Tag Archives: skype

Mo Dick, Mo Problems

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So I’m Skype texting with my girlfriend, Grayce, whom we girls call, “Gray,” because her life is all sorts of 50 Shades, and I’m telling her how the latest guy to catch my attention, Joe, is, predictably, an asshat.

Me: Girl, WTF? Why are men such douche canoes?

Gray: Because they have fool tools.

I added a flower, so it’s not crass. Yes, you can buy this at The Pink Moustachery. I’m all about customer service, web dwellers.

Me: The bigger the fool tool, the bigger the douche canoe.

Gray: Sounds like my ex. Total fool, but what a great fucking tool.

Me: Seriously. Your ex should come with a warning label: Mo dick, mo problems.

Gray: LOL!! OMG, girl, that is the TRUTH!

Me: At least a big dick is a good distraction, if you don’t let it distract you from how big a dick its owner is.

Gray: OMG! We need to put that shit on an e-Card.

Me: Too much work. I’ll just blog it. And I’ll call your ex “Moe” on the blog just because that shit’s funny.

Gray: I’m laughing so hard I’m gonna wake up my kids.

Me: Men are good for killing bugs, lifting heavy shit, and sex. In that priority order.

Gray: Truth.

Me: It’s all shit I can do myself, but I’d rather have it done for me.

Gray: E-card. E-card. E-card.

Me: If prostitution were legal, I would buy a man whore to kill my bugs naked.

Gray: That is a GREAT idea.

Me: The guy would be naked, not the bugs. I mean, the bugs are naked too, but that’s not the point.

Gray: Are you drunk?

Me: And then, after he killed the bug on my wall, I’d be all, “Bitch, go get a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. Mama can’t cum with bug guts on the wall!”

Gray: Must. Document. On. E-cards.

Me: If I ran shit, I would make it mandatory for sex ed teachers to explain to guys WHY a woman should cum first. Divorce rates would plummet. You’re welcome, Entire Fucking Planet.

Gray: So true!!

Me: You want her to do that thing? With the thing? Like you saw on YouPorn? Make sure she cums first.

Gray: LOL!!

Me: And yes, YouPorn is a thing. Thank you, Northman.

Gray: OMG. I can see you lecturing teenagers. You’ll write books.

Me: Yeah, I’ll be “researching” for my book and going, “Not now, baby, Mama’s browsing YouPorn.”

There is so much wrong with this.

Me: Seriously, if they spent half as much time explaining to teenage boys why it’s better for a woman to cum first as they do telling teenage girls not to have sex at all, all would be right with the world. Because you know, when mama’s not happy, nooooobody’s happy.

Gray: So fucking true. Luckily, I’ve never had a selfish lover. They all love making me cum.

Me: Fuck you.

Pause with no response from Gray.

Me: You’re googling YouPorn aren’t you? Admit it!

Gray: Me? No.

Me: No, you’re just on Zazzle or something ordering tee-shirts with “Mo dick mo problems.”

Gray: I was not! I wasn’t!

Me: ….

Gray: I was gonna do it tomorrow.

Me: There it is.

Gray: Well, it’s true! Mo dick, mo problems! Moe was so big, I couldn’t fit that shit in my mouth.

Me: That’s too much dick. That’s like having GGG tits. More than a mouthful is wasteful.

Gray: He is huge. The sex was awesome. Too bad by the time things ended I didn’t want anything to do with his thang.

Me: Dude. If you divorce a man that big, vaginal rejuvenation surgery should be part of the divorce settlement. Be like, “You broke my heart. Fine. But my pussy you have to fix.”

Gray: That could pass here in California. You may be onto something.

Me: Damn straight. Shit. They ruin our tits with pregnancy and nursing. You don’t wanna pay alimony forever? Tack the girls back up where they belong and turn this hallway of a pussy back into a straw. Level the damn playing field a LITTLE.

Gray: That is the funniest thing I have ever heard. Ever.

