Tag Archives: Religion

Shakespeare in Leather

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So last night, I was talking to Grayce about my return to blogginess, which she really enjoyed, even if I did totally print a private conversation we had without her permission. She told me she shared yesterday’s post on her Facebook page and was completely gobsmacked (Like that one? I’m all intercontinental today.) when her friend, Mica, “liked” the post. She called me up:

Gray: I’m shocked Mica liked it. You know her husband’s a pastor and she runs that charity for wayward, pregnant schnauzers or something.

Me: Oh, yeah. The seemingly uptight ones are always the duuuuuurty guuuuurrrrlllls. They love the blog. Church ladies are all sorts of nasty under their double-knit sweater sets and sensible pumps. 

Those church ladies are all sorts of duuur-taaay.

Gray: You think? I just can’t believe she “liked” it on Facebook. Her husband probably has her down on her knees praying for forgiveness as we speak.

Me: He probably has her down on her knees, but I doubt there’s much praying going on.

Gray: You did not just say that.

Me: Oh please. If church is your thing, more higher power to ya. But you know as well as I do, the loudest preachers are like Queen Gertrude.

Gray: You lost me. 

Me: “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” 

Gray: English. Speak English.

Me: Girl, that’s Shakespeare. It doesn’t GET more English.

Gray: What the hell are you talking about?

Me: I gotta get nerdier friends.

Gray: Your point?

Me: Ok. Backing up. In Hamlet, Queen Gertrude is a raging slut who marries her dead husband’s murderous brother before the leftovers from her husband’s funeral feast are gone.

Gray: That’s cold, dude. 

Me: No shit. But then again, maybe they were Jewish. That Shiva thing they do lasts like a fucking month. So cut a girl some slack. That could be a lot of leftovers.

Gray: You are so going to hell.

Me: Anyway, so these traveling actors come do a play at the court, and Hamlet is giving his mom attitude, being all, “What do you think of this play?” And his mom, Gertrude, who sees that the play is basically about a woman just like her, says, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Gray: So what does that mean? 

Me: It means like, say someone goes, “I like butt fucking,” and you go, “Oh my GOD! I would NEVER! Oh my God! Who does such a thing?!?!” The more you “protest,” the more obvious it is that you’re trying to cover something up. It’s like the conservative male Republican Congressman who goes on this nationwide anti-gay crusade only to get caught fucking some underage male Haitian prostitute. The louder they preach, the more likely it’s bullshit. It’s more complicated in the play, but then again, it’s Shakespeare.

Gray: How the hell did we get on this topic?

Me: I was saying, rock on for Mica, “liking” the post, because most church ladies I know wouldn’t touch that shit with a ten-foot pole.

Gray: Because they’d be protesting too much.

Me: My work here is done.

Gray: You really think Mica’s a slut?

Me: Girl, she’s a pastor’s wife. They’re all “Rah, Rah, Jesus,” until they’re taking it up the ass in a leather harness, you know?

Gray: <odd strangled noise and spluttering>

Me: Ohhh. What do you know? The lady doth protest too much.

Behind The Scenes At COASM

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Hey, web dwellers. I really wanted to give you something special for our 2-month anniversary together, but if you can believe it, there’s no set list of anniversary gifts for site followers by month. Get married and they give you a list for the next 60 fucking years. But look for a blog list and you’re S.O.L. Go figure. Anyway, so I had to come up with something on my own. But I can’t give you all life-sized Eric Northman cutouts (because they’re MINE, ALL MINE!), and I really don’t want to spend more than, oh, anything, so I decided that last month’s “word jumble” image will become a tradition, and I’ll do it each month to see how it changes. Maybe that’s more of a gift to myself than to you, because only dorks like me would want to compare word jumble images from month to month, but you know, if you think about it, when I’m happy, I write more. And when I write more, y’all read more of this dirty, crazy lunacy that I call my life. So, yay. Happy anniversary to us. 

So I used the jumble generator, and here’s what it came up with:

What kind of crap is this? It's like they didn't even try! Not good enough for my web dwellers. Also, kind of weird emphasis on Northman, don't you think?

So I figured it was a fluke and I’d just try again. I mean, what are the odds it would do something similarly sufficient in making me seem creepily obsessed with Northman? The real-life one OR the TV one.

Yeah. So it gave me this. WTF?

Not as bad as the first, but still kind of fucked up if you think about it. Which I’m trying not to do. So I tried again. What can I say? I’m persistent.

