“Daddy, Daddy!” he cried, and I ran up the stairs, leaping over the Thomas LEGO Train  that I swore I put in the toy box just an hour ago.   “I’m coming,” I yelled.  Who knew that becoming a father would be like this — a life of big joys and even bigger anxieties?  When I entered his room, David was on the floor, still wrapped in his Transformers-themed blanket, his finger extended, showing me the “boo-boo.”

Sophia entered the room, interrupted the flow of my story.     

Sophia:  “What are you writing?  (looking over my shoulder at the monitor)  Who is that kid with us?”

Neil:  “I’m not sure.  While I was cleaning my desk, I found this disk of photos from 2001.  Do you know who he is?”

Sophia:  “Hmmm… no. ”

Neil:  “Is it possible that we had a child and we forgot?”

Sophia:  “You mean like we brought him shopping and left him there… and then forgot?”

Neil:  “You do have a habit of losing your keys.”

Sophia:  “If anyone would lose our child, it would be you.   Where’s my red bra you “said” you brought back from the laundromat?”

Neil:  I did bring it back.

Sophia:  OK, fine.   What’s the difference?  He’s not our kid.   He doesn’t even look like either of us.”  

Neil:  “I think I still have that sweater, though.”

Sophia:  “No, that’s the one you shrunk in the wash and we use as a rag.”

Neil:  “In case anyone asks, let’s call him David.”

Sophia:  “Asks about what?”

Neil:  “About our fake son.”

Sophia:  “And why are you writing your post like you are a father?”

Neil:  “I read on Twitter that one of those parenting blogs is looking for a writer.  I think they pay.   But you need to write about subjects such as “Daddy Depression.”

Sophia:  “Oh yeah?   Write away, Dad.”

Neil:  “I wonder why there aren’t any “Separated Husband” Blogs that pay bloggers?”

Sophia:  “You can start one.”

Neil:  “Eh, who would read it?  Every day it would be the same article –  “New Ways to Play With Yourself — Part #78.  I probably should just stick to Hollywood.  Online, I have no marketable niche.  I know very little about style or food or babies or gadgets.  I know nothing.  Well, I guess there ARE sex blogs out there…”

Sophia:  “Yeah, but you don’t know much about that either.”

Neil:  “Ha Ha.”

We laughed — we laughed for a very long time.  (Women, write this down.  It doesn’t matter the size of your boobs or what type of nail polish you wear.  If you can make a man laugh, you’ve won him.)  

Sophia:  “And what is this NaBloPoMo you’re doing?”

Neil:  “We’re all supposed to write a post every day in November.”

Sophia:  “Why?”

Neil:  “Why?  Why? Why so many questions?”

Sophia:  “Just curious.”

Neil:  “I don’t know why I’m doing it?  Some big-shot blogger somewhere wants us to do it, and we all follow like sheep.  That’s why!”

Sophia:  “But what can you write about EVERY DAY?  Do you have that much to say?” 

Neil:  “I can write about my life.   My adventures.   My wild sex life.  My female readers are always curious about what I’m like in bed.”

Sophia:  “I think these photos from 2001 might give your readers some idea…”

Seriously, funny women are hot.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   Male Nurse

Neil:  Sophia, let me ask you something.  When I was with Pamela today (editor’s note:  this week I’m calling my therapist Pamela), I couldn’t help noticing that she had just shaved her legs, and she wasn’t wearing any stockings, and she was sitting with her legs crossed, so they were right in front of my face.

Sophia:  So what?

Neil:  Do you think she was hitting on me?

Sophia:  No.

Neil:   Do you think she was hitting on me as a TEST — a psychological test — to see how focused I was, or whether I could keep my concentration on my own issues?

Sophia:  No.

Neil:  It’s very intimate in there.  I’m telling her all these personal things. 

Sophia:  That’s why it is called therapy.  You’re paying her for that.

Neil:  So, she wasn’t hitting on me?

Sophia:  No.

Neil:   You’ve never thought about your therapist… in that way?

Sophia:  No.

