Tag Archives: Pink Moustache Award

The Pink Moustachery is Open For Business!

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Gooooooood morning, web dwellers! By insanely, incredible, inconceivably popular demand, I bring you (da da da daaaaaaaa) The Pink Moustachery! Yes, it’s your home for every possible piece of Sexy Mom merchandise you absolutely positively do not in any way need but still really, really want to buy because it’s just so freakin’ awesome. How awesome, you ask? Here’s a little peek…

Oh yeah. You need to see this every time you pass the fridge. Yum!!

Having your girlfriends over for a True Blood marathon? Remember to take a shot every time Bill says, "Soookeeeehhhhh," and every time Sookie says, "Well..."

Did your girlfriend win The Pink Moustache Award? Did you? Order a few and send them to your friends who win, and keep one for yourself because you're awesome. 🙂 Rock on, web dwellers!!

This makes me laugh every damn time I look at it. I need this one.

Remember: Every dollar you spent is about 3 cents I can save toward my visit with Northman. Kidding. It’s 10 cents. So stock up on the products above and check out the rest of this awesomeness at The Pink Moustachery on CafePress!! Also, remember to send in your ideas for new products! I’ll do my best to make them for you! 

 

P.S. There’s a permanent link to the store right over there —-> 

Elf Porn: A Tiny Obsession

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Yesterday was pretty interesting. Here I was, just going about my sexy mom business, tweeting and posting and Facebooking for you crazy people in between doing some work I actually get paid for, when all of a sudden, our very own Mr. Northman texts me that he’s made me a new video. A six-part series, to be exact, this custom-made-for-Cathy epic was porntastic, featured every bit of ink on Northman’s rockin’ body, and was complete with a soundtrack including some vintage 70s metal. I could not download this thing fast enough. I started watching the first segment before the other five were even done uploading on his end. Oh, bless you, Mr. Coffee, for giving us the gift of rapid file-sharing software.

Oh yeah, I'm going straight to hell. But so is Northman, so I don't fucking care.

Northman rang me up on Skype so he could enjoy seeing my response to this, his latest foray into sexematography, in which he repeatedly changes camera angles to suit each phase of the scenario, gives some out-fucking-standing product demos I hope he’s getting royalties for, shares his thoughts on threesomes and some positions I’m going to have to start doing yoga to ever attempt, and finishes off with a grand slam of a finale I simply cannot wait to see recreated in person. After about 5 minutes, I was so damn grateful for: A) choosing to work from home for the day and B) having wifi and a laptop so I could move to the bedroom without any disruption.

I tried so hard to watch this whole thing, y’all. But seriously, I was so distracted watching Northman on Skype and seeing how much he liked seeing my (obvious, excessive, feral) reaction to his videos and watching my reciprocal performance as the videos were playing that when I watched it all again alone last night, I realized I’d missed quite a lot of it. What a flippin’ bonus. Holy fucking mackeroley. Y’all, if Our Dear Sweet Heavenly Mr. Coffee is in any way opposed to any of this, I’m sorry, but I am going to hell in gasoline panties. And it’ll be worth it.

When I recovered my ability to speak and had taken a really, really long shower, I got back to work for the day and was on such an endorphin high that I buzzed through the rest of my afternoon like some kind of Tasmanian Devil if those guys could, you know, type and make phone calls. Once the minions were settled in for the night, I checked in on the COASM Facebook page (which Northman says as “Co-as-um,” so it rhymes with “orgasm,” and now that’s stuck in my head because it’s awesome), and y’all were in rare form talking about the list of search terms I’d posted on the blog yesterday. These were the terms people had used to get to the blog via search engines over the past three months, and one of them, “Elf Porn,” was the clear frontrunner for funniest fucking thing I’ve heard in a damn long time.

This lead to a crazy conversation on a couple of posts’ threads (which you can see on the “co-asm” FB page) about cock rings, yo-yos, and elf porn. It also spawned requests for both a post from Northman himself and for COASM merchandising. Because I don’t have enough to do without designing dirty tee shirts and douche-canoe- and elf-porn-themed coffee mugs, right?

