and it will take a few days.”

“I do not have a few days. My insurance ends on Friday.”

“It would be really helpful if you could just give us the number for the Pharmacy.”

“I don’t know it.” Pause. “I called this in on Wednesday of last week. Why…Can I please speak to you office manager?”

Unphased, “I will have her call you back.”

Five minutes go by.

“Hi Alyssa, this is the Doctor’s office. The website you provided is for the patient not the doctor. We tried calling the number on the site and that is for patients only too.”

“Why are you just dealing with this now? I called this in last week.”

“We just got the prescription late yesterday afternoon.”

“But, I called on Wednesday.”

“The Doctor was unavailable Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.”

Ok, I assert “unavailable” means we forgot. Please refer back to my original conversation from this morning.

I respond, “Here is what you are going to do. You are going to call Blue Cross/Blue Shield. You can find the number on my insurance card, which you made a copy of in my file. And you are going to call them and figure out how to get three months of my prescription the drug I take to for anxiety. If you had called me about this problem last week I would have been more than happy to assist you. I called in to double check on this because I didn’t trust the ability of the person who answered the phone. So you go do that and call me back to confirm that this is done.

Never did any of the people I spoke to say any variation of the word sorry. They deflected blame to the Doctor for being unavailable to me for providing the wrong website. In fact if they even alluded to an apology, or a comprehension as to why I was upset, I might not be writing this blog. Not only did they not understand they wanted me to solve their screw up.

Sadly, they didn’t posses enough pride to call Blue Cross/Blue Shield to avoid 1) looking completely incompetent and 2) irritating an already high stung patient.

In business, as in all of life, please do not make your screw up my problem. Rub two brain cells together and THINK to find a solution. Also, when you do err say you are sorry.

Too Stupid for a Job?

Some people are too stupid to deserve jobs.

Monday, while once it became evident my haircut would turn into a spa day; I attempted to cross a few items of my “To Do” list. Mainly, have my doctor order a three-month prescription by mail for my Prozac. I didn’t have any of my insurance information with me so I set out to call 411 for the number for Blue Cross Blue Shield of California.

“City and State Please?”

“Blue Cross Blue Shield of California.”

“City and State Please?”

“The State is California.”

“It would be really helpful if you knew the City. Is it Los Angeles or perhaps San Francisco?”

“I don’t know what city. It is a 1-800 number.”

At this point I resisted the temptation to say, my mail comes from a P.O. Box in Chino but I doubt they answer calls there. Truthfully I, mistakenly, thought that any BCBS of CA number would ultimately get me what I needed. Sure it may take a few transfers but that was the price I had to pay for leaving the house unprepared.

“Ok I think I found it. Is it Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield?”

“No it is Blue Cross Blue Shield of California.”

“Ok, I think I found the number for Member Services.”

“Thanks.”

A few rings later I hear a message, “Thank-You for calling Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield Member Services. If you are a Member please press….”

Ok, first of all I am not a member yet I must ask the question, “How many non-members are calling this number that they have a touch tone option?”

After hitting 0 a few thousand times I get transferred to a human.

“Hi, I think I have the wrong number. I am insured by Blue Cross Blue Shield of California.”

“Not a problem let me transfer you.”

Undaunted as I knew it would involve a transfer or two; until, alas, I get disconnected.

Luckily, I had the number sent to my phone via text. Repeat steps above and I get transferred again as well as being provided the number.

Back to the phone tree from Hell. I press the number for Pharmacy. I provide all of my pertinent information and the woman cannot find me in the system.

“I am insured by Blue Cross Blue Shield of California, I might have the wrong number.”

“Oh no, we handle Blue Cross Blue Shield of California. Let me double check the spelling of your name. PYKSP….

‘No.” I proceed to spell it slower. “D as in David, Y as in Yes….”

“No, no not mouse. House. H-O-U-S-E. Like were people live.”

Again, I tell her I think I have the wrong number. She assures me I do not.

Frustrated, and sitting in the chair to get my hair done, I say, “Can you just give me the website for me to get prescriptions by mail.”

“Oh, for that info you need to talk to our ‘Prescriptions By Mail Department.”

Transferred again.

After waiting on hold for five minutes I hang up. During my pedicure, I call again. I navigate the phone tree to be informed by a boy in the “Prescriptions by Mail Department” that I have phoned Anthem Blue Cross Blue Shield and they have no data on Blue Cross Blue Shield of California Members. Nor does he have the number for BCBS of CA…. Great 20 minutes of my life I will never get back.