Ok, how does this even count? "Northman" isn't even in the shape with everything else.

But I would not give up that easily. No. I would not be outdone and made to feel like some kind of whack-job stalker by an auto-word-generating website thingie. So I did it again.

This one is like an ink blot test that makes me think of sex, so I like it, but it's STILL got Northman ridiculously disproportionate to everything else.

And again….

They fit it all in the shape this time. I'll give 'em that.


And again…

Really?

Aaaand again…

Oh, sweet Jesus in Birks.

Yeah, and again.

How is this different from the last one?

I just would not fucking give up.

Maybe a little better, but also only because I was losing a grip at this point.

And finally, I got this:

My favorite and my gift to you. Or me. Whatever.

Here’s the thing, web dwellers, the jumbles are a hell of a lot like my blog. I generate something, and sometimes it’s awesome, and sometimes it’s a big, fat turd. But, apparently, there’s always some Northman in it, so ultimately, it’s awesome. Happy anniversary.

“Oh my God. You’re about to jibber jabber about jibber jabber.”

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I wrote most of this earlier this week but didn’t finish until today, hence the outdated references. Way to go, me! Sorry, y’all. I had to be all responsible and crap; aka, I did work I actually get paid for. And it was nowhere near as fun as writing for you guys.

Today is some kind of Internet protest day with no Wikipedia and a bunch of dormant blogs. Politics, money, assholes, and legislation: Not a great combination. Anyway, I figure if I post today, y’all are more likely to read it, seeing as your options are so limited. Plus, I plan to take advantage of my freedom of speech while I still have it, because apparently we’re about to be de-Internet-ized back to the 80s. May as well buy a “beeper,” a 15-pound “car phone” with a shoulder strap, and some acid-washed jeans today so I can beat the time-warp shopping rush. Shit. Now I have to get dressed and leave the house to go shopping. Can’t order that crap on Amazon if there is no Amazon. Wow. I’m living in the Matrix. I think. Never did see that one.

Anyway…

Sheldon: Do you know where the phrase "Jibber jabber" comes from? Penny: Oh my God. You're about to jibber jabber about jibber jabber.

So, what is all this Internet-SOPA-PIPA jibber jabber? I gotta tell you, web dwellers, I try to stay well informed on most things, but on this one, I just have no fucking idea. Sometimes, there’s just so much going on that I kind of miss an issue du jour, and this is one of those times. So forgive me for having no actual info to share. I’ll just say this one thing. I believe in freedom of speech no matter who is doing the talking or what that person is saying. I believe that even the most depraved, homophobic, despicable, moronic, racist xenophobe has the right to climb up on his or her soapbox (Is that even a thing anymore? I bet people use plastic milk crates now.) and spout out a stream of verbal idiocy any time the mood strikes, so long as doing so isn’t likely to cause harm to others. That is, civil rights are relative: your civil rights extend just up to the edge of the point at which exercising those rights infringes on the rights of others.

I wonder if anyone still makes soapboxes. I kinda want one just so I can climb up on it in the grocery store and see what people do.

Ok, I think I said more than one thing (huge surprise). But you get my point. Freedom of speech is a right, not a privilege in this country, or, at least, it’s supposed to be. The way things are going, I’m starting to wonder whether those things we’ve long considered absolute rights are really all that sacrosanct to those in office anymore.

When Monstanto executives are being put into White-House-Appointed positions in the FDA and banks get bailed out while homeowners drown in debt, when we have a healthcare industry that pays no attention to the food industry (and a food industry that doesn’t care about our health), when access to well-rounded educational materials and appropriate sexual and reproductive information is limited or denied, when we actually have to discuss whether to present creationism alongside evolution in public schools when only one of those theories belongs in a science class while the other belongs in church (Why not teach creationism in home economics? It has no more or less business in there than it does in biology class.), something is seriously wrong with our society.

Perhaps we all had more time to think about these things back before the Internet, so we were better able to follow politics and keep better tabs on our legislators despite the comparative lack of information. Perhaps having to work to obtain that information made it feel even more important and urgent. I mean, think about it for a minute. What did you do with all the time you spend NOT on the Internet before there was an Internet to be on? Ok, that was convoluted. What I mean is, we’re grown adults living in high school via Facebook. Who does or says what to whom and when some pseudo-acquaintance defriended a colleague…? This shit was not on adults’ radars 20 years ago. Not even 10 years ago. But it’s a daily part of life now. And it feels important, even if a lot of it is only important because we participate. If no one used social media, we’d all live in the present more.

