Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Life with Sophia (Page 23 of 27)

The Ladies Who Lunch

March 24, 2006 / / 44 Comments

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Dear Megan,

As you know, Sophia and I had tentative plans to meet you — my long-time blogging pal — for lunch today as we passed through Riverside on the way back from Sophia’s interpreting job in San Bernardino.  I apologize for getting a cold this morning and not being able to make it out of apartment.  But even with my sore throat and my Dayquil-induced stupor, I had a bigger concern on my mind — it seems that you and Sophia STILL AGREED to meet for lunch.

WITHOUT ME.  

And you even showed her YOUR HOME.  

And from what I hear, you both GOT ALONG GREAT.  

Now, I am not a jealous person.  This is not the first time that someone has met Sophia and LIKED HER MORE THAN ME.   But this is a special case and it MUST STOP NOW. 

You and Sophia must NOT befriend each other.  If you do, it will be a disaster, not only for me, but for the ENTIRE BLOGOSPHERE.

Let’s put this in perspective.  You and I are BOTH bloggers, so I know you’ll understand of what I speak.  When I write a blog post about my relationship with Sophia, it is always told from my point of view.  This means I am always the innocent victim and Sophia is always the villain.  I’m the cute, lovable one, the guy every female blogger dreams about at night.  Readers from as far away as Malaysia have asked me, "What is wrong with that crazy wife of yours?  Can’t she see that you are the best thing since Hostess Sno-Balls?  If I were there, I would be "taking you" right now on top of the Hollywood sign!"

Can’t you see?  Blogging is the best thing to happen to me since… since… well, the introduction of Hostess Sno-Balls.

Luckily, Sophia does not have a blog to present her side of the story.  Thank God.

But you have a blog.  And we have many of the same readers.   Now imagine Sophia and you become buddy-buddy.  And I write something disparaging about Sophia in some angry blog post.   You read this post, because you never miss a post in your favorite blog, Citizen of the Month, since it is the best thing you’ve ever read since the label of a Hostess… well, you get the point…

But today, you are not happy with my post.  In fact, it outrages you, especially since you just happened to talk to Sophia about this "private issue" during one of your "Sex in the City" type lunches with the girls.  You know, one of those get-together where women reveal EVERY SINGLE THING to each other, something MEN WOULD NEVER DO.

So, now you’re upset and want to protect your "sister" because you feel obligated after taking that "feminism" class in college.   Slowly, I become your enemy.  You start writing gossipy stuff on your blog about me, at first in a subtle way like "I hear from a certain separated wife that a certain citizen’s little "soldier" is having trouble "saluting the troops."  Then, as your sisterhood strengthens, it’s "Good-bye Subtlety!"  All of a sudden, it’s "Newsflash:  Neil at Citizen of the Month Rejected from another Job.  Wife says,"Still Can’t Get it Up!"

Can you imagine the damage that would do to my credibility?  Readers would start doubting everything I write.  And like a set of dominos falling over on a kitchen table, bloggers everywhere would become skeptical of every single blog in the world.   No one would believe what anyone said.  The most frequent blog comments would become "That’s bullshit," "Prove it," and "Let’s hear what the wife has to say!"

Bloggers will stop blogging in fear of ridicule.  Readers will stop lurking in disgust.  The Technorati 100 will drop to the Technorati 1, with only Blogebrity left blogging about itself.  The internet economy will crash… again.  China will invade America and since our ports will be then run by China, the Chinese government will quickly take over our country.   We will all be forced to listen to the awful Chinese disco music they play at that Chinese-owned donut shop on Olympic Boulevard.  The world as we know it will cease to exist…

And this would all be BECAUSE of YOU, MEGAN!

Stop this DISASTER before it becomes a REALITY!

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Man and Woman: Morning

March 22, 2006 / / 34 Comments

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"You were amazing last night," she said, stretching in my bed.

"I was?"

"I love it when a man is so masterful.  When he takes charge.   Why don’t you do that more often?"

"You liked it?"

"I loved it.  I want you to do it again tonight."

"I really wanted to please you so much.  So, I took those chances."

"The way you took your time… everything so slow… and then you went "all in.""

"It’s how you win in a Texas Hold ’em game.  I took a hundred bucks from all those women.  Woo-hoo!  The second time in two weeks.  Maybe I’ll win tonight, too." 

"I was so impressed.  But you’re giving me back my twenty dollars, right?  Right?"

"Sure," he said, bluffing.

LA is so Laid Back

March 14, 2006 / / 78 Comments

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Do you remember that Seinfeld episode where they can’t find their car in the parking garage? 

I have one better.

Let’s backtrack to yesterday.  Sophia and I made up and my anxiety lessened.

“Do you want to go for dinner tonight?” she asks.

“Sure.”

