Weekend Winks – Photo Bombs and Egg Hunts

The fun meter was cranked to 11 in Nashville this past weekend, as family came to town to participate in all kinds of shenanigans.

Aunt Crazy Pants graced me with her presence and photo bombing expertise to kick off the monkey business.

Bomber gets bombed.

Double fisting and photo bombs make for fun on a Friday night.

We were making such a quiet commotion at our table that a stranger jumped in on the antics.

Nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you.

Speaking of commotion, the Easter Bunny was getting a run for his money in Iowa as Prince and Princess B practiced their hopping techniques.

Friday night shenanigans.

Trying to out hop the bunny.

Apparently my nephew didn’t inherit my ample ass, as his jumping caused him to fall out of his pull up.

I've never had this problem.

I’ve never had this problem. Ever.

Back at the mini manse, I was busy making sure Aunt Crazy pants stayed far, far away from my precious shoe towers that she tried to demolish last time she was in Music City.

She's baaaaaaack!

She’s baaaaaaack!

And she’s just as loose lipped and talkative as ever…you know, the kind of lady who says whatever she is thinking with no filter. Gotta love that!

Say wha...?! No filter.

Say wha…?!

We were waiting to greet my cousin Tballs (the kid that shit in the baby pool) and his fabulous fam who were coming in to pick up Crazy Pants and take her to Hotlanta to spend time with them.

Tballs

Tballs – cousin

Hussy #5

Hussy #5 – wife

I’m pretty sure you can tell from the pictures above, this couple is zero fun and I was not unhappy to welcome them into the mini manse for some wild times.

Due to the aforementioned wild times, Easter greeted us around noon in Nashville and Teddy couldn’t have been more thrilled.

Image

World’s pissiest bunny.

But at the crack of dawn above the Mason-Dixon Line the twins were up and at ’em racing to see what the furry Easter fella left in the yard.

Iowa eggs.

Iowa egg hunt pajama style.

Princess B scored some fashionable goggles and a Frozen dress.

Goggles consumed

Pretty princess.

While Prince B sifted through the loot one by one.

Eggstravaganza!

Eggstravaganza!

At the mini manse, we were prepping for a leisurely afternoon hunt.

Nashville egg prep with the help of New Cat.

One hungover bunny.

Turns out, one of the girls was far from impressed with what the egg hunt had to offer.

What. Ever.

What. Ever.

Her ‘tude turned around after I slaved over the decision of whether to cook or escort the clan to my beloved Dalts.

Slaved all day in the kitchen.

Happy Thanksgiving, er…I mean Easter.

But the real topper to the weekend was receiving this picture of Princess B who calls this her “Auntie CBXB” outfit.

Identifying with Auntie CBXB. My kinda girl.

My kinda girl.

Naturally, I’ve died and gone to heaven since I have an almost exact replica of yours truly.

Isn’t that just what the world needs?

CBXB

CBXB!

Easter Eggstravaganza!

Oh the Easter bunny will be hopping all over the planet this weekend and I can’t wait to drink one too many Skinny Pirates and pass out before he burrows his way into my mini manse Saturday night.

Eggs, Captain and a cat shirt.. A heavenly Easter for me.

Eggs, Captain and a cat shirt…
A heavenly Easter for me.

In past years, Easter consisted of the bunny dropping off Underoos, with my sister and I traipsing through the house like manias scaring nothing but the camera.

Easters

Tough bunnies.

As we got older, celebrations consisted of egg hunts with cousins, battling for treasures scattered in the yard careful not to knock over the four year old among us (well, I don’t know if we were careful about it but he remained standing).

Who needs a basket when you got plastic?

Who needs a basket when you got plastic?

Traditions have long remained in the family and we’ve had the same baskets since our first Easters (I know, I know. My basket is not the pink one. No clue what in the fuck the bunny was thinking).

Two

Two kids, two antique baskets.

What would a family tradition be here at CBXB without a little sneaky trashiness?  You see, this man loathes the fake grass used in baskets.

Grass hater.

Grass hater.

Since Dada CBXB whined, cried and carried on one year about how the ‘damn grass’ gets all over the house, I’ve been more than happy to always hide it in the most unsuspecting places. Under his pillow, in his shoes and last year, the shower.

