the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Month: June 2008 (Page 3 of 3)

I Won’t Delete This One — Maybe

Note:  This is an example of writing something just for my own benefit.   I know it isn’t very well-written.  I just like TO WRITE, even if it is dumb.  The main theme, kissing, is something that was on my mind today.  I know it isn’t a major issue of the day, but it is what I think about when I sit around at 1AM. 

I’m not writing this note as an apology.  I actually hope to be inspiring.   I think I wimped out earlier by deleting those two other posts.  What’s the big deal if I just left them on?  Do I want this blog to be all about high quality literary posts?  If I do, then maybe I should just write one post a week.

Eh, screw it.  I don’t know what I’m talking about.  I’m feeling all these contradictory emotions about everything, including YOU.  I am confused why strangers would care about me.  At the same time, I hate the fact that when I go on Twitter, life in the world just goes on.  I remember one day, a few weeks ago, there were two main conversations going on in Twitter — one was jokey and the other was about the Democratic primary.  People were chiming in, this way and that, entirely convinced that the world was listening to their views.  And then, another person who didn’t have many followers, wrote, “my grandfather died.”  And everyone just kept on talking, oblivious.

I feel lucky that I have people who read this and seem to care.  But as a “dependent” personality, I need to remember that I don’t need you for validation.  If I write this, the job is already mostly done.   Everything else is dessert.  The act of writing — the words on paper — the fact that I amused myself for a bit — is the important thing…

THE POST

OK, if this is going to be my life, it’s time to get my ass out of my childhood bedroom and start preparing for battle.  Life is like war, and every soldier needs his comrades, his buddies who will support him NO MATTER WHAT. 

You are those comrades-in-arms. 

Let me put this in a way that YOU can understand, because some of you seem to get lost in my “over-your-head” blog posts.  I am a samurai and you are the sidekicks in Akira Kurosawa’s “The Seven Samarai.”  Or I am Princess Leia, and you are Luke Skywalker and Chewbacca.  Or maybe it’s better to say that I’m Luke Skywalker and you are R2D2 and Obi Won Kenobi.  or I am Frodo and you are Sam and the other Hobbits.  Or I am the Karate Kid and you are my Mr. Miyagi.  Or I am Seabiscuit and you are…Ok, you get the point?

You need to advise me and help me in my goals.

For many months now, I have been — how can I say this politely so as not to offend any Christian mommybloggers? — vaguely insinuating that I was mildly interested in finding and accompanying an intelligent, kind female into my bedroom where we would hopefully partake in an ancient, natural, intense, and completely “eco-green” ritual that would be satisfying and immensely spiritual for both of us — well, at least for one of us.

In the past, this was theoretical.  But the future is looking different.  Can this dream become a reality?  Hell, I’m not ready to be thinking about this.  Shut up, yes you are!   You can’t HELP not thinking about this.  I need to first be comfortable with yourself and figure out what you want to do.  You’re an idiot.   Who gave you such miserable advice? 

OK, if I am going to think reality, I need to start thinking practical. 

Myth — Most women do not jump into the sack with you like they do in the movies.

As much as I would love to have some hot woman come up to me in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and say, “Oh my God, you’re Neilochka from Citizen of the Month.  I’m a beautiful curator at the museum, and graduate of Princeton with an Art History degree.  Let’s have sex in the Temple of Dendur after the museum closes!” it is unlikely that this event will ever occur. 

As for myself, I would feel uncomfortable having sex this way.  I know it is “controversial” for a man to say he wouldn’t take any opportunity for sex, but I would probably turn this woman down.  I’m shy in that way.  It’s taken me three long years to feel OK even HUGGING bloggers, especially those crazy southern bloggers who seem to hug everyone, even the checkout guy at the supermarket who bags their groceries.  Besides my shyness, I’d be afraid of getting caught having sex in the Temple of Dendur.  Or worse — being videotaped and ending up on YouTube.  or even worse — desecrating the temple grounds with our sex act and getting some horrible Egyptian curse bestowed on me where my penis turns to stone, and then slowly wears with time, whithering away into dust.

Oh yeah… yeah, what the hell is this post about?  Am I going to be deleting this nonsense in five minutes, like the two posts from yesterday?  Why don’t I just stop blogging for a week since I clearly have nothing to say? 

But I do have an important topic to discuss.  I read this site that scared the hell out of me.  For all of my talk about sex and penises and doing it upside down on a trapeze, it seems that — IN THE REAL WORLD — if I want to pass GO — I have to first KISS the woman — and get this, DO IT WELL!

It has been theorized that a woman decided within five minutes of meeting a man whether or not she will have sex with him. Possibly true, but there is one catch. Most women I know, myself included, may initially decide we’ll have sex with a guy, but when we find out he’s a bad or a mediocre kisser, we change our minds entirely. We decide we will never have sex with this guy. He won’t even get asked for a nightcap, much less for breakfast the next morning. As our lips part while we stand on the doorstep, we will announce that we have an early-morning meeting or (if you were really awful) that we’re actually already married to someone else.

