the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Author: Neil Kramer (Page 114 of 187)

Out of the Past

Lately, I’ve been having weird dreams, and remembering them, which is unusual for me.  Last night’s dream was very bizarre.  It started out in the coffee shop from the TV show “Happy Days.”  I was sitting at a table with Richie Cunningham, Ralph, Fonzie, Laverne, and Shirley, and we were all waiting for Potsie to return to town.  He had been living for several years in California.  

Suddenly, the scene switched, and I was home, but my house was now some sort of enormous mansion that looked a bit like the Getty Museum.   I was getting married in the morning (to Sophia?).  I had hundreds of guests… and they were all in the mansion, sleeping in various bedrooms, waiting for the big wedding.  There were friends and acquaintances walking through my house, some who I hadn’t seen in twenty-five years.  It was first come, first serve for the bedrooms, so I had to go from room to room to know where everyone was staying.  I spent the most time in the “master” bedroom, which had three big beds.  In the beds were some kids I remembered from my elementary school in Queens — P.S. 154 (and they were still kids).   One of the kids, a girl named Claire, was hiding her boyfriend, Dennis, under the bed, thinking that them being in bed together would upset me, but I told her that it was OK for them to “fool around.”  (there was a scene just like this in All My Children yesterday, so I obviously steal my dream material from a soap opera).  I actually laughed to myself when I met “Whoorl” in the bathroom combing her hair.  (The only reason she must have been there was that she emailed me recently that I showed up in one of her dreams, so this must have been payback.  And yes, the baby was there!).

Even though the wedding was the next day, I decided to surprise everyone by giving them tickets to the Oscars, which just happened to be taking place that night.  After I bought a thousand tickets from a woman sitting at a desk in the middle of Wilshire Boulevard, I began to second guess myself.  I wondered if my guests really WANTED to go to the Academy Awards, or whether they would prefer to go to a Lebanese restaurant where there is a bellydancer performing (Sophia and I had a bellydancer at our wedding).

I don’t remember much else about the dream.  Why was I having this dream?  Why was I thinking about all these people I haven’t thought about it years?

This morning, after waking up, showering, and eating breakfast, I went onto my email, much as I do every day.  Amidst all the spam, there was an email waiting for me from “an old friend.” 

An old friend?

It was from “Tess,” a friend I had in summer camp.  (I changed her name. I’m not sure why.  If she says it is OK, I’ll use her real name)  I was 14-15 years old at the time I went to this Jewish summer camp.  I haven’t heard from her since then.  Apparently, she found me through someone finding my blog. 

I immediately called Sophia over to read this email, because this wasn’t just any old friend from the past.   This was from the first girl I ever liked!   I even wrote heart-felt notes to her, which I could read at the next “Cringe” “read embarrassing stuff you wrote as a teenager” festival.. 

Tess was totally unlike me.  While I played right field in softball (and dropped every ball), she was the best athlete in camp!   Even then, I liked a strong woman!  Alas, we never became more than friends.  She liked someone else in camp — and now she’s married to him with two kids.  All in all, I was probably better off, because  at the time, I wasn’t ready yet to deal with girls.  I still required several more years of practicing kissing the back of my hand.

Even though my memories are vague, and probably reinterpreted through the years,  I remember Tess as important, because before her, I don’t think I had the guts to talk to a girl as a “real person,” or consider one a friend.  I even asked her to some sort of final dance “social” at camp, and I think she agreed, but I have some unclear memory of her getting a cold and having to be in the infirmary, and me talking to her through a screen window.

Something happened that summer when I was fifteen.  During that important summer,  it occurred to me, that even if you were a total dork –  and I was — if you make a girl laugh, she might actually notice you.  It was a lesson I learned, and learned well.  Today, all I have to do is tell a funny story, and my mailbox is filled with the panties of female bloggers from around the world. 

I’m very curious to speak more with Tess.  We emailed a couple of times back and forth today, trying to fill in everything that ever happened since we were fifteen,  but this is difficult to do, especially in an electronic age where a Twitter is considered a long message.

I’m not one who is into mystical stuff, but it was an odd coincidence that last night,  I had a dream about people from my past, and this morning, someone for real showed up in my inbox.