“Oh, by the way, we’re also going out with Andrew and his mother.”

“No way.  I can’t handle him right now.”

“It’s his birthday.  We have to.”

My anxiety level shoots up three hundred percent.

You see, I’m a Zen Master of Serenity compared to Andrew.  He makes everyone nervous.  Sophia is his only friend.  Although he is basically a nice guy, he’s what they used to call “eccentric.”  He’s a 35 year old Korean-born artist whose only real enjoyment in life is taking photographs of bugs.   His photos are actually beautiful and artistic…   Andrew would be a very successful artist if only he didn’t always get into fights with gallery owners.  He’s brooding, sullen, and bad tempered.  But I did say he was nice, right?

We make plans to meet outside of my apartment building at 6:30. 

At 6:30, Sophia and I go outside and wait.  6:30.  6:45.  Where is he?  We get a phone call.  He’s on the side street, waiting at the driveway of the parking garage. 

“And hurry.”  he says.

We rush over and see that Andrew and his mother are sitting in a car, but not in front of MY building.  They are in the driveway of a parking garage of an apartment building ACROSS THE STREET. Not only are they waiting at the wrong place, but there’s a loud cacophony of honking horns.  It seems as if Andrew is trapped between the gate of the parking garage and some RESIDENT of that building, a college girl, who wants to drive in with her Mercedes.  She can’t move because Andrew can’t move.  And behind her are TWENTY cars trapped on Hauser Blvd., which is always crowded during rush hour. So she cannot move back to let Andrew back out.  Everyone is screaming at each other and honking.  Andrew is beet red and screaming:

“Fuck you!  Fuck You!  Fuck you!” 

Sophia and I jump into the car.   The Mercedes Girl opens her garage gate with her remote.

“I think she wants you to go in,” Sophia tells Andrew.

“I’m not going in.  I want to go backwards.”

“You can’t go backwards.  You’re trapped.  There’s a hundred cars behind us!”

Dear readers, have you noticed that so far, I haven’t said a word in this story.  Usually, I’m the main character of my own tales.  But this time, I was just sitting there wondering if my Tic Tac could be used as a placebo for Xanax.

The Mercedes Girl honks over and over. 

“What the hell does she want me to do?” Andrew cries.

“Go in and then we’ll come right out again.” says Sophia.

Andrew drives in.  Mercedes Girl drives by, shaking her head, angrily.

“Idiot!  Jerk!” she says.

Andrew begins to look like one of those cartoon characters that have steam coming out their head.   As Mercedes Girl parks in her spot, the gate closes, leaving us trapped inside.

“One of us has to talk to the girl,” says Sophia.

“I’ll do it,” volunteers Andrew’s mother.

Andrew’s mother heads over to Mercedes Girl.  We watch as Andrew’s mother and Mercedes Girl  talk it out.  They seem to be working out the situation.  Suddenly, Andrew jumps out and starts pacing in front of the car and twirling around like a dreidel.

“What’s going on with you, Andrew?” asks Sophia.

“She’s dissing my mother,” replies Andrew.

“I think you should get back into the car and let your mom get us out of here.” 

“No one talks to my mother like that.  Especially this bitch.”

“Andrew, c’mon, this whole thing is even sort of funny.  Just keep calm.”

“What is that bitch saying to my mother? Hey you — what are you saying to my mother?!”

“You were wrong!” says Mercedes Girl.  “How about apologizing?!”

“Never, you fucking bitch!  Who the fuck do you think you are, driving around in that Mercedes…”

“There’s no problem anymore, Andrew,” says his mother.  “She used to live in Seoul, too.  Just go back into the car.”

“You need to control you son, Miss.” says Mercedes Girl.  “He’s crazy.”

“You think just because you own a Mercedes that you’re better than me, you fucking…”

Sophia and I jump out of the car to calm him down.  Mercedes Girl starts walking away towards the door leading to her apartment building’s lobby.

“Fuck you!” Mercedes Girl screams at Andrew, then turns to all of us.  “Fuck all of you!”

Mercedes Girl enters her lobby and locks the door behind her, purposely leaving us behind with no way to get out.

We are trapped in the parking garage of someone else’s apartment building.

Sophia and I look at each other.  Surely, the girl is going to come back and let us out of the garage. 

She doesn’t.

We drive to the gate, hoping that it will open automatically .

It doesn’t.

We see a phone on the other side of the gate. 

“Perfect!” says Sophia.  “We can call the manager.”

But we need a key to get to the other side.

Sophia and I look at each other.  Surely, someone will be either coming or leaving the building pretty soon.

An hour passes.  

We are all sitting in  the car, the engine running, ready to sneak out… as soon as someone opens the gate.   But no one is coming or going.    We can’t leave by car.   We can’t leave by foot.   We don’t know who to call.  We’re stuck. 

