Your Big Sister asked an old friend, Curtis DeMartini, who has since birth lived and breathed music, to write a tribute to Adam “MCA/Nathaniel Hornblower” Yauch, co-founder of the Beastie Boys.  This past week, Adam passed away of cancer at the age of 47.

Curtis wrote:

I have to admit that when I first heard The Beastie Boys monster debut hit (You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party), I thought they were merely a novelty; a flash in the pan. Truth be told, we thought rap was a passing fad. Back then MTV actually broadcast music videos and the Beasties were in heavy rotation. Although I worked at an ‘alternative’ radio station in the early 90s where the Beastie Boys were on the air more often than not, I didn’t become a full-fledged fan until 1996 when the boys released ‘The In Sound From Way Out!’. It seemed to me that with this album of instrumental jazzy tunes, The Beastie Boys had matured and I could finally take them seriously as musicians. At that point I went back to their earlier releases and discovered I liked these guys and although ‘Ill Communication’ is great, I settled into ‘Check Your Head’ which became my favorite Beasties LP. I recall very clearly the release of ‘Hello Nasty’ because a co-worker of mine who was a big fan announced that the Boys were back to producing the sound that made them famous. I bought the album for my tween-aged daughter and rejoiced at the funky sounds and ingenious videos. The Beastie Boys didn’t seem to take themselves too seriously and being I had always been a fan of humor in music, these guys just fit right in to my musical tastes. I only saw The Beastie Boys live once. The venue: San Francisco’s famed Warfield Theater; the band performed an all instrumental show (except for a couple of encore tunes) and invited all comers to dress to the nines. My suit and tie matched those of the performers and they pumped out some jazzy jazzy sounds to my delight. I never knew the nicknames but I knew Adam Yauch was a Buddhist and a human rights activist. It seemed unlikely that three New York punk rockers were mature enough to care about global issues but because of Yauch’s efforts, awareness spread throughout youth culture. Adam Yauch died last week and although at my age I witness the loss of a great many musical heroes, this one struck a bit deeper since Adam and I share a birth generation. Rest in peace Mr. Yauch and thank you for making me smile while trying to make the world a better place.

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Curtis DeMartini (AKA CDMartini) is a native San Franciscan who stumbled into radio at famed FM station Live 105 garnishing an assistant producer title on the legendary ‘Alex Bennett Morning Show’. In 1993 Curtis moved to television, producing his own cable access show ‘Segue’ before Hollywood gigs on various HBO comedy specials as well as TV shows ‘Mr. Show with Bob & David’ and ‘Tenacious D’. Today CDMartini produces his own radio show ‘Strictly Hardly Vinyl’ which will soon be broadcasting from it’s new home FccFreeRadio.com and an accompanying blog –

http://strictlyhardlyvinyl.blogspot.com/

So in the mid-winter, just after the year 2000 hit and just after my mom passed away (and going about my life like it didn’t affect me at all), I found myself involved with a married guy taking his vows very loosely.  Luckily, before we consummated the relationship, I gave him up because deep down I knew all I really wanted was a boyfriend – a real life one who admitted to people he was with me – not a guy bored, trolling for loose hook-ups at work (on a hit comedy show with children, none the less).  Of course saying and doing are two different things and because I was empty (though not realizing it) from mom dying and not feeling like anyone would ever love a woman with a big butt, I continued to feed off the emotions the guy at work had stirred inside of me.  And I made all my life decisions based on those emotions.  Pretending to be unfazed is way more dangerous than being fazed.  Adding gas to the fire, he immediately took up with another woman on the crew from a “creative” department.  I’m pretty sure he thought he wasn’t flashing it around but honestly; my super sensitive senses and instincts caught everything.  Needless to say, I made some awful – could’ve gotten me arrested – kind of decisions which ended with him catching me doing something very innocent (checking out his parked car for “clues” – don’t ask).  Sadly, this incident came after thirty other suspicious activity incidences that I’m sure he deduced was me.  Word got around on set, which I suspected would and prepped for.  What I didn’t expect was how that simple act of “getting caught” turned the switch off in me for wanting him or wanting him to acknowledge what he did to me.  I stop doing my illegal acts, I stopped wanting retribution, I stopped thinking about him 24/7 the moment I walked away that night.  The feeling of letting go is amazing.  I highly recommend it.

Unfortunately, I still needed to grieve for my mom as well as get rid of the idea of him I had constructed in my mind.  How did I do it?  By everyday after work, walking the circumference of the CBS Radford lot and listening to this mixed tape.  Each song was specifically chosen because either the words or the instrumentation evoke feelings of pain, frustration, sorrow, regret or resignation to my fate.  Some laps I cried, some laps I cursed, some laps I laughed and some laps I just listened.  It took six months, but eventually I walked that man out of me.  Not so easy with the Mom factor.  That sorrow still rages today but in comes in waves.  Sometimes they take a break for years, only to sneak in and kick my ass for a day, month, or six months.  When they arrive, I listen to the tape and feel better, normal.  All in all, I prefer the mom waves.

And my husband does too.

Side A: NORTH LOT
Make Sure You’re Sure – Steve Wonder “Jungle Fever” ST
Wise Up – Aimee Mann “Magnolia” ST
It’s All Right This Time – Toad the Wet Sprocket
Crash Into Me – Dave Matthews Band
Wonderwall – Oasis I Want You Now – Depeche Mode
Somebody – Depeche Mode
Wino – Tears For Fears
In Love With a Blind Man – Tears For Fears
The Sea Song – Tears For Fears
Flaming Bed – Blue Rodeo
Bad Influence ST – instrumentals (this is the song at all but I couldn’t find Trevor Jones’ score anywhere so here are scenes from the movie)
Love Song – Burt Bacharack “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” ST
A Different Corner – George Michael
Kissing a Fool – George Michael

