For the Love of a Scrunchie

Yes, that kind of scrunchie.

Glasses + retainer from 9th grade + scrunchie from 4th grade  = dream girl.  Not to mention I own two cats....

Glasses + retainer from 9th grade + scrunchie from 4th grade = dream girl.
Not to mention I own two cats….

Being that I consider myself somewhat fashionable, it may surprise you to know that I still have two scrunchies from my elementary years.

For real.

I still own the black one pictured above in the tangled mess of fuchsia and sorta blonde hair and the purple one below that I bean walked my ass off on my aunt Marilyn’s farm to purchase (now, I got more than a scrunchie with my loads of money from walking bean fields….I also got a tie dyed shirt. Obviously I put my money to expert use).

Hard earned hair acccessory.

Hard earned hair accessory.

Although I hoard scrunchies from decades ago, this does not mean that I condone wearing anything of the sort in public. I feel so strongly about this, I have risked jobs and friendships, saving folks from public embarrassment.

A few years ago while at an extremely new place of employment, I spotted my boss sitting at her desk with a white scrunchie in her gorgeous hair. And while I hadn’t quite figured out our working relationship boundaries yet (being that I was her assistant) I felt it my womanly duty to rip it out of her hair.

Well, actually I walked up behind her and as I slid it off of her hair I leaned in and whispered, “We don’t wear these in public. Trust me.”

Um, no.

About to be unemployed but I don’t care.

Horrified at my casual approach and sure as shit I was about to be fired, she laughed and said thank you. We’re still gal pals to this day thanks to my brazen move in the name of fashion.

Fuck that noise. No boss of mine will sport a scrunchie

Fuck that noise. No boss of mine will sport a scrunchie even though I wear tiny sombreros and t-shirts announcing my crazy cat lady status.

And then there’s my old band manager I ran into at the mall one afternoon.

I expected so much more than….

Manager fail.

THIS.

While I can’t agree with his white socks and black sneaker approach, it was the teeny, tiny piece of material stuck in the layers of curls that made my skin crawl.

NOT blending in.

Scrunchie not blending in Dude.

Being that I didn’t work for my buddy, I could be a little more blunt in expressing how insane it was to see a grown man wearing a scrunchie.

Someone actually procreated with you?! TWICE?!

Someone actually procreated with you?!
TWICE?!

A mere two seconds later, the scrunchie was mine and my buddy was back to being, well, my buddy.

Yep. Back to being a bonafide '80s rocker

Yep. A bona fide ’80s rocker.

So it may surprise you that I actually do wear a scrunchie.

CBXB shocker!

CBXB shocker!

But I only sport these little pieces of fashion fails on two occasions.

I wear one to keep myself cool when I sleep within the confines of bedroom walls.

Night sweat no more.

Night sweats no more thanks to my ancient accessory.

Even love it when it gets stuck in my mane.

I still even love this piece of shit when it gets stuck in my mane every morning.

The other occasion in which I wear something so taboo is a deep, dark scrunchie secret.

I wear it to perfect my bun.

Which means I technically wear a scrunchie in public.

THE HORROR!

Bun magic

Magic mane compliments of my scrunchie.

Nice, plump, round.

Scrunchilicious bun secret.

Hey-oh. But why would I ever let anyone in on my bun magic?

But you can bet your ass I ever let anyone in on my bun magic…except all of you.

So there I am, going along happily in life with my stealthy scrunchie use until…

I LOST THE BLACK ONE.

Visiting Iowa, I was certain that I left it in my sister’s guest bedroom. And quickly resigned to the fact that I’d never see this beloved piece of my hair history again due to the fact that she has 18 month old twins and a dog that likes to eat everything.

Noooooooooooooo!

Goodbye my love.

What will keep me cool at night?!

How will a bun ever be the same?!

But then I remembered I still had a purple scrunchie from 4th grade.

I think I found it in my Caboodle.

Be still my beating heart.

Be still my beating heart.

As I went to sleep that evening, reaching for the limp pile of aged elastic and who-knows-how-many-germs-its infested-with-material, I heard a snap.

S-N-A-P.

Noooooooo!

Noooooooo!

My purple piece of shit went to scrunchie heaven, as the decades old elastic finally died (most likely committing suicide).