Sophia and I are now laughing at the absurdity of the situation.   Andrew sits stone-faced and hasn’t said a word to any of us.   But every few minutes he mumbles:

“Bitch… fucking bitch…”

Sophia and I try to cheer him up by saying that the whole scenario is hilarious.  We sing “Happy Birthday.”  He scowls.

Finally, Mercedes Girl reappears, carrying her remote for the garage.

“I’m going to let you out, but I want you to know you were wrong…  You should be more considerate…”

‘Yes, we were wrong,” says Sophia.  “You’re very kind to let us out.”

“Kind?!” screams Andrew. 

He has finally decided to talk.

“You’re nothing but a fucking…”

Andrew’s mother puts her hand over his mouth, muzzling him, so we could get the hell out of that garage — and finally go to dinner.

Night of a Thousand Anxieties

March 13, 2006 / / 57 Comments

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After a very nice week at Sophia’s (which all began because of my kitchen sink fiasco), I finally came home to my apartment tonight.  Why?  Simple.  Because we had a fight.  

I would love to describe it to you, but I just don’t know how to explain it in words without it sounding absolutely ridiculous.  The argument mostly revolved around me buying some Thai Fish Soup at a Thai Restaurant rather than a Hot and Sour Soup from a Chinese Restaurant.  But, of course, that’s not really what the argument was all about.

In December, I wrote a post about the difficulty of writing about domestic arguments.  Melissa wrote a very intelligent comment that I’ve read over several times since:

People fight when they are emotional about something. It’s more intimate than sex because you are far more vulnerable in a fight. Your SO knows you inside and out, and they are the one that knows all your buttons – and exactly how to press them.

To write about fighting you have to write about feeling unheard or under appreciated or taken for granted or just plain unloved. Loving is showing your underbelly and fighting with someone you love leaves a lot of room for damage.

I wouldn’t want to show the world all my weaknesses.

Sometimes, when I’m arguing with Sophia about something, I’m able to disassociate myself  and watch it from the distance, almost as if I’m floating above.   I know that the argument is idiotic, but I’m helpless from stopping it.  I’m not the type of person who believes one of us is right or wrong.   The argument just takes on a life of its own.  When we start arguing about something, it’s more like a car going off the cliff and the best you can hope for is that you both survive — and the next day, forget all about it.

Sophia might kill me for writing about our argument without me asking her first, but I don’t think there’s anything to be embarrassed about.  Everyone argues, especially when you’re living together.  For instance, in her blog, Michele of Voix Michele writes about her constant battles with her ex-partner, Rachel.  She even turns to God for advice:

I just couldn’t get it, God. It doesn’t say anywhere in the Bible "Thou shalt not be messy in thine bedroom, lest thee piss off thine girlfriend." Where did she get off thinking her rules are more important than mine?

I never ask God these questions.  It’s pretty clear to me why there’s no Mrs. God.  Even God is afraid of getting into a serious relationship and sharing his great condo up in heaven. 

Mrs. God:  "God, there’s no way we’re keeping this old couch!  Sunday we’re going shopping at "Crate and Barrel.""

God:  "But the Mets are playing Chicago." (note:  God is a Mets fan)

Mrs. God:  "God!  Are we really going to have this argument again?"

God:  OK…OK… I’ll go with you.  But who’s going to watch over the Middle East while we’re out shopping?

Mrs. God:  Now you’re worried?  What have you been doing all day?  Playing solitare on the compuer again?  Maybe they’ll finally be better off without you watching over them!

I left Sophia’s place feeling pretty anxious.   It didn’t help that when I got home, the kitchen was a mess because Mario, the maintenance guy, emptied out everything from the under the sink when he unclogged the pipes.  I decided to take my mind off of things by relaxing with some type of distraction.  And I certainly had a lot of distractions to choose from.  I had DVDs of Crash and Brokeback Mountain, neither which I had yet seen.  I had the last two "Lost" episodes still on my Tivo.  I had the unopened Sunday Los Angeles and New York Times.  I had a half unfinished book by David Sedaris. 

But when I’m anxious, I’m terrible at making decisions.  I start developing "Information Overload."  What to read?  What to watch first?  Too many decisions.

I knew the answer — Blogging.

I looked over all my blogging friends on my blogroll — and for the first time since starting to blog, I got anxious over blogging.  Too much information.  Too many people.  Too many lives.   People getting surgery.  People with crappy boyfriends.  People with bad jobs.   I started getting anxious over my online relationships.

"Oh, my god — I haven’t read Ms. Sizzle all week.  She’s gonna be pissed at me and never read my blog again!  Maybe if I just click on her, it’ll look like I read her in the stats.  That’ll hold her off for a few more days.  Or will it?  She’s gonna hate me.  She’s gonna tell everyone that I’m a jerk and everyone’s gonna hate me…"

Usually reading through my blogroll gives me so much joy — except tonight.

