8AM –

Every morning, when I turn my IM on, I see Alissa online, probably from her office.  She can see me online at the same time.  For weeks, we just stared at each other, neither wanting to bother the other.  I knew she was there and she knew that I was there.  Eventually, it just made me feel uncomfortable.  It was time to take some action –

Neil (via IM):  “Alissa, we have to do something about this.  We both see each other.  We both know we’re online.  It just seems rude to not say anything.  Isn’t there some sort of IM etiquette that we can follow?”

Alissa:  “I don’t think so.”

We came up with a plan.  We decided it was OK to say “Hello… but now I’m going to ignore you,” the online equivalent of the friendly, but superficial “hello” you might get from someone in the office.

It works for us.  I think we should all use this technique when we go on IM.  Isn’t it better to say, “Hi, but I’m now going to ignore you,” rather than just ignoring someone in silence?

8:30AM –

While in Starbucks this morning, I sat next to two guys reading the sports section of the LA Times… about Barry Bonds.   Dodger Stadium has been sold out this week because the Giants are in town and Barry Bonds is just one home run away from tying the record of Hank Aaron.  But so far, Bonds hasn’t hit any home runs in Los Angeles.

Guy #1:   “I think the Dodgers are doing it on purpose… throwing bad pitches at him.”
Guy #2:   ”Yeah?”
Guy#1:    “It is Major League Baseball. The guys in power don’t want Barry Bonds to succeed. They don’t want him to hit a home run.”
Guy #2:   “The steroids thing?”
Guy#1:   “Nah. It’s because he’s black. And they don’t want to a black man to be the record-holder.”

9AM –

I think it is apparent that I’m a little down over my situation with Sophia.  I’ve been trying to think positive thoughts, like in “The Secret,” hoping that laws of attraction will bring me some good news.  When I came back from Starbucks, I heard Sophia calling to me from upstairs:

“Neil, you got a call from CBS!”

“CBS?!” I asked myself,  “What could this mean?  Is CBS reading my blog and now they want to offer me a sitcom based on my life?  Do they want to hire me to be a writer?  As a producer?  Do they want to sponsor BlogHim and make it into a reality show, with me as the host?

I ran upstairs, three steps at a time, reaching Sophia in five seconds flat. I was out of breath.

“CBS called?  What did they say?  What did they want?!”

“CBS called?” asked Sophia. “No.  I said CVS called.  Your cholesterol medicine is ready.”

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Los Angeles: The Glamorous Life

Do you see how white I become after three days of not shaving?

Meet Bob. He lives in Redondo Beach. He’s a…uh… an accountant… but a loveable one. Imagine a cross between Tom Hanks, Luke Wilson, and Perez Hilton. One day, his girlfriend suggests he move out. He is distraught. He turns to his friends for help, but most of his friends are female and too busy getting ready to attend AccountantHer. When he asks if he can go to AccountantHer with them, they laugh at him. No man goes to AccountantHer! This makes Bob feel even more alone. He wanders the streets until he finds himself at a County Fair.

Bob may be alone, but this photo was taken by Sophia.

At the fair, he stumbles onto something he has never heard of — the table setting competition. Different “artists” compete by creating themes for their table settings. Bob is fascinated by this unique artform. He has found his calling. He decides that HE will become THE next table setting champion of America and regain his confidence.

He tells all his friends about his new dream, and they mock him, calling him “a dreamer.” Just when Bob is about to give up, he meets Mrs. Migashi, a mild-mannered health food store owner from Torrance, California, who just happens to be a famous table setter from Kyoto, and an expert in the Japanese form of this art. Mrs. Migashi does not have a son, and has always wanted to impart her wisdom to someone worthy of her knowledge.

“Teach me everything you know,” says Bob.

Bob immediately takes to the art, creating artistic table settings based on exotic locales and scenes from movies. He is especially proud of his dessert table titled “Lord of the Ring-Dings.”

Mrs. Migashi is not impressed.

“Table setting is not about throwing random paint around, like a Jackson Pollock painting.” she slowly says, educating him. “It requires discipline. Did you know that the dinner plate MUST be exactly one inch from the edge of the table? Or that points will be deducted if the knife does not perfectly align with the center of the water glass? Do you know the correct position and direction of the dessert spoon? Did you even know there WAS a dessert spoon?”

This one might have done better than 3rd Place if the artist didn’t use The Two Buck Chuck (the two dollar Trader Joe’s wine).