Finding myself empty-handed, I did the only thing I could think of to console myself.

I headed to Claire’s Boutique – a store I haven’t stepped foot in since I was a gal on the hunt for prom accessories in high school.  Upon entering the overstuffed store, a sweet girl who was maybe fifteen greeted me and instantly looked baffled when I told her I was in dire need of a scrunchie.

“A what?” she asked.

“A scrunchie. You know, a hair tie with material around it,” I exasperatingly explained as I felt a bead of sweat rolling down my cheek.

Feeling 101 years old (and thinking the music was blaring too loudly, further solidifying my oldness), I followed her to the back of the store to the clearance section where she announced…

“This stuff has been here since before I started working here two years ago. Maybe you’ll find something to help you out.”

Um, what the fuck 14-year-old?!

Um, what the fuck 15-year-old?!

The new take on scrunchies are pieces of fake fur wrapped around elastic that are about as durable as an earthworm on a dry day, which would be why they were on clearance for 99 cents.

I mean, seriously?

I mean, seriously?

Giving up on Claire’s, I headed to the mall where my fashion world was rocked so hard, my head still hurts. While perusing the endless goodness at Nordstrom, I saw a rack of scrunchies in the accessory department.

Fucking scrunchies.

At Nordstrom.

Fucking silk scrunchies at Nordstrom.

What has this world come to?

Search to replace. Nordstrom FAIL. FAIL. FAIL! Especially with silk scrunchies. Old people lunch tables in nursing homes is hte only place this is acceptable.

These are only acceptable on white hair around a nursing home lunch table, mmmkay?

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both.

Still crying tears of scrunchie sadness.

Scrunchie sadness combined with the hilarity of an upscale department store selling them in silk.

Knowing that I would never again sleep at night without waking up to a crease in my typically straight ‘do and also knowing my bun days were over, I started to try and begin mending my broken haired heart.

But then…

Mama CBXB returned from another trip to Iowa and had a surprise for me.

Miracles.Do.Happen.

BUT WAIT! My sister found it. And is my hero.

My antique hairpiece is back!

All of this agony over the love of a scrunchie.

Stop judging me.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Thrones ‘n’ Football

Multi-screens in the mini manse, shit dip, moonshine and a brand new throne made this weekend divine.

Revenge of the shit dip.

Revenge of the shit dip.

After what felt like a year-long week, Saturday morning came a little too early after a little bit of boozing on Friday night.

Looking how I feel...

Looking how I feel. And yes, I’m the jackass who wears sunglasses in the supermarket.

I also got my ass handed to me by Princess B – you know, my fact checker for this blog.

Looking like a beast.

Not sure she likes what she’s reading.

She couldn’t stop herself from giving editorial notes while admiring herself on the small screen.

But wait, here's what it should have looked like.

But wait, here’s what it should have looked like.

After enduring the creative notes from my niece, I hustled to get ready for the weekly tailgate my folks and I have each Saturday.

All dressed up with no game to watch...

Little did we know this was a spread in search of a game.

Our tasty treats also included my gal pal Katie B’s infamous shit dip. It consists of corn, cream cheese and butter. And it tastes like heaven in your mouth.

And requires a side of toilet paper.

Trust me.

Click here for the recipe

You're seriously going to need this.

You’re seriously going to need this.

Anyone else have Comcast as their cable provider? Anyone else want to tell Comcast to suck shit?

On Saturday morning, TV the guide listed either my Iowa Hawkeye game or the Penn State game was going to air.

I checked online for the TV listings. No luck.

I called and talked to three different Comcast departments for over an hour with three of the same answers…

“We’re sorry, we can’t tell you what will air.”

How in the hell can the cable provider not know what they’re going to show? How? HOW?

Sure enough, kick-off time rolled around and the Penn State game appeared on TV in the Nashville area. So we turned my mini manse into a multi-screened viewing area with the help of my lap top and live streaming.

Just like a sports bar. Multi-screen

Just like a sports bar. Only less classy.

During the TV shenanigans, New Cat became a man whore.

Man whore

Mauling Gpa.

Gma

Mauling Gma.

I feed you. I

Mauling Mama.

Not one to miss out on any action, Teddy gave his own version of a lap dance.

Ass to the face.

An ass to Gma’s face felt appropriate.