So, what do you do when you don’t want to read, watch a movie, watch TV, or blog? 

Exactly. I decided to play with myself. 

Since it was after midnight, I turned on Cinemax, hoping to see one of those mediocre direct-to-video R-rated soft-porn movies with some actress named Tawny or Ashley. 

Luckily, one of them was on.  Some fake-boobed actress was playing a sex therapist who need to do some exploring herself… or something like that  (plot not important). 

I began to watch the movie — but it just made me more anxious.  I watched three boring badly-edited sex scenes.  Each proceeded exactly the same way:

1.  Man undresses woman, kisses breasts.  (you know there’s a lot of plastic surgery involved when a woman lays on her back and her tits point straight at the ceiling)

2.  Woman gives man oral sex.  (although the position of her head makes it look like she’s sucking his right thigh)

3.  Man gives woman oral sex.   (music kicks in)

4.  Missionary-style sex.

5.  Sex with man from behind.

6.  Woman on top.

7.  Man and woman orgasm as the exact same time.  Man scrunches face.  Woman throws her head back as if she getting ready for a shampoo at Supercuts.

I began to worry, as only I can:

"Am I having sex incorrectly?"

It seemed like a normal question to me.  After all, this woman just made love with three different men — and each time used the exact same lovemaking sequence — from #1 to #7.  Obviously a lot of people watch this movie and no one ever questions that.  Maybe I was the oddball, not knowing the rules of engagement. 

"Perhaps there’s some sort of sex "sequence" that I’m unaware of —  that somehow these are "marks" that had to be hit, much like a figure skater has to do a certain set of jumps and twirls in order to get a high score?"

As usual, I blamed my parents.

"Jeez, you know my father never really had that "birds and bees" talk with me.  Maybe I’ve been having sex wrong all these years?  Does everyone else follow these steps in this exact sequence?  Is it considered "weird" to do number 6 before number 4, or not to even do number 5 at all?  You know, I’ve never really spoken about this to anyone.  You’d think Sophia would have mentioned it, but then again — she didn’t even tell me I was wearing tighty-whiteys all these years like a momma’s boy!   Oh, no!  Maybe if I skip number 5 from the sex sequence, that means you’re a momma’s boy also?  Have women been laughing at me?   What are the six steps again?"

I couldn’t remember.  More information overload.  More anxiety.  I turned off the TV.

Solution: 

"Let me write some dumb blog post and then go to sleep."

Brokeback Birthday

February 21, 2006 / / 50 Comments

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This weekend, we went away for Sophia’s birthday.  My plan was to come up with a theme weekend:  "A Weekend of Trying New Things." 

On Friday, we would drive to the Santa Barbara area.  

On Saturday, Sophia, a big fan of figure skating, would learn to ice skate at a rink in nearby Oxnard, California. 

On Sunday, Sophia would learn to ride a horse at a ranch in the Santa Barbara hills.

On Saturday morning, we arrived at the ice skating rink for our lesson with our instructor, Frederick.   Most of his students are usually children, so he seemed excited to meet two adults, who would challenge him. 

"Finally!" he must have thought, "I can finally teach some adults sophisticated skating techniques!"

What he didn’t expect was that both Sophia and I would fall on our asses the minute we touched the ice.  And neither of us knew how to stand up, so he needed to lift us both.  It quickly became clear that Frederick was not going to be teaching us any triple lutzes.  For the next half hour, he guided us slowly — very slowly — around the perimeter of the rink, as we gripped the railing for dear life with every muscle of our fingers.  Every couple of minutes, Frederick would ask, "Seems like you had enough.  Should we quit now?"  I’d nod yes, but Sophia was determined to make it all around the rink, even if it meant not finishing until the closing ceremony of the 2010 Winter Olympics. 

Midway during our crawl around the rink, I noticed that Sophia wasn’t behind me anymore.  I looked back and saw that a terrified Sophia was being blocked by a six-year-old girl.  She was hanging onto the railing just like we were, but going in the opposite direction.   There was a standstill.  Each looked at the other, both in fear of letting go.  Who would cave in first?  Not Sophia.  The kid let her pass.

After the skating lesson, I limped to the car, traumatized by that horrifying experience.  Sophia looked like she was in a daze and her jeans were all wet from falling.  So, I was very surprised when Sophia said:

 "That was fun.  Let’s try this again in Los Angeles!"

The next day, we drove into the hills of Santa Barbara to a ranch.   Sophia was very nervous about going on a horse.  Victor, our cowboy/guide said he would let her ride Herman, a "nice" horse.  After the first five minutes, Sophia was feeling very unsettled, I heard her mumble that she’s "ready to go back right now," but she kept on.  I was given Hershey.  Victor said Hershey was "interesting."  I’m wasn’t sure what he meant by that.  When you say that about a person, you usually mean that he’s "weird."