“But how will I ever learn all these things about table settings?” asks Bob. “How will I ever be ready for the National Championship in Tucson, Arizona?”

“You must focus.” says Mrs. Migashi. “You must wash my dishes every night, for two months, give me foot massages every other night, and take care of all my needs whenever I make a “booty call.”

“What does this have to do with table settings?” asks Bob.

“Do not question the master!” she shouts.

Two months and many booty calls later, Bob wins the National Tablesetting Championship, and regains his confidence.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Sex Advice for Men

It was inevitable. Our beautiful patio that I have been writing about for weeks, the beautiful locale that produced the lovely flowers and tasty tomatoes, had became a place that required “work” and produced “conflict.” All of a sudden, there were issues to be resolved:

Who is responsible for watering the plants?

Who should take care of the minutia of problems that crop up with live plants and flowers?

Who should get rid of the pigeons that have set up a permanent nest on our roof and no matter what we do, come back and crap on everything?

Who should rid the patio of the two wasp hives that have suddenly developed outside?

Who should spray the patio with scary pesticides after a quarter of of our plants have been eaten by pests? (I did — wearing a mask, goggles and winter hat to protect myself from the fumes!)

And who’s at fault for a broken pot — the one who tripped over it or the one who put it in the “wrong” place?

When I told Finn and Charming with Single about this, they suggested that the garden is a metaphor for marriage. What starts out all fun and romantic, falls apart if taken for granted. Like everything else, it NEEDS WORK to thrive.

All this drama has affected my blog writing. Have you ever been in a really bad mood or so upset at your wife that you couldn’t focus on writing a post, so you decided to ask someone to write a “guest post” for you?

Unfortunately, I had trouble deciding on who to ask to “substitute” for me at my blog. After all, who amongst you could maintain the usual high quality of “Citizen of the Month.” I certainly don’t want you plastering photos of your snot-filled babies or your LOLcats all over the place. (to my detractors — posting photos of Sophia holding out tomatoes is a completely different thing. Great writers and poets have been writing about gardens and the symbolism of vegetation since the beginning of time).

I walked to my local Starbucks, hoping to be inspired by all the conversation around me, but all I could think about was the same thing that had been on mind all day — why would Sophia (expurgated) when I told her that (expurgated), since — tell me if I’m wrong — isn’t marriage supposed to be (expurgated)?

“Screw it, ” I told myself. I don’t want to write anything today. If I had my druthers, I would just throw in another photo of Sophia in a dress, but then those literary NY bloggers will stop reading me, thinking me too superficial and “LA.”

So, I still needed a post, but I was dry. I had no one to turn to. So, I had an idea. Why not just pass my laptop to the Asian guy sitting next to me in Starbucks? I’m sure he can write a decent post for “Citizen of the Month.” It certainly couldn’t be worse than letting ONE OF YOU do a guest post!

Neil:   “Hey, what’s your name?”

Matt:   ”Matt.”

Neil:   “What do you do, Matt?”

Matt:   “I’m a graduate student in economics at UCLA.”

Neil:   “Great. Here’s the laptop. Write about anything you want. My readers are curious to hear your views.”

The Love of a Woman by Matt (guest-blogging for Citizen of the Month)

Love sucks. Love is like a virus that first attacks the brain, then the heart. It destroy everything inside of you, until you are left dead and decaying on the hot pavement, the only sound that you can hear coming from your old apartment, as your ex-girlfriend screws that new guy she met, screaming his name like a wild coyote.

Matt suddenly started to sob.

Matt:   ”I hate her… and love her.”

Neil:   “Uh, very interesting, Matt, but not really what I was looking for. I usually try for more “upbeat” posts. Your post is too depressing. But thanks for trying…. (under my breath)… nutcase.”

I grabbed my laptop and searched for another guest poster. On the opposite side of Starbucks, I saw another guy — a blond, beach boy type — sitting with his friend and laughing. He seemed to be in a great mood. I immediately ran over to him.

Neil:   “Hi, there. Would you like to guest post on my blog today?”

Pete:   “Sure.”

Neil:   “What’s your name?”

Pete:   “Pete.”

Neil:   “Go for it, Pete. Write for “Citizen of the Month.”

