Nice DayOne Day,One Nice!!!!

Copyright 2010 Veronica McCabe Deschambault (V-grrrl). Image may not be copied/reproduced, online or in print, without written permission.

My good blogging friend V-grrrl is having surgery this week for atrial fibrillation of the heart.  She’s been waiting four months to have this done.

Now, God loves to throw in obstacles.   Surgery is just not enough drama.  Why not have a volcano with an unpronounceable name, Eyjafjallajökull, blow up a week before the surgery, stranding her husband in Europe until four days AFTER the the scheduled surgery?

Luckily, V-grrrl’s brother is coming down from New York to help.

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Good luck, V!

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V — Before your surgery, I wanted to leave you with something inspirational, something to think about in case you get nervous before the procedure.  Unfortunately, I’m not very good at pep talks or new age sentiments.  Instead, I’d like to share with you this comment I received today on on a four year old post from a writer named Shane.  I think he says it better than I ever could in a stand-alone blog post.

From a comment on “Briefs or Boxers.”

What’s ironic about this is that a generation ago all guys wore plain white briefs.  It meant you were athletic and confident. Boxers were for old men and fat guys.  During the last 20 years there’s been a total reversal of this. I vote for briefs because they provide support. The sperm-count thing has actually been proven a myth, and in any case, what young guy actually wants to get a girl pregnant?  If you wear boxers your balls will hit the floor by old age. Plus, there not at all suitable for sports or anything athletic. The pendulum is swinging back towards fashionable briefs. Boxers only became popular in the early 90’s because of the baggy jeans style. They have no real function, except maybe as sleep-wear.  If a girl rejects you because of your underwear – find someone better.

Remember that.  If a girl rejects you because of your underwear – find someone better.  Translation — the wise man cares less about the material of the house, then finding a way inside!

Wait, what does this have to do with your surgery?  Well, actually nothing.  I SAID I wasn’t very good at pep talks.

Stay Strong.

I’ve been spending some time this weekend trying to think my way out of some life issues.  I feel lucky to be in this blogging community, because so many of you are clearly fucked up as well, that I never feel ashamed about being honest with you about my own foibles, especially when it comes to my relationship with Sophia.

Recently, I have noticed several of you trying to improve your lives through some sort of self-help regimen.   I tend to see two distinct self-help techniques being used, and I’m having difficulty deciding which is the true path, if any.  These techniques both revolve around interpretations and re-interpretations of self — and how we see our own strengths and weaknesses.

Self-Help Technique #1)   I Will Myself to Perfection

This technique spits on  the concept of weakness.  Man was made to improve himself.  Each of us is our own master.  It is up to the individual to rise above the masses of sheep, Ayn Rand style.  You see this attitude in many of the exercise bloggers lately, especially in their hard-nose attitudes toward the overweight.  These individuals hate victim mentality.  Hard work is advocated, focusing on self-improvement.  The overweight are overweight because they are lazy and eat crap.  Those who live under the poverty line could rise about it — if only all they re-interpreted their self-image.  Personal achievement equals  hard work, and those who don’t reach a certain level in success — in romance, work, blogging, etc — didn’t have the right stuff.  The way to success is to turn the body and mind into a well-oiled machine.  All distractions must be eliminated.  Life must be organized, with five year plans, segmented into fifteen minute “progress” periods on the iphone.

This technique is attractive to me.  I am typically hard on myself, blaming my own weak brain for messing things up.  I admire a technique that is a bootcamp of the self, where your inner voice is a Sergeant (or Jillian Michaels) barking directions at you.  If you can’t take the heat, you don’t deserve the goods.  To succeed, I need to “reframe” my mind into a stronger way of thinking, seeing myself as soldier of success.  There is no excuse for not writing three novels a year.  I need to get off Twitter.  Procrastination is for weaklings.  Clearly my marriage is not working.  It is a time-sink.  Stop what isn’t working, and bite the bullet like a man.  The only one I need to please in life — is myself.  My voice is the ONLY voice.  When I quit blogging, I will take it down with me.

Self-Help Technique #2)  I Am Weak and Need Help

This technique grows out of the 12-step programs. Until recently, I knew very little about 12-step programs other than what I saw on TV.  But now that I have a few friends who are making use of these support groups, I thought I would do some research on how they work.   The history of organizations such as AA is fascinating.  Although these programs are not “religious” in dogma, a relationship with a higher being is part of the recovery equation.  This is not a technique where you push yourself to be perfect.  Quite the opposite.  You are acknowledging that you are have a problem which you cannot solve on your own.  You are accepting your weakness, and publicly admit it, going outside of yourself for support.  An addict will always be an addict, even years after his last drink or cigarette, because the weakness is a given, and the individual must always be vigilant.

