Tag Archives: Sexting

A Love Letter From Cathy and Northman

Standard

Dear Readers,

Annniiiimaaaaaaalllllll!!!!

So, today’s Monday. As per usual, I was sitting outside with my Animal mug and my heavy fucking blanket because even though it’s Spring, it’s still fucking cold on my back porch at 6 a.m., which is the only damn time it’s quiet around here with Thing 1 and Thing 2 on Spring Break, at least, the only daylight time. Anyhow… so, usually around that time, I’d thinking of a new blog post to share, trying to think of all the little random things that happened to me over the last few days that y’all might want to hear about, debating which little nuggets to toss your way. But today, well, today was different. Today was easy. There’s only one thing to talk about today, and that is your pal and mine, Northman.

So I knew I had to wait until tonight when the minions were once again in bed so I could collaborate with Northman and write y’all a little love note. So here we sit, (virtually) together. I’m typing this while screen-sharing with him AND while he talks to me via FaceTime on my iPad, so he’s on my computer and on my iPad, so I’m thoroughly fucking distracted. At least he put some damn clothes on. Anyway, I say, “(virtually) together,” and Northman says, “Virtual cock in hand,” and I say, “Shut up,” and he laughs, and now we have to start this paragraph all over again. And he says, “Because Northman’s a brat,” and I say, “Yes, yes you are,” and he says, “So? I’m effin’ Northman! I resemble that remark!” and he laughs again, because he’s a dork, and I shake my head, because I’m an adult.

Back to business. So you liked Northman’s post on Thursday, did you? Considering site traffic the next day exceeded the blog’s previous all-time high (by A THIRD, people) and brought in traffic from all over the damn planet, I’d say we all enjoyed it. I know I sure did. Especially when Northman recited all of the best parts to me via Skype the next night and added some rather fabulous dialog.

I have no idea why this is funny, but Northman says it's perfect, so here ya go.

So, a couple of things. First, we got some fan mail, and we’re here with our Doonesbury Lite version of the MailRoom to answer your burning need to know. The most commonly asked question over the last few days: Is Northman real? Northman would like to answer that by saying, “You’re Goddamn right I am. And if I’m lying, may I go straight to hell, in gasoline boxers no less.” So there. What man would curse himself with permanent fire crotch? Northman corrects me: “Permanent penile disfigurement.” Eww. Now I’m all grossed out. Moving on.

Yes, the point is, Northman is a real guy, and he’s mineminemineyoucan’thavehim. He’s a real guy, and (this was the number two question, but it doesn’t have to do with poop, just number two in order, but that was kind of self-explanatory, but you know, tangent…) he did write the bulk of the article you read sometime in the last few days. It started out as a sexty conversation we were having, and we both thought it would make a great story, which he’d been planning to write for you anyway. Northman says, “a titillating story,” whatever. Anyway, he keeps interrupting me. As usual. The point is, we collaborated a bit on the beginning, but the rest of that nasty dirty fabulousness is 100% Northman. And now you know why I’m so fucking sleep-deprived. And if he were your Northman, you would be too. Sucks to be you, web dwellers. At least I share with y’all.

So now, the second thing I alluded to is this: Where do we go from here? If you’re me, which you’re not, you go straight to bed, get naked, and have more Skype sex with Northman because that, web dwellers, does NOT get old. It’s great having my own personal porn channel. NNN: Naked Northman Network. I need sponsors. Right. Fucking. Now. Northman says, “Tagline: All porn, all the time.” I say, “Fuck that. All Northman, all the time.”

So here’s what we’re thinking. Northman really enjoyed writing his erotic fiction, and I enjoyed the fact that it’s only fiction for now, as we ARE making plans to see one another. I won’t tell you when, except that it will be this calendar year and it’s not for a while because, fuck, you know, minions, work, blahblahblah. Aaaaanywhoooo…I digress. Because I’m picturing him naked. Can you fucking blame me?