My Weekend by Pete (guest blogging for Citizen of the Month)

I had a great weekend. I love my life. On Saturday, I played some beach volleyball, then met this new girl on the beach. She looked great in her bikini. At night we went to see Transformers, and then she came back to my place. We must have f***ed all night. She was amazing in bed. She was insatiable. On Sunday, I went to church, as usual. When I came back, this chick was waiting for me with a homemade breakfast. She’s a great cook. We f***ed some more and then went out for some fish tacos. I was so hungry after all that glorious f***ing. At the Mexican joint, she told me how great I was in bed and that I was the best f*** in Redondo Beach…

Neil:   ”Wait… wait… hold on… this post is way too upbeat for my taste. Your weekend sounds 1000x better than mine. And I really don’t like that last line about you in bed, because I’ve been trying to give my readers a different impression of what’s best in Redondo Beach.”

Pete:   “Hey, I’m sorry, dude. I’m just telling the facts.”

Neil:   “Well, like I said, the post is too happy. Just like the other guy’s post was too depressing. I’m looking for a post that’s JUST RIGHT.

The first guest poster, Matt came over, tears still in his eyes.

Matt:   “Hey, did I hear you say that this girl told you that you were the best f*** in Redondo Beach?”

Pete:   ”That’s right.”

Matt:   “That’s bullshit. That’s what my girlfriend use to say to me.”

Pete:   “Well, sorry, dude.”

Matt:   “Wait a minute… is this girl’s name Meg?”

Pete:   “That’s right. Meg.”

Matt:   “That’s my girlfriend. You were doing my ex-girlfriend. You son of a…”

Matt grabbed Pete and wrestled with him in the middle of Starbucks.

The barista, a burly guy with a goatee, ran out from behind the counter.

Barista:   “Hey, stop it, you asses! Neither of you know what you are talking about. Meg told me that I was the best f*** in Redondo Beach!”

Matt:   “You too? You bastard.”

Matt threw a punch at the barista. Pete threw a punch at Matt, who went flying against the the glass of the pastry display. CRASH! The espresso machines became unhinged and blasted hot water upwards, blowing holes in the ceiling.

Neil:   “Yes!!!! I finally have a post to write. This is not too depressing. This is not too happy. This is JUST RIGHT!”

Update later:  I apologize for letting you read this crazy post, which really makes no sense at all.    Substitute this instead:

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   Her Real Name   (I asked bloggers to tell me their REAL names, not their phony blog names. Feel free to add to the list)

Some say the blogosphere is like high school. I don’t think it is anything like high school. In high school, the geeks and the beauty queens do not hang out with each other EVERY DAY, making jokes and flirting with each other. The internet is really the ultimate “Beauty and the Geek” social experiment. Have you seen some of the beautiful female bloggers out there?

Whoorl has the best hair on the internet.

Do you really think she would be talking with a geek like ME in high school?!

If the blogosphere is like high school, it is like one of those Hollywood high schools that Alicia Silverstone went to in Clueless. The blogosphere is an institution of unlikely friendships, where the dorks and the fashion plates become the best of friends because there is so much to LEARN from each other. I read the blog of the glamorous La Coquette all the time, trying to learn something about fashion. Some other fashion blogger might read a computer geek who wears broken glasses, hoping to learn some code for her blog template. The final result: all sorts of bizarre online friendships.

On Saturday night, Sophia and I had dinner with Tamar and Danny. This was an exciting event, because it was the first time I’ve met Tamar since she “won” me in a charity auction. I really loved meeting her. She has a wild sense humor, not at all like the stereotypical brainy professor you see in movies.

Danny, Tamar, and I have something else in common: we are all dorky when it comes to fashion. Unlike Sophia, who always has a certain je ne sais quoi about her, and has her own sense of style, the three of us see “style” as a low priority in our lives.

Danny is a writer and editor who buttons his shirt incorrectly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wearing a tie or non-khaki pants.

Tamar is a writer and educator, with little interest in “girlish” things. She admits that she doesn’t like to go shopping or spend time picking out clothes.

I’m completely fashion-hopeless, worse than both of them, usually wearing two different style socks. My only saving grace is that I have Sophia to force me to dress nicer on occasion.

But luckily, the three of us dorkier bloggers are blessed to have bloggers like YOU — the more socialized and fashion-conscious bloggers of the world, the ones who actually know how to match your purse with your shoes, those who use blogging less as a way to escape from the real world, but to talk about the latest dress style for Fall or how you bought some new avocado-scented hair conditioner online.

On Saturday, we finally listened to you — our dear stylish blogging friends, you Alicia Silverstones of the blogosphere — and we each took a giant step in joining the world of glamour.