Side B: STAGE 20
Far Behind – Candlebox
Miles Away – Tonto Tonto
Can’t Change Me – Chris Cornell
Girlfriend – Matthew Sweet
Jill Sobule – One of These Days
Jane Says – Jane’s Addiction
Tomorrow Wendy – Concrete Blonde
A Common Disaster – Cowboy Junkies
Good Life – Inner City
Crucified – Army of Lovers
A Casual Affair – Tonic
Down – Stone Temple Pilots
So What Cha Want – Beastie Boys
Sabotage – Beastie Boys
Sambrosa – Beastie Boys
Eugene’s Lament – Beastie Boys
Ricky’s Theme – Beastie Boys
Transitions – Beastie Boys

 I dunno why, but Cindy took an interest in me and let me know it.  Our first sexual encounter occurred in Brian Chestnut’s basement where my first (and I mean — my first) make out session took place.  Ginger haired, chubby cheeked Brian, whose parents didn’t give a fuck so we got to watch this new thing called MTV without parental supervision, Travis Cappelle and myself hung out that night.  Back then, MTV had literally HOURS of entertainment in a day!  Since Brian’s parents didn’t give said fuck what went on in the basement, we three friends found ourselves visited by Cindy and her two friends, Wendy and Rene.  Brian was the richest of us, (if you didn’t figure that out from the name dropping of MTV) and his basement had this amazing plush wrap around couch.  When the giggling cabal of soft skin entered, Cindy sat right next to me.  On the very couch, just a year earlier, we three friends had played Star Wars with Brian’s figures (oh yeah, he had EVERY one – even the Millennium Falcon!).  Not too long after Cindy’s thigh touched mine, her lips touched mine and I found myself having my first make out session — with a girl!  As our tongues wrestled, I realized the year before, as Travis, Brian and I played Star Wars, I clutched a Boba Fett action figure and declared girls gross and having no purpose in life.  But right then, with Cindy’s wet tongue dancing with mine, I was rethinking my position.

It was awesome!  My lips got chapped but it was sooooo worth it!

I was now dating.  Me, dating!  My favorite place I took Cindy was the side of Butte Des Mortes’ middle school.  We’d make out, my back to the bricks, pulling her in so her amble boobs where as close as possible.  Oh, man, and one thing I have to bring up – Chick’s butts!  Man!  I don’t know how to explain it but back then, they were just better than now.  Probably because all we had in 1983 were Levi’s.  Red Tag, which I always thought was for rich kids and the cheaper Orange Tag for us not-so-rich kids.  It took time and patience to work the stiffness out of jeans… there were none of these pre-wash, pre-stress shit the kids have today.  Those jeans would mold to perfection on those perfectly shaped caramel, candy apple asses of the women of the 80’s.  Still, to this day, the thought of making out while my hand’s cupped, squeezed and lifted a woman’s jean clad globes of heaven is the single most erotic/nostalgic/wonderful thought I can ever have.

Within a few weeks of dating, I reached second base with Cindy on the side of Brian’s garage one night.  I think I picked there because I felt safe in the darkness of night to shadow my boner.  Unfortunately, what I wore that night was my favorite pair of white, parachute pants and I probably should have just shined a spotlight on the boner and be done with the shame.  Regardless, I had my first free hit of crack that night called boobs and I’ve been chasing THAT dragon ever since.

I’d like to say that third base was easily achieved.  But I can’t.  It was a process, and not because of what you might think.  Cindy was not the problem, it was the fucking tight ass jeans I loved so much!  Cindy and I found ourselves, yet again, on the side of the school.  As I was “going for it,” I tentatively slide my right hand gently down betwixt Cindy and her jeans as we made out passionately.  I got just pass my second knuckle over the top of her jeans when I got stopped.  Again, not by Cindy but the fact my hand was stuck by the tightness of her jeans. And to let you know how tight they were – I even have small hands!  I gave up that afternoon to regroup and try again at a later date.

My second attempt, after much thought and crude drawings of ideas, had me using what I had worked out was the next best course of action — I unbuttoned her jeans (button fly’s weren’t invented yet).   This got me closer to the motherland, to the tantalizing feel of the top of Cindy’s laced panties… but then -stuck, again!  Damn it.  But today, I was not to be denied and in a fever of lust, I surmised that more ground could be covered if I unzipped her pants.

Before I continue, I need to bring up one thing.  This whole time we were together, Cindy was a ready partner BUT she was also not an enabler.  She never assisted with my endeavors, which I will point out was one of my pet peeves about her.  She never did the one thing I really, really wanted her to do, which was to play grab ass with me like I was constantly doing to her.  She kissed passionately enough, but for all of her our make out sessions her hands remained firmly planted in her jacket pockets, never to venture out and explore my body as I was exploring hers.  Her hands remained an unwilling participant to the taut, firm, smooth country that was the former Shaun.

As I said, I unzipped her pants and knew I was there — at the source of all mystery and desire!  Now, slightly less encumbered by the jail of her jeans, my fingers inchwormed past the lace and to the top of that glory that was her pubic hair.  Sensing victory was soon at hand and feeling slightly scared at entering this undiscovered country, I soldiered on to the middle of what my mind’s eye had remembered in the very few pictures I had seen in a stolen Playboy book — that lovely Bermuda triangle of soft, velvety pubic hair where the prize was nestled… and I didn’t find it.  My slight fear quickly grew as I padded (much like I do now when I have misplaced my glasses at night) in tiny increments to the right, then quicker padded back to the center and then to the left and realized — she had no Vagina!!!!!!   Confused and scared I quickly stopped and told her I had to get home.  I was disturbed and perplexed.  When I got home I had the luck of running into someone I trusted.  His name was John, he was a foster kid who lived next door.  He was a high school senior and had never talked down to me, so when I saw him sitting on the front stoop, I sat down next to him and tried to figure out how to broach the subject of what just happened.  There was no easy way of doing it, so I just kinda threw it out there.  He laughed his ass off.  I was so embarrassed I on the verge of storming off, which I think he could sense, so he stifled his laughter and told me how I was wrong.  John told me that those few pictures that I had seen, must of had the woman sitting down, but that when they stand up, just like a Transformer transforming, it moves and rotates underneath.    With a smirk on his face he informed me if I had just kept digging, I would have found it.