Has anyone from your past ever found you through your blog?

(I told her to read my blog.  I hope that wasn’t a bad idea.  We’ll see if she writes back!)

Barbra Streisand Ain’t No Cheap Date

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According to the BBC:

Barbra Streisand’s concert in Rome next month should be cancelled because of excessively high ticket prices, consumer groups in Italy have said.

The Adusbef and Codacons groups urged the city and the Italian Olympic Committee to deny Streisand use of the Stadio Flaminio on 15 June.

Prices, ranging from 150 euros (£100) to more than 900 euros (£600), were “absurd and shameful”, the groups said.

Streisand’s Rome concert will kick off her European tour.

The consumer groups said that the use of the stadium for such an “immoral deal” is “shameful for a civilized country.”

Of course — now on sale — Italian designed Rene Caovilla Beaded Slingbacks –  only $1,250 at Bergdorf Goodman! 

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Where’s our consumer groups?

(And I’m sure Barbra owns a pair)

(And my second gay post in a week!  At least it wasn’t about ABBA)

(Elsewhere — my latest post on Poetry Thursday — a somewhat uncomfortable piece about anger)

(In other music news, Sophia Lansky votes for Blake twenty times, calling American Idol a farce and starting a conspiracy theory that the producers picked a final song they knew that Jordin could sing well and Blake would suck at)

(And that was the best song in a nationwide American Idol contest?  My song about latkes at the Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert concert was better)

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  The Buddy System

Talking Health Care with Psychotoddler

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A few weeks ago, Not So Confidential answered some of my questions about gun control. I enjoyed the format.   I doubt that he changed the minds of most of my wimpy liberal Bush-hating readers, but it was cool to hear the other side of the story.  And believe me, while I love Danny and his Huffington Post friends, I’d rather have NSC standing next to me during a bar room brawl. 

Today, I’d like to turn to another subject in the news — medical care.  This has been a big issue for several years, with very little being done.  Things in the media will only get heated up more when Michael Moore’s next movie about America’s health crisis, Sicko, comes out in theaters.

Medical care has become a personal issue lately because of Sophia.  Lately, I’ve been bitching about both doctors and hospitals, and how uncaring they can be.  But what about  the other side?   Aren’t doctors just as miserable as their patients?   Why don’t doctors and patients ever talk to each other?

Psychotoddler is a blogger, a musician, and a doctor.  He was nice enough to take some time out from (playing golf) to answer a few questions.  Feel free to grill him about any issue that is on your mind, and I’m sure he will answer you.  Just be careful not to ask him for medical advice.  He will charge you.

Neil:  Sophia’s surgeon seemed to have been over-confident in thinking that he took out her DCIS, and never wrote down the orientation of the piece, which is now requiring Sophia to get more  cut than necessary.  All doctors obviously make mistakes.  What should be our response to the error?

Psychotoddler:  Sue!  No, seriously, you have every right to discuss the issue with the surgeon and get an explanation of why the orientation was not marked.  You are correct; doctors make mistakes.  The issue is that doctors don’t like to admit mistakes because they fear litigation.  The actual truth is that doctors who discuss mistakes with patients in an open and rational manner are less likely to be sued than those who try to avoid the discussion or cover it up.  Never-the-less, there are lots of lawyers out there who would jump on an admission of error and so many physicians are uncomfortable discussing their mistakes.

On the other hand, not every bad outcome is a mistake.  Sometimes it’s a judgment call that turned out badly.

The trick is to approach your doctor in a serious but non-litigious manner.  Let him know that you appreciate the 99 things that he did right but want better understand why that one thing went wrong.  Try to avoid being adversarial.  A good doctor will respond in kind.  You and the doc should be on the same team!

Neil:  It seems that Sophia usually gets pretty good care because she is always calling and questioning her doctors (as well as shmoozing with them).  Is this the only way?

Psychotoddler:  I’d like to think that doctors provide good care to all their patients, but the truth is that we are pulled in multiple directions all day long and sometimes the simple truth is that the squeaky wheel gets the oil.  On the other hand, squeaky wheels are annoying as hell and most people try to avoid them.

