How to Almost Burn Down a Mini Manse

I’m a woman of many talents.

I photobomb like it’s my career, my dainty laugh makes 80-year-old men want to fight me,  I have a knack for getting strange dudes to send me dick pics and I’m on the brink of being Nashville’s cray cray cat lady.  However, I recently uncovered a new ability of mine when I almost burned my entire apartment complex to the ground with a microwave and a glittery paper plate.

All that glitters is not gold. It's more of an orange color with a yellow tint that when combined together create a blaze.

All that glitters is not gold.
It’s more of an orange color with a yellow tint that when combined together create a blaze.

It all started with these gorgeous red paper plates, rimmed in silver sparkles because an ordinary white hue was all too normal for me to purchase.

Of course I had to have them.

Food tastes better when combined with glitter, yes?

Maybe it was because I had five one too many Skinny Pirates the night before but I thought it was a good idea to throw the shimmering piece of flimsy cardboard into the microwave in order to heat up chicken fingers (also from the previous evening that may or may not have sat on the counter all night long).

Don't worry. I'm sure I have at least 22 brain cells left.

Don’t worry.
I’m sure I have at least 22 brain cells left.

Upon closing the appliance door and setting the timer for 30 seconds, I stepped away from the kitchen, distracted by one of New Cat’s many attempts to commit suicide by sitting on the banister of my second balcony porch.

No energy to thwart suicide attempts by New Cat.

Thinking long and hard about how rough he has it in my mini manse. Fucker.

In the mere seconds I was away rescuing my idiot pussy, something started happening in the microwave.

A stench started to quickly fill the air.

By the time I got back to the kitchen, flames were bursting through the microwave door as the timer counted down to zero.

For a moment, all I could think about was the loss of my chicken tenders. My hungover ass then snapped out of it and flung the door of the appliance open to find a smoldering, disintegrating plate with burnt to a crisp pieces of poultry attached to it.

So glitter doesn't warm well.

So…… sparkles don’t warm well.

Mourning the loss of my food like broken high heel, I was further pissed off thinking that the manufacturer of this piece of shit plate didn’t list any danger warnings about putting a metallic glitter plate into the microwave for all of the dumb asses out there who apparently don’t know foil starts on fire in a microwave like yours truly.

Then I turned the crispy plate over.

WARNING

I may have missed something here.

Once I realized I wasn’t even close to being the most mediocre genius on the planet, my feelings of grief were geared toward the loss of my beloved red (because white is too normal) microwave that now smelled like a year-long bonfire had taken place inside and ceased to run properly.

Um...

The not so sparkly remnants of a small kitchen fire.

Much to my hungover delight, Target (my mothership) had a shiny red appliance just waiting for me on the store shelf later that day.

Forced to invest in a new appliance.

It’s a kitchen miracle.

Forced to utilize my lingering brain cells, I tried to figure out how to unplug the old glitter cooker from behind the refrigerator without having to move the 250 lb unit.

Not going well.

This might as well have been brain surgery.

You guys, it’s hard being a blonde with so many talents.

Help.

Help.

Who wants to come over for a fancy chicken tenders dinner and watch me put my new microwave to use tonight?

Don’t worry, I got new glitter plates.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Inside Mr. Ted E. Bear’s Studio

James Lipton, famous for his mad interviewing skills, always asks the same ten questions to every guest on his show Inside the Actor’s Studio (and as I sit on my ass and watch from my leopard couch, I always answer right along).

Because I endlessly talk about myself here, I thought it would only be fitting to interview our my favorite feline fur ball (yes, New Cat is still around but we all know he’s not my fave) who rules the world of CBXB.

I'm very busy napping.

How dare you disrupt my snooze for an interview.

While I’m sure to pay for the sleep interruption later tonight, here are Teddy’s answers to James Lipton’s questions:

What is your favorite word?

Food. DUH.

Most wonderful time of the day.

Most wonderful time of the day.

What is your least favorite word?

No. Which is a word I rarely hear.

With a mug like this, all I ever hear is yes. To everything.

With a mug like this, all I ever hear is yes. To everything.

What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?

Cattails and naps.

No one likes to drink alone.

Getting the creative juices flowing with cattail hour.

Still trying...

Settling down for an emotionally charged nap.

What turns you off?

Costumes my mother forces me into on a seasonal basis.

Too cool for shades.

Teddy Thicke is too cool for this shit.

Catman

Catman hating life.

What is your favorite curse word?

It’s more of a sound. A hiss, combined with a low meow growl moments before trying to attack my mom who inevitably is forcing me do something I don’t want to do.

Ted is reminding me here that he's my main squeeze (in a very subtle, gentle manner - he take after me).

Done posing for fucking pictures!

What sound or noise do you love?

Tink. (the noise of food hitting my bowl)

I hear tinking!

I hear tinking!

What sound or noise do you hate?

The alarm going off in the morning. I refuse to budge and make my mom wiggle around me like a contortionist, so she doesn’t wake the sleeping Bear.

You want out of this bed? You're going to have to crawl over me.

You want out of this bed? You’re going to have to crawl over me.

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Being that I’m a professional eater, I’d like to try my hand at drinking for a career (I mean, my mom makes it look terribly easy).

Easy peasy.

Easy peasy.

What profession would you not like to do?

Hunt. I prefer my food poured into a bowl for me.

Hunt and Gather

Hunting and gathering fail.

proud feline

Tampons don’t taste good.

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

What took you so long? Your mom is waiting over that rainbow bridge to drink with you.

Holy shit!

There’s my Bear! Come to Mama – I have a fabulous angel costume to force you in!

That may be Mr. Bear’s own private kind of hell…

CBXB

CBXB!

