Tag Archives: True Blood

I Am A Total Douche Canoe.

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In the last 48 hours, I’ve gotten five messages from readers who fall into two categories:

A) Girlfriend: Where the fuck are you? Are you shacked up with Northman and having too much freaky sex to write? If so, yay for you, but you’re a douche canoe for not telling us ALL about it.

B) Mom: Where on God’s green earth are you? Are you ok? Is Northman ok? Are y’all having a spat? Did something happen with your little ones? Did your computer get the virus? You know I know how the computers do that with the Google and whatnot especially with all those dirty pictures you post. Now, whatever it is, you don’t have to write about it, but let us know you’re not lying dead in a ditch somewhere without clean panties or a sweater on for heaven’s sake.

So, first, thanks, y’all. Thanks for worrying about me even if it makes me feel like a total douche canoe for worrying you. And thanks for writing in, which was completely the kick my sorry ass needed to get in gear and explain myself. Here’s the Siri.

(I don’t think we can call it “Here’s the 411,” anymore. Now you go, “Hey, Siri, what the number for the sex store on 4th Ave?” and she goes, “You slut. It’s in your contacts list.” So, “Here’s the Siri,” is way more 21st century than, “Here’s the 411,” and you know I’m aaaall about being up with the times, yo.)

Alright. So, when last we met, I wrote y’all some erotic fiction. Ok, that’s crap. I wrote y’all some smutty porn fabulousness and it was damn awesome and led to some seriously naughty conversations with Northman, so even if you hated it, I fucking loved it, and it’s my blog, so yay for me. After that, I was just waiting for some inspiration because you know, I don’t just write about nothing. I mean, I write about my seriously crazy life and all the weird crap that happens in it. Usually, so much weird crap happens that I have plenty to choose from and I share about a fifth of it with you. But for some reason, early last month, nothing happened. I mean NOTHING.

Nothing funny happened, so I didn’t have any “Donkey Vagina” stories to share. And Northman and I were out of sync for around a week, so there was nothing on that front. Which sucked. Even the douche canoe next door with his fucking motorcycle was oddly quiet. And y’all don’t read my blog for deep introspection, so yeah, I had pretty much nothing to tell you.

After about a week, I sat down and tried to make myself think of something to write for y’all, and I had nothing. Nada. Zero. I started several new drafts and just, yeah, fucking nothing. Writer’s Block. 

So I decided to give it a rest. Here’s where I fucked up. I should have sent out a notice: Hey, web dwellers. I’m not dead. I’m just taking a little sabbatical. Only I’m not getting paid for it like professors do, but then again I don’t get paid for writing my blog, so I guess it only makes sense that I don’t get paid to not write my blog either.

I fully admit to being Cathy: The Asshat Captain of the USS Douche Canoe for the last month.

But I didn’t send out a notice, and so I’m a douche canoe. And I’m sorry. Let’s hug it out, bitches. 

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((Yeah, I’m sending you a cheesy cyber hug. No copping a feel. Actually, go ahead. I’ll take what I can get these days.))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Alright. We good? Sweet. So here’s the rundown on your favorite characters who are actual people in my life: 

  1. Northman (obviously): Northman is in my good graces like you would not fucking believe. If my good graces were chocolate, he’d be covered in it like some kind of human Twix bar or something. This analogy is lame, but it also works because you know, licking…biting….yum. Fuck, I’m out of blogging practice.
  2. Jerry (when did we last talk about him?): He’s around. He’s like … well, fuck, y’all. He’s just not that important to me. Don’t know why I made him #2 on the list except that sometimes I think he’s full of #2, which is why he’s not that fucking important.
  3. Penny: Penny. Penny. Penny. What can I say about Penny? (Yes, I did that on purpose, BBT fans.) Penny’s life is so hilarious that I WISH she would write a blog, only she’s a terrible writer, so it would have to be more like a podcast of our conversations so y’all could get some remote clue as to how flippin’ hilarious her life gets. But in the immediate: She’s fine.
  4. My minions (who are always number one on any list except this one because I don’t write about them much): Fucking awesome. 

