Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Page 82 of 187

Bad “Sexy Email” Advice

The internet is one big vat of useless advice given by experts who know sh*t.   You would think a guy could learn something useful from being online.  After all, I don’t just want to spend all my time online reading the sob stories that you call “your blogs.”

Today, I was thinking of something much more important — ways to improve my sex life.  I figured I would do the logical thing: search Google with the phrase “How to Improve Your Sex Life.”  I immediately came across this article titled “How to Improve Your Sex Life with Sexy Emails.” Hmm… sexy emails.  I can do that. I already write a blog.  Maybe I can actually use my writing skills and my English degree for some practical purpose.

So I spent some time lookng over “the six steps to spicing up my sex life by writing sexy emails,” as outlined by the eHow Relationships Editor.

None of it made much sense.

Step 1 –

Identify how you want to improve your sex life with sexy emails.

This is a really dumb step.  Isn’t it obvious?  I hope to improve my sex life with sexy emails by actually have sex with someone.  Duh.

Step 2 –

Meet people in your area by posting personal ads or responding to posts in adult forums.  Start corresponding with people in whom you are interested, moving straight into sexual chat or taking things slowly at first and elevating them as the situation warrants.

Hmm… go straight into the sexual chat OR take things slowly?  Let’s see.  You say I should go on an ADULT FORUM, and then you want me to take things slowly?  How slowly should I go?  I’m on an ADULT FORUM!  I realize I may look desperate by jumping right in with the dirty talk, but should I really be disguising the fact that I am on an ADULT FORUM lookng to chat about sex?

“You mean this isn’t the “Celebrity Circus” Forum?  Whoops!  What is this forum about anyway?  Women who love men with c*ck rings?  How intriguing?!  I never would have guessed.  This is so unlike me to be on this forum.  Are you wearing a bra?”

Step 3 –

Allow the situation time to evolve naturally.  Once you’ve maintained an ongoing correspondence with a partner you like, you can suggest a real-life rendezvous over dinner or drinks.  From there, there’s no telling where things might lead.

From there, there’s no telling where things might lead?  What are you saying…that she may end up stabbing me in the subway station and leaving me for dead?  I don’t want surprises.  I WANT to BE TOLD where this might lead!  I want this to end in SEX.  Period.

Step 4 –

Improve your sex life with an existing partner by using sexy email to explore your desires. Surprise your partner with a sexy note, taking it easy at first until you test the waters out, and pay attention to how your partner replies to your move.  If she’s game, she’ll respond in kind.

This step was an utter failure. I tried it tonight.

Yahoo IM: “Sophia, are you wearing a bra?”

Yahoo IM: “Neilochka, no, I’m not.  Hey, do you want to play a game of online backgammon?”

Step 5 –

Use sexy emails to describe scenes you’d like to play out with your partner or to drop hints about sexual tricks you want to try out.

Scenes?  Tricks?  What are you talking about?  I don’t want to put on a Broadway play or a magic show! I want to have sex.  Sheesh.

Step 6 –

Post ads seeking people to join you and your partner if you’re looking to add some group fun to your sex life.  Then, you and your partner can act as a team to seduce a third (or fourth or fifth) party to take part in your bedroom fun.

Huh?  Five people in one bed?  Is that supposed to be fun?  What size bed do most people have?  I thought five people in one bed was the reason most people escape from third world poverty-stricken regimes?

The internet sucks.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  The Pigeon on the Patio

What Blogger Women Say / What Real Women Say

What blogger women say:

1) The most important thing about a man is a sense of humor.

2) Be who you are. Wear two different color socks. It is part of your charm!

3) I want a man who listens to me.

What real women say:

1) He looks successful.


(via Communication Overtones)

The Top Ten New York Desserts, According to Me

Today, James Dobson of the Christian-oriented “Focus on the Family” will make a radio address attacking Barack Obama.  The AP was already given an advance copy of the speech.  In it, Dobson hammers Obama’s views of religion, and says the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee is trying to govern by the “lowest common denominator of morality,” and calls Obama’s views “a fruitcake interpretation of the Constitution.”

After reading about this fruitcake reference online, I immediately became hungry.  Even though I’m Jewish, I’ve always enjoyed fruitcake, especially around Christmastime.  I never understand why fruitcake gets such a bad rap.  And how did fruitcake ever get associated with gays?  Gays seem much more “cupcake” than “fruitcake,” except maybe for the guys who work out in West Hollywood, who are definitely “cheesecake.”