As we rode the mountain trail on our horses, there was beautiful scenery all around us.  We even looked over the Pacific Ocean.   Some of the trails were very close to the edge, and I noticed that Hershey enjoyed walking VERY CLOSE to the edge, so close that rocks would start to fall down the hill.  I began to wonder if "interesting" meant that Hershey was suicidal.  When Sophia saw that I was having trouble controlling my horse, she called out to the guide for help, despite me telling her not to say anything.

"What’s the problem, Cowboy?" asked Victor the Cowboy.

"Nothing… nothing… everything’s great." I said.  "Just talking with Hershey."

"That’s good.  Real good.  Because he’s REAL interesting."

What was I supposed to say?  The truth?  Victor just called me Cowboy.  I couldn’t look like a wuss and complain about this old lazy (and depressed) horse.  And what cowboy has a woman speak up for him?  It just doesn’t happen.

"If he causes you any problems," said Victor, "just whip him in the back."

Whip the horse?  Is Victor crazy?  Surely, Hershey will like me better if I treat him with love and respect.

Of course, Hershey returned his love with a big "fuck you, city boy" by walking so close to the edge of the mountain that leaves, branches, and pine needles constantly smacked me right in the face.

But no, I never whipped him.  Stupid ass horse.

When we got back to the ranch, I was ecstatic that it was over. I was already in pain from the ice skating the day before.  Now, after getting off the horse, I couldn’t even feel my groin.   Sophia said she too was in pain, could barely walk and smelled like a horse.  Finally, something we could agree on.   Horses suck.   But no —

"But it was great!  Much too short though," said Sophia.  "Let’s do this again in Los Angeles.  This and ice skating!"

Maybe next year.

Happy Birthday, Sophia

February 18, 2006 / / 43 Comments

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Dear Sophia, my favorite Aquarius —

Happy Birthday! 

Where would I be without you?  I would know nothing about life, love, sex, or buying bras if it weren’t for you.  Even during our separation, you’ve remained my muse.  Look how many blog posts revolve around you!   

I know some women look at their latest birthday with dread.  But you never do.  You always keep that inner child of yours alive — you’re such an outgoing, fun, and sexy woman!  

I frequently get emails from readers saying they are confused about our messy relationship.  It is confusing.  And it is a bit of a mess.  But our love for each other remains the same.

Much happiness to you on your birthday.  May all your wishes come true this year.

Love, Neil

Life is Like a Soap Opera

February 16, 2006 / / 50 Comments

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Sophia stopped by my apartment today to watch "All My Children."  In the past, I’ve written about how she turned me on to this soap opera, and how I’ve been watching it every since.  Lately, the show has really sucked.  Bad stories and bad characters.  So, when a show gets stale, what can a TV producer do? 

How about a big explosion?

Here’s the recap.  Erica Kane (Susan Lucci) throws a big masquerade ball.   As everyone enjoys themselves, Janet, the deranged mother of Amanda, decides to blow up the mansion and everyone in it.  There’s a big explosion.  The mansion collapses.   But — what a coincidence! — the structure comes down in such an organized way that the guests are trapped and isolated under the rubble in neat groups of two.   And — get this — those stuck together just happen to be characters who have "issues" with each other.  It doesn’t matter if they were standing next to each before the explosion.  They still end up trapped with each other.

So, there’s Zach and Ethan together —  the father and son who hate each other.  There’s Kendall and Ryan, the ex-lovers who are having a baby together from sperm stolen from a fertility clinic.  There’s David, the brilliant ex-cardiologist and Palmer, his nemesis.  And then there Erica Kane with Josh, her young television producer, who she has she found out is really her son.  And so on.

Now imagine there’s gas leaking near you.   It is getting difficult to breathe.  Any false move could cause the walls to collapse around you.   What do you do?   Call for help? 

Of course not. 

You waste oxygen talking over your "issues."

Ethan and Zack:

Ethan:  "Did you ever really want to be a father to me?  Did you ever care?"

Zach:  "I love you, Son.  I always did."

Kendall and Ryan:

Kendall:  "Ryan, this is your baby!  But do you want me to be happy?  No!  Ever since you lost Greenlee, you’ve wanted me to suffer."

Ryan:  "That’s not true.  I care about you.  You and the baby.  My baby.  My baby that is inside you."

Erica and Josh:

Erica:  "Please, Josh.  Tell me more about your mother."

Josh:  "Why do you care so much about my mother?  Why do you ask so many questions?  Who are you to grill me?  The Great Erica Kane!  The woman who only cares about herself!  I’m nothing to you."