It was that weekend, on the side of the Menasha Goodwill (because that was where the traveling carnival always set up when it came into to town) that my finger struck Vagina oil!  Pink gold! (Sorry, present me just watched a bunch of Beverly Hillbillies.) I’d like to say I was cool about it, but as I rode my bike back home with my friends I told them what happened and asked if they wanted to smell my finger.  Man, I was a stupid, fucking insensitive kid.

I broke up with Cindy soon after, mainly because there was someone else I was interested in named Tracy.  I had been a real shit about it.  After college I found myself looking back more and more.  I felt plagued by all the shitty things I had done and when my 10 year reunion came up I went mainly to make amends.   I found Cindy and apologized for how shitty I had broken up with her.  I remember she had this quizzical look on her face and she then smiled and kissed me on the cheek.  Unlike me, she hadn’t probably thought of me in a long, long time.  I guess the two things I can say about this are; when you’re thinking it’s all about you, it’s not.   And vagina’s are like Transformers.

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Shaun Parker moved out to Los Angeles from Wisconsin at the tender age of 37.  If you want to hear some of his story go to npr.org and search under “Shaun Parker” to find the two part story featuring him.   Or find him here at: www.actorshaunparker.com.

From Kendall: Hi, my name is Kendall and I have a sister who is 13 years old and I am 10m years old and my sister is is high school and of course I am the baby out all but my 13 yr. old she is cool she has cute clothes she is resoncible and has a lot of friends and she is just POPULAR and I wanted to know can people make vide of how to be EXACLY like your sister and she is also calm and I am the oppisite of all!!  PLEASE HELP ME!!

First off, Kendall, please, please, please take your time with anything you write.  Correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation!  It matters!  Regardless of your age, you should check and double check anything you write to make sure it is well crafted and concise.  Computers have spell check for crimmney sake!  People judge you based on how well you write and it speaks of your intelligence before people meet you face to face.  Smart people get ahead in this world and get what they want.  Everyone else doesn’t.

Beyond that, who cares if your sister is popular, has cute clothes, friends, blah, blah, blah.  You are not your sister!  You are you.  You need to pay attention to who you are, what makes you who you are, what interests you and what gets you excited about getting up in the morning.  Yes, those things seem enticing right now in your life to have but they go away quickly as soon as you get out of school.  It’s awesome you’re the OPPOSITE (this is how you spell it correctly) of your sister.  You need to forge ahead with your own identity and personhood.  Stop looking at everyone else and start taking care of you.  You will never be like your sister and she will never be like you.  Let her live her own life and you live yours.  No one was born EXACTLY (this is how you spell this word too) like anyone else so there is no need to try and be them.  Just be you.

From Eli: My main problem is that I find it very difficult to com front a lady because of the way they sometimes behave and also the problem my friends in relationships usually face always scare me a lot.  Hope to hear from u sooner.

If you’ve got a problem with a lady you are dating, Eli, you need to learn the art of talking to a woman, which entails – listening, then offering solutions and if she doesn’t like any of them, just holding her and telling her it’s going to alright.  If you’ve got a problem with the way some women act, don’t CONFRONT (this is how you spell it) – DON’T hang around those women.  They are who they are and nothing you say is going to change that.  And relationships are scary!  But the reward of having them is so much greater than the times when things don’t match up.  If you’re a cut and run guy because you argue with your lady — then who wants you around anyways.  The challenge is knowing when to stand-up for your opinion and when to back down.  You don’t always have to be right.  Keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be alone a long time.  Good luck.

Lastly, from Layla: Is it wrong to date my ex-boyfriends cousin? 

Layla, did you know your name is from an Eric Clapton song about him being in love with George Harrison’s wife Pattie Boyd?  He eventually got her and then lost her.  Sort of plays into your question.

No, date the fuck out of the cousin.  So what?  You ain’t with the ex no more; I say everyone is free game.  Life is too short to not follow what the heart wants.  Just expect some eye-fucking from the ex at holiday functions.

Well, this is not going to be a happy story.  My own personal mixed tape, actually a CD, was made in the early part of this century.  My life had taken a turn for the worse.  Had to go through a bad bankruptcy because I couldn’t sell my film.  Had to hear about another film called SAW that apparently stole the idea from me, yet they went on to make a billion.  And, most of all, dealing with the heartache of the past twelve years when my ex left me… after cheating with the new guy.

I kept putting off the depression and the sorrow.  Thought I could outlast both.  But my own personal Mayan calendar was approaching.  It was going to be a significant anniversary.  No, not the anniversary of my meeting my ex, but of the break up.

The 12-year anniversary of our break up was upon me.  It was 12 years that we were together and soon it would be 12 years that we were apart.  My mind could not take it.   I finally made the LAST plans.  I was going out of life.  Exit, stage left.

It was going to happen in Vegas.  I had it all planned out.  Made kits to various friends that included pieces of my bank account, some minor souvenirs, and letters that stated what they were to do with my stuff and who was in charge of what.  It was very official.

So I was off to Vegas…. after dropping off all the packages to be FedExed by the next day.

I got to Vegas with my plan.  Things didn’t work the way I had planned.  I did some final gambling hoping that I would suddenly win a pile of cash and decide to continue with life.  That didn’t happen.

The main plan was to do the old gas pipe thing and sleep in the car as the gentle noxious fumes carried me into a very long nap time.  This was harder than I imagined.  I thought that in the early morning hours, in Vegas, I could find some lonely alley and do the thing right.  Wrong! Everywhere I parked someone walked by or stopped by the car.  I kept driving further from the strip, but always encountered people walking around.

I finally found a desolate alley behind a small building.  I set up the Dryer Vent Hose I specifically bought on sale at the Home Depot.  No use in spending too much when you’re going out.  Had everything ready to go when a car turns the corner and parks directly across the street.  The guy sat in his car with his headlights on and pointed right at me.  For all I know he was just sitting there ready or drinking… or, on a funny note, he might be preparing to set up his own Dryer Vent Hose.

I thought, “Fuck me!!!”  I decide it’s time for a new plan.  I go to an all night Walgreen’s and buy a shitload of Tylenol, sleeping pills, Vodka, and several mixed drinks.  I search the strip for the proper hotel.  Bingo!!  Circus Circus!!!