I'll post to Facebook and Twitter when the store's open, so be sure you're following the feeds! Links are in the right-hand menu here!

Well, web dwellers, ask and you shall receive. The Confessions of A Sexy Mom Zazzle.com store, aptly titled “The Pink Moustachery,” will be up and running and fully stocked by Monday. If any of you have design, text, or product ideas, bring ‘em on. If anyone wants to help? Yeah, bring that shit on, too.

But the big news is that, while at least one person will be disappointed that he’s not going to write any elf porn, our very own Mr. Northman will be writing a blog entry for y’all. What will he write about? Any fucking thing he wants. You know why? Because he’s effin’ Northman! According to you crazy people, he’s like MacGuyver or Jack Bauer or fucking Chuck Norris. He’s effin’ Northman, and he can do whatever he wants! And, Sweet Jesus In Birks, last night, after that crazyass day, he showed me that what he really wants to do…is me.

 

 

 

 

 

I Am Jack’s Complete Lack of Surprise

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Every time I think I have a pretty good bead on who Northman is, he blesses me with another little fact nugget I enjoy chewing on until our next conversation. Yesterday, he told me he collects knives, carries more emergency supplies on his person than I do in my car, and is pretty handy with a spear, although he doesn’t get as much practice as he’d like because his homeowners’ association is run by some assholes with an anti-spear agenda. Bigots.

There are guys I know who could tell me they collect and carry knives, and that would pretty much be the last conversation we had. Or the last one we had alone, anyway. But Northman is different. His status as a machirologist was completely no surprise. He’s not the creepy dude in the corner carving a wooden voodoo doll of the homeowners’ association president. He’s basically a survivalist, and he takes seriously the importance of being able to provide for oneself and one’s family in the event of an emergency, large or small. He can fend for himself, and he looks out for the people who are important to him. I dig it.

That's some great fucking marketing.

The fact that Northman could live off the grid and, I don’t know, do some sort of MacGuyver crap making a shelter out of wet bark and a spare paperclip does not say “bomb-shelter-stocking paranoid conspiracy theorist” to me because he’s not living underground, stockpiling camo and ammo. It says, “If a hurricane knocked out power to his town for a month, this is a man who can take care of himself,” and that, as we’ve discussed, is incredibly attractive. I take care of minions, clients, family, friends, pets, plants, colleagues, numerous inanimate objects, and myself every damn day. Having someone important in my life who absolutely does not need me to take care of him but just wants to spend time with me? I don’t think MacGuyver could top that if he had Jack Bauer and Chuck Norris lined up behind him.

Fortunately for me, Northman doesn’t expect me to be a survivalist. I’m no stranger to camping and getting dirty, mind you, and I actually really enjoy that. But if you dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, I’d die. Maybe not in the first hour or anything, but you know, soon. Unless Northman were with me, in which case I’d do whateverthefuck he told me to and we’d be happily living 30 feet above the ground with our recently tamed pet lemur, Marla Singer, in some kind of expandable bamboo tree fort that Northman carries in his back pocket by the time you came to check on us 48 hours later.

So even though Northman is just full of new and absorbing information about himself, none of it truly surprises me. Maybe it’s because I’m always genuinely interested when Northman speaks, or maybe it’s because each new factoid just fits in with all the rest, but I can honestly say he has yet to surprise me with anything except the depths of his unsurpassed sex drive.

Northman and I were discussing sex drives the other day, and he said mine is quite unusual for a woman, because in his experience, basically, men want sex more and women want it less. He’s consistently impressed by how active my sex drive is and how important a part of a healthy life and strong relationship I find it to be. It was a pretty interesting discussion, and we came away from it with two conclusions.

First person to post all the Fight Club references in this blog post to the Confessions of A Sexy Mom Facebook page wins the Pink Moustache Award.