A few weeks ago, I received an IM from Charming, but Single, with an important message: she had grown tired of my hairstyle. She had seen a photo of me on Flickr and was downright disgusted.

“Don’t you realize that long hair is out of fashion?” she said.

I mentioned this to Sophia, who absolutely agreed.

“You should get your hair cut short.” said Sophia. “Short… and pointed at the top… like Jonathan on “All My Children.”"

former psychotic killer, now nice-guy Jonathan from “All My Children”

I spent a week doing my own research. Almost every male character had short hair on All My Children, some with even a buzzcut. Most of the men in my local Starbucks also wore their hair very short. My longish, graying, hair made me look like an aging rock star on VH1.

I was fearful of change. I’ve always asked for my hair to be cut so it is “over my ears.” As some may have noticed from my childhood photo, there was a good reason I wanted my ears covered.

Even when my head grew into my ears, I feared showing my “Dumbo”-sized ears to the world, even when Scandinavian research revealed a direct correlation between ear size and the size of other male body parts.

Two days ago, Sophia sat me on the toilet seat and said, “That’s it. I’m cutting your hair short… like Jonathan in “All My Children.”

“Do you know how to cut hair?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, and then went ahead and started cutting it anyway.

Did I lose all my powers, like Samson? Not really.

Thank you, blogosphere, for giving me enough nerve to cut my hair short.

I like Danny a lot. Even though he is from Chicago and I’m from New York, we are both nebbishy Jewish men who walk around with sneakers like Jerry Seinfeld ALL THE TIME. Of course, I’ve been lucky to have a lot of female readers, which means one thing — I’ve already been shamed into wearing shoes. As I’ve heard over and over from my female readers, women care less about a man’s wallet or “package” than what type of SHOES he is wearing. I told this to Danny, but being stubborn, he refused to accept this as a universal truth, thinking it was brains or literary skills that made a man successful in life. Thousands of dollars he spent on therapy, when the answers were right at his feet… literally.

Two weeks ago, after the LA Bloggers reading, Sophia and I went out for dinner with Danny and Deezee. When I saw that Danny was wearing sneakers, I decided to create some trouble for him. I brought up this issue to Sophia and Deezee, and the two women immediately lectured Danny on the evils of grown-up men wearing sneakers, trying to convince him that he would improve his sexiness quotient 500% if he wore a nice pair of shoes. I just sat there and laughed, glad to see women attacking some other hopeless man other than me for a change.

On Saturday night, as I showed up with my new short haircut, Danny showed up wearing shoes. Was it the first time he had ever worn shoes since his wedding?

Thank you, blogosphere, for making Danny become a man who wears shoes.

Tamar is a beautiful and sexy woman, but she is a bit of a throw-back to the 1960s. She still believes in hippy-ish ideals like peace, love, socialism, and caring for one another. She does important research on educational matters. All these “Age of Aquarius” beliefs are wonderful, but I was shocked to learn that Tamar had never EVER worn MAKEUP! Is that a collective gasp I just heard from every mommyblogger on my blogroll? Not mascara, not blush, not lipstick — NOTHING! This is a woman who originally moved from Rhodesia to Israel and actually enjoyed working in the mud on a kibbutz! Sophia also moved to Israel from Odessa, but when she saw that her job was to pile crap on the field, and eat dinner at an appointed time, she said bye-bye socialists, shalom Tel Aviv. But Tamar loved the simple life of a socialist kibbutz babe. Today, Tamar is a woman in her 50’s — and is still stuck in her kibbutz, natural-look, bra-less days.

But Tamar is not afraid of taking risks. After all, this is a woman who bid good money to go on out on a date with ME, a blogger 3000 miles away (she lives in Philadelphia). And frankly, the blogosphere has opened her up to new experiences. She is on Twitter and Facebook, sending gifts and acting as silly as the rest of us. She has read your blogs and been intrigued by your discussions about Sephora and MAC and all these exotic lotions that you “girlie-girls” talk about. And really — is it SO BAD for a socialist to wear a bit of hot pink lipstick when she goes out with her husband?

To the rescue was — Danny’s twelve year old daughter, Leah. Like most Los Angeles teenagers, Leah learned about make-up in the womb. She gave Tamar the full treatment — makeup, lipstick, etc., in the way that only a twelve year old girl can!

Tamar showed up to dinner wearing lipstick for the first time in her life.