As you can see, it is 1:30 in the morning, and I am starving.  I know this is the City that Never Sleeps, but my part of Queens apparently goes to sleep at nine o’clock.   My mother has cookies and ice cream in the fridge, but her desserts are of the no fat, no sugar variety, which for some reason my mother thinks are “healthier.”  Sugar is bad.  Splenda — whatever the hell it is — good for ya.

Being hungry, I wrote this post, about my favorite New York desserts.

Most of these have actually NOTHING to do with New York, except in my imagination, or an association with my childhood.  But it’s my blog, so tough.   People just come here to read the comments, anyway.

In random order:


1)  The Linzer Tart


2)  Drake’s Funny Bones


3)  The Black and White Cookie


4)   The Jelly Donut


5)  The Fancy Cupcake


6) Cannoli


7)  The Nabisco Mallomar


8)  New York Cheesecake


9)  Hamentashen


10)  The Carvel Flying Saucer

What Would Sophia Do?

Is it being in New York, with all the tough-talking characters?  Is it being on my own?  Is it out of necessity?  Whatever the reason, I seem to be growing some balls here in New York. 

I think I can both blame AND praise Sophia.  She has bigger balls than me, so when I am with her in Los Angeles, I pull back.  I even go the other away to counteract her, so the scales are balanced.  But — I have seen how she does it, how she deals with people in an assertive manner, and wins the respect of others.  Who needs therapy?  I can learn from the master!  When I get myself into a situation that requires some cojones, I have a model to look up to.  I can ask myself, “What would Sophia do?”

Yesterday morning, I started my day with breakfast at my local Dominican-owned coffee shop.  I ordered the breakfast special — a cholesterol-laden mess that comes with coffee and orange juice for — $3.99!  It probably wasn’t good for my health, but — $3.99!  After I gulped down my meal, I went to pay.  I had a long subway ride to Coney Island to meet Sarah.  I handed the owner by Mastercard.

“Your bill was $3.99.  There is a $10 minimum on credit cards.”

I suddenly remembered that in these days of credit cards and Metrocards, I didn’t have any cash on me.

“I’m sorry,” I replied.  “I don’t have any cash.”

He pointed to a greasy-looking ATM machine standing by the men’s room.

I told him that I didn’t have my ATYM card.  I was from out of state.  This was true, but even if I did have my card, I wouldn’t want to get the “service charge” from this ATM, conveniently owned by “Giovanni Brothers, Inc.”

“I don’t have my ATM card.” I said.

“You’ll have to buy something or I’m going to have to charge your card ten dollars.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause they charge me for using the credit card.  The breakfast was only $3.99.  It would be like giving you the meal for free.”

Although I knew this was partly bullshit, I was feeling sympathy for him. He was a hard-working restaurant owner.  He probably didn’t have much money to his name. 

I had a debate with myself.

“Of course, I don’t have any money either, but I bet he doesn’t even have a wii-fit.  And a $3.99 breakfast special IS an amazing deal.  Especially in New York.  Should I just buy a tuna fish sandwich and a diet coke to go?”

I forced my brain to stop kvetching.  Did I call my therapist?  No.  I did something better.  I asked myself, “What would Sophia do?”

“Listen,” I told the owner, “You have two choices.  You can charge my Mastercard the $3.99 or I can walk home — I’m just a few blocks away — and I will bring you back the $3.99.”

He caved in.  He charged my card $3.99, cursing under his breath.

Before I left, I thanked him, apologized, and told him that I will bring cash the next time.  I’m still polite.

At the Mermaid Parade, I met up with Sarah and a few of her friends she knows from Flickr, all of them amazing photographers.  They had come to the event to get some cool shots.  I’m not much of a photographer, but I felt competitive, and tried to impress Sarah with my photos.  As she ran around with her cool camera, I tried to find shots that interested me.  Surprising, most of them ended up being shots of women’s asses.

I came across some girls who were hardly wearing anything at all.  I tried to grab a photo of them surreptitiously, but I ended up chopping their heads off in the frame.

“What would Sophia do?”

I called out to them, like I was a paparazzi  photographing Paris Hilton in Hollywood.”

“Hey, ladies!” I cried out. “You look gorgeous.  Can I take a photo of you?  I love your smiles!”

It worked.  I mean, I’ve done this before a million times with YOU on your blogs and Twitter, but NEVER in real life!”

Women DO respond to flattery in real life TOO!