Although we had to squint to watch our game, touchdowns still required our family tradition of moonshine shots.

Moonshine time!

TD Baby!

The halftime show consisted of a pussy trying to commit suicide, another unable to feign any emotion for the suicidal cat and a grandpa oblivious to either scene taking place around him.

A suicide, an I don't give a shit and a Gpa not paying attention. Halftime show consisted of...

Where’s a marching band when you need one?

During the second half of the game New New got so handsy with Gpa that he didn’t want to share, giving anyone that came close a death stare.

Third quarter snuggle.

Back off or I’ll bite.

I spent the rest of the third in the bathroom due to my copious amounts of my fave dip.

Shit happens.

Shit happens.

It was a good thing I’d eaten my weight in corn, as two touchdown and a victory shot waited for me in the fourth quarter.

A few more of these....

Popcorn Sutton White Whiskey for everyone!

Which made the rest of the afternoon feel like…

Moonshine Mania

Moonshine mania makes the world spin.

And copious amount of moonshine may or may not be why my masterpiece of a pizza turned out like this for supper…

Don't drink and cook.

Don’t drink and cook.

I ate it anyway. Surprise!

But not surprisingly, I ate it anyway.

Sunday found me admiring my Miami Mini Me’s newest hair accessory.

Miami Mini Me and her fabulous hair bow.

Yes she’s fabulous. And yes, I’m borrowing that bow!

And what could be more ah-mah-zing than being gifted my very own throne on a lazy afternoon?

Nothing.

Hello my love. How did I ever live without you?!

Hello my love. How did I ever live without you?!

Waving from my throne.

A classy chair for a trashtacular lady.

While I was careful to use only my wrist to wave so as not to jiggle my arm fat, this one sprawled out on his throne with a jiggly belly proudly exposed.

You want me to wave a paw at you or something?

You want me to wave a paw at you or something? Fuck off.

From our thrones to yours, here’s hoping your week is off to a fabulous start!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Fox You!

Don’t fox with us.

Don’t even think about it.

Or my pussy Ted will claw your eyes out.

If looks could kill…

But Mr. Bear does insist you have a good weekend and you’d better oblige.

Because you don’t want a claw to the eye now do you?

TGIF my friends!

CBXB

CBXB!

Introducing the CBXB Staff

You don’t think the shenanigans on this blog can be compiled by just one person do you?

Blogsters

Bloggers at their best.

You see, me starting a blog was my sister’s idea and when I began, brainstorming had to be done via FaceTime and cocktails.

Brainchild

Getting ready to high give over an idea with a very amused bro-in-law.

When I announced blogging plans to my mini manse mate, Ted he immediately assumed the self-appointed role of Editor-in-Chief.

What are you blogging about today? What?

What are you blogging about today? What?

If you’ve perused my blog much at all, you’ll know Ted is no stranger to loving the spotlight.

Always ready for his closeup

Always ready for his closeup.

Teddy instantly became the tester of all things necessary, so I would have material to include on the blog.

Taste testing drinks.

Taste testing my water. Yep. It’s drinkable.

Taste testing food behind my back.

Taste testing my peas before I could eat. Yep. They’re delish.

Found he loved sweets.

Whiska lickin’ good Halloween treats.

My precious pussy even traveled to far and away places, like his grandparent’s house 25 miles away.

Travler

Oh the things he does for this blog…and the paybacks I get are hell.

But when it boils down to it, Tedstar deciphers every single word prepared to post from every angle possible.

Checking story out from all angles

Looks good from here but…

Angle 2

….does it look good from this angle?

Just let me type.

Letting me know when it needs a rewrite altogether.

By the time he’s satisfied thinking the story has enough substance, he takes his exhausted ass to bed.

Watch dog

Over worked and under paid.

Being that Mr. Bear is unable to run this blog by himself, enter my nephew and niece…

Enter these two.

The twins from Iowa take no prisoners when it comes to their ice cream – or this blog.

Since gracing the world with their presence, I’ve been using Prince B and Princess B as content advisers.

Multi-tasking Auntie CBXB

Princess B multi-tasking with Auntie CBXB. One bottle, one post at a time.

When I was recently in Iowa, I received all kinds of help as we decided which twin should do what with the blog.

A mere year and a few months later, still going strong.

Think tank.

