Celebrate Two Years, C’mon!


This is a CBXB celebration!


Cel-e-brate good times, come on! Let’s celebrate.

Image 18

There’s a party goin’ on right here,

Cowboys and Crossbones has been blogging for two fabulous years.


 So bring your good times, and your laughter too,

Who me, loud?

I’m gonna celebrate and take Jell-O shots with you.

Whipped Cream

Come on now…


Let’s all celebrate and dance for good times.

 Good Time


We gonna celebrate and be fed food all night long.

 Feed Me

It’s time to come together

It’s up to you, what’s your dancin’ pleasure?


Everyone around the world

Come on!


Cel-e-brate good times, come on!

This calls for cake, it’s all right.

 Want Some?

Cel-e-brate good times come on!

Skinny Pirates for everyone!

CBXB as Captain.

We’re gonna have a good time tonight

Let’s double fist, it’s all right.


We’re gonna have a good time tonight

Dress Teddy up,

Mr. Ted E. Bear with his Christmas flair.

Then get him drunk.


Oh Baby…

We’re gonna have a good time tonight (Cel-e-bra-tion)
Lose a shoe, it’s all right.

Red Solo Cups are so chic - only in Miami.

We’re gonna have a good time tonight (Cel-e-bra-tion)
Drink all this,

oh boy

Look like shit.

Look Like Shit


Two whole years of good times, come on! (Let’s celebrate)

Bend it like Beckham a crazy dame.

Writing this blog is so damn fun, come on, stay tuned for more!
It’s a celebration!

Automatic dance party.

Celebrate with me and the pussies for another year strong! (Let’s celebrate)


We’re gonna have a good time tonight, all of my readers, you’re outta sight!

Ted loving Ted

We’re gonna have a good time tonight, cheers to this year, it’s been dynamite!

Kiss my ass 2013!

See you all here again next year, we’ll celebrate, my blogging year three.


Everyone around the world, come on!




The Importance of an Aqua Bar

Oh how I love a cocktail cooler (with cup holders!) that floats. It especially comes in handy after eight a few too many incapacitates my swimming/floating/thinking capabilities.

Floating FAIL.

Floating FAIL demonstrated by yours truly.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve loved being on the water. I was born with boat driving skills (even if I only ever ‘guided’ a boat around a seven foot circle at amusement parks) and took practicing with extreme seriousness.


Future Captain – in more ways than one.

Still cruisin'

Still putting my Captain abilities to use today.

Proving to be a skillful guider of boats, I also learned how to kick the shit out of some water as a kid.

You'd think my kicking abilityes would spill over...

Mesmerized by my own abilities in the rainbow suit.

You’d think my retention of how to stay afloat wouldn’t be so difficult for a water lover. But it turns out that my love of Skinny Pirates has killed a few of my brain cells. As my fam tried to take a Christmas card picture while in the Lake of the Ozarks one year crowded around our aqua bar (we know, we know, we are beyond classy taking a photo of our lake shenanigans to share with every single loved one on the planet), I inadvertently tried to drown myself.


Merry Christmas.

Posing for more than two seconds turned out to be a feat I couldn’t master. While I suddenly thought it was a good idea to find the bottom of the murky water with my head, my sister decided to save my drink rather than me (she’s a hero in my book), my mom couldn’t stop belly laughing and my dad just acted down right confused while hoarding the floating device containing our ice and booze.


My overly concerned family tries desperately to rescue me.

Luckily for me I was able to save my own ass, got my act together and learned how to cling to the beloved aqua bar for dear life from that moment on when day drinking in the lake.

Hanging on with bar, noodle and aqua saddle.

Buoyant by way of inflatable bar, aqua noodle, saddle and my mother’s ample chest.

I’ve also learned that I can strategically wrap myself around a noddle while giving my fave bar some face time.

Lay 'n' go

Trying to exert the least amount of energy while soaking up the most amount of sun. *please note my sister’s ability to back float while keeping her beer safe*

Either way, I thank my lucky stars for this trashtacular invention.

Now go get your own aqua bar. It could save your life.



Weekend Winks – Regally Southern Style

My lingering cold from last week turned into a fever, aches and a sore throat accompanied by a lovely cough that sounds as if I’ve been smoking since birth (and I don’t smoke). Missing the tail end of the work week, I slept about 40 of the 48 hours in my absence from my job.

Luckily, I had a feline tag team that took turns keeping me company on the couch, while insisting I flip from time to time alleviating the appearance of any bed sores.

I'm sick of this shit.

Ted, waaaay over this caretaker shit.

Whiska kisses

New Cat relishing his new role.

But by the start of the weekend, both decided they’d had enough.

NO thanks.

You’re still sick? Sucks to be you.

Turns out my insane adoration of cats is being passed down to my niece, Princess B. She’s never found far away from her new little stuffed love.