I would not be so irritated except I stated at least three times that I didn’t think I had the right number.

The following day, I called the correct number and got the information I needed with ease. I never have a problem when I ring my actual insurance provider.

I then call my doctor’s office.

On hold, again.

“Hi, I am calling because the doctor told me when I had a website for my prescriptions by mail you could fill it that way. I am calling because I need a script refilled and I’d like a three months allotment.”

I then commence to spell my name a few times.

“What do you need refilled?”

“Prozac.”

“Ok, so you need your Prozac refilled?”

“Uh…yes that is what I need.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good and I want to make sure we do prescriptions by mail so I can get three months worth.”

“Do you know how many milligrams a day you take?”

I answer the question but really shouldn’t that be in my medical chart?

“40. So do you want that website to order by mail?”

Ok, so did you want us to call this into CVS?”

If I wanted to pick up one month’s worth from CVS I would have phoned in the refill myself. Nor would I have said AT LEAST three times that I wanted to order by mail.

I hung up the phone and called my mom when I began the conversation with, “Some people are just too stupid to have jobs.”

I know this may seem harsh. I also want you to know that it once took me 20 minutes to get a script called into my pharmacy with the same bimbo. I believe in being nice to people in customer service; however, when your job is on the phones and either do not listen or know the scope of your company it is unacceptable. Don’t waste my time and I will not waste yours.

Recently, I have also had some great customer service from Verizon and Staples. That does not make for a good blog.

Let me know your thoughts? Am I unreasonable or are there people too stupid to be employed?

The Sacred Art of Self Nurturing

This weekend I participated in the workshop Celebrating Women, Regarding Ecstasy and Power, informally known as the Queen Course; a follow up to the Celebrating Men, Satisfying Women course I took at the end of March.

As you may recall from my blog, “I am not the Better Man now What?” I have been grappling with what does it mean to be feminine. This workshop provided, if not absolute answers, a direction to turn on my new journey.

As with several courses, various topics were covered but what has stuck with me, as well as alter my life, was in the realm of meeting needs. Women have many requirements which we frequently neglect as we take care of ourselves after everyone and everything. So much so that we may not even know what we need. Ladies, think about it, when was the last time you thought about or articulated your needs?

Simple things like sleep, water, exercise and eating will get ignored in the day to day of life. Men, you may be surprised to know that women wait until the very last possible minute to take care of primary things like lunch or going to the bathroom.

However, if we are not taking attending to our needs we are of no use to anyone, Men, given their genetic make up, can run on fumes; however, this does not work for women. Case in point, after a year and a half of giving all of myself to my job while ignoring diet rest I found myself extremely anxious. The first thing I altered what my sleep habits. I demanded of myself and my environment that I got eight hours of sleep a night. Almost immediately I found myself calm and centered. I now know I am absolutely useless if I do not slumber for 7 hours and 45 minutes a night.

What shocked me most in the workshop was how much I neglect my grooming needs. As I have previously stated, I used to work between 70-80 hours a week. I was lucky if I got laundry done let alone haircuts, color, brow waxes and the like. Things that I was ritualistic about fell by the wayside. What was always a 6-week recurrence became a 12-week luxury that sometime occurred in the break room of my workplace. After every haircut I would thank my Hairdresser, Jill Vaughan (Salon Ambiance in Huntington Beach, CA), for making me look pretty again.

Forget about any skin care regime or other forms of pampering. I had results to produce.

So yesterday, following the workshop, I joined friend, Holly Noble, to a Mary Kay meeting. She informed me upfront that I was not required to buy anything or became an associate; however, I must be willing to have fun and put on cosmetics. Not a problem. I sat and learned that Mary Kay’s facial scrub and moistening lotion are cheaper than the Neutrogena products I buy at the drug store. I refreshed myself on the makeup lessons I learned when I hosted a Mary Kay Party when I was 19. I found out how long it takes to get a car and that Mary Kay. At the completion of the evening, I was given the opportunity to give a 30 second advertisement on a product of my choice. I spoke of Celebrating Men, Satisfying Women. I then went on to purchase the Miracle Package—my first skin care regime of my adult life. Suddenly, I found myself taking care of a need.