It was decided that Princess B would head the art department.

Until she got into the paint and realized she likes to be clean and pretty.

Always.

Art director fail.

Fuck this noise!

So I put her in as the fact checker – a much more suitable role for a chit chatty lady.

Now she checks facts while taking a load off.

Taking a load off while getting shit straight.

Perfect little Prince B decided he would like to run the organics section (which doesn’t exist yet on my cocktail loving, tailgate food eating, overall unhealthy lifestyle living blog – but I’ll make an exception for the most adorable fella I know) trying every apple in sight this fall while visiting orchards.

My tester for all things fruit and healthy. Happy to do the job.

Happy, a healthy eater and a lady-killer.    Triple threat.

After the roles were assigned (and taken very seriously mind you), it was time to try to merge all of our efforts. Which proved to be a gigantic nightmare being that six hands were on the keyboard, clicking and clacking my machine into states I’d never seen.

Like frozen states.

Like can’t find your mouse states.

Like how in the hell did you set the function Caps Lock to permanent? How? HOW?!

Ability to wreck my computer like wrecking balls

Wrecking my computer like teeny tiny Miley Cyrus wrecking balls.

After a re-start of the machine, all was up and running again smoothly.

Being that this is a family effort, my dogphew Gunner gets in on the action as head of the comfort department.

Family effort.

Last but not least in CBXB land.

Even if it’s only to keep my legs warm.

Leg warmer

Professional leg warmer.

Naturally you know that these demanding family members want to be rewarded for their minutes of hard work on this blog.

And they are most certainly well paid.
With kisses.

One for Princess B...

One for Princess B…

Another for Prince B.

Another for Prince B.

A big juicy one for Gunnie

A big juicy one for Gunnie.

And 4.2 million for Teddy B, who still doesn’t think that’s payment enough.

All the shit I do and this is the thanks I get?

All the shit I do and this is the thanks I get?

Which is why I find myself drinking out of this mug.

100% chance.

100% chance.

Especially when it’s time for the Editor-in-Chief to approve a blog.

Approved to post!

Approved to post because it’s all about me!

Is your staff as productive as mine?

For your sake, I hope not.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – BOO!zin’ Style

Skinny Pirates, Halloween decor and college football oh my!

Holla for handles of Captain! Oh how my dad knows the way to my heart...

Holla for handles of Captain!
Oh how my dad knows the way to my heart…

Friday started with Miller Lite for Camo and Captain for me as I stopped for a quick happy hour at my fave Nashville watering hole, Dalts.

Drive by drink

Drive by drink.

I only stayed for a few Skinny Pirates, as I’d been bit by the Halloween bug (yes, I know it’s still September and no, I don’t really give a shit).  It was mass chaos as I felt the need to unload every single piece of Halloween decor I owned before even attempting to decorate (maybe six a few Skinny Pirates and holiday embellishment don’t mix).

Halloween nightmare.

Don’t drink and decorate.

While I kept sipping on my Captain, my two fraidy cats felt the need to inspect the nooks and crannies of every box and bin.

Two fraidy cat helpers.

Expert Halloween helpers.

I decided to wave the white flag in Halloween adornment surrender as the wee hours of Saturday morning were fast approaching and I was reminded by my nephew, Prince B what awaited me the following morning.

Hawkeye time!

Iowa Hawkeye game day!

I headed out to game watch with my folks, where we nervously hoped for touchdowns in order to squeeze our moonshine tradition into Saturday.

Moonshine

Hawks score!

Posers

Moonshine mania posers.

Never ceases to amaze me.

This special spirit ever ceases to amaze me.

There’s no better accompaniment to moonshine than my dad’s ribs (his “best batch ever” is a phrase uttered each time he prepares them) and they didn’t disappoint this weekend.

Washing down moonshine

Ribs ‘n’ shine.

While I couldn’t stuff my face with ribs any faster than a competitive eater, my niece was busy discovering her favorite flavor of salad dressing.

Face Stuff

The Face Stuff

Face Smother The girl loves her ranch, OK?

The Face Smother
Screw the Hawks game. Gimme my ranch.

Seems as if she’s taking after Auntie CBXB more and more every day with her classy ways. Be still my beating heart.