Neil:  I don’t believe you.  You never felt anything for him?

Sophia:  No, it’s way too obvious.  It’s a cliche.   Falling for your therapist.

Neil:  I see… and you don’t do cliches. 

Sophia:  No.

Neil:  So, you don’t think about other men?

Sophia:  I didn’t say that.   I said falling for your therapist is a cliche.

Neil:  So, who do you think about?

Sophia:  Well… there’s the waiter at the Peruvian Restaurant.  He’s really good-looking.

Neil:  You’ve thought about the waiter at the Peruvian Restaurant?

Sophia:  Well, it’s not a cliche.

Neil:  So, are you insinuating that falling for your therapist means the person is… boring?

Sophia:  I never said that, either.

Neil:  You insinuated that.

Sophia:  You know, you should talk to your therapist about this.

A Year Ago On Citizen of the Month:   Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

This weekend, Sophia and I went to an upscale Newport Beach hotel for our anniversary.  As you know, we are separated.  So, why are we celebrating our anniversary?  Hey, so we’re separated.  We might end up divorced.  We might end up staying married, and finding true happiness.  Whatever the case, we still love each other.   We loved each other enough a few years back to have participated in that expensive mega-ceremony on October 13th which made our love legal.   So, why not celebrate that love… and that special day? And since we have an offbeat marriage, why not make our anniversary weekend unique in its own way,  a microcosm of our years together as a couple?

Our marriage is about companionship.    During our anniversary, we tried to recapture those elements that have kept us together for so long.  We attended a concert and a provocative piece of theater in Laguna Beach.  We played cards.  We stayed in bed and watched TV.  We ate Italian food in a tiny, romantic restaurant in Laguna Beach, sitting at a special table by the window.

Our marriage is about overcoming the hurdles of two strong individuals learning to compromise.   During our anniversary,  we kept things “real” by making sure we had at least one really nasty fight.  Our fight on Saturday night was a pretty good one, a disagreement about — something too ridiculous to talk about — in which “f**K you!” was said at least fifteen times, where I crushed an empty coffee cup and threw it onto the floor of the car, and where Sophia threatened to drive back to Redondo Beach, leaving me stranded at a Mobil gas station.

Our marriage is about humor.   Without a sense a humor, a couple might as well give up any chance of surviving.   During our anniversary, we had a lot of laughs.   After our big fight, we resolved to have a good time for the rest of the weekend, and we did.  We always find something to laugh about, such as this “Sopranos”-inspired artwork we noticed at some art gallery.

Our marriage is about acceptance.   During our anniversary, we went shopping.  Although part of me wondered why in the world Sophia NEEDED to buy another hat at this overpriced hat store, I’m glad I got this ribbon hat for her, because Sophia looks pretty cute in it.

Our marriage is about passion.   The hotel’s grounds had both ping pong tables and shuffleboard courts.   During our anniversary, we went head to head.  Sophia surprisingly beat me in the ancient sport of ping pong, slamming the ball past me for the final point.  I retaliated in shuffleboard, my years of experience from my youth at Jewish resorts in the Catskills helping me show her who’s on top.   After the games, we both took cold showers.

Our marriage is about emotion.  How can a couple not be sentimental about the good times together?  During our anniversary, we stumbled upon a couple getting married near the beach.  This made us reminisce about our own special day.

Like our marriage, our anniversary weekend was bumpy, chaotic, creative, neurotic, irritating, inspirational, sentimental, sexy, nasty, loving, and fun. 

When we got to Barnes and Noble for Laurie’s first leg of her book tour, the third floor reading area was already jammed. It was standing room only. The obsessive knitters had already taken all the seats, having camped outside to see the Beatles… I mean Crazy Aunt Purl.

It made me wonder if these women are allowed on airplanes with those knitting needles. I recognized a few bloggers, such as Ellen Bloom.

Sophia had just gotten her hair done yesterday, and was looking like a Princess.

And Princesses don’t stand, even for book readings from bloggers.

Sophia: I don’t really want to stand in the back for the entire event.