Thank you, blogosphere, for teaching Tamar to become a fashion model!

The four of us had a great meal downtown. After dinner, we went to an art gallery to see Ellen Bloom’s fabulous artwork. None of us had ever met her before. It was an exciting moment as we walked into the gallery. We all looked fabulous. I had my new haircut, Danny had his new shoes, and Tamar had her new make-up.

Ellen Bloom looked our way and immediately ran over to us — well, to be honest: she ran over to Sophia.

“Sophia! Sophia is here!” she yelled. “I’d recognize you anywhere!”

Well, I guess the three of us still have some work to do on that glamour part. (the hair looks better when Sophia puts some gel in it to make it “spiky.” I think it is a little TOO short.)

photo at the gallery by Larry Underhill

A Year Ago On Citizen of the Month: What Do You Mean By That?

(the new banner, created by Sween. thanks, brother!)

It was a devious plan, devised by the head honchos at BlogHer to destroy BlogHim, and they used their most seductive Mata Haris to tempt me… and the plan almost worked.

Last night, I went to a reading of Leahpeah’s other group, LA Angst, where writers read from their childhood and teenage year journals. I participated in her blog reading night, but this sounded even more interesting. It was fascinating stuff because it was so raw and “real.” These pieces of writing, hidden away in sock drawers for years, were never meant to be seen by anyone other than the author. For some reason, all of the readers were female, and most of the readings were about boys, weddings, and food.

So, not much has changed!

I really enjoyed the evening. Thank you:

Leah from Leahpeah

Kelly from Mocha Mama

Erin from Queen of Spain

Lara from Katronika

Ruth from Redleather

Kelly from West Coast Grrlie Blather

Heather from Heathervescent

I sat next to LA blogger, Jay, and we talked a bit about “journaling” from a male perspective. We decided that keeping a diary as a teenager was more of a “girl thing.” I never kept a diary. Maybe boys aren’t very introspective at that age. Now I understand why women take to blogging so easily — you gals have been writing about yourselves for years! Honestly, if I knew that no one was reading my blog, I would stop writing it tomorrow. More power to you!

After the reading, a few of us walked to a nearby Mexican restaurant. I had a chance to speak with four of the readers: Leah, Mocha Mommy, Queen of Spain, and Katronika. They were all such funny, cool, and sexy women, that I mostly shut up and listened to what they had to say. I learned so much from them (for instance, if you are a woman, you should run out and buy The Cone immediately. Your vibrator is like a child’s toy compared to this!)

Men definitely need to listen to women more. That’s how you find out all their secrets (because they love to blab!)

At some point, someone brought up my BlogHim idea. I was a little worried about the reaction from these prominent blogging women because Mocha Mommy is attending the conference, Leah is a speaker at BlogHer, and the Queen of Spain is creating a online version of the conference on Second Life.

At first, I was surprised how polite everyone was about my idea for BlogHim and the way I was making fun of BlogHer. There was no arguing at all. Queen of Spain politely told me about the importance of BlogHer and how it is empowering women as bloggers. The discussion started out completely friendly. But, then the mood changed. The others insisted that I change my combative stance against BlogHer. When I still had questions about the increasingly corporate sponsorship of the organization, the women chose another method of getting their point across. One by one, they took me into the women’s restroom, and had their way with me against the baby-diaper changing table, bringing me to the point of no return, but then pulling back and forcing me to repeat these words before they finished, “I love and respect BlogHer and will never say anything bad about the group again.” Clearly, the BlogHer organizers have prepared their “troops” to use whatever means possible to gain dominion over the blogosphere, and to silence the dissenters.

I was very tired when I returned home. Drunk and tired.

“You’re home late,” said Sophia.

“Oh, yeah. Boys night out.”

“You received this email while you were gone.”

The email was from the illustrator whose image I used for the bare-chested BlogHim icon on the banner. Even though, I gave him credit, I never asked his permission, and he wanted me to stop using it for promotional purposes. I know… I know… I suck and I was a thief. I should have asked him first. The illustrator was totally right and I don’t blame him at all.

But don’t you think it was a LITTLE coincidental that my BlogHim icon was “sabotaged” at the same time I was out with the BlogHer “spies?” I did think it was a little unusual that Leah invited me to join the women for drinks? Was this part of the plan? Was Sophia involved? Was it the male illustrator’s own decision to not let me use his drawing, or was HE taken into some restroom in his own city and “brainwashed” in the way only a well-trained BlogHer woman can do it. How far do the tentacles of this organization reach?

