I finished a big work project last week, sent it off to the client before the MassiveRushNeedThisNowOrTheWorldWillEnd deadline, and got an email 48 hours later that read, “Thanks. I’ll take a look at that when I have time this weekend.” In other news, I posted a funny blog article (funnier than my stuff, so I won’t post it here because then you’ll leave) on Facebook and got 17 “likes” and 22 comments in an hour. End result: Work Headache and Blog-Gasm. Guess which one I feel like having today?
Right. But I haven’t seen anything that funny yet today, so I guess I’ll have to write my own funny crap so I can post it to Facebook and enjoy the ensuing load of gasm-ry. And I better enjoy it because it’s likely the only interactive form of “gasm” I’ll be having today. Damn, I really need to get laid.
This is the part that sucks about being a single mom: lack of sex. To be fair, in my case, it was also part of what sucked about my marriage. But now it’s different because I can freely go out and get my gasm on, but I’m so fucking busy and tired from being a single mom that I don’t have the energy or time to do it. That’s what works about my “relationships” with Mr. Northman and Jerry. They’re, as my buddy Sheldon puts it, G.U.D: Geographically Undesirable. In other words, they live too far away to have a nooner, but close enough that the idea of meeting up when I have a free weekend isn’t out of consideration. But the honest truth of the matter is that having them be G.U.D is actually GOOD for me, because I do have time to sext a little during the day, and I do have time here and there for a naughty Skype, but I don’t have time to actually date.
Sheldon still has a point, though. Eventually, I’ve got to either move or move on. And I’m not moving my minions for a guy. Seriously. It’s just that with an online relationship, my naughty bedfellows are ubiquitous. They’re wherever I am, texting me during the day and remaining present in my life even when I’m just doing my part to keep Target in business. If I were to get involved with a local guy enough to have that kind of constant connection, there’d be dating and overnights and the question of when to introduce him to the minions. And the truth is, I’m not ready for that.
What I am ready for is what happened the other night. I was sexting with Mr. Northman, and we were both getting pretty, um, involved in the process, alone in our respective bedrooms. And suddenly, my text screen went “bloop!” and lo and behold, there was a photo of um… well, let’s just call him Quinn. Let’s just say Quinn is a really, really close, well-built friend of Mr. Northman’s with excellent posture.
So, there’s Quinn on my screen, standing at attention. I thought my phone was going to burst into flames, this picture was so hot. I promptly dropped the phone because, well, figure it out, people. So I recovered myself a bit, picked up the phone, and responded, only to have Northman follow up with a video. A freaking video, web dwellers. With Quinn in the starring role and Northman’s growly voice in the background. I had to look down to make sure I hadn’t spontaneously combusted from watching this thing. Nope, no flames. All good.
So I watched it again.
You know that episode of The Brady Bunch when Marcia meets THE Davy Jones, and he kisses her cheek, and she vows never to wash her cheek again? I will never, ever, delete this video. Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Marcia’s line, but then again, Davy Jones wasn’t naked in that episode, as far as I can remember. So there. I fucking WIN, Marcia.
Share away, web dwellers. Bring on the blog-gasms.
As usual, remember to comment here ↓ and both “like” me on Facebook and “follow” Confessions of a Sexy Mom here →. Thanks for being my very own social media campaigners. It gives me my own little blog-gasm (that one’s for you, Nicole S. and Rebecca Z.! Y’all are my Blarfengars! (Did I do that right?!). See, people? When you post on my FB wall, you get shout-outs on the blog. Now those gals are famous and people know they read this dirty crap. Even if I still don’t know what a Blarfengar is supposed to be.