Neil: What do you want me to do?

Sophia: Find me a chair.

Neil: Well, I’m not a magician. There’s no more chairs.

Sophia sighed.

She disappeared and low and behold — returned carrying a tiny child’s bench from the children’s book section.

Neil: What did you do? Kick some child off of that bench?

Sophia: Yes. Children need to learn — adults first!

(OK, she didn’t really say that, but I imagined her saying it) And, honestly, her chutzpah is why I married her!

I took the bench from Sophia and placed it behind the last row.

Sophia: Oh no, I’m not sitting in the back. All I can see from this tiny bench is everyone’s behinds.

Sophia does not like sitting in the back of anything. She insists that we always buy the expensive orchestra seats at the theater. Before I met her, I used to sit in the last row of the balcony, which she calls the helicopter pad. She even likes to sit in the front row of comedy clubs. I usually clench my teeth for the first five minutes of every comedy act, fearful that one of the comedians will start talking to me.

Sophia lifted the bench, and carried it — to the isle next to the front row!

Laurie was terrific in her book reading. She is funny and has a real sexy Southern accent. That voice can melt any man’s heart.

A Southern shiksa goddess if there ever was one!

(more photos at Ellen’s site)

After the reading, and the Q and A, the moderator said we should get in line to get our books signed — starting in the front. She pointed first to the couple sitting in front on a tiny brightly-colored bench stolen from the children’s section. We were going to have the very first book signed by Laurie on the very first day of her tour!

So, Laurie’s book tour began. The moderator made us put a post-it on the book with my name on it, but Laurie recognized me. After we hugged, she asked me if I wanted her to write “To Hot Stuff,” in the book, remembering something I wrote on my blog two days ago. I introduced her to Sophia, and Laurie immediately seemed more interested in Sophia than me, which is usually the case.

“Sophia!” Laurie cried. “What an honor. And you’re even so much more beautiful in real life than you are in your photos.”

Laurie wrote the perfect message in my book, something about “me” and “being her” and “favorite blogger,” but it’s personal, so I’m not going to say anything.

Her book is titled Crazy Aunt Purl’s Drunk, Divorced, and Covered in Cat Hair: The True-Life Misadventures of a 30-Something Who Learned to Knit After He Split. It is funny and emotional book, and you don’t need to know anything about knitting to get into it. I have zero interest in knitting. Or cats. But I do like good stories.

Special thanks to Sophia for getting us up front and first. Sometimes you DO have to steal from children to get what you need.

The task accomplished, Sophia and I went out for some fried okra… I mean sushi.

What says Sunday more than breakfast out at the local diner, doing the crossword puzzle, making a trip to the nearby Big Lots for paper towels, and seeing a movie (and sneaking into the second film at the multiplex just for the hell of it)?

Can you believe that Big Lots already has a CHRISTMAS DISPLAY! Really? WTF? It is the first week of October. Christmas is December 25.

The night before Hanukkah, Jews go into the closet and take out the menorah. Do Christians really need TWO FULL MONTHS to get ready for this holiday? I think Americans take more time and effort in planning for Christmas than we did in planning for the war in Iraq.

Can I give you mommybloggers some advice? Do not buy these rubber Halloween masks they sell! I put this one on for ten seconds just for this photograph and almost suffocated.

I took Sophia to our local AMC Theater to see two girly movies, Feast of Love and The Jane Austen Book Club. Not surprisingly, I liked both films better than Sophia, who found them corny and predictable. (Men, if your girlfriends or wives give you a choice to see these two films, pick “Feast of Love.” At least you get to see THREE of the actresses naked!).

During the second film, Sophia became uncomfortable from sitting so long, and started to squirm in her seat. She leaned over to me and whispered, “Help me undo my bra, I can’t reach without it being noticeable.” These were words heaven-sent, especially after just seeing three topless actresses bouncing around on the screen. Unfortunately, the bra removal was more for Sophia’s comfort than for my amusement. After ten minutes of my struggling to unsnap her bra, Sophia told me that I needed to write another post about how to undo the bra, and removed her bra herself through her sleeve. How do women do that? It’s like a magic trick! I can’t take my socks off before I take off my shoes. How do you take your bra off without first taking off your top?