Northman is now a full author on the blog. He has his own “About” page, where you can speak to him directly, or you can email him at effinnorthman@hushmail.com. He’ll be blogging periodically, just as I do, and he’ll be doing more “bedtime stories” for you. And me. ALL PRAISE OUR DEAR SWEET MR. COFFEE!!! Ahem. Deep breath. Ok, where was I? Fuck. Ok, wait. Rereading paragraph… oh, right. Ok, so we’ll both be writing now, and up next … a collaborative piece of erotic wishful thinking we’re currently calling, “The Lake House.” So stay tuned, web dwellers, because this is only going to get hotter.

We love the crap out of you, web dwellers!

Cathy and Northman

Elf Porn: A Tiny Obsession

Standard

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.

 

 

 

 

 

Northman Was Right (But Don’t Tell Him That)

Standard

Oh yeah. I win.

Northman blew my damn mind last night. If I were a 70s cartoon, smoke would have come out of my fucking ears and my eyes would have spun around like some kind of million-dollar-spewing Vegas slot machine, landing squarely on two bright red cherries. As Penny would say, “Holy mackeroley, people.” It’s been 12 hours and I’m still catching my breath. I’ve had many an in-person encounter that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as that Skype. Sweet Jesus in Birks, web dwellers. Cathy is a happy camper.

Yeah, he makes me want to purr. Feel free to insert totally inappropriate pussy jokes here.

There is something so primal and instinctual about my completely naked lust for Northman. Sometimes, the man just fucking looks at me and half of my blood supply floods my cheeks while the other half heads south. Quickly. Talking about him at dinner with my girlfriend, Harmony, last week, I stopped for a moment and pulled my hair up off my neck, fanned myself, and realized I looked like I was having a damn hot flash because I kind of was. My hormones just kick into some kind of purring-Ferrari high gear when I think about Northman. What can I say? She was asking about him, I was talking about him, and the next thing I know, I’m … I’m really grateful I didn’t go commando.

Dinner with Harmony was interesting. We hadn’t had a chance to get together much prior to that because one of us always has a sick minion or a client who’s being a pain in the ass. So we were catching up, and she was asking about Northman, and she wanted to know how much of what I put in the blog is real and how much is embellishment for shock value. A fair question, if you ask me (which she did). So I told her: Everything I’ve written about Northman is completely true.

At this point, she looked at me with that same look I assume she gave her teenage daughter when her hormonal minion claimed to have no knowledge of who left an empty box of tampons under the sink, leaving Harmony a bit undersupplied at a crucial moment last month. And not at a time when you’d really want to fuck with her. Pun intended. The look said something like: You’re full of shit AND you better spill it right now.

So, even though I wasn’t full of shit, I did spill. I told her how feral and instinctive my attraction to Northman feels. It’s a very possessive feeling, but not in a jealous way. More like, I just really and truly have to have that man, y’all. Failing to get naked with Northman, at, ahem, great length,is just not an option.

All he did was talk, and I felt like this. And I probably looked pretty similar by the time he finished.

And last night, during our Skype chat, I did get naked with Northman, and it was just unreal. I started telling him a sexy story, and as I got to what I thought was a pretty good part, he stopped me and said, “Nope. That’s not how it happens.” I was intrigued, and I cocked an eyebrow at him, saying, “By all means, then, have at it.” And he did. He picked up the story about thirty seconds prior to where I’d stopped, and he took it in an entirely different direction.

After, even though he was so far away, I honest-to-Mr.-Coffee felt like this.

How can I explain this? You know, part of what Northman likes about me is that I’m a smart woman and I’m usually both confident and right when I speak. Well, Our Sweet Holy Mr. Coffee, web dwellers. Last night? I was so completely fucking WRONG when I told the story, and Northman was RIGHT. After hearing his version of the story, I admitted I was wrong, and then I agreed with him. Strongly. Repeatedly. And with a pillow between my teeth.