Again, I prefer the team approach.  You need to let the doc know that you’re on top of things and paying attention, but also show some appreciation.  Personally, although I try to be impartial about my patients, I probably do spend more time and effort on patients whose company I actually enjoy than on those that annoy me.

Neil:  Any recommendations for making sure a person gets good care in a hospital?

Psychotoddler:  This is tricky.  I’ve seen this from both ends, as a doctor and as a family member (fortunately, not so much as a patient).  You need to be an advocate for the patient, but not get in the way of patient care.  I’ve seen families descend on hospitals, occupy rooms and hallways, question every staff member and every physician who comes in the room, all in an effort to make sure their loved one gets “good care.”  Generally, this approach does NOT work.  What happens is that the staff starts to avoid the patient’s room.  If an aid or a nurse or even a doctor knows that they’re going to get a lot of hostility or endless questions, or just feel uncomfortable with all the people in the room, they will try to go in as little as possible.  And in general, this ends up being bad for the patient.

The patient is in the hospital because they need the care that the staff provides, so every effort should be made to make the staff want to respond to calls and come into the room.  Keep visitors to a minimum.  Don’t yak on a cell phone (even if the hospital allows it—but especially if it doesn’t!), don’t feel the need to question every pill that gets dispensed.  It’s enough to let the staff know that someone cares and is paying attention.  Try to get the nurses on your side.   An overbearing family can put a patient on the nurses’ sh*t list quickly.  Be pleasant.  Smile.  Bring candy for the staff.  Let them know you respect them, not that you don’t trust them or think they’re goofing off.  In many ways, the care that the patient gets from the nurses is more important than that from the doctors.

That being said, some places are just BAD.  My mom did all those things and my dad STILL got crappy care.  Know when it’s time to bail out and transfer.

Neil:  Are nurses undertrained?

Psychotoddler:  I think nurses are better trained now than they’ve ever been.  Many function on the level of a physician’s assistant or higher, especially on specialty wards like ICUs and Cardiology floors.  The issue is that not everyone who looks like a nurse is an RN.  Nurses are expensive and hard to come by, and many hospital floors have a handful of them and then a bunch of nurse extenders, like aids, certified nursing assistants, etc, who have minimal training.  If you’re not sure about who’s giving care, don’t be afraid to ask.

Neil:  Are hospitals understaffed?

Psychotoddler:  Yes.

Neil:  If you had to go into a hospital, does saying that you are a doctor, give you special treatment?

Psychtoddler:  I am loathe to mention that I’m a physician.  I’m probably in the minority on this, though.  I hate the idea of privilege, and have no problems with waiting in line.  My mom, on the other hand, was sure to point out to everyone we encountered (the guard in the lobby, the elevator operator, the nurses and aids, the doctors and I think a few of the janitors) that I was a doctor.  I suspect that on one level it does give me more access and makes the staff take me more seriously.  On another level I think some providers are threatened by it and try to play their cards close to the vest.

Neil:  Doctors used to be thought of on par with Gods.  Now they are one notch above lawyers.  What happened?

Psychotoddler:  We let others take the reins of medicine from us.  Bureaucrats, legislators, HMO administrators.  We allowed them to take our profession and hack it up into little bits.  As a result, we surrendered our authority.  Most doctors used to be self-employed.  Now many if not most are employed by large hospital corporations.  We are like 1.5 or 2.0 FTEs, subject to the whims of middle-level administrators and can be fired at will.

I also think that the proliferation of readily available medical information, whether on the internet or through the mass media, has served to empower patients, and that power has been transferred from doctors.

Neil:  Patients are always complaining about medical care nowadays.  But I hear that being a doctor is just as bad today, especially compared to the way it was in the past?  Why is that?

Psychotoddler:  Medical care is actually much better now than it has ever been.  People are living longer, healthier, medications are better, taken less often, with fewer side effects.  We have procedures that can fix blockages in the heart and limbs, where in the past dangerous and painful surgery was the only option.  We have better diagnostic tools than ever before, almost on par with Star Trek.

But it is also more expensive than ever before.  Because it costs so much, it is much more regulated.  People complain about medical care because they have to pay so much for it and yet it seems they have less access to it.  There are many layers between the doctor and the patient, and just because something can be done doesn’t mean it will be done, if it needs to go through a maze of HMO prior authorizations.