We didn't spend our time trying to out-smartass our phones in the 80s. I'm still not sure whether that's a point for the 80s or a point for the nows.

Without unlimited cell minutes and free long distance, we’d all invest ourselves more fully in the people around us, not the people in our “networks.” But that’s not how it is today. So we have daily life relationships with people who would, a mere decade or so ago, have been pen pals and twice-a-year phone contacts. We live outside our physical boundaries. We are overly invested in more than that which surrounds us. And it distracts us from the bigger picture. It keeps us so involved in our superficially expanded personal circles that we are too busy to get involved with and stay informed on the issues of the day.

Gilead looks a lot like North America if we were ruled by the Taliban. It scares the crap out of me.

On the other hand, an online-wifi-free-long-distance-instant-messaging life is exactly what enables me to connect with Northman and Jerry and all of you. Freedom of speech and lack of Internet censorship allow me to tell you that Northman sent me two new sexy videos of Quinn last week and that they were spectacular. You think a censored blogger could tell you she had mind-blowing orgasms watching videos of her long-distance lover having his own across the country? I sure as hell don’t.

 There’s bad shit on the Internet. Sure. But there’s good shit on here too. And the Internet brings the crazies together just as much as it connects the “normal” people. Not sure where my blog and I fall in that spectrum, but so be it. Until we’re living in Gilead, I’ll keep writing.

As usual, remember to comment here ↓ and both “like” me on Facebook and “follow” Confessions of a Sexy Mom here →. Thanks!

The Monthly Wrap Up: Because I’m too tired to come up with anything that original.

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So, ok, end of our first month here at Confessions of a Sexy Mom, and I gotta tell you, web dwellers, you people are fucking awesome. I just love the heck out of you, and I’m in touch with my emotions enough to say so without having to go bench press or deep fry anything. Damn, I just love being a woman.

So, I figured I’d do a little monthly retrospective. A “confession-all” if you will (see how much lamer the jokes and puns are when I’m tired?), and I’ll toss in some random stuff I laughed at this month but, for whatever reason, didn’t post here earlier.

Heeeere we go.

Northman loves my drunken texts. Which is good, because with the blue-hairs around last month, there were plenty.

First, I saw this ( ←) yesterday and laughed my ass off. This is 100% a GREAT idea, and if you can keep your sense-of-humor hat on instead of going all, “Ooooh, that’s too ‘Big Brother’ if my phone knows I’m wasted,” then it’s pretty fucking funny.

Second, take a gander over yonder at the site hit numbers →. Oh, yeah. That’s more than 2,000 hits in a month. THAT is a blog-gasm. I’m super excited. Now let’s just get some more fans on the Facebook page so people will know when there’s something new here.

Numero Tres: Did you know if you go to the WordPress home page and select “topics” and then type in “fucking” that you’ll find some really freaky crap? Well, shit, searching for “sexy” or “Northman” wasn’t yielding great results, so I went the other direction. I thought maybe I’d find some blogs like mine with some random sexiness in there. Uh, no. Warning! If you don’t want to know what “fisting” is, DO NOT TRY THIS SEARCH. Wow. A lot has changed since I was last out there, people. A fucking lot has changed.

And Four: I found this neat site that lets you make graphic representations of relevant words on your site. I don’t know what people really use this for, but I thought it was neat, and here’s what I made. Didn’t even need to paint any macaroni!

Cinco de Awesome-o: Damn, that would have pissed my high school Spanish teacher off big time. No sense of humor. Anyway, this ↓ is what I posted this month in no particular order (and in kind of a mess because I don’t have a hell of a lot of control over the formatting here), not counting just little crap like a poll and letting y’all know I’m on Facebook. Which I am. And you should be too.

Six…more months until True Blood Season Five, so here’s one of my favorite scenes from Season Four, which I just rewatched because there’s so much Northman sex. Oh, Pam. I thank Mr. Coffee for whomever cast you and made your role so much bigger in the show than the books.

Also… A shout out to Karen B., Liesel B., Rebecca Z., Nicole S., and Tara C. for all your super funny posts on the Facebook wall!! Y’all are hilarious, ladies!! Keep it up, gals!!

And Now, A Message From Mr. Northman

Taking One For The Team

Elves, Men, Monkeys, and MartinisThe 12 Hours of Christmas

JPAMDD

The Versatile Blogger Award.