Erica:  "You are something to me, Josh.  More than you know.  It’s something we need to discuss.  Now.  Before it’s too late."

Of course, in typical soap opera fashion, this plotline is being stretched out so it takes up all week.  Today’s episode was especially ridiculous.  Sophia and I laughed up a storm over the show’s bad writing and corny plot gimmicks.

After the show, Sophia had an appointment, so we headed downstairs to the garage.  I live on the third floor of my apartment building, so we took the elevator down.  

As we were passing the second floor, we heard a rumble and the lights went out.

And then the cable snapped.

The elevator went careening down in a free-fall, at what seemed like 200 miles per hour.  Sophia and I held on for dear life,  each knowing that these were our final moments together.  But before it all ended, there was still one remaining issue between us that needed to be resolved:

"Did you ever install Photoshop on my computer?"  Sophia asked.

"Not yet."

"Well, when?  How many times do I have to ask you?"

"I’ve been busy."

"Blogging is not being busy."

"Look, I’m sorry."

"How many years has it been the same way.  You say you’re going to do things and then you don’t."

"Do you really want to bring this up now?  Right after Valentine’s Day?  We had such a nice time."

"Yeah, you love telling all your readers how wonderful and romantic you are.  Awwww, Neilochka… so sweet.  But do they know you promised me Photoshop a month ago?!"

"OK, so you’re right.  I’m bad.  I’m lousy.  But c’mon, Sophia, let’s not ruin our final moments we have here on Earth."

"OK, you make a good point.  At least we’re communicating here.  I’m sorry, too. "

"You don’t have to be sorry."

"I do.  I just blew up for no reason.  It’s just… PMS."

"Really… or are you just saying that?"

"Really."

"OK, lets just start this falling to our death over again, so we’re nice to each other.  Let’s just talk about something else."

"Fine.  Like what?"

"I have a better idea.  Why don’t we have sex?"

"OK."

"But sex like in the old days.  Before we got married."

"So, you mean bad sex?"

"Be nice."

"Just joking… come here, Neilochka.  Our last time together…"

Sophia pulled me over and we kissed.   Sophia pressed me against the wall.

"Goodbye, Neilochka."

"Goodbye, Sophia."

I paused.

"What is it?,"  Sophia asked.

"I really should say goodbye to all my blogging friends."

"And how are you going to do that?"

"I have my free Sprint Ambassador phone.  I can go online with it and write my last blog post."

"Right now?"

"Sure.  The others will get a real kick out of this post.  "Neil and Sophia:  The Final Moments."  Think of all the links on Technorati.  Especially if we post some photos."

"OK, just hurry up.  Before I’m not in the mood anymore."

I pulled my phone from my pocket.  I started to dial.

"Menu.  Click.  Type.   Go to URL.   W.W.W.C – I – T – I – X.  Shit,  that’s not a Z.  These keys are so small!  And who can read this without a magnifying glass?  Shit, another mistake.   How do you do a backspace?"

"Neil, is this REALLY that important?   Believe me, the other bloggers are just going to move on to someone new.  You’re really not that important to them."

"Maybe you’re right.  They’re not like you and me, are they  — living through the good and the bad?!  Screw those selfish bloggers who cross you off their blogroll just because you wrote one bad post!  Let’s make these final moments about you and me!"

I kissed Sophia.   Passions rose.  Suddenly, the elevator crashed down on the garage level.  Actually, it wasn’t really a crash.  It was actually a soft landing.  Just our luck — the superintendent had stored some leftover rolls of plush carpeting at the bottom of the elevator shaft, cushioning the landing.  

What a coincidence!   We survived!  Maybe those soap operas aren’t so unrealistic after all!

The elevator door opened, revealing Sophia’s car right in front of us.  Sophia headed for her car.

"What about our sex?"  I asked her.

"Sorry," answered Sophia .  "Now I have a headache.   Maybe after you install Photoshop."

Wanted: A Hot Scorpio Woman

January 31, 2006 / / 132 Comments

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I’m a man of science, so astrology, like tarot card reading and mind-reading, is just pure nonsense to me.  Is there anyone out there who believes in astrology?  Don’t be shy.  I’m open-minded.  Maybe you can explain how it all works — why your birth date and the way the solar system is on that particular day, has any bearing on your personality.

Usually, I write my Tuesday post on Monday night.  Tuesday is the biggest day of the week for me in blogland.  For some reason, I get the most traffic on Tuesday, so I always try to prepare the most entertaining and heart-wrenching post for all of my dear readers.

Just as I was about to start writing, I got a phone call from Sophia.  She was coming over and going to stay the night.  Now, this is an extremely unlikely situation.  Whenever we have some event planned, I always go over to her house.  So, this was a big treat.  I rushed around my apartment, washing my dishes, changing the sheets, and washing some towels. 