On the way home from Brooklyn, I took the bus.  It was crowded, so I had to stand with several other passengers.  All of the seats were filled, except for one open window seat.  It was part of a two seater.  The outer seat was occupied by a tough-looking guy, a bald black man wearing intimidating Wesley Snipes sunglasses.  He was sitting with his legs wide open, sending out the non-verbal message that “this seat next to me is NOT available.”

No one dared make a move.

For two bus stops, I thought about the rudeness of this dude.  And why was everyone so scared of him?  Even if this guy was someone who would kill you in the alleyway, the chances are slim that he is going to shoot you, during daylight, in the middle of a crowded city bus?

“What would Sophia do?”

Remember, Sophia is a Republican.  Republicans always get a bad rap for being “racist” and “anti-minority.”  Actually, I’ve never met anyone who treats everyone as equally as Sophia does. She doesn’t resort to stereotypes.  She does not get pushed around by the wealthy in Beverly Hills or the aggressive-looking black guy on the city bus. 

There is no way Sophia would let this asshole get away with taking up two seats.

I adjusted my crotch, and John Wayned over to him.  I could feel the eyes of the other passengers burning a hole in the back of my shirt.  I think they were trying to figure out their next move.  Should they stop me?  Should they pull the emergency cord?  Should they jump out the window, women and children first?

“Excuse me, sir,” I said to him, trying to disarm him with kindness.  “Can I get in there?”

“Oh yeah,” he said in a deep voice, sliding his legs over to allow me in.  “Sorry about that.”

After I sat down, I also had to open my legs a little wider, since I could feel my balls growing.

The Coney Island Mermaid Parade

I met Sarah from Sad and Beautiful World in Coney Island today for the Mermaid Parade.  We walked around in the extreme heat and took photos… and ate hot dogs.  I was a total dweeb because I wore a preppy, button-down shirt… to the beach.  I think I am turning into my father, who used to wear a suit and tie to a baseball game.   This time, I blame YOU.  You’re the ones who told me I should dress better in New York than Los Angeles.  I’m lucky I haven’t bought a Nehru jacket.  I would have fainted from a heat stroke.

But, for some reason, the girls at the beach, many who were wearing the shells for bikini tops lke Ariel from the Little Mermaid, seemed to dig the button-down shirt look I was wearing!  Perhaps it was better than the tight Speedos that some of the other men were wearing.   Brooklyn men are NOT shy.


Hi, Sarah!

A Movie, Popcorn, and a Bed

I was complaining to someone on Twitter a few days ago that I might use my time on my own as a “bachelor” to do a few of the things that I missed in my youth.  I have a long list of missed opportunities, many of which — had I accomplished them – would have given me more confidence and helped me gain the important social skills that create success.

My life might be different if I followed a different path.  I was a late bloomer.  I have a friend who was married with child by the time I had an opportunity (and the nerve) to touch some serious boobie.  I didn’t go to my prom.  I wasn’t in a fraternity.  I’ve never been to a toga party.  I’ve never drank so much warm beer from a keg that I passed out on the floor (what fun!)  I’ve never had sex with a complete stranger.  I’ve never kissed a girl at lookout point.  I’ve never streaked through campus.  I’ve never been to a drive-in. 

And I’ve ALWAYS wanted to go to a drive-in movie!

Luckily, Marilyn told me about a way where I can do ALL of these AT ONCE.  So, forget flying to San Francisco for BlogHer.  Next month, I am flying to Monte Vista, Colorado to stay several nights at the Best Western Kelloff’s Movie Manor Motor Inn on U.S. Highway 160.

KELLOFF’S BEST WESTERN MOVIE MANOR IS THE WORLD’S ONLY MOVIE MOTEL! Our Inn offers a unique concept in accommodations. Your room faces a giant outdoor movie screen and sound is piped into your room.

This summer if you want to see a movie on a big screen, but don’t want to get out of bed, then plan a stay at the Best Western Movie Manor Motor Inn. The Movie Manor provides rooms with speakers and a large picture window that faces a drive-in theatre screen. If you want snacks, mosey on over to our snack bar for popcorn, pop, candy and all sorts of goodies.

Can you imagine how innovative this is?  It is a motel built around a DRIVE-IN!  You can have a toga party IN YOUR ROOM (sheets included with motel stay), get food and a few KEGS for the wild party from the snack bar, and then kick everyone out of the room before movie time — except for the hottest babe, hopefully a complete stranger!  Then, it is just two of you, snuggling in bed, still in your togas, getting all passionate as you watch some bad movie playing outside your window at the drive-in. 