After a Hawks victory and a quick wardrobe change, it was time to sit in a standstill on my way to Mrs. America’s (who joined me in a reality sizzle reel earlier this year) house.

Is there anything more fun than sitting in an interstate parking lot? Everything. Everything is more fun.

Is there anything more fun than sitting in an interstate parking lot?
Everything. Everything is more fun.

But it was all worthwhile when I laid eyes on Mrs. America who, along with her three princesses and hubby, just moved back to Nashville. Yeehaw!

Miss and Mrs. America.

Miss Trashtacular and Mrs. America.

While we were celebrating good fortune of her fabulous new house and positive network feedback on our sizzle, I ran across some extremely special decorative pieces from Mrs. America’s past.

We love us.

I’m demanding she spotlight these over her bed in the master.

It was all fun and games Sunday, trying to sneak in some last rays of summer sun before it turns into crispy fall weather.

Sneaky sneaky.

Sneaky sun success.

When the clouds rolled in, Ted demanded I get my ass in gear and finish garnishing our mini manse in all things black and orange.

Demanding I finish up this mess.

Get this shit cleaned up. NOW.

Turns out Mr. Bear had an ulterier motive, as I was mauled the rest of the weekend.

Because it was time for couch and cuddles.

Tag team.

Happy fall y’all!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Jell-O Shot Jigglers

Jiggle while you wiggle.

Jiggle while you wiggle.

So, I almost had a heart attack of sorts when perusing the aisles of my fave grocery store in Iowa a few weeks ago when laying my eyes on a box that not only boasted my fave college team, it also contained a mold kit for Jell-O. I almost knocked the entire display down (as well as the few people in my way) trying to get over to this genius in a box merchandise.

Genius in a box.

No one was hurt in the purchase of this Jell-O Jigglers Mold Kit.

Why, it’s just Jell-O in a form resembling my alma mater you say?

To you, yes.

To me, no.

As I am a lover of all things alcoholic, I’m known for never hosting a party that doesn’t include Jell-O shots. Even my family treats Jell-O shots as tradition, having them at all family gatherings (classy, we know).

Hell, even Ted is a fan of spiked jiggly Jell-O.

Teddy approved.

Pussy approved party shots.

Seeing that I could concoct a gelatinous shot for tailgates every Saturday in celebration of my college football team, I couldn’t wait to get back to Nashville and prepare (so excited in fact that I lugged this mold kit in my carry on just in case my luggage got lost and had in-depth discussions with TSA agents when passing through airport security about how cool I was in doing so).

The $4.99 kit includes two mold trays and four boxes of coordinated-with-your-school-colors Jell-O.

Here’s what it takes to make two trays, which gives you 24 ‘shots':

1 box of Jell-O

Your choice of vodka (in lieu of water)**

Cooking spray

Vodka not included in the box of happy.

Vodka not included in the box of happy.

**For lighter shots, you can do a half water and half vodka recipe.**

Unless you’re like me and have zero math skills (thanks to Scooby, I cheated my mathematical way to graduation from 9th grade on – sorry Mrs. Book – because like all kids I never thought I was really going to use anything other than addition in life but unbeknownst to me, I’d needed mad math skills when perfecting my shot recipes. Shit hooks).

What the fuck is half of 2/3 cup? WHAT?

What the fuck is half of 2/3 cup? What? WHAT?

So when your brain houses zero calculating skills of any kind, use all vodka in the recipe.

To prepare:

Spray the inside of molds with cooking spray

Hawkeye

Use your finger to get the cooking spray into the nooks and crannies of the mold or they’ll turn out less than perfect.    Trust me.

Then boil the water/vodka concoction and dissolve the Jell-O powder. Transfer liquid from cooking pan to a measuring cup (or anything that allows you to pour easily).

Pour

Fill molds and refrigerate three hours.

Instructions from the box will tell you to run a knife along the edges of your molds once the Jell-O has set. This method didn’t work so well (and was going to make my Hawkeye mascot look like it’d been mauled by a bear) Mama CBXB (genius shot maker, mind you) suggested placing the cool molds in a few centimeters of warm water and then use a toothpick to loosen the edges.

Hot soak in the sink wise words from Mama.

Coaxing the Jell-O to cooperate.

A hot soak in the sink (and my clean-until-I-licked-it-after-personally-guiding-each-shot-out-of-its-mold finger) did the trick.