My film company is called Clown Tears.  How perfect.  I’m going to rent a room, fill the tub, swallow all this shit, and hold my breath forever.  First problem — I go to my room and it turns out to be the only room that doesn’t have a bathtub. SHIT!!!!

I call downstairs and have them change my room.  The new one has a bathtub.  Perfect!!!  I started drinking and downing pills.  But I also have another objective: I’m hoping my little stunt might get some publicity so my film gets attention.  I leave notes as to who should benefit if my film suddenly sells.  I also glue stick various posters from my film around the walls.

Oh, at the moment, on the TV, I see a weird commercial.  It was the first time I saw this strange Quizno’s commercial that featured large teethed rodents singing.  It is so weird that I already thought I was hallucinating.  Anyway, I make a final note for the maids saying that I’m in the tub and just call the police.  Also, I left them some cash in an envelope and thanked them for their help and apologized for the mess I had made.

I finish downing a large bottle of Vodka, another bottle of some mixed drink, handfuls of sleeping pills and Tylenol.  I fill the tub to the top.  Sit inside and nestle my head at the edge.

My thoughts at the time… other than,  “What the hell was that Quizno’s thing!?”… “I guess I’ll go to sleep and slowly drift under water then just run out of oxygen and start breathing in that fluoridated water… just like the womb.”

I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment’s gone… Nah, we’re not in Kansas anymore.  I close my eyes and fall asleep.  I wake up a couple of hours later and I’m fine.  Fit as a fucking fiddle!  All I have is a bad stiff neck.  Don’t even have a hangover.

SHIT!!!  What do I do now!!?  I’m up!!!  FUCK!!!

New plan: Leave the hotel, drive out to the desert and go back to plan one.  First problem: I now have posters stuck to all parts of the walls. FUCK!!!  So I find myself getting warm towels and scrubbing the walls.  The posters need to be soaked in water then slowly scrubbed away.  I’m actually cleaning the hotel.  For the first time in history someone leaves a hotel cleaner than they got it.

I rush downstairs and try to find a deserted spot in the desert.  It’s almost impossible to find.  FUCK!!!

I’ll make this story short.  I fuck up three times at offing myself and end up having my friends come to my rescue.  Wendy, being the head big sister at the time, was the person that got me into some psych treatments.

So here I am.  Believe me, there’s more to the story, but I only got a short count on words to tell it.

Here’s the LAST SONGS CD list… I’ll try to give brief explanations as to why I listened to them throughout this suicide quest.

My Best Friend’s Girl –The Cars… **Well, my ex was extremely beautiful and I knew lots of guys around me wanted to hit that.

Say Goodbye to Hollywood – Billy Joel… **Do I really need to explain this? I’m an old New York. Perfect song.

The Stranger – Billy Joel… **Kind of covers the idea of lovers having secrets from each other. She had one big secret I didn’t know… until the end.

All You Need Is Love – The Beatles… **The title itself kept me in tears throught out the event

I’ll Do Anything For Love – Meat Loaf… **A song about not cheating. Hmm? Seems right.

Only The Good Die Young – Billy Joel… **I was my ex’s first. She was Catholic. Could it be any better?

Just My Imagination – The Temptations… **It was something I was hoping for: All of the events of the past never really happened… just my imagination.

An Innocent Man – Billy Joel… **At times I felt like I was being blamed for things I had no control of.

Life Is a Lemon And I want My Money Back – Meat Loaf… **C’mon! Perfect!

Thorn In My Side – Eurythmics… **What I felt about this long term passion for my ex

White Wedding – Billy Idol… **Just a kick ass song that made me dance.

You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth – Meat loaf… **It kind of felt like my ex was telling this to me.

My Life – Billy Joel… **One of many Joel songs that felt like he had tapped into my life.

You May Be Right – Billy Joel… **THE Joel song I felt was written about me. It was right on the money on how I met my ex and what was going on at the time.

Call Me – Blondie… **This song brought back memories of what was going on in my life about a year before I met my ex.

(I Got Every Thing I Need) Almost – The Blues Brothers… **Also touched a nerve on the many years I spent away from my ex.

Harden My Heart – Quarterflash… **A desperate plea I made to myself over the years. “Please forget her!!”

Something About You – Boston… **A connection to my ex

Heartbeat – The Knack… **If you know the song, you’ll see how it connects with loving someone… too much

Addicted To Love – Palmer… **Ditto.

Excitable Boy – Warren Zevon… **This is a weird one. It has nothing to do with my ex. One friend said he felt it was about me because I used to do a serial killer comic persona when he knew me. If you know the song, you’ll see the connection.

Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting – Elton John… A **Song from my high school days that brought back memories of simpler times.

Objects In the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are – Meat Loaf… **Another one of those sappy songs that makes me cry because it brings back memories of life.

Out of the Frying Pan – Meat Loaf… **I just like the intensity of this song

You Oughta Know – Alanis Morrisette… **Yes, it’s a chick song, but it seems so true to what happened in my life.

I Drove All Night – Cyndi Lauper… **Holy Shit, is this perfect! My ex looks and sounds a lot like Cyndi. And I always remember two times where I drove all night just to hang out with my ex. I still put this on in the car and cry a lot. I’m such a wuss!

As for a bio for me, Greg Arce: I have dabbled in all forms of entertainment: magic, mentalism, stand up, acting, writing, directing, etc. Mostly etc. I tend to get bored doing just one thing for a long time… maybe that’s why I change hands during masturbation.  Still trying to figure out my life’s path. Keep stubbing my toe on the rocks there, and no one seems to pick up after the dog’s poop on my path. All and all, it’s still a fun ride and I wouldn’t change it for the world… well, maybe if they throw in some cheese fries. I guess I’ll continue this path, but maybe I’ll get my own personal transport to speed things up. How’s that for a seque (Segway)?

And maybe, just maybe steer you off the same disastrous path.