Cray Cray Cat lady in the making.

Cray cray cat lady in the making.

Princess B is so enamored with cats that she’s taught herself how to lick a peppermint like a feline.

Can even lick a peppermint like a kitty.

Auntie CBXB’s heart bursts with pride.

Meanwhile her stud of a twin, Prince B, is able to blow kisses with not one but two hands.

Double fisting kisses.

Double fisting kisses.

I know, I know, we have baby geniuses in our family.

While running a quick errand I came across an old summertime standard – a lemonade stand that simply begged for me to make a purchase.

Summertime staple

With proceeds going to charity, how could I resist two glasses?

What do you do when life hands you lemonade?

Add moonshine, naturally.

Add white whiskey of course!

Just what the doctor ordered.

With a little help from my ‘shine, I traipsed up to the pool in my Tory flops on Sunday.

Me and my Torys soaking up the sun.

Me and Ms. Burch soaking up the sun.

Soaking up some other fumes

While also soaking up some other fumes.

As the pool people came out in droves, I was lucky enough to have this gaggle of girls sit next to me and fill my afternoon with entertainment. Turns out I have go-go Gadget hearing (because my eyesight fails me so) and heard a discussion in regard to all things baby, as one of the gals was pregnant. Being that I couldn’t tell, and the soon-to-be mama was wearing a skimpy two piece, I’m guessing she was 26 days along.

99 problems and these chicks are all of them.

Southern bathing beauties.

The topic of their non-stop, four hour conversation was baby names. When asked what the preggo lady planned to name her unborn offspring, she said,

“I want something regal or deep Southern. Or Southernly regal.”

I could hardly wait to hear what the fuck kind of name was Southern AND regal (is that even possible?).

So in between turns on this lovely camouflaged float, they shouted names back and forth the rest of the day.


Throne fit for something sorta kinda regal…

“What about Rebel? Or wait – Charlie Daniel? Shit! Noooo – what about Jack Daniel? Oh but Bentley is so pretty.”

And while they hemmed and hawed over the suggestions, one of the gals on the float hollered – “I know – TATER!” All of the talking ceased immediately which was followed by ooohs and ahhhs.  Mom could hardly wait to share the news with Baby Daddy (not boyfriend as she kept correctly every gal pal who suggested such a travesty).

Can’t wait to see baby Tater at the pool next summer.

Exhausted from eavesdropping and laying in chlorine all day, I took my ass back to the mini manse where I finally had an appetite again. So I made the most unhealthiest of salads possible.

Not the healthiest salad.

Blue cheese, turkey bacon, eggs and tomatoes…not the skinniest salad ever.

The weekend drew to a close as New Cat staked his claim in the not at all highly sought after brown paper sack bed.

Lay on it...

Is there anything more soft and cozy than coarse paper?

Wanting nothing to do with non-comfortable beds, Ted snoozed on the couch as I tried to squeeze in behind him.

Snuggled to death. Or back to health, hopefully....

You can see how concerned he is over my health.

Damn cat being all regal and Southern at the same time.






The Wapatoolie

You know the old saying ,”the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together?”

Oh you’re not familiar? Allow me to explain…

Our first Wapatoolie.

My dad and me sharing our first Wapatoolie. How sweet.

Every summer, my family tends to meet up at the Lake of the Ozarks and act like misfits from the Griswold family.

Heathens at their finest.

Heathens at their finest.

It was at the Ozarks where yet another one of our classy family traditions (which also include Jell-O and moonshine shots) was born.  Allow me to introduce you to…

The Wapatoolie


Looking just as refreshing as lake water, I know.

According to family legend (which was told by my dad, who is known for streeeeeeeeetching out a story or two), the Wapatoolie was first introduced to him and his twin (yes, there is a replica of my father….a story for another day) while at a college party with the Wisconsin football team.

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2 sharing the same farmer’s tan.

As the story goes, a party was unfolding where the two twins above were innocent bystanders.  With zero prodding, my dad boasted that he bravely took a shot of a Wapatoolie (ingredients consist of whatever the hell is in your bar at the time). Hand to Jesus, I swear I could see his chest puffing up with each oooh and ahhh he received from the Band of Griswold Misfits.

The story ended with a quote only a college football legend (again, a story for another day) could utter….”The Badgers started it but it took a Hawkeye to refine it.”

No shit.

Recipe for tastiness.

Definitely not from a college kid’s bar but a recipe for tastiness nonetheless.

Before the last syllable of the tall tale could be sputtered, us cousins were extremely busy at work mixing a Wapatoolie for the bullshitter storyteller.

Mix masters.

Mix Masters.

Down the hatch.

Tequila, bourbon, whiskey, white and spiced rum, margarita mix, vodka and gin topped with a dash of creamy Bailey’s…


Feels so good when it hits the lips.