People are also paying much more out of pocket, even as opposed to 5 years ago.  And yet for this extra expenditure, many are seeing a paradoxical decrease in service.

From the doctors’ perspective, they are getting paid less and less and working more and more.  There is more paper work than ever before.  Since the new Medicare drug plan went live, my paperwork has tripled.  Every month I have to submit new prior authorization forms for the same medications that patients have been stable on for years.  I have staff members who now spend full time on the phone with insurance companies and pharmacies trying to get my patients their pills.  All this costs money, and as a result more patients need to be seen and less time can be spent with each.

Documentation regulations are out of control as well.  Doctors at this point don’t get paid to provide care.  They get paid to produce documentation.  There are now computer programs that can spit out an entire history and physical report even before a patient is seen.  In the hands of less scrupulous providers this can lead to inaccuracy or even fraud.

Neil:  Everyone thinks doctors are fabulously wealthy.  How long does it usually take to pay off medical school expenses?

Psychotoddler:  A typical doctor pays of thousands of dollars per month in medical school loans over a ten year period.  If, like me, the doctor was not blessed with wealthy parents, he may be burdened with high-interest 30 year loans as well.  I was fortunate enough to finish paying off my loans about a month before I started taking loans out for my daughter’s college tuition.

Doctors who do a lot of procedures, ie surgeons, cardiologists, gastroenterologists, make a good living.  Those of us who rely on dispensing advice, like internists, pediatricians, family practitioners, make relatively little.  I live paycheck to paycheck.

Neil:  Why do doctors seem to care so little about their patients?  Are they seeing too many patients?

Psychotoddler:  Everybody is different.  I don’t think my patients will tell you that I care little about them.  Surgeons, by nature of their practice, are on a tight schedule and may not have a lot of time to chat, and may come off as aloof or uncaring.  Primary care doctors may have a little more time with their patients.  But not everyone is a people person.  If you really don’t feel like your doctor is there to help you, maybe it’s time for a new one.

Too many patients?  You know, you can’t have it both ways.  Above I mentioned the pressures on physicians to see more patients (and by the way, employed physicians may have very strict requirements to see a certain number of patients per day).  At the same time, patients want to see their doctors in a timely manner.  A doctor could see fewer patients per day, thereby spending more time with each, but then many who want to be seen would be turned away.  And the doctor would probably not be able to keep his doors open for long without either overcharging the ones that come in or finding some alternate means of income.

There are some physicians who charge a premium, say a few thousand dollars a year, and in return limit the number of patients in their practice, enabling them to see fewer patients for longer appointments and be available quickly for them.  Obviously this would only work for a few providers out of many, as someone has to see all the other patients.  What’s interesting is that people now have to pay a premium to have the kind of interaction with a doctor that was the norm 40 years ago.

Neil:  Do you think there is too much specialization?

Psychotoddler:  Yes.  Not everyone needs to be a cardiologist.

Neil:  Do you have any specific ideas on what you would do about health care or health insurance if you were President of the World?

Psychotoddler:  Yes.  I would ensure that everyone had affordable health care coverage, that no one had to pay excessively out of pocket, and that paperwork would disappear from the face of the earth.  Also, I would make sure that we colonized the Moon by 2014 and that I could take a rocket ship ride around the rings of Saturn.  I’ve always wanted to do that.

Neil:  When I was a child, my family doctor would do all these tests, including holding my balls and making me cough.  My family doctor in LA has never seen me naked — in ten years.  Should I change doctors?

Psychotoddler:  I don’t blame him.  I don’t want to see you naked either.  Seriously, there used to be something called the “annual physical”, the purpose of this was to get you naked so your doctor could look you over and screen you for things that you didn’t know you have, because they weren’t bothering you at the time.  That’s called “preventative medicine.”  But then Medicare and many other insurers decided not to pay for it.  So it doesn’t get done.  Many of us still do this.  You may need to tell your doctor you want an annual physical, and be prepared to pay more out of pocket for what the insurance refuses to cover.  Otherwise you may only be interacting with your doc for “problem visits”, and given the time constraints we mentioned, that doesn’t leave time for the other stuff.