This technique is attractive to me — even outside the context of a 12-Step Program.  It is a more gentle approach to self-therapy.  The individual can be kinder to oneself in accepting one’s failings.  I didn’t write three novels a year because I just didn’t.  I was weak.  I am never going to change unless I accept this, and look for help.  I will always have a tendency to procrastinate.  Rather than try to eliminate it unsuccessfully, I should accept it, and look for ways to control it, perhaps by sharing stories with others with the same concerns.

Technique #1 — De-focus from others and train your mind and body like an Olympic athlete.  It is up to you to make things happen.

Technique #2 — Stop fooling yourself that you are strong and see yourself for who you really are — weak.  Connect yourself to a higher power and others to help you from falling.

Any of this make sense?

I’ve having difficulty writing on my blog lately. I write posts and then scrap them. Too somber. Too sad. Too depressing. Too kvetchy.

Today, I thought I would shake things up by returning to the past. I would write a funny, sexually-oriented post, something I might have written in 2007. In the scenario, my blog character would bed six women at once. I prepared for the post by plotting out his lovemaking technique on a blueprint, setting the positioning mathematically — one woman riding him, one on his face, one women at each of his sides, his fingers inside them, and two women on each of Neilochka’s big toes.

Just as the women were getting hot and heavy, my blog character pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears building in his eyes. “I can’t go on.”

The women were in shock, knowing Neilochka’s Don Juan reputation.

“It’s not you, it’s me.” he added. “I’m just not into fucking six women at the same time tonight.”

Now, it is a sad when a man performs poorly in bed in the “real world.” It is downright tragic when a “blog character” walks away from six babes wanting his body more than a pint of the best frozen yogurt.

But it isn’t 2007 anymore. Back then, my blog character was proud and cocky. He bragged about his blog being the greatest in the universe. He stood on top of the Empire State Building and hung a banner for all to see, “Citizen of the Month: Fuck Yeah!”

Life has knocked out this blog character, right on the mat, TKO-ed. Now he hobbles, half the man he used to be. In 2007, all six women in his bed would have had the orgasm of their lives. Now they all go to Yogurtland, noshing on the butter pecan frozen yogurt as a conciliation prize, leaving Neilochka alone, sulking, naked, vulnerable, his head in his hands, slouched over at the edge of his bed.

I’m ashamed of my blog character, this “Neilochka.” He is stuck in a rut. How long can he hang on to Sophia’s apron string, waffling between decisions, ping-ponging back and forth from LA and NY. And now this FIL subplot — how depressing! If my blog was a book, and I was the editor, I would tell the writer to cut out the last six chapters.

“You need to get this story moving. Throw in a new twist. This character is turning into a loser. He can’t even fuck six imaginary hotties? Who’s gonna read this book?”

It’s hard to write when you are ashamed of your blog character. I read your blogs, and you have created such excellent blog characters. So much movement and character change. Your blog characters have married, had children, changed jobs, overcome great odds!

My blog character, once a leader amongst men, has become static and unmoving, like a log in a old forest. He does not DESERVE to be the star of his own blog.

Neilochka was once a source of pride. Now he is a badge of shame.

I need to work on this character to make him relevant again to modern audiences.

Find out what BlogHer was a guest on Oprah, who played cards with Brad Pitt, and who had their first kiss with Scott Baio.    HINT:  One of them was me.

In the spirit of their newly launched Fun and Games section, BlogHer has cooked up a Scavenger Hunt using some of your jaw-dropping profile facts. Playing is fun and easy, and we’re giving away cash prizes, natch.

Here’s how it works:

• Read (and marvel!) at each fun fact about a BlogHer.
• Tell us which amazing BlogHer the fact belongs to. We make it easy by giving you just two links to BlogHer profiles. Follow each link, read both surprising facts and then answer (links will open in a new window, so you won’t lose your place on the entry form).

If you score 100 percent correct answers, you’ll be entered in a random drawing to win one of ten $100 Visa gift cards. Late to the game? No worries, we’re leaving this open until Tuesday, April 20th, at 5 p.m. Pacific. Read the official rules here.

