Tag Archives: Quinn

Oh, I Am Pissed.


Fuck you, Russell. I hope you get liquified and run down a garbage disposal.

This morning, I got all excited when I saw that there was a “True Blood Season 5 Teaser” trailer to watch (Yes, click there; WordPress won’t let me post a video). Let me tell you something, web dwellers. To be a trailer, it has to have some fucking video content. Not just some words. And I’m all about the words. But these words didn’t even include “Northman,” so now I’m just annoyed.


(Don’t read this if you haven’t watched True Blood Season 4 and plan to. And if you haven’t watched TB4, you should plan to. Unless you have poor short-term memory, in which case this really won’t fuck anything up for you.)



Is it me, or is this a really fucking creepy image of C. Meloni? Something about how he's about 45 years too old and/or the wrong gender to be posing on a fuzzy rug like that.

So, whoop dee doo, Russell Annoyington is returning from being imprisoned in concrete below a Herveaux Construction parking garage for all of Season 4, even though it was supposed to take him 100 years to get out of all that silver and recover from being turned into a Kentucky Fried Vampire. Duh. We knew that at the end of last season. And according to the article, Steve Newlin’s back. Thank you, Captain Obvious. This is so not news, as we saw that happen on Jason’s front porch at the end of Season 4. And Chris Maloney is on the show. Again, not news. And he better not suck because L&O: SVU is worse without him than American Idol was withPaula Abdul and her drunken monkey clapping. So if he fucks up two shows I love, I will have to stop watching tv, and I really don’t want to have to start drinking more to fill the time. It’s expensive.



HOW did I even know to look for a Season 5 non-trailer? I was trolling some WordPress blogs I like, including “Eric And Sookie Lovers,” (yes, click there to see their video, which is a different one, and which also has absolutely zero new TB footage) which sometimes has a good scoop on the show and always makes me feel less abnormal for my Northman fixation. I’m starting to think I don’t even need to take down that semi-naked ceiling poster with the glow-in-the-dark fangs. I mean, if these people can have a whole blog dedicated to True Blood and the perfection that is Eric♥Sookie, then surely I can have one Alexander Skarsgard lifesize cardboard cutout in my powder room, right? It goes with the towels.


Helllloooooo, Mister Harper.


So, here. Because I love you web dwellers more than my big heavy blanket I use for hiding on the back porch while I praise Mr. Coffee, here’s some actual news I found: Following the Sookie Stackhouse book series story line, it looks like the Pelt family will start looking for their little psycho in Season 5, which should start riiiight around the point at which Sookie blew her freaking head off after Debbie whacked Tara (Presumably,  she’s dead. I mean, unless some vamp comes running in and doses her with serious amounts of V juice in the first 2 seconds of Season 5) while trying to kill Sookie. Again.

Good morning, Mr. Underwear. Er, Underwood. Oh, shit. Wood. Damnit he's so sexy I can't speak. Type. Whatever.


And if the Pelts are looking for Debbie, then maybe, JUST MAYBE, we’ll get introduced to Quinn (not my Quinn, he’s mine, web dwellers) but that better not be who Chris Meloni is supposed to be because you sir, are no Quinn. Quinn looks like Shaft. Quinn is tall, black, strong, muscular, and gorgeous to the point of being painful to look at with crazy beautiful eyes. Quinn is like… Hill Harper or oooh! Blair Underwood. Yeah, baby. Quinn is NOT an Irish cop from Brooklyn. Sorry, Chris.

Blog-gasms, AKA: Those Crazy Ripples of Pleasure You Get From Sharing An Awesome Post on Facebook and Getting 20 Comments From Your Friends


Facebook: Like a coffee shop you can go to in your underwear for instant gratification. Wait, that came out wrong.

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.

It took me nearly as long to pick out this picture of Alexander Skarsgard (AKA: Eric Northman), as it did for me to write this whole post. I'm easily distracted, people. And yes, my Northman is this hot.

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.

I will never wipe this memory card clean as long as I live.

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.