The Male Attendees of BlogHer ‘09

For four years, every summer, I have been running a BlogHim on my blog, as a David’s slingshot’s response to the Goliath of the annual BlogHer Conference.

During this time, the men have grown stronger, as the female bloggers have been weakened due to their internal strife and own greed. Moms vs. non-Moms. Working Moms vs. SAHM. We deserve some credit as well. This year, the men, being the smarter gender, have easily manipulated the emotional women through a carefully crafted social media campaign, stirring up hatred and dividing the women.

Now is the time. Our time. BlogHim and BlogHer, face to face.

I booked my ticket to Chicago for July 23rd. I have been in contact with the other men attending the conference. We all agree — it is time to show the female bloggers how things are done.

Next month, Chicago will never be the same.

Who will I know there? Is there someone who is not going who wants me to send them a postcard from the Sheraton? I remember how much I hated when everyone was going to some conference, and everyone seemed to be partying and going topless except for ME! “Boo-hoo, I suck,” I would think. But you don’t have to worry about feeling like a loser. Just send me your address and I will even try to get some big shot blogger like the Pioneer Woman to autograph the postcard for you (if I can get her to talk to me)!

For years, I have been jealous of the power of the mothers online. Why do they get all the attention and freebies?  I’m a competive person, and I’ve been scratching my head for months, trying to come up with some gimmick that would beat these arrogant bloggers at their own game.  And then. the idea came to me.  Eureka!  Why not start a mommyblog, make it 100x better than everyone else’s, sell advertising, and become a big success?

I can hear you laughing.

“He’s not a mom!” you say, snickering.  “How can he compete with ME and steal my advertisers?”

Here’s where I pull the rabbit from my sleeve.

Her name is Elaine Kramer.  She is a mother.  My mother.

Compared to your measly knowledge of motherhood, she has DECADES OF EXERIENCE.  If you need a heart transplant, do you want the fresh-faced kid one year out of medical school OR the VETERAN who has seen and done it all?  Mommybloggers love to give advice, when in reality they know SHIT.  Big deal — you can pick up some poop.  My mother knows about picking up the poop, sending her son off to pre-school, being a WAHM, being a SAHM, arranging birthday parties, dealing with a husband, catching her son playing with himself in the bathroom, seeing a child going off to college, seeing him getting married, AND seeing him getting separated?

THE REST OF YOU ARE POSEURS compared to my mother!

Have any parenting issues?  Get all your answers at my new blog, Motherhood Advice.  THE BEST AND MOST COMPLETE MOMMYBLOGGING BLOG IN THE BLOGOSPHERE.  Don’t be a sucker and read blogs by neophytes who don’t know a a mother’s tit from a teenager’s fit!  Why not choose someone with years of experience?!   My mother!

Advertisers welcome.  Please attend the Motherhood Advice Party at BlogHer, sponsored by Streit’s Matzoh.

(I probably am too lazy to actually start this blog, but ask my mother a puzzling parenting question and I’ll get her to answer one of the questions for you in the next post)

One of my favorite people, Sarah G, wrote this comment on my last post –

Okay.   So you lately have all of these kinds of posts. So I stopped coming by all of the time and stopped commenting as often.   Not important; but.. are you serious that these are your plans?    Does that mean the chances with Sophia are over?   Cause if they’re not..how do these plans help those?

Otherwise; you’re probably right about social media. So make it count

Sarah, you are one of my long-time reader and I truly appreciate your comments.  It touches me that you care so much about my marriage with Sophia.  I know you are a spiritual and caring individual.

I can definitely understand you not coming by as often. I can be pretty dumb in my posts.  I’m not sure why I am so attracted to writing such silliness.  I think I enjoy the immaturity involved, as if I am embracing another side of my personality.  I know the “story” of my life can be confusing at times, and it is hard to tell when I am joking or not.  What is real?  What is not?  If I get to to do this “Storytelling” session at BlogHer, my first rule would be to tell others to NEVER do what I do on my blog.

After four and a half years of blogging, I still have no idea what I am doing here, not only in a monetary way, but literary.  What is Citizen of the Month about?   What’s the point?   What is it saying about me?  Do I like what it is saying about me?   How is it helping me?   Sometimes I try to write something good or meaningful, but mostly I just want to amuse myself, or others.  I rarely want to change your minds or educate you.  Getting a woman to laugh at some sex-related post is a virtual turn-on for me.   It is like I gave her an orgasm, and I can walk to the supermarket with my head held high.

Maybe if I stop trying so hard to please others, I could write differently.  Or express other things.