“I left my purse in the car,” Sophia whispered. “Do you have a place to put the bra?”

“Sure,” I said, stuffing it into the front of my pants.

After the second movie, I suggested that we go and sneak into a third movie!   Sophia wasn’t sure she wanted to see another movie, but I said it would be fun.   We decided that Sophia would take a bathroom break, and I would meet her by the refreshment area, and then we would investigate what is playing.   As I waited for Sophia, I paced back and forth, watching all the suckers paying seven dollars for some popcorn. Suddenly, I noticed all eyes on me.   The theater manager ran over, and bent down next to me.

“You dropped your bra, sir,” he said to me.

He was holding Sophia’s bra, which had fallen out of my pants and onto the floor. People looked at me as if I was some pervert. I shoved it into my pocket as Sophia appeared.

“So, did you see any other good movies playing here?” she asked.

“No, let’s get out of this theater. And never come here again.” I said, as I grabbed her arm.

“Why? What happened?”

“I dropped your bra and everyone thought it was mine.”

I took her bra from my pocket and returned it to her. She started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Anyone can see — you could never be a D cup!”

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Two Nerds on the Phone

I try to understand you and give you what I got
To brush my teeth, to buy you shoes,
To play with your g-spot.

So why must you confuse
what was easy when we dated.
Man and Woman, all that crap — it’s not that complicated.

I know many of my female readers are eagerly waiting for Sophia to give me the final boot, so you could grab me as your own personal boy toy. Let me temper that enthusiasm with some reality. One of Sophia’s biggest complaints about me is that I can be a real nag. I have an open mind about most things, but when an action rubs me the wrong way, I get all moralistic and can’t keep my mouth shut. There are some things that I just HATE — like when someone uses an old “Handicapped Parking Card” to park more easily at the mall, or when anyone litters in public. I can go on for hours about how one napkin thrown on the ground can make a Native American stand by the freeway and cry.

I blame the New York public school system for making me into a nag. The teachers were the biggest nags on Earth. Even though “global warming” hadn’t hit it big yet, pollution was on every teacher’s agenda. They made us celebrate “Earth Day.” I don’t remember much geometry, but I do remember my social studies teacher forcing us to write to the Japanese Prime Minister to tell him to stop killing whales. Being a frequent “Citizen of the Month” at school, I ate this stuff up. I was going to change the world, even as a third grader. I scolded my mother about choosing unsafe for dolphins tuna fish. I warned my mother about the freon in the refrigerator. I still nag today about the “trans-fats” in the “low-fat” cookies she eats, which she thinks are healthy. She nags me. I nag her. That’s why we get along so well.

No one likes a nag, but nagging can be an effective tool in getting someone to change their ways (although it hasn’t been very successful with Sophia).

Maybe I need to talk about my nagging when I go to therapy. Who wants a man that nags? Why can’t I just leave people alone to make their own mistakes? I hate when people are annoying to me, asking me why I have an SUV or criticize me for my poor recycling of bottles.

When I was younger, my mother was a social smoker. She hardly smoked at all — maybe one or two cigarettes on the weekend with friends. I was so brainwashed by my anti-smoking teachers that I just nagged her into quitting. I was like Bart Simpson repeating a sentence over and over again until Homer gives in.

“Mom, you know those cigarettes can kill you? Right? Right? And if we breath it in with you, you are killing us, too. Right, right?”

I don’t think my mother touched a cigarette ever again once I got through with her.

I’m actually astounded that so many people still smoke after all these years of bad press and being ostracized by the general public. In LA, you can’t even smoke on the beach!

Every once in a while, I read about one of you smoking a cigarette, usually on the weekend in a bar. I try hard to restrain myself from lecturing you. I don’t want to come off as a humorless prig. My image is that of fun and exciting, not moralistic and dull. And after all, it is your life. But, you do realize, that the second-hand smoke goes into the blogosphere and affects us all? Right? Right?