The following evening, my cousins (all of whom are male on this side of the family, which probably just explained everything you needed to know) decided if their stud of an uncle could stomach a Wapatoolie, they could too.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The rest of us gleefully skipped to the bar to concoct the next round of poison potion.

Back to the mixing board.

Back to the mixing board.

Tough Guys...

Tough guys in the beginning…

Not so tough

….not so tough the first round…

or second round...first you don't succeed? Try, try again. Shoot, shoot again.

…or round two the following year…

And just like that, from one year to the next, the timeless, trashy tradition of the Wapatoolie was born.

Now, we extend the pleasure of this shot to anyone who dares to hang with our family…

Just get engaged to one of my male cousins?  A Wapatoolie for you!

First time to party with us at the Lake of the Ozarks?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Want to date my sister?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Think you can hang with us during football season?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Oh and for those of you who don’t drink liquor of any kind, we can mix a non-alcoholic version for you. Don’t worry.

Think you can hang with me and my dad?

So you wanna hang with us? You sure?

C'mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something...

C’mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something…


Your personal rite of passage into CBXB’s clan.

And if you’re too chicken shit, we understand and will be happy to cocktail with you anyway.

Until then...

Equal opportunity drinkers.

Just remember, the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together.




Princess and the Pea

My entire adult life, I have slept on a double (what I lovingly call a big girl bed) pillow top mattress that might as well be 402 years old. So soft and snuggly, it hugged my entire body whenever I flopped on it and the last few years has resembled a taco due to the large dip in the middle.

Princess and the dreaded pea.

Queen CBXB with a princess problem.

Being in love with my big girl bed, I couldn’t stand the thought of upgrading to an adult cradle with ample room for my ass and two cats until one was offered to me free of charge.

A queen for a Queen.

A queen for a Queen.

Purchased two years ago and barely used as a guest bed, I jumped at the chance to upgrade figuring if I didn’t, I would be glued to my double sized mattress for the next 40 decades (I love what I love and hate parting ways).


De-virginizing my adult bed.

Much to this queen’s dismay, my new bed is extra, extra, extra firm and after being hugged by the fluffiness of a pillow top mattress for as many years as I can remember, my slumber equaled that of an insomniac.

What. the. fuck.

What. the. fuck.

Not only was my sleep tank well below empty, my back and body ached. While my figure is more Jennifer Lopez than Gwyneth Paltrow, I concluded only skinny people with no hips or curves love a firm mattress, as it felt I had slept on a 2 x 4 board at a construction site.

Flat as a pancake, stiff as a board.

The very flat bane of my curvy existence.

Giving my new mattress a few more evenings to adjust, I simply became bitchier and bitcher the less sleep consumed.  Being that I received this mattress free of charge, I splurged on a pillow top mattress pad in order to avoid morphing into a character from a horror movie.

Surely this beyond expensive genius creation would solve my sleepless nights.

Fluffy for the fluff.

Fluffy as feathers.

Flinging my body on the pseudo pillow top, I thought my sleepless in Nashville struggles were ending.

All is right in my kingdom.

First world problems solved.

Turns out, three inches of squishy fabric didn’t cut it.


Still negative on the zzzz’s.

Every flip, flop, twist and turn was met with bit more comfort but it still felt as if there was a steel pea situating itself in between my spine and the rest of my body.

Mother fucking pea.

Who knew a mother fucking pea could cause so much misery?

Looking like a cast member of The Walking Dead, I once again shuffled down the aisles of Target looking for a solution to my sleepless problem with tears of longing for my old double bed forming in my eyes.

What have I done?! Messing with my precious sleep for a few more inches of much-needed space in order to justify being a grown up?! I want taco bed back!

Then, my bloodshot gaze fell upon my last line of defense…

Big Boy.

A memory foam mattress topper.

Inserting the cushy topper in between the stiff bed and my fluffy mattress cover, I now had a cushy six inches between my hips and the despised queen mattress.

Another layer of ooey gooey goodness.

Another layer of ooey gooey goodness added to the mix.

Anxiously crossing my fingers, toes, legs (and anything else I could think of), this queen was hoping for endless hours of required beauty rest.

I wish I may, I wish I might, have a solid sleep tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might, have a solid sleep tonight.

Turns out that I’m not only six degrees from Kevin Bacon but six is also the number of inches required to pad my curves for a royal night’s sleep.


Six is the lucky number!

Problem being solved is a fabulous thing but if I’d simply saved the money spent trying to mirror my old bed, I’d quite possibly be the owner of a brand new pillow top queen mattress.

It’s hard being blonde.

Kiss off

A pea fit for a royal museum.

No more princess and the pea for me -


Beauty sleep score!

I can now go back to being the Queen I’m meant to be!



