Going out for breakfast does not solve the world’s problems, but it is more difficult to blame each other when the opposing sides have French toast in their mouths.
Category: Life with Sophia (Page 5 of 27)
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Let’s get married.”
“I have a better idea. Let’s walk into the middle of a highway, hand in hand, waiting for a eighteen-wheeler to run us over!”
This post I am writing right now might seem like I am poking fun of mommyblogger promotions and giveaways, but that is not the case. The following is more about me and my marriage, and what to expect from a wife:
Momdot.com has started an interesting promotion titled Dyson Domestic Divas.
Every 2 weeks from now till April, we are going to be picking a new mom to spend a full two weeks with our Dyson and then come on as a Dyson Domestic Diva and give everyone the lowdown on it. Comparing it to your current household cleaning, your vacuum that you use on a daily basis, the all around ins and outs of how you feel about the Dyson after spending 2 weeks with it in your home. You will be able to blog during your experience from set up to the day it leaves, posting pictures, videos and sharing your experience with the world.
The Dyson is an excellent vacuum. I have one myself. If I were a Mom, I would love to try-out this new model, the DC 25 Rollerball Animal.
Each Mom who gets picked after sign-up gets to keep the vacuum for two weeks before they have to return it to the company.
Just imagine how clean your house will be and how convinced your husband will be to let you get one after you have proven to him how great it is!
This last sentence made me think about my own marriage, and the roles we played in the home. Were Sophia and I out of step with current reality? Do wives still need to convince their husbands before buying a vacuum cleaner? Did I get a raw deal with Sophia? She is the type of woman who would never ask me before buying a new vacuum cleaner!
She might say, “Neil, I want to buy a new vacuum cleaner.”
I might answer, “Why do we need a new vacuum cleaner.”
And she might reply, “Because the old one stinks.”
What am I talking about? Sophia never used the vacuum or asked for a vacuum cleaner. I did all the vacuuming in the house. I was the one who bought the Dyson for our home! Am I the only husband in the country to do the vacuuming in the house? Not only did I do the vacuuming in the house, I had to SHOW Sophia how to used our year-old Dyson before I came to New York because she never used it before! Was I tricked by Sophia into thinking that a husband should do anything useful in the house, like vacuuming or doing the dishes? How did I get suckered into that?
If I ever get remarried, I’m going to be looking for a different type of wife — one who ASKS me before she buys a new vacuum cleaner? A woman who enjoys vacuuming so much, that she will give me oral sex after she finishes cleaning the house in appreciation for my staying out of her territory. That would be cool, and make me feel manly.
And if she did ask for a new vacuum cleaner, I would tell her that I need that money for my Maxim magazines.
“No! You cannot buy a new vacuum cleaner. Back into the kitchen, woman. And put on that French maid’s uniform!”
“Maybe we can get a cleaning woman?” she might ask, a little in awe of my Maleness.
“A cleaning woman? What for! That’s what you are here for. And I like watching your ass move when you dust!”
“Oh honey, you are such a rascal.”
I learned three important lessons this post about Domestic Divas that I need to remember if I ever get re-married:
1)Â A wife must ask her husband for permission before buying any household product.
2)Â Wives love to clean the house, especially with innovative appliances.
3)Â Men have no interest in household cleaning, or are they even expected to contribute and help.
Sophia apparently never read the rules.  If I ever remarry, my next wife will be a Dyson Domestic Diva.
I am lucky to have Sophia in my life. She helps me “grow.” She teaches me confidence. By nature, I back away from distinguishing myself, about grabbing the most out of life. I have a therapy-sized sense of modesty, insecurity, and need to be liked. But I am 100x stronger than when I first got married.
Today is the anniversary of our marriage. Not surprisingly, I had been depressed all day, lying on the couch, 3000 miles away from my separated wife, looking out the window, watching the cars pull in and out of the Pathmark supermarket parking lot.
I mentioned my blahs on Twitter, and got some heartfelt advice: Anymommy told me to eat something with chocolate and peanut butter. Several other women suggested ice cream (surprise!) TwentyFour and Antonia told me to start drinking. Mir was the most practical with her suggestion to rent some porn. (Rent porn?! Who rents porn anymore?)
The comment that most caught my eye was from Ricewenchie:
Do something nice for yourself today. Like create a new anniversary for this day…
At first, I thought that was a dumb idea, and somewhat delusional. If Sophia and I ever divorce, am I supposed to re-write history and forever think of October 13 as the day I bought a Hamilton Beach blender at the discount store for my mother in order to show her how to make a smoothie (that was the one big event of the day)?
But after thinking about it, I embraced the idea, with a little tweak. To celebrate our wedding anniversary in any traditional way makes me sad, while ignoring it is impossible. So, instead, I will combine the two — like chocolate and peanut butter — and focus on the positive — something good that marriage has brought to my life, and how it has changed me, despite the current status.