I came out here in the nineties with a dream just like everyone else. No one warned me about the gripping homesickness that kept me up nights, or about the negative effects of trusting people, or about the bottomless pit of loneliness that can strike at any moment. So I looked for an outlet. Some people like drugs and booze. I liked Mean Guys.

What’s a Mean Guy? Well, I’m glad you asked. Mean Guys are reserved for Girls With Daddy Problems that don’t run to the Pimp or the Pole. Generally speaking – and I can because I have a lot of experience with them – Mean Guys are obviously good-looking, ooze sexual charm, are aggressive, cocky and only happy when they’re the center of attention. Note: They should not be confused with the dreamier Bad Boys a la The Outsiders. Sensitivity is the distinguishing factor between the two of which the Mean Guy has none and the Bad Boy carries a surplus as he wheels about town on his super-hot motorcycle.

Bad Boys will want to take you on a sunset drive to Griffith Park and smoke cigarettes while gazing into your magnificence and complementing your hair. God bless them. This is absolutely okay.

On the other hand, Mean Guys with good wardrobes and judgmental attitudes that want to troll Sunset Boulevard in their boss’s convertible Mercedes, however, are Douchebags and you should avoid this variety at all costs. The primary trait of any Mean Guy though is their uncanny ability to spot you anywhere, to zero in on your insecurity, and once they see it, even if it’s just a flicker in your eyes, they’ve got you.

I was easy to spot being the lighthouse of self-doubt that I was at the time. As soon as he found me, I went from Girl With Bright Future to Dumb Girl just like that.      *snap of fingers*

Having just moved to Los Angeles, I clung to him like a flailing barnacle on a shark; petrified that at any minute he would shake hard and send me cartwheeling helplessly into deeper waters where I would come face to face with my embarrassment. Who wants to do that? I was a girl who just wanted to have fun. I wanted to go places and do things and that’s what we did.

To secure my place in his world, I decided I would be everything he could possibly want even if it meant making an utter fool out of myself. I would be loud and crazy and sexy and unpredictable and mysterious and desirous of wild passionate sex. I would, in essence, not be Me. I would be an ugly, sad, facsimile of a reflection of myself.

I lived in Los Feliz, hung out with a rowdy group of friends. I was the girl with the charismatic actor that everyone wanted to be around, the guy that eye-fucked everyone in the room while chugging a pint of whiskey. He made Nic Cage look like a cry-baby.

You might have seen us. I was the Doormat sitting on his right in a tightly packed circular booth in the uber-hip dive bar as he finger-fucked the blond to his left. I was the girl that scooped his drunk ass off the floor and made sure he made it home. I was the girl that always believed in him even when I found the nude pics of one of his classmates that he told me were for her boyfriend and she wanted his professional opinion. I was the girl that blindly attended his film school parties where he led a different life and no one knew I existed. I was the girl serving as the object of the other girls’ humor and ridicule at those same parties. And I was the girl still too afraid to leave him so no horror or humiliation was too great. As a result, I became paranoid and I learned to distrust myself.

Know this: You will never reckon with a greater force than yourself. Although I was trying desperately to obliterate my soul, it wouldn’t happen. I tried to leave again and he told me I was crazy and please don’t go… again. I ignored myself and I listened to him and I stayed. Again. But now I was suspicious ALL THE TIME. Now I was riddled with reality. I could not ignore it anymore.

Here’s the abridged version of the break-up(s).

One day it became overwhelmingly obvious that things weren’t so fun anymore. He would drink and forget what he’d done. He would suddenly have a new a girlfriend with no notice, and the times I did make the effort to leave, he would tell me I was overreacting. Instead of crying and fawning over him, I got mad. It happens.

I drove to his house one evening after work and as I walked down the driveway, I caught a glimpse through one of the windows leading into the den, that he was laying on his couch, his head in the lap of a female colleague from school, the one that had sent him nude pictures of herself. Outraged, I stormed in and began removing anything of mine, shoving trinkets and miscellaneous clothing into a bag. I shouted that his room smelled like sex and he told me it was me for fuck’s sake and no, I didn’t believe him. I didn’t believe anything anymore and I didn’t want to believe myself, but I would have to pretty soon.

He called me a few days later and I couldn’t stop crying and he came over to my apartment to talk. I sat on the front steps chain smoking and sobbing. I was a real mess. He felt so bad he said and maybe we shouldn’t do this break-up thing and he’s so sorry and you wanna go to Barney’s Beanery? I said yes. I was awash in relief of old patterns and oh good I don’t have to do-all-this right now. Maybe now he would see me, he would see how much I love him.

We were together for about another week when in the middle of sex one night, and I mean right in the middle of it, he stops and says with two tons of disgust that he just can’t do this anymore and I need to go. My face burned. My heart hurt and I wondered how much humiliation can one human handle as I got up and groped for my belongings in the dark. I thought I might throw up. I didn’t, but I couldn’t breathe. He lay in his bed smoking and I have never felt as ugly, cheap and, unloved in my life as I did right then. Everything I’d ever done wrong, every verbal bruise I’d ever received, every sexual mistake I’d made – and unfortunately there’d been countless many – surfaced and lay on my skin like impermeable oil, slick and foul and I just wanted to go home.

So I did.  And I saw myself and I knew that it all happened because I didn’t love me. I allowed these things to happen. I put myself in harm’s way. I hurt myself by agreeing with his abuse of my affections and I admitted that I had a problem. Like so many addicts before me, I had to give up my drug of choice and I quit dating.

What was it Anais Nin said? “I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.” My ability to choose a Good Man doesn’t exist and I’ve become okay with that. Besides, I find it far more enjoyable to love myself than to seek it out in someone else.

Now that you know how to spot them, I ask two things: First, I implore you to run in the opposite direction when you cross paths with one and never look him in the eye. Second, never judge another woman for dating a Mean Guy. She does a fine job of that on her own.

Consider yourself warned.

Welcome to Town:
This Town – The Go Go’s
Sex & Dying in High Society – X
Dream Lover – The Plasmatics
Love My Way – The Psychedelic Furs
Wasted – The Vapors
I Want You Around – The Ramones
Bodies – The Sex Pistols
Rise – Public Image, Ltd.
This is Radio Clash – The Clash
Into You Like a Train – The Cure
It’s via the Psychedelic Furs because there was no Cure version on youtube!