You People Need Help.

This Is Why Republicans Fear Me

I Sound My Barbaric Yawp Over The Roofs Of The World.

It's Always The Guy With The Panel Van

Did I Miss Something Here?

Blog-gasms

Shaved Pussies Are For Pussies

There Isn't Enough Purrell On The Planet For This Shit.

You're Just Coitusing With Me, Aren't You?

Joyous Passive Aggression and Martyrdom Display Day: AKA, The Reason I Need Unlimited Texting

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Festivus For The RestOfUs!

Merry Christmas. Or happy Hanukkah. Or festive Kwanzaa. Or Cheery Celebration of Greatest Revenue Day For Chinese Food Restaurants in Jewish Areas. In my house, it’s Acknowledgment of The Grace of Mr. Coffee Day (Say it with me! “Praised Be!”). And with the multiple generations of estrogen-infused family upon us, it’s also Joyous Passive Aggression and Martyrdom Display Day (J.P.A.M.D.E.). This is preceded by Joyous Passive Aggression and Martyrdom Display Eve, which is preceded by a full J.P.A.M.D.E. (I say it “JayPamDee”) advent, known as the 30 Days of J.P.A.M.D.E. For Seinfeld fans, this is a lot like Festivus, complete with the airing of grievances, but without the weird pole thing, and because it’s led by women, it’s more like the airing of, “Reasons I Should Have Jewels Upon Jewels in My Crown in Heaven For All I Do For My Ungrateful Family – but not you, Dear, the other parts of the family, you know who I’m talking about.”

This year’s J.P.A.M.D.E. celebration began with the J.P.A.M.D.E. advent the day after Thanksgiving (this has a lot to do with volunteering to go shopping and then complaining about how sore your feet are even though half of what you bought was for yourself) and is still in progress at the moment, which is why I haven’t had time to blog about it for you guys (Sorry, web dwellers!). In our multi-age, multi-generation, fractured, extended, slightly crazy, often surprising, incredibly well-intentioned yet annoying as an eyelash in your eye while you’re driving, clique-ish as a Long Island all-girls’ high school, made-for-cable-tv family, there are some pretty interesting characters. You know how people say, “There’s one in every family,”? Well, there are four in mine. So, for your reading amusement, and my own catharsis, here’s a little reverse-peephole into my house this week.

Don’t worry, Mr. Northman was around via text for encouragement and tension relief.

So, like I said the other day, the blue-hairs did descend on us, and it was just nuts from the get-go. The real joy of J.P.A.M.D.E. had already started last month with the advent, which makes me super grateful I have unlimited emailing and texting on my cell for two reasons:

  1. The blue-hairs (and would-be blue-hairs if they didn’t have their salons on speed dial) have been constantly asking, via email and many, many texts, for lists of presents to give my minions (Yes, the blue-hairs text. Impressive and yet so annoying.), and I’ve been emailing and texting them all back with lists of favorite characters and suggestions for things they’ve been jonesing for every time we pass Target like diabetics in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I just have two requests: No religious stuff, and no weapons or weapon-y toys. Other than that, knock your suspendered knee socks off. Then, while they’re at the mall, they text me again to ask what color/flavor/size/character/scent, and then they text me again to ask if it’s a good price, and then they text me again to complain that the “oriental fellow” at customer service wouldn’t let them use the coupon from Target at Macy’s even though they have all the same crap, and then they text me again to ask if they can just send me a check and have me go out and buy what they’re currently holding themselves and wrap it even though they’re arriving in two weeks by car, and then they text me again to make sure I know who the text was from. Oh, and then they showed up last week and gave my kids some phaser guns, pirate swords, and books about how Elmo learns the Joy of Knowing God.
  1. If I couldn’t text my girlfriends and Mr. Northman about this crap (and check my site stats here!), I’d lose my fucking mind. And if I couldn’t receive texts back from Mr. Northman including creative suggestions for how he’d like to help me relax, I’d be even more wired than I already am, and that’s really saying something.