Me: My brain is all sorts of fucked up, girl. And I know what you find funny, so it’s easy. Mostly it’s the same shit I find funny, because you’re awesome. Obviously. I don’t hang with non-awesome women. They’re intimidated my awesomeness, and they get all clingy and offended by my cursing. I’m like, “You have given birth, woman. And you think some f-bombs are going to scar you?”

Gray: Omg! You are seriously awesome and so fucking funny.

For Gray. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, you e-card demanding bitch who’s never had a man not help her finish first.

Me: Please. Come see my vagina if you want to see scars. C-sections do not make for good vajazzling canvases. As if it’s not enough to wax it, now it has to fucking sparkle?!? I’m not a vampire.

Gray: Dying. I’m dying.

Me: If a man needs your pussy to sparkle to be into it, he’s gay. Duh.

Gray: Where do you get this shit?

Me: This is my stream of consciousness. Something is fundamentally wrong with me.

Gray: Yeah, but we’ll make BANK on the tee-shirts.

Me: What’s this “we” business?

 

Well, that sucks.

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Hey, y’all. I know, I know. WTF have I been up to that I haven’t written. Well, the truth is, I have a pretty fucking crazy life at the moment, and it’s even crazier than usual, and not in a good way. Not in the “I’m too busy having crazyass sex every night to sit up and blog for you people,” way. More like the, “I’m too busy working my ass off and taking care of my minions while moving and dealing with a bunch of family crap,” way. So, you know, fun.

And now it’s summer vacation, and with the minions off school for the next year and a half (well, it FEELS like summer lasts that long!), I just don’t know how much blogging I’ll be doing. But, you awesome web dwellers, you deserve more than to have me vanish into the ether, so here’s an little snapshot of Cathy’s World at the moment.

Rest In Peace, Mr. Coffee. Praised Be.

I’m still “seeing” Northman virtually. Things have cooled off between us a bit. I think the novelty has kind of worn off. We’re close. We’re good friends. We have rockin’ Skype sex. He’s funny (not as funny as I am, but you know, nobody’s perfect). We have a solid connection and good chemistry. But the fact is, he’s there and I’m here, and even though we still plan to get together later this year, I’m not so sure it’ll be the fuckfest we had initially planned. Above and beyond all else, we want each other to be happy, and so I’m happy for him that he’s been dating someone who actually lives a car ride (and not a plane ride) away. I’m not even jealous or envious. I love him. I want him to find happiness, even if that means I never get to sleep with him. Although sleeping with him — and let me be clear, I mean fucking him — would be awesome. 

Jerry is still around here and there. He’s still kind of a douche canoe sometimes — so cocky — but he’s also a good guy who’s fun to hang out with. Work is busy with clients both interesting and boring as dirt. My minions are little Fonzies. Coolest fucking people you’ll ever meet, but without the leather jackets. Mr. Coffee died and was reincarnated at Target in a stainless steel body. Penny is up to her usual chicanery, always calling because she’s stunned at the idiocy and inefficiency of the average American only to have me remind her that she’s just so much smarter than average that what seems like common sense to her is Advanced Calculus to a person with a 100-point IQ. She hasn’t made me laugh into tears lately, or you’d have heard about it. But it won’t be long.

Oh, and I did read the new Sookie book, and I thought it fucking sucked. But I’ll live because the new season of True Blood starts in four days. Sookie better get some Northman sex. I mean, Sweet Jesus in Birks. At least one of us should.

A Love Letter From Cathy and Northman

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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

He’s Effin’ Northman!

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Oh, web dwellers. Your time has come. About a week ago, requests for a post from Northman reached an all-time high. You made yourselves heard, loud and clear: “Let the man speak.” I told Northman what you’d asked, and, I’m rather excited to report, Northman agreed to do it. We talked about it for a while, and he asked me, “What should I write about?” I said, “You’re effin’ Northman. You can write whatever the heck you want!” which cracked him up because, believe it or not, he does read the Facebook page, so he’d seen the rounds of, “Effin’ Northman!!” posts lately and been pretty amused by them. He replied, “You’re right! I AM effin’ Northman!” which had us both in hysterics because, hard as it may be to imagine, while I do refer to him here as “Northman,” it started out, as you may recall, as a blog nickname. It’s not really something I call him in conversation on a regular basis. So, the moniker is growing on him. He likes it, and he thinks y’all are fucking fantastic, and so do I.