When the New Guy breezed into freshman English at Richland High like he owned the place, Lisa knew her life would never be the same. He was taller than the other boys in her class. He wore faded, fraying jeans and a long-sleeve flannel over his Kinks concert shirt. As he slipped into the desk next to her, she watched him casually kick off his checkered Vans and unfold his legs into the aisle between them. What a stone fox, she thought.

To keep from staring, Lisa focused hard on the doodle on the cover of her binder, but he was a magnet for her attention and when she chose a moment not too carefully, she found him staring at her. Remaining cool, she ran her fingers through her hair like yeah dudes are always checking me out when I doodle. I’m only like the next Warhol, you know. Her finger got stuck in her red locks. As she untwisted it, New Guy asked, “You like the Psychedelic Furs?”

“Huh? What?” Lisa blurted too loudly causing Mrs. Fletcher to look over.

New Guy pointed at the band’s logo on her folder and then at his own. She nodded and whispered, “Oh yeah. Totally.” Lisa watched as his shoulder-length blond hair moved in a mysteriously nonexistent breeze. She pictured the two of them, side by side in some kind of Italian sports car cruising across the European landscape, his hair blowing wildly in the wind, hers wrapped tightly in a scarf preferably something colorful and designed by Hermes.

“Fuckin’ A. Maybe this school won’t be a total waste after all” he said with a faint smile; a smile that said to Lisa, “You and me, babe. We can take this world by storm with our love.”

The blood crept up her neck like the ivy over a wall. If her mother ever saw him, she’d surely tell her, “He’s looks like a waste of time,” which sounded perfect to Lisa. She wanted nothing more than to waste all of her time gazing into the navy blue eyes he used to read the warning labels on Marlboro packages, to kiss the soft lips that were made sweet and moist from Crown and Cokes, and to hold the same hands that rolled perfect joints and twanged a whole two chords on a used electric guitar.

Her daydream was interrupted when an intricately folded piece of paper landed on his desk. Lisa’s best friend, Karla, a girl prone to wearing pastel ski sweaters and twister beads, gave her a thumbs up from the opposite side of the room. They both watched surreptitiously as New Guy unfolded the paper.

As he searched for a pen, Lisa pulled one from a brand new pack she just purchased at the drug store and handed it to him. “Thanks,” he said. Lisa promised herself that if he gave the pen back, she would have it bronzed and possibly framed… if you can frame bronzed items.

Folding the note, he passed it back in the direction it came, rested his head on his desk and fell asleep.

After class, Karla and Lisa met at their lockers. “Ohmigod, you totally have to read this,” Karla said pulling the note from her pocket. Grabbing it, Lisa gingerly began unfolding it. Karla anxiously hopped up and down, “Hurry! Open it!”

Pulling apart the crumpled note revealed fat, bubble-like cursive handwriting in blue ink asking several questions and black-inked chicken-scratch answering them saying that New Guy’s name was Gary, he just moved here from Chicago, and yes, he would come to Karla’s party Saturday night.

This was all exciting, but it was the last question that had Lisa in a stranglehold. “Do you want to date/hold hands/make-out with the red-haired girl, Lisa, to your left? Please circle all that apply.”

Gary had circled all three.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Is that just so bitchin?” Karla practically screamed. The girls hugged out their madness and then quieted as though everyone around them cared about their latest discovery.

“Why did you ask him about me?” Lisa asked as she grabbed the wrong books for her next class.

“I’m so sure. You should have seen your face when he walked to his desk,” Karla responded. “Kinda like way obvious so I had to get the deets.”

“Oh shit. I’m so embarrassed, they can see me blushing from space,” Lisa giggled.

“Like whatever,” Karla said. “I’m coming over and we’re picking the right outfit.”

“What if I make him a mix tape? Is that too forward?” Lisa inquired.

“It’s like totally clear he’s into you, you know?” Karla said excitedly as she raced off to class.

The next night, in Karla’s suburban garage, several nerdish students gathered around a punchbowl with their braces and acne and clean Izod shirts. “I’m so sure Gary’s going to show up and then totally book out with this on display,” Lisa said fanning her arm to the dork cluster. “My mom made me invite them. Grab some punch and we’ll stand out by the doorway,” Karla said.

Just as the girls made it to the garage door, an early model light blue Mustang in mint condition pulled into the drive, engine glugging. Gary sat behind the wheel, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “See? He’s totally calculating the nerd to cool ratio,” Lisa whispered. Karla bounded over to the car. “This car is so boss.”

Gary nodded thanks but his eyes stayed fixed on Lisa. He motioned out the window for her to come over. “Hey… you wanna go for a drive?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, “Why not.”

Karla jogged back over to Lisa taking her punch from her. “Total jackpot. He’s fine and he has a car! I want every single living color detail when you get back.”

Lisa smiled, “For sure, but whatever. We’ll probably just ride around and talk.” The girls shared a quick hug, and then Lisa dashed into the car.

Approximately two minutes and three seconds of awkward silence later, Gary pulled the car into a large clearing that separated Karla’s neighborhood from the woods and cut the engine. Gary leaned back and lit a cigarette. “You want one?” he asked. Lisa shook her head no and wondered if he was going to kiss her and if so, what should she do. Contemplating the conundrum kept her staring straight ahead like a stuffed animal when she suddenly remembered the mix tape.

Removing it from her pocket, she said casually, “Oh hey… I made you this tape just as… you know… a welcome…” A welcome what you total dweeb, sounded the voice in her head.

“Yeah? Cool.” He turned the tape over in his hands reading the label. “These bands are killer.”

Popping it into the deck, Gary pushed play. I Want You Around by The Ramones started up. “Why such a slow Ramones tune?”

Lisa’s face grew warm. Clearly, Gary wasn’t one for listening to the words of songs or reading titles for that matter. “I don’t know… most people only know their faster songs, but ….” Her voice drifted off.