So, some of you’ve noticed I’m on Twitter. I know, I know. You can’t believe Twitter’s made it this far without me. Anyway, turns out there are some damn funny people there. Come join the conversation: @SexyMomBlog –> There’s a link over there —>

A Little Rambling And A Lot of Sexy

Standard

Ooooh, web dwellers, have I got some stuff to tell you today. If there were a contest to find the luckiest girl on the damn planet today, if you’re not me, don’t even bother entering, because I fucking win, people. I win. And you know why? Because Northman sent me a two-part, 15-minute video in which he’s wearing nothing but a watch and some seriously gorgeous ink.

Those of you who don’t like me taking the Lord’s name in vain, gals, if you saw this shit, you’d know I’m not using it in vain. That’s PRAISE right there. If I were a religious woman, I’d be down on my damn knees giving thanks for this. But as it is, I am not, and since Northman’s not here for pretty much the only other reason I’d be down on my knees, I think saying “ohmyfuckinggod” is just going to have to suffice.

Oh, Sweet Jesus in Birks, I am so damn grateful it doesn’t snow by him so it’s warm enough for him to do this. Yes, Northman made me another sex video, and all I can say is that the fact that I didn’t instantaneously burst into flames watching it completely disproves the existence of spontaneous combustion. Seriously. I texted him immediately after watching it (fine, immediately after watching it twice), and all I could manage was this: “ohmyfuckinggod” Yeah. I’m articulate like that. Without exaggeration, I think seeing Northman do ANY of what he did in this video if I were with him in person would reduce me to complete Tarzan Speak.

For those of you feeling bad for Northman that he’s doing all the “work” and I’m getting all the rewards, rest assured, I am reciprocating. First, my responses to his videos get him going. A lot. And second, I’ve been doing some sexy writing for our friend Mr. Northman. And he likes it. Probably not as much as he’d like it if I would send him a strip tease video, but I’m just not there yet, web dwellers. I want to be there. I wish I could be as bold as I tell myself I am and just do it. But the truth is, I’m so critical of my body no matter how much or little I weigh or work out, that I just do not know what it will take for me to truly reciprocate. So I “give back” in the best way I comfortably can: I write erotic stories for him. And I show him my tits a lot.

Watching Northman’s video performance was mind-blowing. I can’t think of any other man in my life who has ever been able to evoke a physical response that intense without even touching me. There is something I find so inherently erotic about this man, my mouth literally waters at the sight of just his bare chest. I won’t even go into what kind of bodily reactions I have to the sight of his bare — yeah, I’m biting my damn lip just typing about it.

Here’s the kicker, though. Northman and I had a few sexy Skype conversations this week, plus the video. Oh, yeah. The video. Mmmmmm…. Where was I? Oh, right. Skype. Anyway. Focus. Skype. Yes. Ok. We Skyped quite a bit, and I have to tell y’all, the honest truth is, while we did have some really fantastic sexiness via Skype, the best interactions I had with Northman this week had nothing to do with sex. Actually, that’s a damn lie. Every interaction with Northman has something to do with sex because I can’t look at him without wanting to reach through the screen and touch him. But you know what I mean. The best interactions were just conversations. We talked so much this week: Hours and hours of just talking about our minions, our work, our plans, our friends, our families. You know… I kind of feel like we’re actually starting to date. Sort of. In this weird, online, not really dating kind of way, true, but still, we’re sort of kind of dating. I think. And I like it.

We talk, each in our own beds, and it feels like this. Intimate. Close. Peaceful.

Northman listens to me. He asks insightful questions. He respects me as a parent, a friend, a woman, a professional, and an equal. He shares with me, and I enjoy listening to him. I like knowing what’s going on in his life and knowing how he takes his coffee. I like that he knows a lot more about some topics than I do and that he can teach me without being condescending; rather, he genuinely enjoys explaining things and takes his time in doing so. He doesn’t rush to answer when I ask him a question, but takes his time and gives the topic consideration when need be, and I like that. Plus, it gives me time to stare at his neck, which I also really like. Yum.