What we will never, ever say is, “God, you’re a lousy kisser. I was going to have sex with you until just this moment.” This is one of the ways in which men and women differ. If a man is very attracted to a woman but discovers she’s a bad or mediocre kisser, he’ll probably have sex with her anyway if presented with the opportunity. A woman can’t get past a bad kiss.

I’ve been with Sophia for years.  I’m not entirely convinced that I can kiss someone new and just hit it off — 1, 2, 3.  Will I be out of the picture if I don’t “up my game?”  Should I have Sophia write me a note to hand to the woman explaining that I’m not really “hip” to any of the new twenty-first century kissing techniques?  Have any women out there really rejected a guy because of his kissing?  If you are a married man, are you keeping up with your passionate kissing — just in case your marriage falls apart and you need to go back into the dating scene?  Maybe you’re like me, and didn’t realize how serious this kissing thing is to women.

What makes a good or bad kisser?  

Hopefully, if I go to BlogHer, my blog friends will come to my assistance and make out with me.  I will be putting up a sign-up list on my door.  Please tell your husbands and boyfriends that this is completely innocent, and that you are just helping a fellow blogger with his research.

Maybe I’ll delete this later.

Deleting

I’m deleting my last two posts.  Oh, they are fine.  Nothing very controversial.  I just don’t feel like they are expressing anything that I want to say at the moment.  They feel “fake.”  I’ll be honest.  I wanted to put something out there so I could feel connected to you.  So, I just wrote something… anything.  I hate that I have to WRITE a post on this blog in order to communicate to you.  One day, I’d just like to do publish an empty post and title it “Silence.”  Sometimes, it is nice just sitting together in silence, watching the leaves fall.  Or the waves hit the shore.  Or kids playing in the yard.  Things like that.  Moments.

High Stakes Betting

Monday, I’m taking off for New York with my one way ticket. My plan is to come back in a month… I think.

Thank you for listening to my rants during the past few weeks. I was thinking of a way to thank you all. Luckily, my good friends and sponsor at Las Vegas High Stakes Betting have come up with a terrific way for you to have fun… and maybe win a little money. I don’t usually promote companies, but the opportunity was just to great. Here is what LV High Stakes Betting, in cooperation with Citizen of the Month, can offer you:

Bet on my life AND WIN. All you have to do is go to LV High Stakes Betting HQ at the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, or sign up on their internet site. Here are the odds for some of things you can bet on:

Sophia will ask Neil to do household chores until the minute he needs to catch the plane to New York. 2-1

Neil will have a quick cup of coffee with Dooce when he stops over in Salt Lake City. 7000-1.

Members of the Facebook group TNNY — “Topless Bloggers from New York” — will meet Neil at JFK when he arrives. 100-1

Neil will get laid within a month of arriving in New York. 750 -1

Neil will be recognized as “the guy who writes Citizen of the Month” on the F train. 400-1

On visiting his mother at Farrar Straus and Giroux, the editor in chief will point at me and say, “We want you to write a bestseller for us titled “The World’s Greatest Lover.” 2000-1

Neil will go on one of those smelly horse and buggy rides in Central Park, something he promised himself at age 12 that he would never go on since it is such a touristy cliche. 300-1

Neil will go on one of those smelly horse and buggy rides in Central Park… if it will get him laid by a visiting tourist from Denmark. 2-1

Neil will take photos of himself naked and post them on his blog. 6-1.

Neil will play Scrabble with his mother. 1-2

Neil will speak to Sophia on the phone every day. 4-1

Neil will be back in Los Angeles in one week, crying at Sophia’s door. 800-1

Neil will be back in Los Angeles in two weeks, crying at Sophia’s door. 2-1.

Good luck to all. Remember, only gamble responsibly.

Friday

I apologize about the last two self-indulgent posts.  But I like them.  You have to remember, before I met Sophia, I was just some dorky guy who collected international postage stamps.  Sophia taught me not to wear white socks with shoes.  I taught her important TV trivia, such as how Vivian Vance and William Frawley didn’t get along very well during the taping of “I Love Lucy.”  

Most importantly, women were demystified.  I saw one buying a bra, having a period, kvetching over the wrong brand of Rocky Road ice cream.  “Dreyers, not Breyers!”  And I finally learned where my hands were supposed to go. 

Then I started blogging and interacting with hot women from around the world.  Is it really a surprise that every other post is about sex?   I’m sorry.  What can I do?   If I just write stories, my blog is well-written, but superficial.  But if I really dig down deep and write about what is weighing on my mind — oral sex — then, where is this post going…?