Gary chuckled a little. “You’re kinda weird, you know? But then you’re kinda young, too.”

“Why? How old are you?”

Gary replied, “Seventeen.”

“Oh wow… I thought you were a freshman,” said Lisa.

“I am,” he said.

Gary exhaled long, crushed out the remaining ember and asked, “So what do you like to do?” He leaned toward her. The vinyl seat squeaked with his movement. She could feel his breath near her.

Thinking about the question and trying desperately to ignore how the air around them suddenly changed, she began rambling. “Um, well… I like to read and draw. I used to have a horse but it scared me… I also play tennis at the country club…” She stopped short when she felt his hand gently caress the back of her head.

Instinctively, Lisa turned toward him surprised at how easily she fell into the big moment, the big kiss. But what came next was the true surprise. Instead of locking lips, he directed her with an air of pride, “Look,” and then motioned her head toward his crotch.

In the two seconds that felt like 30 years, Lisa pulled back and looked out into the dark field only to see her frightened reflection staring back at her in the window. I could run into that field, she thought, like the women on the covers of those romance novels mom hides next to her bed. That’s what those women are doing. They’re running from the penis. No wonder mom won’t let me read them, but if she had, I’d know what to do right now.

Lisa knew in her heart that running away never solved a problem and that she was never one to turn away from a challenge. So, like a diver preparing for her nationally-televised Olympic leap, she expelled all the air from her lungs, took a deep breath and brought her face within one of inch of the… thing. Then, after a concentrated second, she gently and delicately began to blow upon it.

“What are you doing?” Gary blurted dumbfounded. Lisa sat up and replied so timidly as to be nearly inaudible, “Um… I’m giving you a blow job… I think.” But before Lisa could be sure, the bright headlights of a semi-truck parked across the field flashed on illuminating the confusion in Gary’s car. Lisa heard herself inhale sharply at the sight of the imposter protruding from his pants. Gary crammed his only friend back inside and in one movement, zipped up, shifted into first and turned left. “Are we going to your house?” Lisa questioned.  “I’m taking you back to the party… freshman,” Gary scorned.

They pulled into Karla’s driveway which also meant in front of everyone. Gary left the motor running. “Aren’t you coming back inside?” she asked. “Just get out,” he scoffed, “Jesus.”

At that moment, the tape started over and Love My Way began. In a sudden rash of fury fueled by disappointment, disgust and shame, Lisa popped the eject button on the deck pushing the tape out only halfway. She pulled hard to free it. “Careful!” Gary insisted.

She shoved his hand away and continued to yank on the hopeless tape; a tape pieced together with her heart, some secrets and the silly dreams of a 14-year-old girl. “You’re breaking it!” he shouted.

“No, you’re breaking it!” One last pull brought the cassette out with a long ribbon of chewed and marred tape. Tears poured down her face as she pushed the heavy door open. Karla ran towards the car screaming, “What did you do to her?”

Lisa slammed the door shut, the shiny, brown tape spooling madly from the deck and out the window. Gary screeched out of the driveway snapping the last bit of tape from the cassette that Lisa held in her hand. As he sped away, she ran into the alley and shouted, “You’re nothing but a waste of time!”

Karla put her arm around her. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“He’s only like the oldest ninth-grader in the world,” Lisa answered.

“Gross me out,” Karla said.

“I know. Like gag me with an entire set of dinnerware.”

As they walked up the driveway, a nerd handed Lisa a cup of punch. “You know the metal tapes are like so much better,” he said pushing his glasses up his nose. “I can give you some to try out if you want. I have a whole bunch.”

Lisa took one last look at the black plastic cassette with its missing guts before tossing it into the garbage can.

“That would be great,” Lisa said as Karla picked up tape remnants from the driveway and they walked back inside to the party.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Lisa is an optimistic pessimist in that she will happily tell you that things are only going to get worse.  She enjoys sleeping, driving, poking fun at hippies and eating popcorn.  All at the same time.

photo by Sharon Alagna Photography

I’m a size 16.  Been this size most of my adult life.  In high school I was a size 14 or, if my heart was broken that month, a size 12.  I was born in this body, handed down to me by my paternal grandmother.  And as I look at old photos of my grandmothers and great-grandmothers and great-great-grandmothers, we all have one thing in common — the same thick, round ass.  This is our family’s legacy.  It’s not much but I’m sure proud of it.

All my ancestors came from solid stock — farmer’s daughters from Ireland, Scotland, Wales, England via the Netherlands.   If you needed a woman to tend to the animals, split firewood, haul stones for a cow pasture fence, birth babies and make sweet love to you in the darkness, that was us.  As far as I know, my grandmothers’ ass size never held them back in life or from male attention.  But that was back in the day of unflattering dresses and skirts that routinely disguised body parts.  It was also a time when women made their own clothes.  Deckers, we’re crafty ladies and I’m sure every piece of clothing was custom made custom to fit their ample bottoms.  Luckily, I’ve inherited their craftiness but unluckily, not for the sewing arts.  So I am forced to buy my clothes in regular department stores, which, as we all know, are not custom fit – especially for big asses.

I’m middle-class so I buy my clothing at department chain stores.  Most modern day clothing stores only carry size 0-14.  Some, like the evil Abercrombie and Finch, only carry up to size 12.  The more realistic thinking stores like The Gap carry up to 16.  Its cousin, Old Navy goes up to a size 22!  Clothing stores like Lane Bryant that cater to larger women start at a size 16 and end somewhere in the later 20’s.  So a size 16 lands right in the middle of two very different size charts and two very different types of chain stores.  And you know what happens to those in the middle — they get squeezed or forgotten about.

Having worked in retail for two years at Express (back in the late 80’s when it was cool), I know a little something about retailers’ core customer and it ain’t those of us on the 16 end.  Both the below 16’s/above 16’s stores cater their advertising to their ideal customer – oddly enough, the middle-sized ladies.  For the below 16’s – it’s the size 6’s to 8’s while the larger size stores pitch to the 20’s to – 22’s.   These ladies, however, are never ignored.  No matter how many studies come out saying that the average size for a woman in America is 14, these retailers are steadfast in making sure a size 14 is not who they fawned over.