Northman makes me feel this sexy.

Here’s something else I really like, and go ahead and slam me via email or comments or what have you for being unevolved or unliberated or whatever other feminazi name you may want to call me. Northman is a man. He gets it that a man can respect a woman as an equal, enjoy being with a woman who knows more or is smarter or more educated, have a balanced romantic relationship with a woman, and have a completely equal partnership, all while still asserting himself as a man. So many men today seem to think that women are hypocrites if we demand equality in the workplace and in relationships but still appreciate a man who gives up his jacket or umbrella or who opens doors or dashes through the rain to bring a woman’s car around. Men who still do those things just turn me on.

American Gothic, True Blood style. That's old school, new sexy style.

I completely and openly admit that I adore a man who gives me his arm when we’re walking or offers his hand when I’m stepping off a curb. I appreciate a man who treats me like the lady I am and acts like the man in the relationship and not like a child I have to look after. I find men who value both femininity and self-sufficiency in women to be incredibly attractive. I like a man who wants to lift the heavy things, kill the bugs, and fix the clogged drains, even though we both know I’m absolutely capable of doing it all myself. I enjoy those little social niceties, those old-school gender roles. I realize they’re not for everyone, but I do personally like them.

I love that Northman is good with his hands without presuming that a woman can’t be. That’s just awesome. I love seeing him as someone who could protect me, regardless of whether I need protecting or whether I can look out for myself. Call it social programming and gender stereotyping if you want, but the truth is, I just find a capable, strong man really damn sexy. Being with a man like that makes me feel feminine and safe and adored. Maybe that’s just too old-school for some women, but it’s the truth.

The flip side is that Northman, while he is all of these things, appreciates a woman who doesn’t need any of it, regardless of whether she wants it. And I think that’s a lot of why this dynamic works between us (At least in theory. At least online.). Because neither of us needs the other. We just want one another. And I think for both of us, that want, that desire, is so much more attractive than being needed. I mean, good Lord, we’re both parents. We’re already needed 24/7. It’s really nice to just be wanted sometimes. Don’t you think?

Don’t Eat Yellow Snow

Standard

Worst copyright-infringement misuse of Bambi. Ever.

So I tried sitting outside this morning with my favorite big, heavy blanket and my damn-near-overflowing Animal mug, but damnit, it was too fucking cold, web dwellers. And you know why? Because it fucking snowed. Again. My girlfriend, Penny, is thrilled: “We’re going sledding with the kiddos! We’re making snow angels! Every snowflake is one of God’s special miracles!” Yeah. Fine. It’s pretty. But the rest of that is bullshit.

First of all, snow is fucking cold. And cold is BAD. People die from being too cold. Did you know if you spend time outside when it’s too cold, your lungs can freeze? Yeah. You fucking like that? Me either. So I don’t go out in the damn snow if I can help it. But of course, I have minions, so I do have to go out in the snow sometimes, but only when there isn’t a lung-freeze warning in effect.

Our snow angels NEVER look like angels.

As for Penny sledding with her minions, this is a completely different activity when you’re a single parent. Someone always has to drag the sled back up the hill. And it’s never a freaking kid. And without a spouse to take turns with you, Mama is always dragging the sled and listening to minions whine about whose turn it is.

And then there’s the fact that it takes a damn hour and a half to get two minions all suited up just to go outside, and by the time you’re done zipping and buttoning, someone always has to pee. Which is only a problem if you have girls, because apparently, somewhere along the line, no matter how rarely they’re in the snow with their dads, boys learn that it’s fucking hilarious to write their names in the snow with their own special yellow markers.

Ours look more like something this guy makes upon passing out from eating too many burritos.