I think I’m ready to be re-introduced to the world.

Remember, this blog is about my mind.  It is akin to therapy.  I like Neilochka.   I want to integrate this more interesting version of myself into reality.   This Neilochka takes off his shirt on blog posts and makes women scream with pleasure.   This is NOT the Neil who is afraid of putting advertising on his blog because then “people won’t like him.” 

This Neilochka has confidence.  He says what he thinks.   So, if I haven’t been commenting on your blog lately, I’m not going to lie anymore and say I’ve been busy… boo hoo.  It’s because your blog is BORING AS HELL and I get more bang for my buck by commenting on some big-name blogger or some chick who might give me some! 

(You know that I’m only joking, right?  I love you.  Especially my male readers.  You know where I’m coming from, right?  I’m going to comment right now.  Twice.   Don’t hate me.  Ever.  I was just trying to be funny) 

Damn.  I’m never going to change.  Luckily, my therapist, Brenda, gave me her phone number so I can call her from New York.

Realistic Female Characters, Take Two

Still in my quest to write realistic “female” dialogue, I experimented with this exchange between two female bloggers. I think the dialogue sounds authentic, which is important, especially with Sex and the City being successful at the box office.  As a screenwriter, I need to know how “real” women speak.

Jenny and Sarah, both hip, attractive, thirty-somethings, are sitting in a Soho cafe.  Jenny has her laptop open and is reading something, totally absorbed.  

Jenny:  “My god.  Have you seen Neil’s new post?”

Sarah:  “Not yet.”

Jenny:  “You need to look at this.  Now.”

Jenny excitedly turns the laptop around.  The page is on “Citizen of the Month.”   Sarah is mesmerized.

Sarah: “Is that him… without his shirt on?!

Jenny:  “Yes.”

Sarah: “Hawt!  Remember I told you that I was having dreams about giving him oral sex in my kitchen.”

Jenny:  “I know. I have that same dream every night myself.”

Sarah:  “Now, I want to DO him in every room of the house.”

Jenny:  “I hear you, Sarah. I think I just wet myself imagining what I could do with excellent piece of manliness.”

Sarah: “Oh, Jenny, you’re making me hungry. And not for this Chinese Chicken Salad with low-fat dressing that I ordered. For a Neilochka sandwich.”

Jenny:  “I bet you he’s not wearing pants in that photo.”

Sarah: “Of course he’s not. And I bet you his… his… thing… is as hard as Teddy Roosevelt’s mustache on Mount Rushmore.”

Jenny:  “We’re never going to know.  He cut the photo off at the waist.  He’s so f**king mysterious. And dangerous.”

Sarah: “Hold on… uh, I just had an orgasm.  And it’s not even twelve-thirty in the afternoon.”

Jenny:  “Maybe he IS wearing pants in that photo. I’m imagining some nice Dockers khakis, tapered just right. It would look so good on him with a nice white button down shirt, and slightly shorter haircut. Maybe Whoorl could help him.”

Sarah: “You could be right about him wearing pants. if he was aroused in this photo, you would see it.”

Jenny:  “Amy from Momirific said  it was three feet long.”

Sarah: “I thought that was an urban myth, but apparently Snopes said it was true.”

Jenny: “But who are we fooling,  We’re never going experience the intense pleasure of a meaningless one-night stand with this co-dependent neurotic Jewish guy?”

Sarah:  “That’s not true. He’s travelling to New York on Monday. Both Neil AND his Penis. They’re sitting in coach together. Now’s our chance.”

Jenny: “Really?  Even to have three minutes of uncomfortable sex between the subway cars of the E train would be more exciting than winning ten million dollars in the Powerball lottery.”

Jenny:  “He’ll be staying at his mother’s home. Just call him at 718-546-xxxx, and make the arrangement. Or you can leave a message with his mother at 212-723-xxxx. Just say that you are one of Neil’s blog readers and you’re interested in %$#@&*% him repeatedly while she is cruising in Alaska, or at least until he runs out of the pot roast that she is going to leave him in the freezer, wrapped in aluminum foil.”

Sarah: “But what about his wife, Sophia? Aren’t they still married?”

Jenny:  “Well, technically they are. But get this… she has given him PERMISSION to SLEEP AROUND!”

Sarah: “That’s surprising. What exactly did she say?”

Jenny:  “She said, “Neil, anyone who would sleep with you now is [REDACTED because it might put Sophia in a bad light, insulting the intelligence of some lucky female blogger].””

Sarah: “Woo-hoo! If it’s Ok with her… then I gotta go start shaving my legs and pubes.”

Jenny:  “Forget it. Relax. When Neil takes off his glasses, he can hardly see anything in front of him. He’ll just think your pubes are your eyebrows.”

Sarah:  “Perfect. I love men in glasses. One day, I hope to f*ck a completely blind guy. I won”t even have to put on makeup!”