Well, I will not be brought down by some nice smelling Mata Haris with nice cleavage and comfortable shoes. I will NOT sell out my fellow men for some cheap sex in the restroom of a overpriced Mexican restaurant. BlogHim will survive! Uh, nice female mommyblogger, can you make me a new banner?

P.S. — By the way, I think what Queen of Spain is doing with BlogHer is really cool. She is helping them put the conference on Second Life, which is a virtual world online, so women can participate without having to go to Chicago. Check it out!

I love when it gets hot in L.A., 100 degrees hot, and the AC conks out for those on the 405, and Jesus Gonzalez climbs from his stalled Toyota truck, sweaty and wet, but happy because his radio still works, and his favorite song blasts on Latino 96.3, and the sisters Johnson — Francee and Frenchie from Compton, CA — exit their Hyundai and dance on the hood, stripped to their bras, and the Goodyear Blimp flies overhead, barely seen because the rising heat fogs up the sky like a steam room. 

“Pump it up, Jesus,” I yell from above. 

I am the pilot of the Goodyear Blimp. I came to L.A. in ‘87 from Phoenix, after my bitter divorce.   “Louder!”  I cry, only knowing the song because it is a favorite of Rhonda, the fortyish woman I met at Winchell’s Donuts a few days ago, the woman I left in bed this morning with her nipples still hard, the one I thought about all morning while eating my Egg McMuffin, while reading about the Dodgers, while driving to my job in which I fly the Goodyear Blimp high in the air, over the oven of a city, over the traffic of the 405, over the music blasting from the Toyota truck of Jesus, over the sisters Johnson, dancing in their bras, and while I listen to the beat and the Spanish lyrics that I cannot understand, I swear I can feel Rhonda’s heat still on my fingers.

The LA Bloggers Live reading was a lot of fun. I read this post.

It’s an interesting exercise to read a post out loud because you can actually hear when something works or not. I might start reading all my posts out loud to myself before I publish it.

One warning to other bloggers: be careful when you go into your archives and start reading your old posts. You might realize how crappy most of them were.

I practiced reading my post as I was driving to the event. Sophia suggested that I read it slowly, since I tend to speak too fast.

One warning to other bloggers: be careful when reading out loud from a notepad when driving. I almost got into an accident on the 405, which would have put a damper on the entire evening.

I’m glad I double-spaced my printout, or I would have been hopelessly lost. This lounge was pitch dark.

Photo of Neilochka by Will Campbell, a terrific LA blogger
who read that night. That’s Sophia under my left arm,
which made me happy because I could finally say
that I had her “under my thumb.”

The best part of the evening was meeting other LA bloggers. I love the fact that I have virtual friends all over the world, but nothing can compare to meeting people in person and getting a real sense of their quirks and personality. After the reading, Sophia and I went with Danny and Deezee for some light dinner. At some point, I felt this transformation: these two people were slowly becoming less “blogging friends” than “actual friends,” and that was a nice feeling.

One warning to other bloggers: Try to avoid talking about politics when Sophia and Deezee are in the same room.

Neil: Your guesses are now in. What is Neilochka’s height and weight? Who will win the “Live Blog Ass-Kissing Link/Shoutout” at tonight’s LA blog reading. The excitement is intense. Our systems were overloaded last night as we received THIRTY MILLION guesses.

I know many of you have been up all night waiting for the results, so I would like the following four bloggers to stand up in front of their monitors. You were the closest four in guessing correctly.

Psychomom
Guess: 6 feet, 185 lbs.

Dagny from Dagny’s Empire
Guess: 6′2″ feet, 185 lbs.

Wendy from Quiet About a lot of Things
Guess: 5′11.5″ feet, 182 lbs.

Stephanie from Cool People I Know
Guess: 5′10″ feet, 182 lbs.

Although only one of you can win the prize, you all should consider yourselves “winners.” If any of you are ever in Los Angeles, I will personally wine and dine you, and show you all the tourist sites of Redondo Beach.

But now, for the winner. I’m going to split you up into two groups. Psychomom and Stephanie to the right. Dagny and Wendy to the left. And now before I announce the winner… a message from our sponsor!

Audience: BOOOOOOO!