I’m not a diarist and always wonder why blogging is so tied to “reality.”  Is it that everyone wants to be Dooce?  I don’t even like novels that are completely rooted in journalistic detail.  I’m the type of person who lives in my head a great deal of time, so writing about the activities of my life kinda bores me.   It is the embellishment and the pondering about the subject that captures my character.  So, yes, in the last post, I did wonder what it would be like to have sex with someone at BlogHer and be a shitty lay, and have everyone else find out on Twitter.  Why not?  There is more “reality” there than in most of my journal-type entries.  What anxiety!  Drama!  Fear!   I am very aware of my relationship with Sophia, and I would hate to hurt anyone’s sensibility, or do something hurtful in my own life.   It doesn’t mean it isn’t on my mind.  Humor is greatly underappreciated as a source of reality.  This is how I think in my head.   It is when I am writing something poetic or literary that I am lying to you with fancy words.

For four years, I have been writing jokes about BlogHer, fantasizing about my dream to go to the conference and finally use my blogging popularity for some legitimate purpose — getting some hot action from some starry-eyed female fan.  For twelve months a year, I work hard on my writing, and I deserve to be compensated somehow. Unfortunately, every year something happens that screws up my chance to attend the conference.  Last year, was an infamous case involving a free ticket from JCPenney/Dockers which went sour.

This year, I have a ticket to BlogHer.  I have a new haircut.  I have bought new shoes.  I have flirted with all sorts of attractive women online.  I have made lists of women in my google reader categorized by DEFINITELY WILL DO ME, POSSIBLY WILL DO ME, and DO NOT READ OR COMMENT.  Today, I was goofing around on Twitter, trying to ease some of the excitment building inside of me with only a month left to go, when I came face to face with the enemy. And it was Twitter itself, Facebook — social media in general.

Let me explain.  Pundits and marketers are wild over social media. President Obama was able to rally large groups of supporters by using social media.   A movie on YouTube can get a million hits within days.  When a tragedy hits, online citizens worldwide can come together in support and organization.

But do we really want information spread so quickly ALL THE TIME?  Do we want our lives to go viral, even the bad things?  The very thought of being in the middle of 1000 gossipy female bloggers has given me pause over my plans of “getting it on” with some hot babe in her hotel room.

For years, I have been writing about my amazing sexual prowess, I have written about giving women orgasms by merely looking their way.  In post after post, I give oral sex for three hours straight and entertain woman with a penis that sings, dances, and tells borscht belt Yiddish jokes.

The truth is, I have been with one woman, Sophia, for over a decade, and even that has had its ups and downs in the bedroom.  If opportunity would arise, it might take a few tries before I get back into the groove, much like the Tin Man needs Dorothy to squirt some oil onto his joints before he could tap dance again.

But now I worry more about my reputation than actually getting laid.  If I did get lucky, and I wasn’t very good, how long would it take before this information would spread across the blogosphere?  Can you imagine how this would hurt my street cred?

“Hey, isn’t that Neilochka, the blogger/premature ejaculator?”

Let’s do a little social media experiment here. 

Ms. Sizzle and V-grrrl are long time blogging friends of mine who don’t read each other’s blogs.  As a trial run for BlogHer, I want to see how long it will take for news about my performance in the sack to go from blogger to blogger, from Ms. Sizzle to V-grrrl.

Remember, just to be scientific about this — Ms. Sizzle is attending BlogHer in Chicago.  V-grrrl is not.  Ms. Sizzle lives in Seattle.  V-grrl lives in Virginia.  They do not know each other.

Here is the scenario.  It is July, 2009.  Chicago.  BlogHer.  Ms. Sizzle and I are at a party Saturday night, both of us drinking too much.  I “accidentally” spill some wine on her skirt, and then accompany her to her hotel room to “change” while her roommates are downstairs.  I compliment her beautiful glasses, and before we know it, we are in bed together, throwing the Harry met Sally “friends shouldn’t do this” rule to the wind.

Three seconds later, it is over.

“Oops, sorry it was so quick,” I say, sheepishly.  “It must be the jetlag — you know, being in a different time zone.”

“Sure, sure, I understand,” she says with a warm smile, lying through her teeth, like most women do. “It was great.  You were wonderful!”

“Really?” I say, my ego stoked.  “I knew it!  I really know how to please a woman sexually!  I tell myself that all the time.”

I look down at my penis.

“You hear that buddy?!  We rawk!”

“Excuse me,” she says politely, as she heads for the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, Ms. Sizzle, quickly takes out her blackberry out from inside her pocketbook and sends a text message to Kris from Not a Girl, Not Yet a Wino, who is her roommate in the hotel.  She is partying downstairs.

MsSizzle:  I just slept with Neilochka!

theWino:  Oh my god!  How was it?