Jiggling goodness.

Jiggling goodness.

Being that popping the little suckers out of the tray can be tricky (and a tad messy since you used cooking spray), distribute them on a paper towel, then move to a serving tray.

Hit of the party...

And boom. Hit of the party.

Field goal fanatics.

Papa approved.

While Dad and I stuck to our touchdown tradition of moonshine shots, the Jell-O shot jigglers can be a substitution for those who’d like to keep their wits about them on a Saturday.

Moonshine shot substitution for those who'd like to keep their wits about them on a Saturday.

Moonshine exchange for fraidy cats.

To see if Jell-O gives a rat’s ass about your favorite college team, click here.

Not into sports? How about a holiday?

I found this handsome party treat at Target over the weekend.

Halloween fun.

Spooky creature kit.

Obviously, you can make these gelatinous treats with no alcohol.

But now how is that any kind of fun?

Jiggle it. Just a little bit.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Football Fail

The failure of my fave football teams showing up and kicking ass this weekend didn’t deter me from having an overall fabulous time with the fam in our usual Saturday shenanigans.

Jell-O shot jiggler

Jell-O shot jigglers.

Game day began with Ted and I sharing breakfast – he goes straight for the cheese while I stick to my egg.

Pussy approved breakfast.

Pussy approved breakfast.

While my fur ball was busy scarfing down my food, the twins were taste testing apples at an Iowa orchard.

Apple orchard cuties

Apple orchard cuties.

Snow White

Our family’s version of Snow White….

As the Iowa Hawkeyes kickoff drew near, New Cat assumed his position as greeter, anxiously awaiting our arrivals.

Game day greeter

Game day greeter.

The bar was stocked with my dad’s rot gut vodka (Taaka vodka could seriously start your throat on fire if you chose to smoke a cigarette while consuming), my beloved Captain and Popcorn Sutton White Whiskey was on standby for our traditional touchdown shots.

Cocktails - full bar

Stocked bar, warm bellies.

Naturally we can’t have cocktails galore without tasty tailgating treats.

Tailgating tasties

Let the game day grazing begin!

My mini manse morphed into a brief media room when we were unable to get our Hawkeye game on TV due to the previous game running long. Typically this would simply be an inconvenience but since it was our in state rivalry game – the Iowa Hawkeyes vs. the Iowa State Cyclones, we were antsy to get the football show on the bigger screen.

TV fail

Double vision.

My pussies were less than impressed to be kicked off the couch and resorted to the front window, where they plotted how to keep their mother sleepless on a Saturday night.

Waaay into the game.

Your football game is stupid and you will pay.

Ignoring the holes being scorched into my head from the kit cats, moonshine was passed around for two Hawkeye touchdowns.

Touchdown...two in three minutes. #sos

Cockier with every swig of this cocktail.

Busy with moonshine, Skinny Pirates and the football game, I turned my back for one second and found New Cat perusing among the food.

Up to no....

New New is fully of naughty.

And when I whipped back around from scolding the pesky pussy, my Hawkeyes had lost the game by a last second Cyclone field goal.

FAIL.

No bragging rights this year.

Not only did I promise to be done with my team (fair weathered fan right here) this year in my post game misery, Ted wallowed in this disappointing loss by demanding a belly rub.

So upset, he needed a belly rub.

Rub me now, Bitch.

Drowning the rest of my Saturday sorrows in Skinny Pirates, I was able to get my ass to Target (my mothership) Sunday morning for the debut of the Altuzarra for Target line.  And rolling out of bed for this proved worthwhile as Altuzarra produced beyond cute merch that I was able to manhandle, making my football heavy heart skip a beat.

Sunday religion  Altuzarra for Target

My version of church.

Back to the mini manse in time for the Tennessee Titans game, New Cat could barely watch as the Dallas Cowboys kicked some Nashville tail.

Dismal display by the Titans

Is this football bullshit over yet?

Discouraged by the outlook of football season for my teams, I blew off the losing steam with a run in the crispy fall sun.

Lipstick and lunged my way through the park. Let off steam...

Lipstick and lunged my way through the park.

And then I parked it for Sunday night date night with my fave feline.

Wine and pussy time.

Wine and pussy time.

Cheers to a fabulous week my friends!

CBXB!