Neil:  A serious question — why are magazines so BAD in doctor’s waiting rooms?  Why do I want to read his old Golf magazines?  This shows the doctor as uncaring right from the start. 

Psychotoddler:  We take all the good ones home for ourselves.

Neil:  Would you want your son or daughter to be a doctor?

Psychotoddler:  From the perspective of working very hard, getting massively in debt, and then ending up in a profession that is a target of lawyers and legislators, working unbelievably long hours, for less and less prestige, the loss of privacy, constantly being a slave to the pager, etc, I’d say “no.”

From the perspective of this being a wonderful way to make a living helping people, I’d say, “yes.”  I love my patients and I love what I do.

Neil:  Are most of your friends other doctors?

Psychotoddler:  I have no friends.

Neil:  Do doctors treat patients differently according to their health plan?

Psychotoddler:  Yes, primarily in the sense that different plans limit what you can prescribe or order.  You have to factor that in when you make decisions.  It’s nice to say that you go all out for everyone, but after a few come back and complain that insurance didn’t cover their MRI or whatever, you learn to take these things into account.

Neil:  What’s the deal with all those sexy blond sales reps?  Do you go out to lunch with them?  Will they go out to lunch with me?  Have you ever bought Prozac over Wellbutrin because the salesgirl bought you a nicer lunch or had a better ass?

Psychotoddler:  I’d love to answer this, but there’s a hot drug rep waiting for me.

P.S. — Sophia has a question now that she dares Psychotoddler to answer honestly:  “Isn’t it true that doctors make more money from HMOs if these patients DON’T come in for visits?”

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Watch the Road

My Mom Was Just Like Me

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Sophia: “You know, we should put a personal ad in the New York Jewish newspaper for your mother. Maybe she’ll meet someone.”

Neil: “You mean… like dating? A man?”

Sophia: “Why not? She’s still young. She goes out.”

Neil: “But…”

Sophia: “It’s been a year and a half already since your father passed away. I asked your mother yesterday if she would go out with someone…”

Neil: “You asked my mother THAT?!”

Sophia: “Why not? She said she WOULD if she met someone.”

Neil: “I can’t really visualize…”

Sophia: “She goes out more than we do. She’s younger in spirit than YOU. She goes to the theater and concerts. You just sit there and blog.”

The phone rings. It is my mother.

Neil: “Hi, Mom. What’s that music in the background. Where are you?”

Neil’s Mother: “I took off from work this week. I’m with my friend Laura in Baltimore.”

Neil: “Baltimore? What for?”

Neil’s Mother: “They have this six day classical music “elderhostel” at the Peabody Institute music school at Johns Hopkins. It’s like college for those who remember Elvis. We stay here, there are music classes from professors, and then there are concerts at night.”

Neil: “Sounds fun, but… I wanted to talk to you about…”

Neil’s Mother: “Oops, gotta go. Class is beginning… a lecture about Mozart… Don’t call me. I’m shutting off my phone…”

Neil: “But…”

My mother hung up the phone, more interested in being with her friend than talking to me.

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me
She’d grown up just like me
My Mom was just like me

She Loved My Cock So Much, Now She Wants Yours

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There are a few times I’ve embarrassed myself online, but one of my most memorable moments was when I sent an email to Schmutzie, who didn’t know me from Adam, and told her I adored her website and that I completely related to her frequently odd (uh, offbeat) posts and photos. And guess what — she wrote back! I’ve been smitten ever since.

Schmutzie was just diagnosed with cervical cancer, and she’s pulling her hair out of head, just like Sophia has been doing since she learned she had to go back into surgery in ten days.   Cancer really sucks, but I have a feeling these two strong women will beat the shit out it.  And since Schmutzie is Canadian, and we all know how Canadians don’t fight fair, her cancer better be very scared!

I noticed that Schmutzie used a rooster as her icon on her sidebar, so I emailed her a photo of a colorful rooster with the message, “Be Strong Like the Rooster.”  Now others are sending her rooster photos to bolster up her spirits.

Send her a rooster photo for her “Cockroll” and say hello!   I shared my cock with her.  Will you share yours?