And you don’t even have to drive her to a motel afterwards!  You’re already there!

Then my life will be complete, and I can stop going to therapy.

The Comments Section

a review of this blog from Secret Lake Diaries:

Citizen of the Month – a blog by Neil, a writer in LA, who is recovering from a breakup with his lady love.  His humorous blog is about his life and thoughts.  The really interesting thing to me in this blog is the comments section.  There is a strong, and seemingly close knit, community of readers that have a dynamic discussion in the comments section of each post. That, my friends, is where the true magic of this blog lies.  I am so envious! They are having a ball.

Awww… how nice. 

Bulls**t! 

THE REALY INTERESTING THING TO ME IN THIS BLOG IS THE COMMENTS SECTION?! 

THE TRUE MAGIC OF THE BLOG are your inane COMMENTS?!!!!

Well, screw you all. 

Conversation at BlogHer 08:

Mommyblogger1:  “Don’t you just love Dooce?”

Mommyblogger2:  “She is such an amazing writer!  She should a thousand book deals.”

Mommyblogger1:  “I just wish I had a quarter of the talent of “The Pioneer Woman.”  And those amazing contests.  Did you see that she recently offered some ipod-thingy as a prize and got 10,000 comments?”

Mommyblogger2:  “She deserves it.  Every one of them.  Her writing and photography are superb.”

Mommyblogger1:  “Have you ever read “Citizen of the Month?””

Mommyblogger2:  “You mean the “Talking Penis” guy?  He seems very immature and he frequently says “there” instead of “their.”  It is lazy writing.   Been like this ever since Sophia stopped editing his posts  I think “she” was the brains behind the whole operation.”

Mommyblogger1:  “Forget his uneven posts.  And I heard his penis isn’t all it is cracked up to be.  Just a little gossip from someone who had an “video-cam” conversation with him.  Besides, no one goes to his blog to READ the posts.  Ha ha, that would be silly.  He’s just writes the same things over and over again.  Jews, Sophia, his mother, and tits.  If you see him anywhere here at BlogHer, I say run the other way. ”

Mommyblogger2:  “So why do people go to his blog?”

Mommyblogger1:  “Don’t you get it?  THE REALY INTERESTING THING TO ME IN HIS BLOG IS THE COMMENTS SECTION!”

The July 4th BBQ

Yes, diversity.  We all love it.  But mostly when your “group” is in the majority and the “others” agree to do everything your way.  But once the Latinos want to speak Spanish, the Jews grumble about nativity scenes on public property, or men demand to speak at BlogHer, you know there’s going to be trouble.

Growing up, my Queens apartment building was mostly filled with Jews who moved from Brooklyn and the Bronx to the “greener” pastures of Queens.  Queens is connected to Long Island, so it was sort of moving to the suburbs, but still close enough to take the subway to work.  Most of these families were working class.  The Jewish children went to Hebrew school, although most of the parents weren’t religious.  I used to return from Hebrew school at night, scolding my parents for not doing the right Jewish rituals, such as lighting the Friday night shabbos candles.  My mother always had the same excuse –“I forgot.”

Today, the building has a wider assortment of residents.  While there is still a large percentage of Jews, these are different than types than before – Russians, Israelis, and the Orthodox.  I’m surprised by how many Russians are living here now.  Just when I’m trying to get Sophia out of my mind, all I hear is Russian in the elevator every day. 

There are also many black, Chinese, Indian, and Pakistani families.

Although the apartment building is a Mitchell-Lama middle class housing, sort of a fancy “project” — it is a co-op where tenant own their apartments, even though when the tenants leave, they don’t make any real profit from it.  The co-op is run by elected Board of Directors.  My father was on the Board of Directors for many years, and used to tell us stories of the infighting among the elected “officials.”  It was my first introduction to politics.  Every single issue about the apartment building resulted in an enormous fight between the tenants, matters such as where to put the garbage can  to the amount of the Christmas bonuses given to the “porters.”  When one board of director would get angry at another one, he would inevitably start a hate campaign, travelling to each floor of the co-op and slipping an “anonymous” letter under each door, accusing this person of some evil deed.  And there was some crookedness going on.  Many of the board members were tradesmen or salesmen.  One of them happened to sell washing machines.  Guess who became the supplier of the apartment buildings washing machines in the laundry room?