Northern Exposure

After telling the whole world on my last post that I was going to New York for a month and staying with my mother, I forgot to tell one person — my mother. She sent me an email complaining that she was the last person to know, and had to read about it on my blog.

“Sorry about that, Mom. I was going to tell you. But, it should be fun. We can do things together.”

“Actually, the first weekend you are here, I’m going to a Mah Jongg tournament in Atlantic City with Shirley.”

“Well, then… when you come back.”

“Don’t you remember. I’m going on that eight day cruise to… Alaska.”

“Alaska?! What are you going to do there?”

“To see the glaciers.”

“Oh, and hey, even better… fresh Alaskan lox!”

“Exactly. I’ll bring the bagels with me. In case there are no Jews up there.”

“There’s that guy from Northern Exposure. Did you know he was supposed to be from Flushing? He went to Columbia, too.”

“Yeah, but unlike you, he was a doctor.”

“What a Jewish mother cliche, Mom. You know, doctors don’t do as well as they used to. All the HMOs.”

“Still better than blogging, right?”

“Yes.”

Truth Quotient: 89%  — 1)  I already knew that she was going to Alaska.   2)  I made up my mother’s last comment about blogging.   Maybe I should have just ended it after the “doctor” line.    3)  Oh, she didn’t really say that “doctor” line, either.

Everything else was true.

One Month in NY?

This week, my posts will be piss poor.   I may just skip days.  Hey, it’s just a blog. 

Why am I being such a downer about the quality of Citizen of the Month?  I’m always so good with my blog — I hardly missed a beat in three years.

The answer is — I’m currently in the process of running away from my life. 

Just for a while. Nothing dramatic.  No drugs or alcohol.  Maybe a little Manishevitz now and then, since I will be staying with my mother.   Actually, she likes Kahlua, because it is as sweet as Manishevitz.  Maybe I’ll learn to make some cocktails for us!

I just bought a one-way ticket to New York.  It’s for next Monday.  Oh, sure — I’m coming back.  Don’t worry, dear Californians.   I’m hoping to make money on this screenplay I’m working on.  Besides, New Yorkers are a bunch of snooty jerks.  But it’s my childhood home.   What can I do? I was born there.

I probably will stay for a month.  I figure I’ll buy another one-way ticket back to Los Angeles when I’m ready to return to the real world and start my new life.  This may screw up my BlogHer plans.

There are several reasons for going.  I will avoid having to move to another apartment in Los Angeles… just yet.  With Sophia’s rent going up next month, we need to figure out the best way of paying for everything.  Sophia and I agree that we can both “think” better if we’re apart for a month — 3000 miles apart.  I will be able to finish the first draft of this award-winning sex comedy screenplay.  I will celebrate my late father’s birthday on June 19th.  I will see friends.  And most importantly, I will eat pizza that doesn’t contain pineapple.

I don’t make rash decisions, but I saw the ticket to NY online, and whoosh — I bought it.  It was difficult to find an inexpensive one-way ticket, so I have to switch planes in Salt Lake City.  I’ll be there for at least an hour, so this would be a great opportunity for Heather and I to  grab a cup of coffee together at the airport. 

Darn it, I promised that I wouldn’t make anymore Dooce jokes.   Sophia is right.  I don’t keep to my promises.

Earlier today, Sophia presented me with a list of “must-dos” before I leave next week.  She is nervous about me leaving.  When she started showed me the list, it was like one of those documents that unravel and roll down the steps, a royal declaration of chores. 

Who is going to set up the wii fit?  What if I get a computer virus?  Where is the fan in the garage?  Who is going to massage my leg when it cramps?

I understand all these needs.  I have plenty of them myself.  One of our main problems is that we are at the point in our relationship where we “need” each other more than we “give.”  I’m saying that about BOTH of us.

We’re so different than when we married over ten years ago.  I think I’ve changed even more than her, because I was a total nudnik back then, someone lucky enough to catch such a hottie.  What did she see in me?  I have no idea. 

Years later, we are both stronger.  I feel more competent and manly than I did before meeting Sophia.  But we’re also become weaker in many ways.  We depend on each other too much — even for our own happiness.  It doesn’t make things easier.  If you think meeting Mr. and Mrs. Right is a pain in the ass, it is absolutely FUN compared to the confusion of the same couple separating, something we have been doing… forever…

I’m curious what Brenda, my therapist, will say about me skipping town for a month.  Is it irresponsible?  What will I do for money?  Am I avoiding life?    I’m wondering if I should still have therapy with her via phone once a week?  It probably isn’t as effective.  Or fun — I wouldn’t be able to look at her shapely legs in those cute summer dresses that she wears!   I could ask her — over the phone — if she’s wearing a dress that day, and what type of shoes. but I think that may be inappropiate.  Don’t you think?

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