What’s left? Oh, snow angels. Yeah, that’s also a load of crap. My minions flopped down to make snow angels and here’s what I got: “Mom!!! I’m stuck!!!” and “Owwwww!! There was a rock under there!!” and “Hey! You’re wrecking the end of my name!!” Yeah. Ew.

So, yeah. Snow is not my favorite. Plus, I refuse to pay more for heat than I do for my mortgage each month. I used to hate it when my dad said, “Put on a sweater,” when I complained about the cold as a kid, but now I do the same damn thing to my minions. I tuck them in at night in their fleece footie jammies and cover them with extra blankets so they’re toasty warm without the heat having to be cranked up for 10 hours, and I make them wear sweaters and slippers and socks during the evenings. While this is good for my wallet, it’s not good for my nights with Northman. There’s something seriously unsexy about Skyping with someone who’s bundled up like an Eskimo, but he’s just going to have to deal with it because, as I said, it fucking snowed. Again.

Other than not getting to see Thing One and Thing Two (nor my Cat In The Hat for that matter) very much via webcam this week, Northman is good. No, that’s an understatement. Northman is great. He’s funny and sexy and able to evoke a physical response from the aforementioned cat just by texting me a single sentence. Damn I cannot wait to get my hands on that man. But not here. Because it’s fucking freezing, and I have no intention of wearing much clothing when Northman and I get together. Plus, my minions are here, and not even Northman gets to sleep over with my minions around.

Alright. That was short as my posts go, but y’all are on your own tonight. Northman and I were sexting a story together yesterday and got interrupted, and I promised him I’d sit down and write the whole story from start to spectacular finish. So, yes, I love you, web dwellers, but Northman was naked when he asked for this, and what Northman asks for naked, Northman gets. I’ve got some porn to write.

An Interview With The One And Only, Mr. Northman

Standard

So last week, Northman made me blush. Perhaps it seems like a little thing considering all the reasons I might have to blush when I’m (virtually) around him, but I’m just not a blushing kind of gal. Nothing really embarrasses me; y’all already know I’m an open book, and that means blushing is a rare thing in my world. But, as usual, there’s one glaring exception to the rule, and it’s Northman. That man makes me blush regularly, and he’s particularly pleased with himself about it. Not one to be outdone, I vowed that I could return the favor, and Northman, exceedingly smug and frustrating man that he is, had the nerve to doubt me. He even bet me I couldn’t make him blush, promising to make me a hot new video with lots of highly detailed and personal dialog if I won.

Bring it, Northman.

Game on, Northman. Game. Fucking. On.

I was pretty motivated just by his smug grin, I have to tell you. And the idea of him making a sex video, just for me, with whatever kind of dirty talking and whatnot that I wanted? Damn, web dwellers. That’s some serious motivation right there. I’m not saying I thought it would be all that easy to make Mr. Self-Satisfied blush, but I am a woman who loves a challenge. When I set my mind to something, there’s very little dissuading me.

Took less than a day.

I wrote a new blog article the day after Valentine’s Day, telling y’all about the screen-melting Skype sex I had with Northman the night before, and I opened up a bit about him. I told you how I feel about him, what I adore about this man with whom, in many, many ways, I often feel I’ve met my match, even though I always win when we compete at, you know, pretty damn near anything.

Well, Northman read that article and he blushed. Twice. Gotta hand it to him for honesty. He fessed up and actually rather enjoyed himself telling me so. And he was excited that I’d opened the floor to you, readers, asking for your questions and comments. As usual, you came through in fine form, web dwellers. Thanks. So, last night, I sat down, reporter-style (post-Skype-sex naked, sure, but still reporter-style) and interviewed, for your reading pleasure, the one and only, Mr. Northman.

Me: Alright. Before we start with the formal questions, the floor is yours. Is there anything you’d like to say to my devoted tens of readers?