So, J.P.A.M.D.E. advent had already been fairly crazy before a single relative arrived. But arrive, they did. My mother showed up, which is usually enough to make me gain five pounds of guilt weight before she gets off the plane (yeah, you Catholic, Greek, and Jewish gals know what I’m talking about – and if any of you are Catholic, Greek, AND Jewish and not on significant amounts of medication, I will buy you a drink because you fucking deserve it.). So my mom arrived, walked into my kitchen, and said, “Wow, Cathy! This is certainly the cleanest I’ve ever seen your kitchen!” My mother: Queen of the Backhanded Compliment and #1 Source of Job Security For My Therapist. Then she proceeded to inform me that Kid #1 was much too thin and Kid #2 was much too not-thin, and spent the next 6 days commenting on what each kid ate or didn’t eat while making sure to save some energy for evaluating my vegetable intake, wine consumption, and disinfecting methods.

Second only to Mr. Coffee

To be fair, if my only concept of a person’s average daily alcohol consumption were based on the amount of red wine I drink when my mother’s in town, I’d be considering an intervention, myself. But we don’t really do that namby-pamby shit in my family. We just pester the crap out of people about their drinking or overeating or occasional cigar or cigarette smoking and then guilt them into not drinking (when anyone’s looking), eating at all, or enjoying quarterly Cohibas.

This method has had a pretty good success rate in my family, as it usually just leads to smoking pot (but at least that’s done in private) or going to therapy. Of course, then the over-50 women in the family can complain about how their daughters waste their money telling all their private family business to strange therapists – who might be atheists for God’s sake! – when they’ve never done anything but just love their families and give up everylastthingever for their children and why does everyone blame the mother it’s just so unfair. Or, my favorite, we give up and join them so we’re a bunch of smelly, overeating drunks, but at least we’re together and reasonably happy (or so drunk, buzzed, or full that we can’t remember why we were annoyed). Unless you’re my mother, grandmother, or aunt, in which case you revert to this favorite method: making passive aggressive comments about how they have this girlfriend whose daughter is an alcoholic and now the grandmother (girlfriend) has to raise the grandkids while the daughter is in rehab and it’s such a shame on the family and such agita for the grandmother and what did that poor angel of a woman ever do to deserve such an ungrateful daughter who would burden her finally retired saint of a mother like that?

Yeah, so I went through about 6 bottles of merlot this week (oh, like you wouldn’t?) and partly I did it just to fuck with the blue-hairs and give them something to talk about, and no, I didn’t drink it all myself (just most of it). But it was all good, because it was only at night when the minions were in bed, and Mr. Northman loves it when I drunk text him (complete with typos because I have no patience for fixing typos on my stupid phone when I drink, so it reads like I’m really drunk when really I’ve only had two glasses of wine):

Me: Merry FestiKwanziChrissHanuSolstiCa! I dinimb bisy as hell. How r u?

Northman: You’re dinimb bisy? That’s great! Is that code for drunk as hell because ur mom’s there?

Me: Wine is good. You r so sexy. No it means I am BUSY. Old people r a lot of wirk.

Northman: LOL. What r u doing?

Me: Flinshined dinner. Family making fun of me for drinking but im the one getting our of dish detail because they think I’ll drop something. Oh yeah, suck it.

Northman: Awesome! Suck it, bitches! LOL!!

Me: Yeah suck it dish bitches! I get to watch football with the men and then I am going to bed and I wish youwere hereto tuckmein.

Northman: What r u wearing?

This Jesus would wear Birks. Go rent "Dogma" on Netflix, web dwellers. That's some funny shit.

Me: That red dress from that pic. Remember? And so sorry you’re not here to enjoy my pretty red lipstick. I know you like it.

Northman: I do like your pretty red lipstick. It would look even better all (HOLY SHIT YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER WITH THAT MOUTH?!?!) and then I would (Sorry, web dwellers, you know the drill.) but your dress would probably (That’s all, folks!) my lap.

Me: Sweet Jesus in Birkenstocks. I need another glass of wine.

Whoooooo baby. What was I saying? Ummm…. ummmm…. Oh, yeah, this is why I need unlimited text: So the blue-hairs can drive me crazy and then Northman can give me sexy little presents like that one. Damn.

I hope all your holiday wishes came true, web dwellers. See you in the new year.

(P.S. Leave comments here ↓.)

P.P.S. How many of you noticed that J.P.A.M.D.E. should have been J.P.A.M.D.D.? Maybe I do need to lay off the merlot.

So, what now?

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Let me know what you guys want to hear about. Take the poll, write comments here, or leave me a note on Facebook. Yeah, I’m giving you homework. Deal with it.

You don’t have to join PollDaddy to do this. Also, if I did it right (highly questionable), you should be able to pick as many answers as you want. You’re welcome.