MsSizzle:  Awful.  They’re gonna have to change Superman’s motto from “faster than a shooting bullet to Neilochka f**king style!”  It’s taking me longer to write this text message than for him to finish.

theWino:  Holy shit!  Who knew?  I always fancied him a total stud.

MsSizzle:  I know.  Me too!  But he’s still a friend.  So, please don’t tell anyone downstairs or Twitter about this to anyone or put this on Facebook or IM with anyone about it.  OK?

theWino:  Of course not.  I’m a woman.  Women don’t gossip!

OK, now here is the experimental part –

Remember the game, “Telephone?”

Who would theWino immediately tell about Ms. Sizzle and me, and how many degrees of separation would it be before V-grrrl received the information that I sucked in the sack via a DM on Twitter by someone else?

I say, it would take one hour.

The Power of Social Media.  Screwing Up Sex Plans since 2008.

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!

Off to Las Vegas for the weekend, so my Friday post is early. I’m meeting some bloggers, which always causes me some anxiety. But why should I be the one always talking about my insecurity and self-esteem problems? I’m curious to learn about your main anxieties about being a blogger. Pick the one neurotic obsession that best fits you — the statement that best explains why blogging is an unhappy place for you at times, rather than a joy. Have fun, suckers!

1) My writing is not as good as other bloggers.

2) I don’t get as many comments as other people.

3) I am not included in the name-dropping and lists of all the “cool” bloggers who everyone seems to know.

4) I really like and respect the work of some blogger, and comment all the time on her blog, and this person doesn’t give a shit about me.

5) It is important that I network only with the cool people, even though I feel guilty about ignoring the bloggers who “don’t matter” as much.

6) All my new friends online ARE cool, but my old unpopular friends still bug me, thinking I still want to hang out with them, which I don’t.

7) I never get invited to go on any free cruises, and feel bad that everyone blogs about their great time.

8.) I never get invited to write on any paying sites or Kirtsy books, even those who do are frequently crappy writers.

9) No one ever recommends me on Twitter’s “FollowFriday.”

10) Neilochka has never asked to see me wearing only a bra and glasses.

11) Everyone forms cliques and ignores me.

12) Everyone thinks of me as a mommyblogger, and nothing more substantial.

13) No one thinks of me a true mommyblogger.

14) I can’t be totally honest online about my personal life, because I don’t want my family to read it, so I feel like a fraud.

15) I’m afraid of expressing my feelings about certain subjects on line because I will upset some big blogger, and fear being ostracized by her friends.

16) Trolls.

17) Fear of coming to the conclusion that I am an untalented loser.

The reason I write so many stupid posts about sex with mommybloggers has nothing to do with sex.  After four and half years of blogging, I feel emotionally connected to so many people online.  That makes me feel uncomfortable, because I has no idea what to do with that information.  So, it is easier for me to just have imaginary sex with everyone.  Would you rather I say that I care about you, which opens up a Pandora’s Box of emotional stuff?

I envy those who blog solely for attention or to make money.   I hate to say it, but they have it right.

Dear Jesus Rodriguez, Moralistic Web Developer Geek,

I have a dilemma that only you can help me with.  Last night, I was in the bed of a beautiful brunette.  She had invited me there, eager for carnal pleasure.  Our lips were together all night, biting and kissing.  I could feel her wetness with my hand.   She stroked my manhood and whispered into my ear, “I want to feel you inside me.” I had never been more sexually excited in all my life.  All I wanted to do was to make love to this goddess of passion.

But then, the damn guilt set in.   There was a moral dilemma that weighed on my shoulders.  Here she was — a woman with the most sensual body, only twenty-five years old, so full of life, when I glanced over at the calendar hanging over her desk.

It was 1989.

I had to tell her the truth.

“I travelled here in my time machine,” I told her as I felt her perfect breasts.  “I come from 2009.  In the future, we are good friends.  You are mommyblogger married to a wonderful husband.  You have three wonderful children.  After a year of torment and lust, I figured the only way that I could ever sleep with you was to spend the last year downloading the specs to a time machine onto my iphone, and then building it in my mother’s kitchen.”

“What’s an iphone?” she asked.

“Never mind.  You’ll read about it on Twitter.”

“And you live with your MOTHER?”

“Let’s not get into that now.   Time is of the essence”

“So you mean you’re not just an older man who I met in a bar, who wants to teach me everything about sex, but a computer friend from the future who was so desperate to f*ck me, he spent a year building a time machine, just so he can travel back to 1989 just to get into my pants?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, shit.  How can I NOT f*ck you?!”  she said, as she climbed on top of me.  “No one has ever done THAT for me!  Usually they just buy some flowers at Trader Joe’s”

“Wait!” I said, still torn over the moral dilemma.  “But is this right?   Your future husband is a cool guy.  Your children are a delight.  You post photos of them online.”