Crazier About My Pussy by the Day

If you’ve followed my shenanigans for long, you’re well aware that I am bat shit crazy about my cat Ted and slightly cray cray about the brother I forced upon him last year, New Cat (yep, that’s still his name).

Apparently my deranged feelings for my feline are starting to get out of control, as I went to send a picture to someone of Ted and this is who I tried to text….

Dear Teddy

Realizing no names were populating in the To: bar, it took a good 15 seconds for me to figure out why in the fuck this text wouldn’t send (being blonde is hard work).

I think it’s safe to say that I am now the number one psycho cat lady in Nashville. Hell, maybe in all of the state of Tennessee.

Anyone have a straight jacket I could borrow?

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Jazz Hands and Pull Ups

Why do weekends seem to disappear faster than a Houdini magic trick?

Girl time!

I only get my jazz hands out on the weekends.

My Iowa twins continue to transform into little people as potty training progresses.

Big shit.

Big shit.

Princess B never ceases to amaze me with her mad multitasking skills as she can blow her nails dry while trying to urinate in her port-a-potty that resides in the hallway so she can keep dibs on everyone.

Multitasking at its finest.

Triple threat.

While my niece was trying to get down to business, I was busy keeping dibs on a camera while out with the gals Saturday night in an attempt to capture the perfect picture.

The

Fail.

Perfect

Fail.

photo proved exhausing

Success…for some of us.

I detoxed the rest of my weekend away by running jogging in the sunny, 75 degree weather…

Run it off.

Running it off.

…soaking in bubbles while caressing my liver with vino…

Soaked if off.

Soaking it in.

…and almost getting my face licked off by an overly slutty pussy.

Practically got my face liked off.

New Cat loves to maul.

Cheers to a fabulous week for you!

CBXB

CBXB!

The Agony of Being a Cat Mom

You know how moms of humans sometimes talk about feeling guilty and torn leaving their offspring, while going to work/vacation/out for much needed drinks away from the homestead?

I’ve often thought these women were fucked in the head for not wanting time away from their children until my little ones started pulling this shit whenever I try to leave the mini manse (and yes, my babies are cats. Stop judging).

Ted and New Cat have a perch right by my front window that allows them to look over the mighty kingdom of the side yard.

The perching isn't always this polite.

The perching isn’t always this polite.

When hearing my keys clink together New New typically scrams, knowing that it’s time to nap the day away.

Would you leave already? I have some very serious napping to do.

Would you leave already?
I have some very serious snoozing to do.

On the other hand Mr. Bear, acts as if he’s aboard the sinking Titanic with my departure being the last time we’ll ever see one another before drowning into the abyss of dark ocean waters (he takes after his mother in the drama department). So as soon as he hears the key hit the doorknob, he immediately engages me in a stare down.

What? Where do you think you're going?!

Goodbye my love.

Then he quickly tip toes like he’s walking the plank over the windowsill with high hopes of preventing my exit.

Sneak attack

Tricky Teddy’s balancing act isn’t always so graceful.

Before I know it, a blur of gray appears before my eyes.

The mad dash

The mad dash.

The little love of my life then tries to morph into The Rock, keeping the steel door from closing in his furry face.

High hopes the door swings back open.

Too bad he doesn’t have a shirt to rip off.

Regretfully I draw the door closed as my heart starts cracking.

THAT FACE.

Oh how the guilt washes over me as I gently shut the door.

Last ditch attempt with a strong paw

Does anyone else hear the violin music from the Titanic movie playing?

I get it moms to humans. I get it.

Is it too much to ask to be a stay at home cat mom?

CBXB

CBXB!

How to be a Bad Best Friend (and Husband)

Ah, best friends.

Always around, never letting you keep anything bad down.

Ah....besties.

I’d just eaten rotten buffet shrimp. I swear.

Besties are always there to help you with bad hair.

Nice 'do.

Stick to your day job Scooby.

My mean gay bestie delights in bringing up just how far we go back.

We've known each other HOW long?

Memories painful due to time passed.

But I draw the line when a best friend doesn’t know how to properly spell my birth name.

There's NO MOTHERFUCKING H.

There’s NO MOTHERFUCKING H in my Megan.

So when it came time to paybacks going out when my gay bestie was in town, I made sure Scooby was primed and ready with wine…

Day drink.

Day drink #1.

And then beer….

And drink.

Day drink #2.

Topped with flavored moonshine.

And drink more...

Day drink #3.

By the time we got to the bar, Scooby’s world was spinning faster than a tilt-a-whirl and I kindly offered to take the lightweight back home.

This is your body on wine, beer and moonshine.

This is your body on wine, beer and moonshine.

But never fear! Gay best friend’s husband was near!

Hotter than a speeding bullet,

Hotter than a speeding bullet, Mr. Scooby zoomed in knowing just what to do.

Mr. Scooby directed his husband out the front door and into my parked vehicle, where he secured drunky into the front passenger side seat as he pretended to drive by moving his hands back and forth on the steering wheel, knowing Scooby would fall fast asleep.

No one will notice, right?

No one will notice a passed out gay guy, right?

Right.

Right.

Turns out Mr. Scooby and I are such extremely caring, thoughtful, kind souls that not only did we partake in martinis galore…

Cheers!

Don’t worry. We locked Scooby in.

… we decided to take the party four blocks down the road to a dance floor.

Scooby who?

Scooby who?

The club got so hot, I made Mr. Scooby take his shirt off and then I made an impromptu push up bra to compete with his pecks.

I got so hot, I made Kevin

Even if you’re straight, you can’t hep but appreciate!

And when my feet hurt enough to take my heels off, we went to check on our sleeping beauty who had moved down the seat about four feet.

Safely strapped in.

Safely strapped in.

Makes you think twice about misspelling my name doesn’t it?

Best. Friend. Ever.

CBXB

CBXB!