Followed by today, I went to Salon/Spa Ambiance for a simple haircut. I arrived at 11:40. I left at 4:45. What started out as a shampoo and a trim ended up being a pedicure, hour-long massage, brow wax, and mini facial. Said another way, I inadvertently enjoyed a spa day. For the first time in my life.

Hair and pedicures are requirements the rest was pure nurturing.

First, the massage. I tried to remember the last time I had one…but I cannot. It has been at least five years. What I can recall is I was such a control freak back them that it was more like a resistance exercise with a personal trainer. Today, I reveled in the breakthrough of being able to surrender my body to the hands of the therapist. Only once, when she was working my right triceps did she have to tell me to relax. In short, it was pure bliss.

Now the facial, I have only ever had one before today. Unlike, the massage, I remember it vividly. Summer 1996 at the now defunct Grand Experience Day Spa (located off of Michigan Avenue on Delaware) performed by Ewa the Polish Estition, she gave me an acne facial which resulted in every pour on my face swelling. Some people refer to facials as relaxing…me not so much. I never ever ever wanted to pay for that again.

I avoid brow waxes for one reason; I do not want them to tell me I need a facial. They might as well say, “you have acne.” A fact of which I am painfully aware and do not need to pay someone to tell me. Yet, today when Katherine spoke to me about getting one I was inspired. Like she might be able to help. I took a leap of faith in an area of life where I had been resigned (my skin) for the second time in 24 hours. After all I had invested in the Miracle Package I it owed Mary Kay (and Holly) to provide a clean canvas for it to perform.

Prior to the Queen Course I would never have given myself the gift of a spa day. Too much time, too much money and too indulgent would have been my reasons. However, now I know that not only am I worth it; moreover, I am nothing without having my grooming needs met.

So a BIG shout out to Jill Vaughan, Sopi and everyone at Salon/Spa Ambiance for providing this Queen with exactly what she needed. As well as to the Unstoppable Holly Noble at Mary Kay. You gals’ rock!

Ladies, where can you see you are neglecting your needs? Men, I know you could read this as a “girl thing” yet for the sake of your mothers, sisters, wives, girlfriends and daughters encourage a woman to pamper herself and see what opens up. You might be surprised.

In the meantime time please check out the following:

www.marykay.com/hnoble


www.understandingmen.com
Affiliate ID 429912

http://www.salonambiance.biz

Fodder for my own Blog

I know I frequently tell tales of the characters and mishaps at the pool and now to prove that I can take as well as I can dish I am going to write about myself because if I witnessed it I would blog about it. I am fair game.

The hot tub at my apartment complex is my new hangout. For those who know what I am talking about the Jacuzzi is my new “living room.” For those who do not know, think CHEERS but BYOB.

Sitting in bubbling hot water, we drink and share stories. Cocktailing in the hot tub requires skill. You need to manage the cooler, opener, towel and if inclined cigarettes.

The quality of character elevates in the late night spa. We have PhD’s and multiple master’s degrees. One friend refers to me as 139 (my IQ) and I call him 141. I am engaged it witty banter and clever conversation. I feel safe to be self-expressed.

Well, last Saturday proved to be extremely comical. I was hanging with my neighbor when I met a whole new crew of Newport Village inhabitants. With my gift to talk to anyone, I engaged and had a blast while enjoying beers. Told by one heavily tatted guy why I should not get a tramp stamp to trying to engage with is his girlfriend who would not be upset if he called her a cunt but would slap him upside the head if he called her a bitch.

However, I provided the best moment of the evening.

Yep. Me.

I became a character in my blog.

I go to open my last beer in my cooler.

L.A.S.T B.E.E.R!

I open it and it flies into the hot tub. Before anyone can say anyone, I dive under water to rescue my beer. I stay under searching for the beer. Oh, wait I need air. Up and deep breath….I will not let the last one go to waste. Down again. I can see the bottle even though the bright light of the tub glares in my eyes. Need to go up again. Inhale and under again. Ok, between the chlorine and the light I find it difficult to locate this beer. Wait. WAIT. I put my hand around it.

I emerge out of the tub and into the air holding the beer high, like a trophy. I salvaged my beer.

I declare, “It doesn’t taste at all like chlorine and it is still cold.”

If diving for beer in a Jacuzzi was an Olympic Sport I would bring home the Gold….

Feel free to comment.

In other news, I had a Robert the “Not Man” sighting today at the pool. He donned a black t-shirt (which he removed to “get some rays), dark blue jeans, a black belt, black socks and…brown shoes. Complete with plumbers crack.