“I post photos of my children online for everyone to see?  Isn’t that irresponsible?”

“Yeah, but you make money from exploiting them on the blog.”

“Oh, OK,” she said, relieved.

“So what do you think I should do?” I asked.   ” Have sex with you, fulfilling my ultimate fantasy, or just returning back to the future frustrated?”

The woman pondered for a moment.

“Sometimes, when I have a moral dilemma, I ask myself, “What Would Jesus do?”   But then again, I doubt Jesus ever had to deal with issues of time traveling to get laid.”

“Well, first of all I’m Jewish.”

“Really?  I’ve never had sex with someone Jewish!  Do we need to say a prayer or something first?”

“But wait!”  I cried suddenly, with an idea.

“Yes?”

” I DO know of a Jesus who CAN help.   Wait here in bed while I travel back to the future, go on Facebook and ask Jesus Rodriguez a question.”

“Facebook?”

“Avoid it.”

“The future seems really stupid.  By the way, if I have an orgasm with you, can we use the time machine to keep on back to that moment over and over again? — cause that would be nifty!”

Jesus Rodriguez, Moral Web Developer Geek, please help!

Should I have sex with the hot mother of three by going back in time and f**king her before she gets married?

Have you ever noticed this Filter For Good widget in my sidebar?   I write once a week for a “green” blog, detailing my  journey as I become more environmentally aware.  There are other bloggers involved in this project, dedicated individuals who know what they are talking about when they write their weekly posts.   My role is to be the village idiot.   My posts tend to be about baby steps, and important issues such as “Recycled Toilet Paper:  Is is Soft Enough For Me Or Would I Rather Just Destroy the EcoSystem and be Happy with My Charmin?”

Today, I got an email from the find folks at Brita, who sponsor this blog, “requesting” that I take part in a meme this week.  I am supposed to list five “green” things that I have initiated this April, which is also now known as Earth Month.   Didn’t it used to just be Earth DAY?  Now it is a whole MONTH?   Why do all of our holidays get longer and longer?   Christmas also used to be one day, remember? — December 25.  Now the official shopping season starts on August 28th, when Rite-Aid starts decorating the Christmas aisle.

So, be prepared for my upcoming “green” meme, probably tomorrow.  I only mention this, because throughout the years, many of you have invited me to participate in YOUR delightful memes and, well… uh, I NEVER do them.   If I am so anti-meme, why am I choosing to do THIS meme?

Go back five paragraphs.  Notice that when I first mentioned this meme, I said  “I got an email “requesting” that I take part in a meme.”   Look at how I use “” around the word  “requesting.”   Have I told you that they PAY me to do this?  Can you see how this “request” is similar to the “favor” that Don Corleone might ask of the owner of a tiny Italian restaurant in Little Italy?

Don Corleone:  “Neiloni, my dear friend.  I have a favor to ask of you.  I realize that it is midnight and that your restaurant is closing, and that you want to go home and spend time with your family and watch American Idol, but I have a taste for some of that excellent lasagna that only you can make from scratch.  Would you do me a FAVOR and cook it for me?”

NOW do you understand why I am going to do this meme this week, when in the past, I have only spit in your face when you asked me to do your meme?

One more thing.  Remember the post I wrote a few days ago where I was all worried about the reciprocal nature of blogging. and most of you were all “stop worrying, Neil” and “we love you, Neil” and “it doesn’t matter if you ever read or comment on my blog because I will come here to read and comment on your blog no matter WHAT,  because blogging is not reciprocal and we don’t expect ANYTHING from you in return?”

I’m going to need to ask FIVE of you to do this meme.    Ha Ha  (nervous laugh)

The more people we know online, the more heart-breaking tragedies we will be sharing with our friends on the blogosphere.  I question whether all of this twittering, blogging, asking for donations, changing the color of our avatars, and begging for celebrity tweets is the right response to the learning of the passing of a child, or a blogger friend fighting cancer, or someone on Facebook having their home destroyed by a hurricane.

Maybe there isn’t an adequate response.   Everyone is just trying to find their way.  None of us know exactly what to do during these sad events, or whether we should be doing it in such a public manner.  I hope the families of Thalon and Maddie accept our sincere condolences from this virtual online family.

Gorillabuns is the name of the blog of my good blogging friend, Shana.   You can help Shana and her family by donating.  (thank you, Whoorl)

The Spohr’s Remember Maddie site.  I will be walking in the March of Dimes march for babies with other New Yorkers.  Come join us or sponsor us.