My father always complained about the Board of Directors, but every year he would run again for office.  I was his campaign manager.  I would type a letter up for him (even as a twelve year old I was quoting “Profiles of Courage”), Xerox hundreds, and then slide the propaganda under each door.  Even though he said he hated the Board, he obviously loved it.  Finally, after twenty years on the Board — when I was in college, — he was kicked out of office.  They wanted some fresh blood.  I remember him being very hurt.

Now, these were the days when the majority of the tenants were all Jewish.  One group — a lot of infighting.  Imagine what it is like now, when there are twenty different ethnic groups.

About a month ago, the Board of Directors had an idea to bring the building together:  have a July 4th BBQ in the back of the building, near “the benches.”  It sounded like a good idea.  However, one of the Board Members reminded everyone that many of the Orthodox religious families were kosher, so the Board decided to only buy kosher meat.  Soon, the board received a letter signed by several of the families that were “Glatt Kosher.”  This is a more super-stringent kosher that is followed by those who are even MORE orthodox than the Orthodox.  Even I had to look up exactly what made something “glatt kosher” —

For meat to be kosher, it must come from a kosher animal and be slaughtered in a kosher way. For meat to be glatt kosher, in addition to the two above conditions, the meat must also come from an animal with adhesion-free or smooth lungs.

The word glatt means smooth in Yiddish. In Jewish Law, the term glatt is used to refer to the lungs of animals. After the animal is slaughtered, the animal is opened and examined to determine whether the lungs are smooth. If defects on the lungs are found, the meat is considered treif (torn, mortally injured, non-kosher). If the lungs are found to be defect-free or smooth, the meat is considered to be glatt kosher.

While the term glatt technically means the lungs of the kosher and kosher-slaughtered animal were smooth, the term is often used colloquially to imply a higher standard of kashrut, similar to the term mehadrin.

Furthermore, even though only meat can be technically glatt kosher, the term is often loosely used today to refer to non-meat items. Many suppliers of glatt kosher items will refer to all their products at glatt kosher. So one may find fish with the same glatt kosher sticker as used on meat being sold one aisle over. In addition, many suppliers of glatt kosher meat will refer to their whole service as glatt kosher. So there are glatt kosher caterers, restaurants and stores.

Got it?

Surprisingly, the Glatt Kosher tenants mostly pissed off the non-religious Jewish tenants, because to make sure it was glatt kosher the building would have to buy the food from a glatt kosher deli and the price would be twice as much — all for a few families. 

The story doesn’t end there.  As I mentioned, this apartment building is now more diverse than in the past.  The Jewish tenants don’t run the show anymore. All of a sudden, the Indian and Muslim tenants were bringing up their OWN dietary issues.  Shouldn’t the food also be halal?  Will beef be served? 

The Board of Directors arranged for a special meeting to discuss this issue.  They convened in their war room.

To cap it off, after the recent death of a tenant, her son from Vermont took over the apartment.   He seems like a nice guy — he has a long beard and is into yoga and meditation.  He follows this local guru named Sri Chinoy, who believes in health through running races (!), and he went to the Board of Directors and insisted on a vegetarian BBQ.

The BBQ has been canceled.

Important update:   Just heard from someone in the elevator that there is a last-moment attempt to revive the BBQ by changing the food plan to sandwiches that are made at a glatt kosher and halal SUBWAY.

The Internet Smog Check Station is Now Open

I’ve seen other bloggers coming up with gimmicks to get you offline, such as “Don’t Blog Day” and other nonsense.  The point of these special days is to make you go outside and smell the fresh air, maybe even do something “green,” like get you to water a tree.

This post is not about the environment.  Let someone else write about that.  Go outside and spray pesticides if you want.  I’m not concerned about the health of our planet right now as much as I am about the mental health of those on the blogosphere. 

Including myself. 

I first wrote about this “Internet Smog Check” a month ago.  I had just brought in my car for the yearly test, as is required in California.  I wondered if I should also test myself once a year — making sure that the internet wasn’t turning me into a crazy person?  I wanted to prove to myself that all this virtual “smog” from this online world wasn’t affecting my brain, and my soul.   Sure, I had fallen in love with 28 different women in a six month’s period, and had taken photos of myself bare-chested, parading around in the bathroom, desperately crying for attention.  But, it could have been worse.  I have never ONCE sent anyone a photo of my private parts.  I didn’t embarrass my family… too much.  I’d engaged in pleasant, but nonsensical, conversations with people of all races and religions without ever resorting to ethnic slurs like “Whitey,” “China Doll” or “Yarmulke Head.” 

Clearly, I am normal.