So, ok, web dwellers. That’s the scoop. I’m off to worship Mr. Coffee a bit. Also, fucking, hello?!!? True Blood comes back on the air in JUNE and there’s a new Sookie “Bad Decisions” Stackhouse book out this week. When I have time to read it, I will tell you what kind of idiotic things she does this time. Also, my favorite blogger, The Bloggess, released a book, web dwellers. And if you don’t read it, I won’t be your friend anymore.

 

A Little Rambling And A Lot of Sexy

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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?

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, I Am Pissed.

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

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

 

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

 

 

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

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

 

 

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

 

Helllloooooo, Mister Harper.

 

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

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

 

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

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?

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

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

I finished a big work project last week, sent it off to the client before the MassiveRushNeedThisNowOrTheWorldWillEnd deadline, and got an email 48 hours later that read, “Thanks. I’ll take a look at that when I have time this weekend.” In other news, I posted a funny blog article (funnier than my stuff, so I won’t post it here because then you’ll leave) on Facebook and got 17 “likes” and 22 comments in an hour. End result: Work Headache and Blog-Gasm. Guess which one I feel like having today?

Right. But I haven’t seen anything that funny yet today, so I guess I’ll have to write my own funny crap so I can post it to Facebook and enjoy the ensuing load of gasm-ry. And I better enjoy it because it’s likely the only interactive form of “gasm” I’ll be having today. Damn, I really need to get laid.

This is the part that sucks about being a single mom: lack of sex. To be fair, in my case, it was also part of what sucked about my marriage. But now it’s different because I can freely go out and get my gasm on, but I’m so fucking busy and tired from being a single mom that I don’t have the energy or time to do it. That’s what works about my “relationships” with Mr. Northman and Jerry. They’re, as my buddy Sheldon puts it, G.U.D: Geographically Undesirable. In other words, they live too far away to have a nooner, but close enough that the idea of meeting up when I have a free weekend isn’t out of consideration. But the honest truth of the matter is that having them be G.U.D is actually GOOD for me, because I do have time to sext a little during the day, and I do have time here and there for a naughty Skype, but I don’t have time to actually date.

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

Sheldon still has a point, though. Eventually, I’ve got to either move or move on. And I’m not moving my minions for a guy. Seriously. It’s just that with an online relationship, my naughty bedfellows are ubiquitous. They’re wherever I am, texting me during the day and remaining present in my life even when I’m just doing my part to keep Target in business. If I were to get involved with a local guy enough to have that kind of constant connection, there’d be dating and overnights and the question of when to introduce him to the minions. And the truth is, I’m not ready for that. 

What I am ready for is what happened the other night. I was sexting with Mr. Northman, and we were both getting pretty, um, involved in the process, alone in our respective bedrooms. And suddenly, my text screen went “bloop!” and lo and behold, there was a photo of um… well, let’s just call him Quinn. Let’s just say Quinn is a really, really close, well-built friend of Mr. Northman’s with excellent posture.

So, there’s Quinn on my screen, standing at attention. I thought my phone was going to burst into flames, this picture was so hot. I promptly dropped the phone because, well, figure it out, people. So I recovered myself a bit, picked up the phone, and responded, only to have Northman follow up with a video. A freaking video, web dwellers. With Quinn in the starring role and Northman’s growly voice in the background. I had to look down to make sure I hadn’t spontaneously combusted from watching this thing. Nope, no flames. All good.

So I watched it again.

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

You know that episode of The Brady Bunch when Marcia meets THE Davy Jones, and he kisses her cheek, and she vows never to wash her cheek again? I will never, ever, delete this video. Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Marcia’s line, but then again, Davy Jones wasn’t naked in that episode, as far as I can remember. So there. I fucking WIN, Marcia.

Share away, web dwellers. Bring on the blog-gasms. 

As usual, remember to comment here ↓ and both “like” me on Facebook and “follow” Confessions of a Sexy Mom here →. Thanks for being my very own social media campaigners. It gives me my own little blog-gasm (that one’s for you, Nicole S. and Rebecca Z.! Y’all are my Blarfengars! (Did I do that right?!). See, people? When you post on my FB wall, you get shout-outs on the blog. Now those gals are famous and people know they read this dirty crap. Even if I still don’t know what a Blarfengar is supposed to be.