That’s why I put that badge on top. I can’t think of anything more arrogant than putting up a badge that announces your blog as “The Best Blog Of All Time.” Do I believe this? Sophia believes it. She was the one who nominated me. And I think that she will appreciate this unusual gesture of me posting it on my blog, knowing that she is the one who has always has been my strongest ally in anything I pursued. I would have never had the guts to put that up there if I had never met Sophia. Being married to her has given me strength in many areas of my life. Some cojones. And being a little arrogant every once in a while is good for a man. Even sexy. Why should I be afraid of saying that this is the best blog of all time?! Or that I you should hire me above all others because I am more talented. Or that you should date me because my singing will make you swoon?
Now I need to deal with some other issues in my life with the same confidence.
Happy Anniversary, Sophia, and thank you for helping to make me fearless. Well, maybe I shouldn’t get too arrogant. Let’s just say that I’m working on it.
Note: Just to show you how hard it is to change, Return to Rural called me out with the truth — I didn’t actually link to the award site because… well, that would be too arrogant. I wimped out. But I just changed that and added the link.
Many of you have emailed lately asking, “How are you and Sophia doing being apart?”  I am so glad that you asked.  Although being apart is difficult, it also gives us the opportunity for change — so both of us jumped on the express train to personal transformation.
Sophia has decided to go “LA” blond.
I have decided to become a “NY” raving lunatic who drools all over himself in the subway.
I do miss her. Even if being apart is the best route. I enjoy my “freedom,” but it can get lonely. I enjoy looking at everyone’s BlogHer cleavage on Flickr, but it isn’t the same as touching the warmth and softness of the woman you love. Only when there is love, does the energy flow into your hands from the female bosom, making your blood dance wildly and your soul as bright as the sun.
Sophia sends regards, and photos. She’s lost 15 pounds, a combination of wii-fit and a lack of stress.
Important Update: Monday 1:15PM — Before you read any further, I have been reminded by a friendly caller from the Los Angeles area that I have called HER as much as she has called ME, and that this post is completely one-sided.   She is right.  OK, now continue:
Important Update 2: When Sophia called about the lizard in the garage, she just wanted to tell the story. She never asked me for advice on how to capture it or to insinuate that I should do anything to help her — other than look on the internet and google “lizards.”
I am going to get in so much trouble for this post, so be nice and don’t take sides. These are more philosophical questions than anything else.
When a married couple separates and moves 3000 miles away from each other to “get some space,” is it really appropriate for the female party to call twice a day and then get upset if the male party would rather chat with some blogger than play online backgammon with her?
If a man is walking in Manhattan enjoying the sites and he gets a call from his separated wife 3000 miles away that there is a “lizard” in the garage, what the hell is he supposed to do? Take a flight home to kill it?
If a man buys a webcam at Radio Shack (on sale!) thinking he might “communicate” with his separated wife 3000 miles away on Saturday night, is that wrong?
Other than that, I’m doing pretty good. I forgot what being with myself all the time was all about. Well, myself… with my mother cooking dinner.  OK, I know that is hurting my sexy quotient with some of you, so let’s just keep the information about me living here with my mother for the summer very quiet… at least until BlogHer is over.  From now on, I will refer to her as “the older hipster/roommate who was written about in the New Yorker magazine.”
On Saturday night, I went into “the city” and met a group of really cool bloggers — Miss Britt, Karl, NYC Watchdog, Poppy Cedes, Cissa Fireheart, and hellohahanarf, as well as some strange overly-friendly guy we met walking on the street who ended up coming to dinner with us and hitting on both Karl and hellohahanarf!
I always find it so much fun to meet bloggers for the first time.   Sometimes, they are more shy than their online personality. Other times, it is the complete opposite. It is always the one who writes the knitting blog who ends up standing on the bar stool, waving her blouse in the air. Unfortunately, nothing that dramatic happened on Saturday night, other than someone kissing that strange guy we met on the street.  The New York heat was oppressive, so we didn’t want to walk too much (Note to visitors: come to New York in the fall, spring, and winter.  Avoid the summer!  This is when everyone leaves.)  We ended up in a karaoke bar. It was a decent place, but the contigent from Florida was insulted that they charged two dollars just to sing a song.
Welcome to New York City!
This week, my posts will be piss poor.  I may just skip days. Hey, it’s just a blog.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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?
I’ve been sleeping in the living room for the last few weeks. On Saturday, I woke up a 3AM and I couldn’t handle it anymore. I’m a man, with manly needs. I climbed the stairs to the bedroom. I was naked. I pushed open the door, my body tense with want. I slid into the bed.  Sophia woke up.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
I didn’t care if she protested. I was getting what I came for, even if I had to take it with force.
“No one’s hugged me in a month.” I said. “Do you know how unhealthy it is for a man not to get hugged? I read that male babies — if they don’t get hugged after they are born — just die.”
“You were supposed to have moved out already.”
“I am moving out. But do you really want me to die?”
“You’re not a baby who needs to be hugged. Well… maybe you are.”
“If you don’t want to hug, I can just go back downstairs. I know plenty of hot women who will give me a hug on Facebook.”
“OK, shut up and I’ll hug you.”
We hugged.
“But will you set up Dance Dance Revolution on the wii tomorrow?” she asked.
“Deal.”
(in retrospect, the hugging may have not been a good idea, considering the argument the next day, after neither of us could figure out how to use Dance Dance Revolution)
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