First, Northman said he hadn’t ever been involved with a woman whose sex drive came close to matching his. Except me. I’ve had the same experience with the men in my life; I have always outpaced them. Personally, I’m all for daily sex, if it’s good sex, and I don’t think that’s unreasonable at all, particularly in a young relationship. I’d say, in a long-term relationship, 20 days a month would be good for me. You know, a couple of days off for sick minions (no sex when someone just barfed in your hair), a couple of days off for business travel (phone sex or Skype sex maybe), a couple of days off for those times when your schedules are just out of sync (late meetings, girls’ nights out, whatever), and a couple of days off right at the beginning of my period because, damn, even I don’t want to be around myself those two days, so I can’t reasonably expect him to want to get within clawing range.

I told all this to Northman, and he said that’s just not typical for a woman, again, in his experience. In mine, however, it’s completely typical. Many of my girlfriends tell me their spouses want sex much less frequently than they do and that their libidos are, overall, more intense than those of the men in their lives. So, I think maybe two things are happening here. First, men lie to one another as adults as much as they lie in high school locker rooms. Even grown and married, they feel the need to maintain the illusion of sexual prowess among other men so they’re seen as virile, dominant, and strong. But a lot of these men are lying if their wives’ claims are true. Not to say all the lying is done by men. I think women lie to one another too. I just think it’s more likely that the gals who really, really enjoy sex (like Penny, who is a polo-shirt-wearing, pleated khakis and white Keds soccer mom by day and hyper sex freak by night) are telling the truth, and the quiet ones who just smile and nod at girls’ night out without commenting about their own sex lives are just lying by omission, implying they have sex when that well has run really freaking dry. So, we all lie, just differently.

Society also tells us women don't like violent movies. Bullshit. Every straight woman and gay man on the planet wants to fuck Tyler Durden. I mean, LOOK AT HIM, people.

This makes sense because the cultural memes are such that we as a society expect women to want sex less and men to want it more, women to refuse and men to demand (or beg, depending on the relationship), men to enjoy it and women to frequently “take one for the team.” I didn’t say it was ok for us to expect these things, just that it seems like that’s what we see most often in our society.

So, everybody lies. Ok, House M.D. would be proud that we acknowledged his mantra. But there’s another part to this, and that’s the fact that Northman and I are in our 30s. If our introduction to gender differences in sexual desire comes in adolescence and young adulthood – and of course this is a generalization because there are always exceptions to the rule, but these are pretty common experiences – we get initiated into sex when young men are reaching their sexual prime, which is said to be around age 18. I personally think it’s in their early 20s because most 18-year-old guys are all stamina and no technique, but that’s just my opinion. It’s also not exactly something you kick one of them out of bed for, especially when you’re also around 18 and don’t have much technique either.

On the flip side, women reach their sexual peak around their mid-30s with the average woman reaching that great Promiseland at age 36. So, in my mind, I wonder … in our mid-30s, have the guys slowed down and the women sped up so much that we’ve actually switched roles at this point? What kind of sick fucking joke is that? We are finally on pace with what they’ve wanted for the last 10 to 20 years and now they’re peri-menopausal? What the fuck? Is this nature’s way of making sure women realize they’re running low on chances to procreate while telling men to grow up already? I’m not sure. But it does seem like maybe this is why men actively lie to appear as though they’re having as much sex as they did a decade age and women lie because their partners don’t enable them to “keep up” with the exploits of their girlfriends. As for Northman and me, I think he was so unbelievably oversexed to begin with and I’m so (apparently) hypersexed now, as we meet up in our mid-30s, I think we’re actually sexual equals. That’s some kind of sex kismet right there.

So, what were those two conclusions of our conversation I mentioned above?

Number one: Any 12-hour period Northman and I spend together that doesn’t involve some form of sex is a tragedy and an epic slap in Karma’s face.

Number two: He is really fucking lucky to have me.

Side Note:
Web dwellers, remember to share the blog on your social media streams and “like” our Facebook page. The more people who read, the more people who comment, the more fun this is! Ya’ll rock, and I love the crap out of you.
-Cathy