Crazy is as Crazy Does

The other day I was chatting online with a female friend, and then an admittedly bizarre acquaintance attempted conversation with her online, followed by another unstable friend initiating a discussion. My response was, “You got quite a crazy farm going there.” She was forced to log off, as it was too much to take late night.

I was reminded of all the women in I have known who fall into the category of “Crazy Bitch.” A category that seems to be absent in the California, which is odd given I currently live in the land of “fruits and nuts.”

A distinct kind of crazy, so subtle that it is often approved, sometimes even applauded, in society and the entertainment industry. It is deeper than googling your current love interest; in some instances that might be smart. Let me draw a picture.

Tiger Woods mistresses who thought he was going to leave his wife for them are one example are unstable.

The girl, the one we all recognize, who is really ugly and not nice to be around that thinks she is the cat’s meow is not grounded in reality.

The woman who thinks everyman wants her yet never seems to be dating because in truth no one desires her is delusional.

Your friend who has the same recurring relationship problems, romantic or otherwise, and it is constantly the other person’s fault is wacky.

The young woman in the bar who dislikes you because her date is talking to you is insane.

Your “friend” who claims your boyfriend flirts with her though she is sooo not is type saying she has your “best interest” at heart is not reliable.

An associate of mine has women he has not talked to in years randomly call him for no apparent reason, yep they are mad. In fact, he has an ex “Stalker Suzie” whom he has not dated in the better part of a decade yet she, even now, erratically phones him.

Those scenes on TV when the character repeatedly calls someone thinking the more they call the more likely the person they are searching for will answer….CRAZY

Those women on Lifetime Movie Network…NUTS


The REAL HOUSEWIVE OF (INSERT CITY HERE)…you guessed it. *….INSANE

Nonetheless the woman who might take the prize of unsound women is John Edwards’ mistress, Rielle Hunter. Watching her recently on Oprah, I was horrified by her lack of hold on reality. Throughout the interview she referred to living a life of authenticity and truth yet she engaged in an affair with a married man while his wife was being treated for Breast Cancer. She says she is a private person still she staged a sex tape. Johnny loves her nevertheless he refers to her as a “crazy slut.”

And can we talk about the fact that his birth name is “Johnny?” Not John. Not Jonathan. You might know you are white trash when….? But I digress. His drive for looking good and over compensation will be addressed in a future blog.

Ms. Hunter is a churched up version of “Stalker Suzie.”

The quandary with most crazy bitches is upon meeting them we, men and women alike, do not identify they are insane as they fully function in society. In fact, frequently they more than perform they excel. The danger lies in the fact that they range from harmless to hazardous. And you never know with which you are dealing.

As someone who, in the past, exhibited conduct that could be construed as crazy, I want to tell you men may endure eccentric actions but they don’t enjoy it. The error exists when we, as women, think it will get us what we want; yet it is counterproductive. And it doesn’t leave us feeling very good about ourselves.

First let’s talk about why men tolerate said behavior. Well, they assume the hotter we are the weirder we will be. Please refer to www.urbandictionary.com definition of Vicky Mendoza as created by HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER’S lovable character Barney Stinson. The premise is a correlate between sexiness and craziness, which makes said events excusable. The secret, we, sultry women, see we can get away with it. Hence, as long as it is endured we will examine the boundaries.

The trouble, when one surrounds themselves by the examples listed above, what is the gage for acceptable actions? Often, I have taken measures at the evocation of, and applauded by, said women to the detriment of my relationship. As I said, they do not occur as idiotic upon introduction.

I have listened to them, honored them, befriended them, sought their advice, taken said guidance and thought they were sane.

Since moving to Orange County, I rarely encounter a well-meaning crazy providing me with council. My relationship works.

Another downside, you could be dubbed a “Shelly Galesby” which means you craziness out weighs your hotness. And if you are nuts, you might not know what that line is.

Please feel free to share your thoughts and stories about Crazy Bitches…..



http://www.beawesomeinstead.com/television/2007/crazy-vs-hot/


http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Vicky%20Mendoza%20diagonal

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=crazy+bitch

*Rare exceptions apply

To MLA or Not?

She wasn’t the most charismatic or entertaining teacher at North Muskegon High School (NMHS) nor was she the most popular. She rarely smiled and she did it was with a closed mouth and upturned lips for about a second. However, every time I work on this blog I utilize what Mr. Hettle taught me.