Sarah from “Sad and Beautiful World” is almost done with her 365 Project on Flickr. She has done amazing work and you should check out her photos.

Here is a photo of Sarah and her husband Pete. How cute they are! But –

I’m not going to say anything.

(is there anyone else I need to publicly nag?)

Hi, there.  This is going to be a short post because I’m writing this on the laptop while I’m driving across country.  I took off on Friday to start my road trip.  I’m not sure what this says about the morality of American women, but it is almost TOO easy to accomplish my goal of 50 women, 50 States.

My first stop from California was in Nevada, where I met Jennifer watching the Bellagio “water” show with her girlfriends.  She was in Vegas for her bachelorette party and she was very eager to go for one last fling, especially when she heard my name and recognized it from all those “Best Blogs of the Blogosphere” lists. 

“I’d love to be the first lay on your Road Trip!” she announced.

The sex was amazing.  Her fiancee from back home, Dr. Anderson Traub of Wilmington, Delaware, is one lucky guy, that is if she still does this sort of stuff once she gets married.   After a couple of rounds of intense lovemaking, I gave her some advice about her upcoming wedding. 

“Always remember –” I told her, “that you and Anderson should enjoy the event as much as the guests.  The wedding is for you!”

The best of luck to both of them!   Mazel tov!  

Recently, I had a discussion with Dagny about whether it is appropriate or not to mention the ethnicity of someone in a post.  In Sedona, Arizona, I had an interesting experience.    Does it really matter that Carla was a black woman?  Probably not, but since it was my first experience bedding an African-American, I feel that this information is relevant.   But even more importantly, I certainly think it is essential for you to know that Carla is a massage therapist and KEGELS instructor!   That certainly mattered a lot more in bed than her skin color!  When they say there is a “spiritual vibe” in the red rocks of Sedona, I now know what they are talking about!  I certainly felt my chakras rising!

In Salt Lake City, I took some time out for a little tourism.   The Mormon Temple is beautiful.  And the members of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir truly have voices like angels!  I really appreciated being taken around the church grounds by my lovely tour guide, Sarah.  After sitting through a few videos about her religion, she was more than willing to go out with me for some ice cream (she doesn’t drink and Salt Lake City has a lot of great ice cream making up for the lack of bars).   As we enjoyed the sweets, I told her about my Road Trip, and she was so excited about participating  Utah rocks!  She was a lot of fun and a great conversationalist.  Ironically — I thought this was amusing — the only sex position she doesn’t like is… the missionary one.

Despite the good times, I’m feeling a little down.  I’m having some doubts about the whole enterprise.  Once I accomplish it all, will there be anything to show for it?   Will this be the biggest accomplishment of my life?  Will I be like Gary Coleman or Todd Bridges, always looking back to the one sitcom they were in, knowing they never could achieve the same greatness?

And — I hate to bring up this mushy stuff — but what about love?  Romance?  Sure, there is something intriguing about bedding 50 women in 50 states?  But isn’t there something a little superficial about the idea?  I can see maybe going to Hawaii and having sex with some lonely busineswoman for the night, but ALL 50 States?  Is this what our Founding Fathers really had in mind with the concept of ONE country, indivisible?

Where does love come into play with all this?  Wouldn’t it be better to turn back, go into therapy, and try to make a REAL relationship work?

“No!  Do not turn back!” said a German-sounding voice.

“Who is this?”

“This is Doctor Sigmund Freud, talking to you from the beyond!  You must continue on with your quest!”

“Sigmund Freud my ass.  That is the worst attempt at an accent EVAH, Penis.”

“You can’t turn back now.  You’re doing so well!”  said my Penis.  “The last three days have been terrific!  This is the best trip we ever went on together!”

“What about the time we went to Cooperstown with my parents?”

“You’re a moron, Neilochka.   We couldn’t even masturbate that weekend because you were afraid of the parents walking in.”

“What about all the cool baseball stuff we saw at the museum.  And remember that female docent? That was the first time I  saw a woman not wearing a bra.”

