Sophia came out of the bathroom wearing a brown dress and flats.
“You can’t wear that,” I said. “Wear the short dress and the hooker shoes with the heels. This is a MALE blogger we are meeting. His wife is going to be there. I’ve seen a picture of her. She’s very good-looking. YOU have to be HOTTER.”
“Why?”
“It’a a male competitive thing. I mean all men love their women and respect them and all that stuff, but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, we just want to show the other guy that our babe is foxier.”
“I thought we were coming to Vegas to gamble or see a show, not spending time with bloggers. Don’t you spend enough time online?”
“This is not just any run-of-the-mill blogger we are meeting. This is Black Hockey Jesus. His blog, Wind Under Her Vagina, is very popular.”
“Is he more popular than you?”
“Uh, well… yeah. Bastard. Now do you understand why I want you to wear the hooker shoes?”
“Is he a good writer?”
“People say that he is one of the best.”
“What does he write about?”
“How the f**k would I know? I don’t waste my time reading blogs by men! I figure that because of his name, he is a black Christian guy who writes about hockey.”
“So, why are we meeting him?”
“For one reason only. He knows the The Bloggess.”
“Oh, she is so funny! Why can’t YOU be as funny?”
“Yeah, anyway. I figure that if I can get in good with this dude, The Bloggess may talk to me at BlogHer, and someone will take a photograph of the The Bloggess talking with me, and it will be published on some blog, and my traffic will SOAR!”
“If you don’t know anything about this Black Hockey Jesus and his wife, what are we going to talk about. I’m not going to sit there for two hours listening to you talk about Twitter or gossiping about Dooce.”
“This is EXACTLY why our marriage is failing. You don’t understand your role as the wife.  You’re supposed to show up with the hooker shoes and laugh at my jokes. A half hour into the meal, I want you to lean over to me, as if to whisper, but saying it loud enough for the others to hear, and say, “I wish the OTHER COUPLE wasn’t here, because I am so turned on by you, I would give you a blowjob right now.”
“Yeah, right. You would be the one freaking out if any woman tried to do that to you. You would be screaming, “What are you doing? Are you crazy? We’re in public! I’m not ready yet!”
“You’re an actress. Think improv.”
The story, rushed because Sophia is anxious to get out and gamble — Last night, Black Hockey Jesus and his wife, J, picked us up at our hotel and took us to their favorite sushi place in Las Vegas. I have a love/hate relationship with this blogger. He is a terrific writer, but he came out of nowhere a year ago and stole half of my readership. He forced me to work harder on my blog posts. In the old days, penis jokes were enough to get comments. Now, I have to WORK for my no pay. I was hoping to meet him while in Vegas, and get some dirt on him, and destroy his budding writing career.
And yes, I have found his Achilles heel. He is not the arrogant jerk like he is on his blog. He is SWEET and FRIENDLY and LOVING with his wife. He lives in a suburban community and worries about the kids.
Now, let’s talk about ME. I pose as a “nice guy” on my blog, but I am the TRUE JERK. I ogle the breasts of women, and honk at old ladies crossing the street. I have an unstable marriage and find your children annoying.
I AM THE REAL REBEL. You should be reading my blog, NOT his. Reading his blog over mine is like reading Garfield over Kafka.
He is a fraud, just like Las Vegas herself.
But his wife is really nice. And hot.  But mine has an accent, bigger boobs, and hooker heels.  So there!
