the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Tag: Mother’s Day

I Want to Be a Samba Dancer

Lately, I have read some posts where bloggers write about their longing to be “truthful and honest” on their blogs. I think about this issue, too, but I have a difficult time choosing my reality. What is truer — the facts of my daily life, my emotions connected with specific events, or the chaotic mess that goes on inside the head?

Yesterday, we took Sophia’s mother out for mother’s day. We went to a Brazilian restaurant. Sophia wanted me to dress up for her mother, but I brought very little with me from New York, so I hobbled together a look that was a fashion emergency. I wore blue dress slacks, a green shirt, black shoes, a brown belt, and different color socks. Just like the typical guy. In most ways, I am the typical guy. I don’t care what I wear. I would have preferred to wear jeans and sneakers.

In the restaurant, Samba dancers entertained the guests by dancing in the aisles. They were a lot of fun to watch. Did I fantasize about dancing with one of them? No. I fantasized about BEING one of them! For that moment in time, I was enchanted by their costumes. I wanted to be flamboyant like that, wearing feathers on my head, and shaking my goods for adoring fans. Imagine how good a samba dancer feels, knowing that all eyes are on HER!




So what is the real me? The schlumpy guy wearing two different socks or the one wishing he was dancing the Samba as a seductive woman? Can a man ever get the same amount of attention as a female Samba dancer? I doubt it.

If I were a beautiful woman, I would wear the hottest clothes, and strut down the street with my ass shaking. I would be like one of those women in those shampoo commercials where, after I washed my hair to near orgasm, everyone in the street would turn to look at me — the ultimate expression of glamour. I believe those commercials where the product is for a woman. I do NOT believe those Axe commercials where women jump the guy because he is wearing some crappy cologne.

So, what is my reality? Boring guy or closet cross-dresser?

Is this entire post bullshit? By tomorrow, I might think so. But for this moment, while I am typing this, this is my reality — because I am thinking about it. I want to be a female Samba dancer. I also think about threesomes and being an astronaut. So, what is reality?

After returning home from the restaurant, I told Sophia about my fantasy of being a sexy female Samba dancer. I was surprised that she WASN’T surprised.

“You would not be happy as a woman,” she said.

“Why not?” I replied. “I think it would be cool to have both men and women admire me for my beauty, mystery, and sensuality — something you just can’t get as a man.”

Just by chance, Sophia had just downloaded a new photo app to her iPhone, which helped her prove her point.

I would not be a good woman.


Hi, Mom

This morning, I was awoken by the voice of God.

“Neil, it is Mother’s Day.  Did you call your mother?”

“Nah.  What for?  It’s a dumb holiday.  I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“But Neil, you must congratulate her.  It is your duty.  After all, you have the best mother that I have ever created.”

“C’mon, God.  Let’s not go overboard.  Sure, she’s nice and funny, but there are billions of mothers out there.  How can you really say that she is the “best?”  Her cooking is pretty bad.  And she  refuses to watch the last ten minutes of the American Idol elimination night because it makes her “too nervous.”  That’s just weird.”

“I am the God of your Forefathers.  Of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  When I say that she is the best mother, I mean it.  I do not lie or do punk’d pranks like that crazy Kabbalah guy, Ashton Kutcher.  I speak the truth.”

“OK, bigshot.  Give me a sign.  A miracle.  Something that proves that you truly are all powerful.  Like a burning bush.”

“What are you crazy?  In Southern California.  One burning bush will cause a whole forest fire!  Can’t you come up with something a little bit less drama-queenish?”

“Hmmm… Ok, here’s  a challenge that is pretty impossible, even for you — let me see Julie Andrews, the biggest shiksa in the world, sing a song in Yiddish.  Only that will prove to me YOUR TRUE POWER!”

“I am the Lord, the One, and I shall produce this miracle!  Get ready to call your mother.”

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Mommy Dearest

Are my current posts so boring that everyone seems to be reading my entries from… 2006? 

First I received that nice email from the Sun-Maid raisin girl about a post from that year.  Today, I received a different type of response to a “humorous” post I wrote in May 2006 titled “Seven Reasons to Abolish Mother’s Day.”

The comment:

You are, by far, the biggest loser that has ever lived. I challange you to a debate on the reason for mothers. Obviously, yours has failed you and you are tainted in your view of mothers. What about father’s day??? How many have bailed out on their pregnant significant others? What about that, you coward? It has not happended to me…I just think you need to view the whole picture. Let’s meet face-to-face, or are you scared?


Valerie —

I know EXACTLY who you are!  You are the coward.  If you are so brave, why don’t YOU use your real name?  Would you like me to out you?  OK, I will — Mrs.  Elaine Kramer! 

Nice try, Mom!  Valerie, hah!  You’ll stop at nothing, won’t you?  Don’t you know I can track you with Sitemeter?!

I know I said I would call you back in five minutes today and then forgot all about it.  I’m busy.  Get used to it!  I was on Twitter.  I had no time to talk.  And I know I still haven’t sent you a mother’s day card from… last year.   But seriously, get a life —

You’re the best, Mom.   Happy Mother’s Day on Sunday! 

(uh, the card is in the mail.  I just sent it today, so you probably won’t, uh, get it in time…)

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