Of course this posed a dilemma:  Do I write my important Tuesday post for a bunch of dumb strangers or pay attention to Sophia, a real live gorgeous woman?  (by the way, I decided to like boobs again)

So much of our relationship works, and so much doesn’t.   Sometimes I think it is our "love signs" that are working against us.  In fact, once we were in Borders and we looked inside some huge book titled exactly that —  "Love Signs."  We looked up the compatibility of Pisces (me) and Aquarius (Sophia).  The author wrote something like this:

"No self-respecting astrologer would wish this romantic arrangement, even on their worst enemy.  Your emotional rhythms and temperaments are rather different. Pisces is gentle, non-competitive, somewhat passive and has a need to get away from it all on a regular basis. Aquarius, on the other hand, needs involvement in the world and the flow of contemporary life.  This is NOT a match made in heaven."

We didn’t fare much better in Chinese astrology.  One book suggested that Sophia should be in a cool room and should sleep facing north, while I need a warm room and must sleep facing south. 

The scary thing is that many of these details about our relationship rang true.

I’ve been looking at some astrological websites today, trying to learn more about this subject.  It is not good news for Sophia and me.  Romantic-tips.com had this to say:

PISCES & AQUARIUS: – This is not the best union. The Water-bearer is far too cool and detached for you. Your tears and tantrums will soon tire the Aquarius.

AQUARIUS & PISCES: – This is a pretty dicey combination. The Fish’s emotional blackmail only drives you further away. The Pisces is likely to end up hurt and confused.

Uh-oh.

Maybe it’s time to just accept the logic of the stars.  Maybe it’s time to focus on finding a woman who is better suited for me. 

Yes.  What I am really looking for is a SCORPIO.

PISCES & SCORPIO: – This is a highly sexual union. You love to be possessed and cared for with the deep, warm affection that the Scorpion can provide. Truly a match made in heaven.

Are any of you Scorpios out there?  Because if you are, we need to talk, immediately.

Here’s how I would get along with the rest of you.

PISCES & ARIES: – You are far too sensitive for the aggressive Ram. You will be left behind to drown in your sorrows. An unfortunate match.

PISCES & TAURUS: – This is not a bad connection, however the Bull can get upset with your impractical nature. You, on the other hand, may find that the Bull is too stubborn.

PISCES & GEMINI: – Your emotional blackmail will usually hold a Gemini, however sorrow almost always prevails. A very destructive union for both parties involved.

PISCES & CANCER: – You belong together. You are both sensitive, weepy and love to dwell in self-pity. This is a great match, certainly lasting, however someone negative and moody.

PISCES & LEO: – You are doomed in this alliance. The Lion is too outgoing and you are far too sensitive. A hurtful relationship with little substance.

PISCES & VIRGO: – This is your polar attraction. It can be extremely perverse in the bedroom, but difficult at a mental level. You are impractical and this will really try the Virgoans patience.

PISCES & LIBRA: – You are both creatively inclined, however you are just not sophisticated enough for the Scales. Librans also have trouble putting up with your emotional whims.

PISCES & SCORPIO: – This is a highly sexual union. You love to be possessed and cared for with the deep, warm affection that the Scorpion can provide. Truly a match made in heaven.

PISCES & SAGITTARIUS: – This is not your best alliance as the Archer’s non-committal nature will hurt your tender heart. Your daily melodramas will drive the Sagittarius away.

PISCES & CAPRICORN: – This is not a bad combo in general however, you will probably run around on the Goat due to loneliness. You are also too wasteful for the Capricorn to deal with.

PISCES & AQUARIUS: – This is not the best union. The Water-bearer is far too cool and detached for you. Your tears and tantrums will soon tire the Aquarius.

PISCES & PISCES: – This is an emotional connection. Extremely good in the bedroom, but difficult out of the bedroom. You both crave attention and affection yet you want to do your own thing. Exhausting but exciting.

Here is the full list of all zodiac signs and their compatibility.  It is very important that you see where you stand with your spouse or lover.    This is a very classy and legitimate website, as you can tell from the tons of advertisements blinking in your face.  After you read about the state of your zodiac love connection, some of you may want to leave your spouse NOW before it is too late.

Not to be unfair, I looked up Sophia, and according to the stars, she should be looking for an Aries for a relationship (hopefully a rich one) and a Sagittarius for sex.

Girls Gone Geeky

January 9, 2006 / / 48 Comments

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I’m still a little sick from the cold I got at Vegas, but we finally made it back to LA.  Sophia, bless her heart, drove the entire way back.  Here are the highlights of our trip back from Las Vegas:

As we’re driving out of town, Sophia and I pass a huge truck painted with images of half-clad women and the words "Girls Gone Wild."