He's effin' Northman!! (You need this keychain. You know you do.)

So Northman took a few days to think about what to write for you, and we spoke about it a few times. He bounced some ideas off of me, sending me text to review and taking my feedback under consideration. It was a lot of fun collaborating on a project, and I woke up this morning to his final draft waiting in my inbox. It’ll go live this evening. Why the delay? Because this is not something you want to read at work. Or when your kids are around. Or on your mobile device at the damn grocery store. No, this one needs your full attention. So, tonight, pour yourself a glass of whatevermakesyouhappy, and sit down to enjoy this one. Better yet, read it with your partner. You’ll be glad you did. 

In other news, after we finished reviewing his latest blog draft last night, Northman and I had a chance to hang out. We’ve both been uncommonly busy lately, so we hadn’t had a chance to Skype for nearly a week. I was not entirely, nor unpleasantly, surprised to find that I missed him tremendously, a fact that hit me even harder when I saw his broad grin flash across my screen. I’ve gotten quite accustomed to seeing Northman every day or two, and to talking on the phone or texting a bit each day as well. Perhaps I’ve gotten a little spoiled, even, because a week really isn’t that long, and we did have at least some text contact every day. But not seeing him, not having some time that was just us, it made me feel quite vulnerable and a bit insecure, two feelings I have very little experience with.

I had to stop and think about it for a minute before articulating this strange sensation to him. I’d missed him, and I was more than a little pleased to hear him say he’d missed me as well, but I still felt oddly inhibited about sharing these other feelings. It took me a minute. And then I explained, as much to myself as to him, that the vulnerability and insecurity I’d been feeling stemmed from the fact that I actually give a shit about seeing him. I care about him, and he’s tremendously important to me, so not seeing him for a week made me feel lonely and disconnected from him. It made me wonder how he was feeling about me, even though he hadn’t said or done anything to indicate that his feelings about me had changed. I realized, as I spoke the words, that it had been a very long time since I’d really cared what anyone thought or felt about me, since it had truly mattered to me, deep down, whether I mattered to someone the way Northman matters to me. I couldn’t sum it up any better than this, so I simply told him, “I adore you,” and, to my soul’s delight, he said it back.

Tune in tonight, web dwellers. You don’t want to miss this next one…

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

The Monthly Wrap Up And Some Random Crap

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Greetings, web dwellers! Well, we’ve been together for three months now, and I’ve managed to somehow get people to click on the site over 4,000 times, so I guess the blog doesn’t completely suck, and I’ll stick with it another month. After all, this month we instituted the Pink Moustache Award, and who doesn’t want more of THAT awesomeness?

So, what did I get you on this momentous occasion? Well, I thought today you might like a little sneak peek into the inner workings of Confessions of A Sexy Mom. So, for your viewing (dis)pleasure, here’s a little snapshot of the shit I see every day but you usually don’t: My site stats. More specifically, this is a list of search terms people have used that have landed them here on the Sexy Mom blog. As you would expect, it’s fairly fucked up.

What. The... What??!?

*For those of you wearing reading glasses that still aren’t cutting it, click the image. It’ll open in a second window. Click that, and it should enlarge. If only all things enlarged with a few clicks. *Sigh*

 

Believe it or not, that list goes on for another half a page but it got boring so I cropped it. If I learned anything from this little stat-reviewing experiment, it’s this: Most people who get here via web search get here basically by accident. Which is pretty much how I ended up here. So I guess it makes sense. How did you find the blog?

Thanks for a great month! Please make sure you’re following the blog on Facebook and/or Twitter by clicking the links to the right! 🙂

 

 

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

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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 —>