“That’s right!  And she kept on talking about Joe Dimaggio’s big bat!   Boner-time   Ha Ha.   We were so immature back then!”

“That was a long long time ago.”

“Her name was Tracey.” said my Penis.

“The docent from Cooperstown?  You remember her name, Penis?”

“Not only that!  I googled her name and found out she now lives in Austin, Texas.”

“Why did you do that?

“Because we’re turning this car around and going to Texas to find Tracey.  Ride ‘em, Cowgirl!”

“This woman must be like sixty years old by now?”

“So? I don’t see any problem with that!”

Dear Reader:  Please help me!  Should I listen to my Penis and continue onto Texas

or

should I turn back like a rational person, find a good therapist, and focus on a real relationship?

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   The Sidewalk of Love

Today, I stop being depressed.  I do this by coming up with a plan.  I have decided to look at the positive side of things.  If things fall through with Sophia, I will see the opportunity,  and not the regret.   I will focus on my FREEDOM to be who I WANT to be and to DO what I want to do!

Let me speak to my male blogging friends directly:

I know that many of you are married with children.  I am happy for you.   You are living lives of comfort.   But we both know the truth — you have sacrificed your dreams in accepting this marital bliss.  You have gained a wife’s soft bosom and the joy of a child’s laughter, but it has required a compromise — you have packed your dreams in the dusty attic of your mind, never to be seen again.

I understand.  I was once JUST LIKE YOU, content just to be able to play with a woman’s breasts ANY TIME I wanted to (well, accept before 8AM or during periods)!  Who wouldn’t become complacent under those conditions? 

But I am lucky.   Show no pity for me concerning my situation with Sophia.  This might be the best thing to ever happen to me.

My plan now is to LIVE MY DREAM.   It may be too late for you, my married male blogger friends, but you can certainly help me plan my dream.  Maybe you can live your dream vicariously through me.

I’ll probably end up back in Los Angeles to live, but I thought of going to New York for a while and visiting my mother… maybe even check things out there while I get some therapy.   I was going to fly there, but then I had an idea — why don’t I just drive across this great country of ours?   Then came inspiration!   It was like the stars converged over my head, giving me the opportunity to accomplish my life-long dream –

– yes, getting laid by a different woman in all fifty states. 

Why settle for just one when America offers so much variety?!

All men have this dream,  but how many of us get to achieve it?  We always get bogged down with marriage and babies and cleaning out the garage!

Not me!

I’ve had a slow start.  I’ve only had sex in two states.  Sure, they are the most populous — New York and California, but even Barak Obama can’t win the election with just two states under his belt. (wait a minute:  I think there was one time in Vermont.  I just don’t remember if I made it through the actual “sex” part).

Men, here’s where you can help.  What do you think would be the best route to accomplish all 50 states from California to New York?  I’m not really sure how to program the GPS for this type of information?  How much time should I take in each state?  Remember, I need to drive in town, get a hotel, meet someone, AND get laid — all before I move on to the next state.  Do you think I will need the same amount of time in red states as blue states?  So far, I don’t have any specific plans.  The only “sure-shot” I know about is Blogger X in New Jersey, but she is mad at me right now for not reading her blog lately.  I guess I can always tell her that “I read it in Bloglines!”   Women buy any excuse, right, guys?!

Back to the planning phase.  I will need to also hit Hawaii and Alaska.  Do you think I should hit Hawaii first for the lei, since fares from LAX are pretty reasonable?  I’m also debating whether I should go the southern route via the Gulf States first — before we get too far into the hurricane season.   I’ll probably wait until it is colder before I make the Northern States.  I’m figuring that by then, women will probably be hornier and more desperate, especially around the time of the Christmas parties and New Year’s Eve.

What do you think?  Will it take that long or can I wrap this up by Columbus Day?

Men, I really hope that I can be an inspiration to you.  If I can impart any wisdom to you, it is “Don’t Let Women Rule Your Life — Always Follow Your Dream.”

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   Mel Gibson Arrested for DUI