Update:  One more rooster photo for her collection — ABBA with their unknown “fifth band member.”

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A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:   BlogHim 06′

All ABBA, All The Time

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Have you ever found yourself feeling like you’re going a little insane? I don’t usually talk about these things, but you’re all my friends and Google doesn’t spider everything so it remains on the internet forever, so I’m safe, right?

On Mother’s Day, I posted a video of ABBA singing “Mama Mia.” I thought it was a cute idea. Today, I apologized to the mommybloggers by posting another ABBA music video, “Does Your Mother Know?”

Now, I remember ABBA as a youth, but their music means little to me, unlike that of Bruce Springsteen or Prince.

But something strange and magical happened today. After posting those two videos on my blog, I have became ABBA obsessed. I spent all night reading about and listening to ABBA. I even downloaded a documentary about them — in Swedish! I saw them win Eurovision in the seventies with “Waterloo.” I listened to their hits. I learned from Wikipedia that the name ABBA is the combined first letters of the four group members — Agnetha, Anni-Frid “Frida,” Benny, and Bjorn. I’ve become fascinated by the behind-the-scenes romances — the marriage of Frida and Benny, the breakup of Agnetha and Bjorn. For several hours, ABBA has become my life.

Why has this happened? What is going on with me? Is it stress? Sexual frustration? Is it because I got turned on by Frida bouncing on the piano bench in “Does Your Mother Know?”

Actually, no. I know this sounds weird to you, but the ABBA songs were “speaking to me,” as if they were written especially for me — as if they had some inner meaning beyond their silly lyrics. And honestly — no pot was involved, real or virtual. Could it be Trader Joe’s veggie gyozas?

I was especially taken by the lyrics of “Dancing Queen” —

You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen

Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for the place to go
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing
You come in to look for a king
Anybody could be that guy
Night is young and the musics high
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine
You’re in the mood for a dance
And when you get the chance…

And guess what — it is FRIDAY NIGHT right now, as I listen to the song! How did they know? Tears were filling my eyes as I heard this. And how do Agnetha, Frida, Benny, and Bjorn know that I’m “looking for the place to go… where they play the right “music?”

I could be that guy.
I can have the time of my life.
I am in the mood for a dance
I am the dancing queen!

Or maybe I should just go out and rent Muriel’s Wedding.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Neilochka Sez: Boycott the Fashion Industry

I Apologize to all Mommybloggers

I apologize for this post. Please don’t ban me from the internet. I know you mommybloggers are so powerful that you have the power to do so. Remember, I was also once an innocent baby in a mother’s arms!

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Transform Your Blog into a Book!

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I felt guilty about my last post since mommybloggers have been so nice to me lately, sending Sophia cards and wishing her well on her surgery. And how do I respond? — by attacking their precious children! What a jerk I am!

It occurred to me that people write what they know. Businessmen write blogs about stocks and Microsoft. Mommies write about their kids. What’s so wrong about that? (except for the fact that so many of these mommybloggers never come to read my blog) But that’s my fault, not theirs.

Sometimes, I wish I had a clearcut theme… I wish I could say I was a “something”-blogger. It gives you an instant community. I love all my readers and blogging friends, but I’m not sure how to describe this bizarre community. I always hear about bloggers getting book deals from their blogs. I think agents and publishers also like blogs that have a clearcut theme or “story,” because it helps them visualize the book.

For example:

Blog about having sex with everyone in Washington D.C. = book about having sex with everyone in Washington D.C.

Blog about working for big law firm and having sex with everyone in law firm = book about working for big law firm and having sex with everyone in law firm.

Blog about working in hip restaurant and having sex with customers = Book about working in hip restaurant and having sex with customers

Blog about getting divorced and taking up knitting = Book about getting divorce and taking up knitting (I’m not sure how much sex is in this one, though, but there are a lot of cats)

Blog about being a wonderful mommy = book about being a wonderful mommy.

WTF is my blog about?

I’ve been really distraught about this issue, but luckily, like magic, help came this morning in the way of a pop-up ad while using Internet Explorer (kids, use Firefox!) It seems that writing guru Ann Mcindoo has all the answers to turning your blog into a book.