Almost 20 years later, I can still see her red notes in the margins of my Five Paragraph Essays.

Don’t use there is or there are
Don’t use obviously, if it’s obvious you shouldn’t need to even write it
Find a more interesting word than because
Find a more interesting word than interesting.
Wrong spelling for whether
Don’t start a sentence with And
No contractions
Don’t use clichés

At the time I thought she was picky. I mean really as long as the content is strong why does it matter if I use a few there ares and state something as obvious regardless if it truly is. I am not using run on sentences and ending them in prepositions am I? In retrospect she was my writing coach and she wanted me to be do my best. She saw my talent and wanted me to excel. Her notes were like a Track Coach screaming “Faster.” She did not allow me to be a lazy writer.

Mrs. Hettle had an, at that time annoying, unwavering commitment to impeccability. She measured the margins of all her students papers to make sure they one inch all around as outlined by the Modern Language Association (MLA). She read them as well as the corresponding note cards to ensure that we had fully complied with all their rules. Though I didn’t know it at the time, she taught me about doing complete spotless work. As frustrating as, what then occurred as her obsession with, the rules were I rose to the occasion striving always for a coveted A or not having to perform rewrites.

She also praised my use of alliteration, repetition of sentences, word choice as well as my over all style. Because of her, I can write. Moreover, due to Dona Hettle, I can write well.

Mrs. Hettle, thanks to you I know the rules of writing and have the choice to break them. Which is way better than violating them in ignorance.

So, every time I sit at my computer to write my blog and type a “there is” or interesting her notes pop into my head. Almost, two decades later I still remember the lessons she taught me.

We did not have the Internet; in fact home computers were rare. However, whether (old habits die hard and I initially typed weather), she likes it or not she plays an integral role in this blog.

As I said she wasn’t the most charismatic, entertaining or popular teacher. She manages to inspire and impact me years later; therefore, I declare she got her job done.

I know that many of my fellow NMHS alums may disagree with me and I am curious to know how you remember her Senior English Class. Everyone else, what do you actually remember learning in high school that you use in your everyday life?

http://www.mla.org/

http://www.nmps.k12.mi.us/

Drama Divas by in the Sun

As you might have detected, I love observing people. This habit has been bringing me joy for over a decade. I think it began when I was in Playwriting Class and one of my assignments was to keep a journal for the whole year; alas, one can only write so much about oneself so I turned to coffee shops and the quad for material.

Later, while I was still living in Chicago, I discovered the North Avenue Beach in the summertime to be a hotbed of material to watch. Stumbling distance from Castaways, the Tug Boat Bar, with a blue mat stretching from the sidewalk to the water serving as a catwalk parading all humanity has to offer. Women in bikinis that should not be, old overweight men in Speedos, mullets, you name it the beach had it all.

I frequented that location and witnessed a lot of things and remember very few; yet, I will never, and I mean NEVER, forget the day I laid next to Amy. This cute, slender, twenty four year old, woman will forever live in my memory. Oh, and she was loud. And drunk. What I mean to say is she had recently broken up with her boyfriend, Henry, and proceeded to go on a three-day bender. Said another way, she had not been sober since Friday, which was 72 hours earlier. With no apparent commitment to sobering up anytime soon, she drank mimosas out of her water bottle.

Perhaps, you can understand why I always remember her.

Watching her, and her two less distraught female companions, was like a car wreck, you had to gawk.

While, I was tanning she vacillated from wondering if she get together with the two men she met on her way from the cab to the beach as they had a boat to sobbing, closer to keening, about Henry. I still remember the phrase, “How could Henry break my heart?”

Admittedly, I do not know Henry’s reason from dumping Amy; however, maybe because she is a mess.

Today, I witnessed something akin to the Amy incident.

Walking to the pool to set down my stuff prior to going to the store when I see a cute brunette in a leopard print bathing suit laying in a chaise while talking to a man in a suit with his bluetoothe in his ear. I overhear enough to know they were arguing.

Upon my return from the store, I see the suit in the parking lot lingering by his vehicle.

Back to the pool the brunette is readjusting her chair. I glance over and notice two things. She is wearing bracelets. Plural. To be exact one beaded bracelet two inches thick and three bangles. I am too concerned about tan lines to accessorize. Also, her breasts, even while in they laying position, look like grapefruit.