"That guy was brilliant." she says.

"Who?"

"That sleazy guy who came up with "Girls Gone Wild."  He’s a millionaire many times over."

"The whole concept is disgusting and exploits women." 

"I’m just saying he’s filthy rich…"

"So, are you saying it’s better to be sleazy and a millionaire, than not sleazy?"

"I didn’t say that.  What kind of logic is that?"

"Why, would you rather have married him?"

"I don’t know the guy from "Girls Gone Wild."" 

"You seem to know a lot about him."

"I read some article.  I know he’s a millionaire.  I know he had a very smart idea."

"I have smart ideas also."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, tons of them.  I’m having an idea now."

"Tell me."

"Imagine if you did something like "Girls Gone Wild," but with a twist!  Something that’s not demeaning to women, but actually empowers them.   We can call it something like "Girls Gone Geeky.""

"Girls Gone Geeky?"

"Yeah, imagine this.  At first, you’ll see three girls sitting in a coffee shop, all reading books.   Then I’ll show up with a cameraman and I’ll shout out to them, "Hey girls,what are you doing?"  And all of them will shout back, "We’re studying for our bio-chemistry exam!"  And I’ll say, "Hey, girls, how would you like to show me your books?"  And all of them will flash their bio-chemistry books up for the camera to see."

"Neilochka, why don’t you take a nap?"

Two or three hours later, Sophia wakes me up.

"I’m hungry and tired, and we’re almost out of gas," she says.

"Where are we?"

"Victorville."

"Where’s that?"

"I don’t know.  I’m just going to stop at the first restaurant I find."

I went back to sleep.  A few minutes later, Sophia knocks me in the arm.

"Get up," she says.

I look outside the window.  We are in front of Olive Garden.

"Shit."

This Olive Garden looks exactly the same as the last one we visited. 

While I’m not coughing as much as before, my stomach is uneasy.  Just opening up the menu makes me feel sick. 

"Do you want to share the soup and salad again?" joked Sophia.

"Sorry,  I don’t want anything.  I feel nauseous."

"Nauseous?  I think you mean "nauseated."  It’s a common mistake."

"I never heard anyone say, "I feel nauseated."" 

"So what?  People are idiots.   I’m a language professional and you’re not."

"Well, I grew up here and you didn’t.   And everyone says, "I feel nauseous.""

"I’ve also heard people say, "I have to nip it in the butt," but that doesn’t make it right. 

"So, how would you use the word nauseous?"

"You would say "Nauseous fumes.""

"That’s "Noxious fumes.""

"Geez, Neil, "noxious" means ‘harmful."   Nauseous fumes are fumes that cause nausea.   So, if you say,  "I feel nauseous," what you are really saying is that you are making me sick, which might be true.  But if you are sick to your stomach – you are nauseated."

"Huh!  So — "You are nauseous."  "You make me feel nauseated.""

"That’s right.  "I am nauseated because you are nauseous."

"Nauseated.  Nauseous.  Nauseous.  Nauseated.  Hmmm…"

The guy at the next table taps me on the shoulder.  He’s eating his pasta with his wife.

"Do you think you guys could change the subject of your conversation?  You’re making me nauseous"

An hour later, we’re back on the road, when we surprisingly find ourselves passing the same "Girls Gone Wild" truck. 

I turn to Sophia.

"Sophia, you know if we did that "Girls Gone Geeky" idea, we could spice it up by having a bunch of really attractive women on the beach, maybe even wearing bikinis, but they don’t do stupid things like play volleyball with their boobs jumping up and down.  Instead they discuss matters of linguistics, like that nauseous-nauseated thing we were talking about.  They can even be qualified grammarians, or linguists like you."

"Neilochka, why don’t you take a nap?"

CES: Day Two

January 6, 2006 / / 26 Comments

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In a desperate publicity stunt to take attention away from Google, Yahoo!’s Yodelimo will drive you five feet from the monorail to the convention center entrance.

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After we heard some Microsoft presenter talk and talk about technology advancing "productivity,"  we noticed that most of the crowd gathered around the X-Box games.

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At CES, the world is already Asian.

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My favorite booth at CES — cutesy TVs by Hannspree.

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At last! We found Moxi and Sophia promptly told them what she thought about their shitty DVR interface.  I couldn’t believe it, but they actually took notes!

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Sony’s AIBO robotic dog costs $3000 and has "blog capability."  I’ve already put him on my blogroll.

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The one question that stuck in my mind throughout the event:  Is Yanni really any better in Hi-Def and Surround Sound?

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Polk Audio’s new line of speakers offer amazing clarity and sound.  You won’t believe the power of the highs, mids, and bass coming from this attractive set… uh, excuse me, this photo is from the wrong Las Vegas convention.   She belongs in the Adult Video Expo across the hall…

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