This is Why The Republicans Fear Me

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So I called my girlfriend Penny the other day, and we’re talking, you know, mom crap, work, the usual. When I think about it, I’m still pretty stunned that we’re so close, seeing as she’s a conservative Christian republican and I’m a potty-mouthed liberal whose only form of religion involves worshipping my Mr. Coffee in the morning, For Thou Art Goooood, Mr. Coffee. Praised Be.

Just goes to show that friendship knows no bounds. Case in point: I’m still friends with Penny when I KNOW she voted for George Bush. What? Not recent enough for you? Fine. I’m pissed that she voted for John McCain, too. I mean, ok, I’m happy she voted in the whole “we all have a moral obligation to vote, so get your ass out there and do it,” sense of the thing. But I’m less pissed that she voted for John McCain because he hadn’t already had four years of screwing the country nine ways from Sunday when he was last on the ballot, whereas we already knew exactly what we could expect from that last POTUS.

Anyway, we pretty much just don’t talk politics unless it’s an election year, and even then, we keep it to sincerely asked, respectful questions about one another’s viewpoints. Well, she asks, and I answer. I don’t ask, because there’s just no answer that would convince me to vote for someone who thinks corporations deserve the same rights as people, homosexuals are pedophiles with bestiality tendencies who shouldn’t even be allowed to have sex let alone marry one another (aka, the Fox “News” position: If we let gays marry, they’ll have license to prey on our children and next we’ll all be marrying dogs and snakes), or that it’s remotely appropriate for abortion to be a political issue.

Really? How about we outlaw vasectomies and make cheating on your wife punishable in court? Oh, sorry. What you do with your body is between you and your doctor? And what’s that? Your marriage is your business and not the court’s? No shit. That’s why liberals believe in abortion rights and keeping the government out of our bedrooms so long as whomever is in there is a consenting adult. I will never, ever forget hearing a political pundit accuse John Kerry of thinking “partial-birth abortion is a good thing,” because Kerry wouldn’t outlaw late-term abortions without provisions in the law for the health and welfare of the mother. No one, NO ONE thinks partial-birth abortion is a “good thing.” In fact, most liberals I know aren’t particularly fond of the whole abortion concept and wouldn’t choose that option themselves. But they stand by a woman’s right to choose, just as they vehemently support the right to free speech, even when that speech is being given by someone as despicable as Rick Santorum.

Never Googled “Santorum,”? Yeah. Take a sec and do that. This is how liberal nerds get revenge on self-righteous assholes.

Anyway, as usual, I digress. I was on the phone with Penny, and she said, “So what did you do this morning?” and I said, “First I dropped the kids off at school, stopped for coffee, and then I had unbelievable Skype sex with Mr. Northman.” (Ok, we don’t call him Mr. Northman, but he does have a nickname between the girls, and since all names and nicknames on my site are changed for obvious reasons, I’m picking another nickname here that adequately captures – for True Blood fans, anyway – exactly how fucking sexy this man is. My blog, my rules, bitches.)

Exactly.

Penny: “You did WHAT?!?!” (This is why I love her. She’s so easy to freak out.)

Me: “I had crazy awesome Skype sex with Mr. Northman. Holy crap that man has stamina.”

Penny: “Wait, what do you mean? Like, typing?”

Me: “Oh, well, at first. But then, you know, I wanted to see, so we switched to video.”

Penny: “You did the what you had a wait I… what?!?!!”

Me: Laughing, “Um, what?”

Penny: “Holy mackeroley,” (she says shit like that, I swear).

Me: “That about sums it up, yeah.”

Penny: “HOLY MACKEROLEY!!”

Penny’s three-year-old, audible in the back seat of her car: “Holy mack-oly, Mommmy!” Holy mack-oly!!”

At that point, I about lost my mind laughing at her toddler chiming in (thank Mr. Coffee she’s smart enough NEVER to put me on speaker when there are kids around), and I laughed so freaking hard I had tears rolling down my face fucking up my mascara, but it was worth it.

Penny: “Ok, wait. I gotta go drop the munchkin off at pre-school, so I’m pulling up to the church. When I get out, I want to hear all about this.”

Me: “Let me get that straight: When you get out of the church from dropping off your toddler, you want to hear details of how I did a strip tease for Mr. Northman while he did his — really impressive — business on webcam?”

Penny: “Crap, you’re right. That’s messed up. I’ll wait until I get to the mall, and then call you back. Neutral ground.”

And that’s why I love that woman.