But shouldn’t I test myself at least once a year to make sure I don’t have a small addiction to the internet?  I thought about this for a day or two, and then dropped the idea completely.

On Sunday, I was in Manhattan, walking around aimlessly, window-shopping.  I had an appointment with some friends later that afternoon.  At a certain point, I stopped in at some ritzy coffee bar on Lexington Avenue.  As I was drinking my coffee, I watched as some Hunter College student was reading her Gmail on her Macbook.  I could feel the energy and jealousy build up in my body.

“I want to check my email!” I screamed to myself.

My mind drifted to a state of worry and yearning. 

“I wonder if anyone wrote me an email today?  I wonder how many people wrote comments on my blog?  I wonder if one of the comments is stuck in the spam block and the blogger is going to be pissed at me, thinking I erased it?”

Sadly, I am too cheap right now to own a blackberry.  I use my phone… as a phone.  So I had no access to the internet like some of you junkies who walk around checking your email every five seconds.

After my cup of coffee, I kept on walking, still thinking about the virtual life that was going on in my parallel universe — this online world that was suddenly more real and exciting to me than walking around Manhattan.  Sure the girls looked very pretty as they left the Guggenheim Museum, but not ONE of them took off her bra and threw it at me!  Don’t these girls know who I am?!  Don’t they read any blogs?!  Women online are so much more… uh, EASY…

I hoped that I would stumble upon an “Internet Cafe.”  Did they still exist?   Here I was in the middle of NYC — a city with thousands of things to do — and my mind was pondering what Schmutzie wrote on her blog today.  That’s right — some blogger from Saskatchewan!  F**king Saskatchewan.  That place would not even make a dot on that “New York” map/view of the world.  If I had asked a passing New Yorker to tell me about Saskatchewan, one would answer —

“Isn’t that the bridge that goes to Jersey?”

My mind drifted further —

“I wonder if Finn is on Facebook chat.  I wonder what Mr. Lady is bitching about on Twitter.” 

I walked past a Kinko’s/Fed Ex/whatever it is called now.  Bingo!  They had a “business center” where you can pay six dollars every ten seconds to go online on one of their germ-covered PCs.

So, I did.   The Kinko’s PC quickly grabbed my VISA card.   I then promptly spent the financial equivalent of a decent lunch on the Upper East Side to spend ten minutes on the Citizen of the Month administration page and delete three spams about “sex nostradamus sexy video.”

It was then that I accepted my internet addiction. 

I asked my, “Could I go offline for 24 hours without jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge?” 

I answered, “I’m not sure!”

I tried a test run on Twitter yesterday, and let me tell you — it was hard.  I rushed back online as soon as I could, and blabbed to everyone how superior I was to their addicted, flabby asses.  That was, until some hotshot noticed from my profile that I had only left Twitter for 23 hours!  Jerk.

The uber-talented Secret Agent Josephine made these badges.  Normally, bloggers want the masses to use their “badges” because of the link love.  I am a bit of an idiot who forgets about these rules, because I am going to make it SO difficult for ANY OF YOU to get one of these badges.  In fact, I bet only 1% of those reading this right now will ever be allowed to have one.

In order to get one of these beautiful badges, you must stay OFFLINE for a full day — from when you wake up in the morning to the next morning 24 hours later.  No email.  No blogging.  No Google.  If you need the internet for work, tough.  If you go online to check your bank statement, you screwed up.  It is that hard.  No pussies allowed.

If you don’t want to put up the badge, no problem. 

How do you get a badge?  You email me, telling me exactly what you did all day, proving to me that you did not go online ONCE during that 24 hour period. 

Only then can you announce to the rest of the blogosphere that you are not a addict who needs help.

And believe me, most of you NEED help.

Now, excuse me while I catch up with your blogs on my feed reader.  You are my crack.

Update:  Read this:  Would you quit interacting on the internet for ten million dollars?

Childhood Clues to My Adult Personality


I was dependent on women from an early age.


This print has been hanging over our TV for decades.  I used to stare at this women for hours.  Since it was painted by Marc Chagall, I assume that this woman is supposed to be a Russian Jewish woman with dark hair and big, round breasts, probably very similar to that of… holy s**t!


WTF am I doing in this photo?


When Sophia first saw me trying to use a coupon at Olive Garden, she asked me, “Is your whole family so frugal?”  I told her that our couch was wrapped in plastic for decades (see the couch in the first photo), so today it is still in perfect condition.  The lamp is the original, too.   Does Architectural Digest ever make it to Queens?

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