Now, one might deduce that if clothiers consider anyone bigger than an 8 afterthoughts then they also ignore those under a size 6.  If you thought that, you’d be wrong because these stores (Banana Republic, for instance) almost always carve out valuable floor space for a PETITE SECTION.  Doesn’t matter that every time I go into a BR store, the petite section is virtually empty – they make sure that section is the most up-to-date and stocked with all size.  Once, I even saw a size –0 there.  Yes, a negative zero.   What?  Are there women who are inside out?

You’d think a hugely popular brand like BR would recognize the revenue potential in also having a section for the other end of the size chart in their store but they don’t.  Instead, their standard line given with a smile to anyone asking is, “You can get it on-line.”   Really?  Do you know any size 16’s gal that will buy a dress, let alone a pair of jeans on line without trying them on first?  Cause I don’t.  C’mon!

At one time, Banana Republic did flirt with carrying size 16 in their stores.  It lasted only a year and a half.  During that time I bought many things and wore most of them out.  I’m a huge fan of the brand and of the service, coupons, bonus points, etc.  And I was proud of them for carrying the size since so many other stores had refused like Anthropology andH&M.  When I go to any of those stores, I can only shop from the waist up because even trying on dresses and skirts, I’m afraid I’ll rip a seam, tear a zipper or pop a button.   Sadly, BR yanked all the size 16’s from the stores, which cause me to yank about half of my buying power.  I’ll admit once or twice I’ve gotten brave enough to buy a dress on-line but only after I’ve tried on the smaller version in the store and can guess by the unzipped zipper that it will fit.  These days, back in the stores, I’ve resigned to accidentally coming across a size 16 that another customer has returned after buying it on-line and discovering the jeans fit weird in the crotch.  Getting nice clothes at a great price has turned into a horrible sale section crapshoot, one that I lose most the time.

As far as the above 16’s stores go, I’ve ventured in on many occasion only to be just as disappointed as with the below 16’s stores.  They didn’t cater to their smallest sizes (16/18’s) like the below 16’s stores do.  In fact, the size 16’s had the smallest selection to buy from.  When I did find a size 16, the choices were often blousy, non-form fitting.  I guess, to these clothiers as well, the size 16’s just isn’t worth the bother either.

You can tell how much a store understands their customers by looking in the sale section.  If there is too much of one particular size in there, you know they aren’t paying attention to the customers buying their clothes.  Nothing pisses me off more than seeing a design I like, on sale or in the sale section and only finding it in size 6/8/10’s.  Even I, who doesn’t have a fashion degree, can figure out that a majority of customers buying your clothing are size 12 and above or under 6.  It also tells me, you aren’t buying enough of size 12/14’s or – if you carry them – 16’s.  When I worked at Express, a shipment would come in and I’d count the amount representing each size.  Always, the size 12/14’s were in the single digits with quantity, while all others were in the double digitals.  This tells me that not only are we not important enough to design for, but even when these chains make an attempt to include us we aren’t even important enough for them to have a – pun intended – large enough supply to go around.  This thinking also forces me to pay the higher price for a clothing item because who knows if it’ll be around when it does go on sale.  So I guess these chains, while taking our money, want us to feel shame for being the size we are as well as fight over the paltry supply.  Or maybe they just think we should be grateful they even make their clothing in our sizes.

Speaking of style, no matter how hard you try to convince me, the below 16’s clothing designs don’t translate to women of a larger size.  Yes, Tim Gunn has spoken about this issue recently, but I’ve been yelling about since I bought my first The Limited sweater.  You just can’t take a design made for a size 2, size it up to a 16 and think it will work.

A big problem is these chains aren’t thinking past the “naturally thin” or eating-disorder bodies out there.  Perfect example of this insane thinking was the debacle LOW-RISE JEAN fad some years ago.  Designers and corporate store runners never thought about the stomach rolls most women’s mid-sections have so for three years, the whole world was assaulted with butt cracks and guts sticking out and waving to us as if saying, “Hi, what’s your name?”   I personally wore out all my old jeans and pants, re-sewing the area by my crotch where my thighs hit over and over, waiting for low-rise to pass.  It was during this time that someone informed me that the majority of designers of female clothing are gay men.  I screamed, “How could you gay men?!  We fat girls were your only friends in high school!  We protected you at lunch.  We went to the prom with you knowing we weren’t going to lose our virginity just so you could dance to Depeche Mode.  You owe us a pair of pants that fits!!”

Size 16’s have curves that make us women, not androgynous goons.  Yes, I know Macy’sand Nordstrom’s carry bigger sizes but that’s not our style.  We want to dress in The Gap,Banana Republic, H&M, Anthropology and J. Crew.  Why can’t we have the same rights to buy cheap, fad-driven clothing as everyone else?  Why can’t we live in a world where people want to design for the average sized women and not have a chip on their shoulders about it?  Oh, and we want the clothing designers hired by Target to make sure their designs are actually the size they say they are, not two sizes smaller.  Why is it so hard for you to understand that I want a pair of pants that doesn’t give me a camel toe?

I’ve read enough articles about the whole “average size 14” issue to realize that the media thinks women don’t embrace their size but rather are ashamed of it.  If you believe that, you are dumb, naïve and a weightist.  Stores don’t carry size 16 because they don’t want a larger sized woman representing their brand.  Why not?  We’d rock your clothes hard and have brand loyalty because you’d made us feel good about ourselves.  I’m not ashamed of my size at all.  This is the body I was given and I work with it.  I’ve seduced men, won awards, made people laugh and been given the heart of my husband – all in this body and with this butt.  The only thing that makes all of these accomplishments better is when we put on stylish article of clothing that actually fits.

The only way to make clothing chains pay attention to us size 16’s is to stop buying smaller clothes that don’t fit.  To stop buying into the idea that we’ll lose 30 pounds to fit in to that size 12.  And to force chain stores to stop thinking of us as an after thought.  We need a store that caters to us middles.  Because we are worthy and deserve to be treated as such.