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

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I’ve been trying to write some kind of inspiring New Year’s Resolution post for you people, and I gotta say, I suck at that. The truth is, I think New Year’s Resolutions are kind of pointless and stupid. They set us up for failure:

  • Go to the gym every week.
    • What if you get sick? What if the gym burns down?
  • Lose two pounds a week.
    • So you bust your ass at the gym [after it’s rebuilt from the fire] but you also have PMS, so you gain a pound and feel like a failure?
  • Quit drinking, smoking, double parking, letting your dog crap on the neighbor’s grass, dropping acid, or returning library books late.
    • Yeah, because any of these are feasible.

New Year’s Resolutions are just lame, and they feel kind of arbitrary. You eat two (boxes of) doughnut holes and smoke one cigarette, and suddenly your whole year is a waste? By January 2nd? Fuck that.

I’m more for setting New Year’s GOALS. This makes me a lot happier, and we all know I’m all about HAPPY. So here are some of my goals for 2012. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you’re planning to do this year, and yeah, smartasses, go ahead and tell me what you think I should do, too, unless it involves finding Jesus, because I seriously only found my own G-spot like two years ago and I can’t even find all the pieces to the toys my minions just got over the holidays, much less a whole person, so the odds of me getting in on that are pretty fucking slim.

Goal Numero Uno: Fuck Mr. Northman. Yes, in the good way. Oh, yeah. This is a goal I can get behind. Or in front of. Or on top of. Or, you know, inverted with. Or, or…wait…wait…um, what was I saying?

Have you still not rented Dogma? Get with it, web dwellers!

Second Goal: Blog a lot. This one is easy as doughnut holes. I dig blogging. Apparently some people dig reading it. A whole lotta diggin’ and I get to curse in cyber-public. Rock on. I’m on it like Birks on Buddy Christ.

#3: Be nicer to myself. Ok, this one’s a bit closer to a resolution because if I fuck up and I’m mean to myself then I feel like a failure, and then I beat myself up for it, and then I’m being mean to myself some more, and then I’m pissed. So I gotta spell this one out goal-style: Being nicer to myself does not mean never engaging in self-bitchery. It means, “work on that.” It means, “Try hard not to say shit to yourself that you’d punch other people in the nads for saying to you.”

Quatro: Watch every episode of True Blood when Season 5 comes out because there has got to be some Eric Northman sex in there somewhere and I vow to see it. On DVR. So I can rewind and stuff. Every list has to have a “gimme.”

And Then There Were Five: As much as possible, do your best to be, feel, speak, work, listen, love, live, sleep, parent, try, dream, do, have, lust, eat, and laugh better.

The deliciously fucked up mind behind True Blood

Well, shit. I just realized I could have skipped 1 through 4 because #5 pretty much sums it up, but then you’d have had less to read, and I’m all about customer service here, web dwellers.

Bonus point of the day: Did you know men frequently experience wrist and forearm sprains from over-jacking? And I don’t mean working on cars, people. I swear to Alan Ball, I hurt my thumb preventing kid #2 from hurting a lot more than a thumb, and I was telling Mr. Northman we needed to video chat instead of typing because my thumb hurt, when he said, “What? Did you hurt it masturbating?” My initial reaction was something like, “What is the fucking matter with you?” but I swear, the man let me in on some kind of man-code-protected secret and told me that he knows at least three guys who’ve had wrist or hand sprains in the past year from spending too much time…at mechanic school.

You need to be watching The Big Bang Theory. That's no bazinga.

So, informal survey here, web dwellers. Is he just coitusing with me here? Is this a bazinga moment, or are men that stupid? I’m serious, people. If that’s true, I am definitely good to go on my Second Goal, because that’s good for at least four posts right there.

Remember to “like” Confessions of A Sexy Mom on Facebook. It makes me feel good. Also, you might win a new particle accelerator if you “follow” my blog. Bazinga!