Soon I hear the song Angel by Areosmith. Is she paying the radio? I look over as she answers the phone, “You walked away from me we are done. Over. Done.” She then proclaimed that either she or the person on the other end had two kids and they needed to be the priority. And work. “What? Where are you? Where? Where are you?”

Citrus Chest then grabs her large Louis Vuitton bag, which I am sure is as real as her grapefruits, puts on her brown sundress, leather flip flops, grabs her towels and exits the pool.

Ah, wish that phone conversation lasted longer.

Ten minutes later she returns and settles in again.

Five minutes I hear Areosmith seeing her press the ignore button. Long enough for the suit to leave one she checks her messages. Packs up her bag, puts on her dress and shoes, grabs her towel and departs.

Only to return to her chair again about ten minutes later.

Somewhere between three to five minutes later I hear, “You’re my Aannggeell.” Oh, she is going to answer this time. “What?”

For the third time she packs up and leaves.

Apparently it was a three-act play because she did not return.

People do break up. And it is heartbreaking. Doing it or dealing with it in public is drama. Again, I do not know what happened in either relationship but I can say from watching the actions and being of these women my sympathies go to the men. Though, I suspect the boyfriends add their special flair to the drama.

As a side note, the woman who took her chair had breasts the size of cantaloupe which were in proportion to her body where she had the Star Wars logo and opening crawl tattooed on her back and her melons snuck out from the bottom of her bikini top.

I think drama is for entertainment purposes only. What do you think? What do you think of my people watching? What do you think of having a breakup or the aftermath in public? What do you think of Amy? Of Grapefruit Girl? Of Cantaloupe Chica?

Ted Nugent, ZZ Top and Man Boobs

Yesterday, at about 6:30 PM a new family descended upon my pool. Nobody has witnessed them before but boy were they a sight to behold. The one recurring thought that comes to my mind is, “Ted Nugent would be proud.

Honestly, I do not know where to begin. Primarily I will allow the pictures to speak for themselves. In this case, the picture is worth 1000 words.

This multi-generational family shares two common things in that they have the same haircut, even the toddler boy, and they all have bigger chests than me, even the men.

I have never witnessed an entire family, man and women alike, trying to emulate the style of ZZ Top http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ZZ_Top. The only one who didn’t have long hair was the baby and you can bet it’s due to the fact that, well, he/she does not have hair yet. The only way I was certain about the gender of the toddler was his swim trunks.

The patriarch donned a bushy beard. He, and his late teens to early twenties, son also had large man boobs (Moobs). Given his shear size, I, sorta, understand Big Daddy’s chest. His son, who didn’t even have chest hair yet, is a different story. This pale kid with long, dark, thin hair and a gangly awkward body has developed Moobs.

Wondering how this happens, I did a little research. I visited www.manboobsguide.com which is a website dedicated to, apparently, all thing Moobs. According to the site:

In addition to adolescence, man boobs can also be caused by taking medical or illegal drugs. It has been said that marijuana causes man boobs although the research on this subject is not very clear. Although alcohol is not a drug, it is widely accepted that it can contribute to man boobs. If you consume a lot of alcohol and have man boobs, you may try cutting back for a little while and see if it has any effect. There are also medical conditions that can cause man boobs ranging from hormonal imbalance issues, obesity as well as prostate cancer.

Hmm, and I just thought it was the absence of pectoral muscles. I am still confused about all borderline to overweight men I know and see who do not have Moobs.

I give this crew, who seem to have been transported from Baldwin, MI, major props, as they seem to be very comfortable with themselves.

After observing them move from pool to hot tub and then back to the pool, I was left speechless. However, the icing on the cake is when the leader of the pack was ready to exit the pool and dressed in his NRA shirt. Yes, ladies and gentleman he bravely wore a navy blue t-shirt supporting the National Rifle Association. And hence why my thoughts keep going back to, “Ted Nugent would be proud.”

Maybe next time, and I hope there isn’t one, I will ask him his thoughts on President Obama and Animal Rights. In the meantime, pipe in let me know your thoughts. What is the weirdest family you have ever seen? What do you know about Moobs?

If any of you are unfamiliar with “Uncle Ted” please visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ted_Nugent in order to fully appreciate this blog.

As a special note for my West Michigan readers, this is something you would witness at that the Summer Celebration. And those in Chicago, you know the people you observe at the Taste of Chicago and wonder where they come from…maybe Costa Mesa!