A book? From my blog? What fun! After taking one of her very short seminars, I’m now about to visualize the whole plot of my book.

Agents! Publishers! Here is the summary of “Citizen of the Month,” the book:

Writer guy in Los Angeles is separated from his wild foreign-born wife. Sexually frustrated, he tries to flirt with women online, but they end up mostly seeing him as their “metrosexual” friend, except for that one time he went a little further with a nice blogger back East. Guy’s Penis gets upset at him and wants him to start f**king again, and threatens to “move on” if he doesn’t get any p***y. Guy’s beloved father dies but continues talking to his son from the beyond, telling him to “always be good to women.” Guy’s mother transforms her life and becomes a professional Mah Jongg player, while having an affair with Santa Claus. Guy sneaks back to live with his separated wife when she is away working and he then refuses to leave, even though he isn’t very fond of living in Redondo Beach, finding it too “goyish.” Separated wife faces breast cancer. Penis scolds guy for not paying him “enough attention.” Mother scolds guy for forgetting to send mother’s day card. Separated Wife scolds guy for telling her “don’t be upset” over having surgery. Blogger comments on Dooce, but gets no response.

The end.

(but in the Hollywood version of the book, Dooce does comment, and they have an affair, which makes guy’s wife jealous, so guy and separated wife reunite in a gala second wedding in Hawaii, officiated by Communicatrix. During their second honeymoon in Italy, guy’s totally satisfied-sexually wife tells husband that he is a “real man who should be shared with the world,” and that it is OK for him to continue flirting with other female bloggers — in fact, it is his destiny!)

A Mild Rant Against Mommybloggers

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My virtual pot smoking didn’t really work, so I’m still in a grouchy mood.  I feel like taking it out on someone, so I picked an easy target — mommybloggers.

Now I love women and I love children.  And I adore my mother.  But isn’t having a child supposed to be the greatest blessing to happen to someone?  The greatest joy?  So, isn’t it a bit immodest to show your child every day on your blog, as if you’re showing off your new shoes from Nordstrom?   I understand that you love your child and your child is the ticket to the gated suburban blog community of Dooce, Amalah, and the incestuous Federated Media advertising-sponsored mommy/daddy blogs, but I love my Toyota Prius, and I’m not going to talk about it EVERY day.   After all, I don’t want to make the guy with the 1985 Honda Civic feel bad about his crappy car.  It just ain’t polite.

P.S. — Sophia just reminded me that the Toyota Prius is actually her car, and that I DO drive a crappy car.

P.P.S. — I guess I’m just feeling sad about not having kids tonight, since if I had some kids, I could get them to do the dishes instead of me.   Isn’t that what it’s all about?

Passing the Joint

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I tried to be funny in today’s post, but NOTHING.  Imagine you’re a man and you’re in bed with the most beautiful woman and she’s moving down your body with her hand, breasts, and mouth, and just NOTHING.  Nothing but anxiety and stress.  Not that I would know anything about that, but I’m just using this as an example to help you understand my dilemma about being “funny” today.

I’ve been so stressed out for the last couple of weeks.  Desperate times require desperate measures.

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I haven’t smoked a joint since I was fourteen years old (even then I was wimpy and didn’t really inhale (just like President Clinton — I totally believed him!).   For some reason, because of Sophia’s surgery, I thought it would be good idea to smoke a joint today and do some relaxing with Pink Floyd on the “stereo.”   Of course, I’m too cheap to actually buy marijuana, so I got together some “virtual pot.”  And you know what — I’d like to share it with YOU — because I’m sure you can use some today, as well.  Who wants to be sitting in the office on a Wednesday afternoon? 

Mom, even you can “burn one” (that’s pot slang for smoking) if you want.  I think I may even have some real pot in the back of my underwear drawer left over from years ago.

(If you are a teenager and reading this blog, please do not try any of my virtual pot without your mother’s permission.  Or wait until she is totally high and will let you do anything.)

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OK, I’m smoking my joint now.  Oh, that was good.   Oh, man, I am so high.   I just want to take off all my clothes and eat potato chips.   I love the Dark Side of the Moon!  It speaks to me!

Who am I passing the joint to next? 

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