Weekend Winks – Summertime Blues

Summer sniffles and sneezes found their way into CBXB’s mini manse this weekend…

1,402,734th sneeze of Friday night.

1,402,734th achoo of Friday night.

Thinking that I was going to beat the snot out of a cold before it got the best of me, I turned to my old friend, vino.

A little whine for the whiny.

A glass of wine a day keeps summer colds at bay. Right?


It turns out that gigantic glasses of wine do not thwart off watery eyes, itchy, drippy noses or soothe your vocal chords that now sound like you’ve been smoking cigarettes since gracing the world with your presence.

Crusty face

Rising but not shining.

Ted and New Cat were so concerned with my minor condition that they laid on the porch all day long.

I. don't. care.

Oh you don’t feel well? We don’t give a rat’s ass.

Leaving my empathetic felines behind, I tried jogging the cold away. Until I started up the first hill of the course and turned into what felt like a two ton puppy with the drippiest nose in all of Nashville.

Panting like a two ton puppy in the Tennessee heat. Made my nose run more. Runny nose running

Runny run.

While attempting to chase my summertime blues away, the twins were mauling my mom who is always hands on when she visits Iowa.

Twin wrangler.

Twin wrangler.

Prince B received his first hair cut with the bribe of a sucker.

Getting the hair did with the bribe of a sucker.

A little sucker for sweets.

Being that Prince B not only got to visit a stylist first AND got candy, Princess B went shopping and got a haul that makes Auntie CBXB’s heart pitter patter.

Little CBXB in the making

Skulls, cats and studs? A little CBXB in the making, my friends!

Wallowing in my whiny self-pity, Ted stonewalled me when I asked him to pay me some kindness.

Shut the fuck up.

Again with this sickness nonsense? Shut the fuck up.

I turned to a cinnamon shot Saturday night, hoping to ease my scratchy throat.

Grandpa's cough syrup

Grandpa’s cough syrup on double time.

Even Cameron Diaz couldn’t believe I braved the polar vortex with my cold to see her new film, Sex Tape (wait and rent at home).


The lengths I go to for entertainment…

Knocking myself out cold with medicine, I was sure Sunday would greet me with a little healthier fun.

Can't stop. Won't stop.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

When I realized the sneezes were here to stay, I braved sweating it out at the pool.

Sweating it out at the pool

Just what the doctor ordered…sunshine and a bloody mary.

Unable to keep my eyes open and fearful of passing out, resembling a drooling beached whale at the pool, I retreated back to the mini manse where I was finally given deserving bedside manner.

Sniffles snuggled away.

Snuggling the sniffles away.

Proving that Nurse Ted is the cure for my summertime blues.






How to Keep Your Pussy Clean

I am the proud owner of Ted, the laziest feline on the planet.

Not only does his high maintenance ass require $60 green pea and duck prescription food due to a stomach issue, he now refuses to clean himself.

You lookin' at me?

Delicate cycle, please.

While doing laundry one evening this precious pussy decided to take great interest in an activity he’s seen me perform 9,562 other times since he came to reside in our mini manse.


Making sure he matches the clothes in the load.

Even more

Further examination.

In he goes

Committing to a cleaning.

Relieved I hadn’t yet started the water, I peered in to see if Mr. Bear made a soft landing.

Blending in chameleon

TB’s best chameleon impression.

He was walking around in circles, acting like the soft material below his royal paws was jagged glass.

Tail feather

Using paws of steel to navigate the rough terrain.

Seeing his head shoot up like a gopher from the ground, I thought Teddy was going to pop out of the cleaning device in no time.


Shadow seen. Six more seconds of washer fun.

As I tried to wait patiently (I didn’t want cat claws to ruin any of my treasured bedazzled threads, therefore refrained from raising my voice) TB decided he was tired from the 18 seconds of exploring and rested his weary head.

Tired from the 18 seconds of exploring

Acting like Ponce de Leon is exhausting.

Losing my cool, I pointed my finger and hissed, “Get your ass out of the washer. NOW.”

Which was greeted with the typical ‘go fuck yourself face’ from my gray fur ball.

You can't make me. Staring contest.

You can see how seriously TB takes me.

Being that victory for me was a must, I wicked witchily twisted the knob and water started to trickle in, alleviating my pussy in the washer problem STAT.

Blur of grey.

Blur of gray flashed before my eyes.

And because my little love is such an asshole, he insisted on leaping into the dryer to aid him with his damp paws.

Dry Time.

Demanding dry time.

When I kicked him out, Tedstar decided the next best thing would be to wallow in my clean laundry, making sure he touched every single piece with his wet feet while also distributing 130,837 of gray hair among the items before settling in for a four hour nap.


Thwarting my folding attempts.

Next time, he’s going in the spin cycle.