Tag Archives: Sweet Jesus In Birks

A List of Shit That Pisses Me Off

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It’s been a while since we had ourselves a good, long rant here on the blog, and I think it’s about time to rectify that. So here’s my list of shit that pisses me off. Notice that it’s not “Shit that’s pissing me off today.” No, this is a list of all the things that are constantly pissing me off, and it’s not in any particular order or level of severity. It’s just in the order that I thought of it. Lazy, I know.

  • This is my new word of the week.

    Facebook: Facebook is pissing me off a LOT. WTF, Facebook? I post to my page “fans” and only 15% of them get to see the post? WTF kind of lamesauce are you asshats cooking up over there? This means business/blog/professional pages will just overpost to compensate, and ultimately that will piss off standard Facebook users. Duh. What, you go public and now it’s time to piss everyone off? Because if that’s the goal, well played, douche canoes. Well played.

  • Facebook users: Facebook users who can’t take the time to type properly or, apparently, the time to take a fucking English class despite having been born in this country and having spoken and written English their entire lives, piss me off. You know, maybe I should just stay off Facebook. It’s not helping my stress level. But seriously, who are these buttmunches? They post shit like, “i am so shur they’re not even lisining to what your saying u shoud definately say sumthing its ridikulus.” The grammar and spelling (and lack thereof) are bad enough to keep me up at night. It is damn near fucking impossible for me to read a single page of updates without having the skin-crawling heebie-boo-jeebies as I imagine a whole generation of text-speaking illiterates attempting to run our country as they submit new legislation to Congress called the “Billz of online Rites LOL.” May Mr. Coffee help us all.
  • Women who say “hubby” all the time: Seriously? WTF, ladies? He’s your husband, not your “hubby.” Does he call you his “wifey?” Because let me fucking tell you, if he DOES, you should A) Keep that crap to yourselves and B) Stop it. Stop it right fucking now. You’re annoying the crap out of EVERYONE. If you don’t care, then rock on with your annoyingness. If you do care, you’re fucking welcome for the smack upside your figurative head.
  • Or at least hide you from his newsfeed. I sure did.

    More Facebook users:People who post nothing to Facebook except a constantly updated stream that is basically an unfathomably long progression of variations of the exact same thing:

    • People who post hourly scripture passages, reminders to people of how blessed they are because Jesus loves them, and calls to lift up entire families in prayer annoy me. Yes, I’m happy for you that you have something that makes you happy and helps you make sense of the world. I’m sure your constant Facebooking while you ignore your kids/job/pets is definitely earning you all sorts of metaphysical brownie points with Jesus who will save you a good seat on the fast track express bus to the good neighborhood in Heaven.
    • People who use Facebook for their passive-aggressive and/or co-dependent thinly veiled cries for help. You need help? Fucking ask for it. Don’t post shit like, “Throwing in the towel. Can’t take this any more. Bye,” or “What’s the point? Unbelievable.” This is both uncomfortable and annoying. You need help, ask. You don’t, then just fucking say whatever it is you’re trying to get people to ask about before you’ll say it and skip the middleman. Basic economics, asshats.
    • People who post nothing but pictures of their dogs, kids, or food: cut that shit out. Occasional pics of any of the three are interesting. A running diary of any of the three is not. Also, once the food is mostly EATEN, fucking stop taking pictures of it, weirdos.
  • Even more Facebook users:
    • People who just post idiotic images they think are funny but really aren’t, if only because the same images have been around for so fucking long that these people just look even more idiotic for posting some thing so old and thinking it’s incredibly original.
    • People who repost shit that Snopes can tell you is BS in about 2.4 seconds.
    • People who “like” EVERYTHING you do on Facebook. Everything. “I was late for my meeting this morning after Janie spilled chocolate milk all over my silk blouse right as I was walking out the door and then Joey puked in my hair.” {LIKE!} Fuck you.

What the fuck am I doing on Facebook? Apparently it just annoys the shit out of me.

And then, there are some other people I find as annoying as forks in the spoon section of the silverware drawer, but I deleted that part because this was getting too long and the part I deleted wasn’t funny enough to merit a damn online novel. You’re welcome.

You know, that’s still a long fucking list and it did not take me long to think of it. That’s a lotta pissed off for someone who’s still in her jammies. Sweet Jesus in Birks. I really do need to get laid.

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 —>