Neil’s Penis: Hi there. Are you a penis who’s stuck on a man who never gets laid? Don’t you wish you could just sometimes break free and have your own, healthy sex life, away from the annoying neuroticism and passive-aggressiveness of your owner, who is always ruining things for you right when he starts fumbling with her bra. When will your owner learn that sex is really quite simple. You stick me in and I work my magic! Stop talking about the stuff you need to add to your to-do list and ruining the moment! Well, now there’s help. MembersOnly.com is a new and exciting dating service matching you with the perfect woman through a 25 point compatibility test. Just listen to what Mary Sishner of Topeka, Kansas had to say:

Mary: I could never find the right man. They were always either too immature, too unmanly, or they just wanted to sit and watch football all day while drinking beer. But then I heard about MembersOnly.com. It sounded perfect for me. I just answered the questions, telling the service all about my needs, and within days I found the c**k of my dreams! Who needs the man?! Now, we’re together 24 hours a day!

Neil’s Penis: Remember, Penises. MembersOnly.com! Stop depending on your stupid owner to stop stuttering when he talks to a woman or understanding what a woman really wants. He’s hopeless. It’s time to get out there and do the f***ing yourself!

Neil: And now we’re back. Dagny, Wendy… please step forward. One of you is the winner of the “Live Blog Ass-Kissing Link/Shoutout” — and it is –

Wendy from Quiet About a lot of Things with her guess of: 5′11.5″ feet, 182 lbs.

My actual height and weight is 6′1/2″, 183 lbs.

Tonight, during my “reading,” I will mention in a verbal “link” that everyone should check out Wendy’s site because “she is one of the best bloggers out there today.” Luckily, I actually believe this to be true!

Now, I need to get a haircut for tonight.

As I’ve mentioned once before, I will be “reading” from my blog tomorrow, Thursday June 28th at 6:30pm at the Tangier Lounge.($4 cover charge at the door), along with some other glamorous Los Angeles bloggers, each one with the good looks of a Hollywood actor:

Joe from Artlung
Lynda from One Day at a Time
Deezee from Confessional Highway
Jenn from Aka Jesais
Abigail from My Life According to Me
Will from Wildbell
Kevin from Kevin Charnas
Peter from The Buddha Diaries
Tim from LA Daddy

I’m very excited about the evening, the first in a series titled LA Bloggers Live!, and hosted by the fab Leahpeah. I just hope people understand my New York accent and my habit of going “uh…like” a lot. And I don’t even live in the Valley!

If you live in the area, come on down, as they used to say on “The Price is Right.” If you are impressed with my reading, and are a decent-looking woman, I will even autograph the body part of your choosing.

I have one minor reservation with the evening. It sounds a little pretentious. After all, readings are usually associated with novelists and poets, not bloggers. I’m a strong believer that my writing is only part of my blog. Your witty, intelligent, and sometimes downright stupid comments are an integral part of my blogging experience. And what is a blog post without some annoying shoutout to another blogger, some unnecessary links, or even some ass-kissy mention of meeting Dooce in an ice cream parlor, hoping that she might see the link and come visit and validate you as an A-lister?

For that reason, I’d like to introduce the first “Live Blog Ass-Kissing Link/Shoutout.” At the end of my five minutes stint of my blog reading tomorrow night, I will present a verbal “link” to another blogger, telling everyone that they should check out this writer because “he/she is one of the best bloggers out there today.”

But which blogger should I choose for this special honor? I know so many fine blog writers. My first choice was easy — Erin from Denver (Villanovababy), but then I felt a little guilty because my choice was less based on her fine writing than my favorite photo of her on Flickr.

Oh, yeah, I’m definitely NOT GAY after seeing this!

So, I had another idea. In honor of the recent final episode of “The Price is Right,” I will now introduce “Neilochka’s Final Showcase!”

Whoever can guess both my height and weight to the closest number combination will win this very important prize — a “Live Blog Ass-Kissing Link/Shoutout” at tomorrow’s LA blog reading. It will be exactly how we pimp each other in REAL blog posts, but this time LIVE! Remember, it will be the closest of weight + height.

Please, no phone calls to Sophia or my mother. That’s cheating.

And remember — this is Los Angeles — you never know who might show up. Imagine someone hearing my “shoutout” tomorrow night and immediately going onto their Blackberry to check out your blog. Will it be Steven Spielberg? Paris Hilton? Or Neil’s former roommate, who had a bit part on the OC?

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Advice to Other Male Bloggers

Photos (and most of the work) by Sophia.