Go here to play…Scavenger Hunt:  Scott Baio Was My First Kiss Edition

Here’s a corny old Jewish joke about the unconditional love of mothers for their daughters (told with a little sarcasm):

Two women who haven’t seen each other in years run into each other on the street.

“How’s your daughter,” the first woman asks, “the one who married that surgeon?”

“They were divorced,” the second woman answers.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“But she then got married to a lawyer.”

“Mazal tov!” the friend exclaimed.

“They were also divorced… But now everything is alright, she’s married to a very successful CPA.”

The first woman shakes her head from side to side.

“Mmmm, so much nachas (joy in Yiddish) from one daughter…”

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My mother is back in Queens after a winter as a snowbird in Florida.    My intention was to live it up in my pseudo-bachelor pad all winter.   Life got in the way.    When I left Queens to come to LA, it was for a short trip.  I expected to return to New York in ten days, not still be in LA three months later.

My mother called five minutes after she walked in the front door.

“I am so mad,” she said.

I had left behind six bundles of dirty laundry and a broken dishwasher.

“Oops,” I replied, suddenly remembering that I promised to take care of things before my mother’s return, and never did , much like the “shower curtain incident” last year.

I wasn’t worried about my mother’s anger.   After all, she’s my mother.    I have been lucky with my parents.   I know a few of you got stuck with shitty parents.   I am pretty confident that my mother is going to continue to love me even if I caused a fire and burnt the entire apartment to the ground.

Unconditional love by a mother.

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Of course, that same love can also ruin you.

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Sophia and I had a fight last week over… yeah, the dishes.    One day I need to write a post on that one issue.   When we argue, I can feel the love disappear.   There is hate in her eyes.   The next day, when tensions subside, the love returns, as if a dark cloud has lifted.   This disturbs me.   It makes me feel very insecure.   I know, I know, your girlfriend or wife isn’t your mother.   Only your mother will give you that unconditional love.

Perhaps that is why I am looking up codependent in wikipedia.

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I am very jealous of all the parents out there. You must feel this unconditional love for your children. It must be such a special feeling.   No one else can ever feel this special bond of unconditional love.

Maybe dog owners.   Remember Lassie?    That was unconditional love, right?

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If there is one piece of advice about blogging that I can give to newbies without any reservations, it is this:   Never look for unconditional love online.   You won’t find it.   Through trial and error, I now operate on the assumption that I could lose 75% of my readers or online friends in one week by simply writing the wrong type of post or tweet.   Thank God for V-grrrl.   She’s like Mikey in those old Life Cereal commercials.   She doesn’t like anything, but still likes my posts.   I write half of my posts with her in mind.

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It is Easter. The idea of unconditional love is an integral part of Christianity. It describes the belief in God’s love for humankind through the forgiveness of Christ.

Unconditional love is also central to Judaism, although the Jewish God sometimes confuses Passover with April Fool’s Day.

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In Exodus, there is a moment when Moses shows his unconditional love for his people. Moses has just lead the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, and has given them the Ten Commandments.   What does he get in return?   He finds them partying with the Golden Calf, much like parents returning home early from their vacation to find their high school son having a wild party in the living room with more hookers than listed in Tiger Woods’ blackberry.

Does Moses show unconditional love?   Well, maybe not at first.   He curses them, throws the tablets at them, and several sinners die in a fiery blaze.   Let’s just say that anger management classes had not yet been developed.   But to give the dude credit, God later makes Moses an offer that most of us would jump on: “Let my anger burn against them and I shall annihilate them, and I will make you into a great nation!”

Basically, God is offering to get rid of all these schmucks and start over again with Moses in the chariot driver’s seat.  But Moses, for some unknown reason — maybe love is blind — begs for mercy:   “These people have sinned a great sin by making for themselves a god of gold. And now, if You would bear their sin. But if not—erase me now from your book that You have written!”

Translation: “Sure, these Israelites are are a bunch of sinning, high-maintenance assholes — just wait until one day when they have their own country — but I’m one of them, and I love them — despite it all — so just kill me too while you’re at it.”

Unconditional love.   Neurotic, maybe, but isn’t all love?

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I know someone is going to comment here that the most important person to love is yourself.   Despite my kvetching, I do love myself.   I find myself very amusing and lovable.   But you just can’t hang around with yourself ALL the time.

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