Northman: (Laughs his sexy, throaty laugh. Yum.) My devoted tens! I love it! Lemme think about it for a second here. Yeah. I hope you all get laid soon. We’d probably be a lot less … fucked up in this world if more people got laid. Laid people are generally happier people. Especially if they’re well laid. It’s not a cure-all for everything, but it’s a damn good fucking start.

Me: Good point. Ok, first reader question: “Do you feel you’re accurately portrayed on the blog?”

Northman: (Clears throat for a second and – yes!! – blushes a little before laughing.) Yes, given that the names and occasional details have been changed to protect the guilty (more laughing). I see it as accurate as far as the way you perceive me. Whether or not I always feel that way about myself? Is… not so clear (laughs). Which is sort of a guarded answer, but I’m … {I was really enjoying watching him squirm a little, talking about himself, y’all. This was fun. And for those of you who don’t know him – so, all of you – what he was getting at is that he typically doesn’t see himself as nearly as sexy as I see him, which, of course, is part of what I find so damn attractive about him. That, and his ass is so damn fine I’d use it as china.}

Me: What are you thinking about?

Northman: [That last blog, the one that was] …designed to make me blush, and yes, it worked.

At this point, he grinned at me. I grinned back. We grinned at each other like a couple of idiots for a sex, sex, shit. SEC. Seriously, Freud is up in my typing today. I really had to type “sec” three times to stop typing “sex” on accident.

Me: Ok, next reader question: “What attracts you to her?” I mean me. It says her. So, me. What attracts you to me? This is weird.

Northman: (Giving me this fucking look and enjoying the ensuing blush that comes across my face. And my breasts.) We’ve known each other a long time. We’ve had sexual tension for 20-plus years. With no lessening in it either. It only gets more. Even after all the Skype sex, it doesn’t change that aspect of it at all. I still feel like I haven’t had sex with you because I haven’t. We can have all the Skype sex we want, it’s still not the same, surreal thing. Um. So there’s that factor. The physical aspect of it [and wanting to physically have you] but I don’t know…. Just, I mean. I think the several times that we were actually, physically intimate were so fucking intense when we were young, when we were teenagers, it was so fucking intense, and that feeling never really left me.

Me: Nor me. (Yeah, more blushing.)

Northman: You’re insanely funny, and a woman who makes me laugh is really fucking important (Laughs. I love that laugh.). You’re really smart. I’m attracted to smart women. You have a good sense of humor. That sort of goes back to the whole “woman making me laugh” thing. You have some absolutely smoldering looks. You’re capable of delivering molten lava, and that’s not in person, that’s via Skype, and that’s pretty impressive.

Me: That’s not where I thought you were going with that.

Northman: What do you mean?

I always fucking win. I am Trogdor! Burninating the countryside!

Me: You said, “You’re capable of delivering…” and I thought you were going to go into your fear of my “tongue lashings” as you call them.

Northman: Well, thankfully, I’ve only been on the receiving end of those twice.

Me: And you deserved it both times.

Northman: Yes, I did. But it doesn’t go with what attracts me to you, so that’s not what I was thinking. Although it’s true, your way with words is exceptional, even when you’re mad, but that goes along with your intelligence and how fucking funny you are. What else …? It’s very attractive that you regularly kick my ass at Words With Friends and Scramble With Friends and just about any other game we play.

So there you have it, web dwellers. You asked, and he answered. And, man of his word that he is, Northman sent me a 2-gigabyte, 12-minute sexy awesome naked unbelievable video, custom made just for me. How can I explain this awesomeness? Well, he used a fucking tripod, people. A tripod. I was quite literally speechless watching it, which I think says more than any words could. This video is the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Or it was, until I saw Northman, in all his naked splendor, via Skype, watching my face while I watched his video on my laptop. When I finished watching the video, Northman asked me what I thought. I couldn’t speak for a minute, and when I could, I looked at him and just said one thing:

“God bless the Internet.”

 

 

 

Behind The Scenes At COASM

Standard

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.