Shower surprise.

This grass needs cleaned.

What’s not to love about little skinny pieces of plastic that can be found in couch crevices, door hinges, car mats, toilet seats, dryer vents and bathroom drains all 365 days until next Easter?

Easter grass. The gift that keeps on giving the whole year through.

Easter grass.
The gift that keeps on giving the whole year through.

Now that we have twin baby bunnies in the mix, I’ve spent Easter in a new way since we can’t always get together being 1,000 miles apart.

basket hoarders

Totally not excited to see the bunny.

Presently, I get to double fist baskets all day long.

Double

Who has my Skinny Pirate?

One for me and one for my pussy. (You didn’t think I was getting greedy did you? And yes, you New Cat lovers, he gets a basket too but is such a big, fat baby that he hides whenever there is any kind of commotion going on, OK?)

Easter King.

King Ted.

Whatever your Easter traditions may be, here’s hoping the day is filled with glee!

Cheers!

CBXB

 

My Pussy Loves Me…He Loves Me Not…

My pussy cat Mr. Ted E. Bear loves to hate me.

All I do.

Truth.

For some odd reason, even though I shower the little love of my life with more affection than a newborn human, he can be so bitchy.  Many times when I’d like to scoop him up for a photo-op, he loves me not.

Kiss me fool

Bitch please.

Still not loving me.

Cheek bite

Getting cheeky.

Forced to love me.

Wranlge

Face of defeat.

Teddy gets extremely annoyed with football season, as every Saturday becomes a drunken moonshine guzzling family affair and he isn’t afraid to showcase his disdain.

Not football friendly. Tailgate fail.

No pussy love for tailgating.

But what I can’t understand is Ted’s pissy behavior when I shove him into his Sunday best…

Can't

Loves me not.

Or dress him up in a bee costume…

Help

Desperately wanting to sting his mother.

Or make him be a version of Robin Thicke to my Miley

Myself

Love me not.

Money shot!

For sure hates my guts.

Or make him the Catman to my Catwoman.

Forced superhero.

Forced superhero.

What I do know is that regardless of whatever giddy up I shove Tedstar into, he always warms up (after some treats are dispersed – green peas are his fave), comes back around (once I have thoroughly massaged between his ears, under his chin with the grand finale of a belly rub) and gets in the saddle once again to be my constant sidekick.

Always got my back.

He’ll claw a bitch.

And when a hungry, crying, soaking wet cat showed up at the door one cold January night, I couldn’t help but take him in and try to find him a permanent home, which ended up being mine. Introducing a new pussy into the mini manse, Mr. Bear wasn’t sure what the fuck I was thinking and proceeded to act as if I ceased to exist.

Who is this and what is it doing in my manse?

Who is this and what is it doing in my manse?

Ted made clear that he was the man in charge, even when it came to the dreaded photos in which I always make him pose.

Who's the boss?

Who’s the boss?

But eventually, I was kicked to the curb and a new love story began to blossom.

Brotherly love.  Just before it broke out into a wrestling match.

Brotherly love.
Just before it broke out into a wrestling match.

But no matter how much my main pussy loves to hate me, we always kiss and make up.

Kiss and make up.

Loves me?

Whether he likes it or not.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Party Style

A killer country concert kicked off a jam-packed Nashville weekend on Friday and the shenanigans haven’t yet stopped.

Cheers Mr. Chesney!

Cheers Mr. Chesney!

Kenny Chesney performed two sold out shows last week at Bridgestone Arena and because of my job, I attended both nights with clients. Being that Kenny and I celebrate birthdays one day apart, I was pretty sure he’d single me out in the crowd to wish me tidings of good joy.

No such luck.

HBD to me.

Happy Birthday to me.

After the enthralling concert experience, I was greeted with some love from my Iowa twins.

Dying.

Is there anything cuter to get for a birthday?

Turns out my niece and nephew are modern-day Picassos, as featured in the photo below.

New Cat had to check out my modern day Picasos

New Cat had to check out the masterpiece I received.

While I was oohing and ahhing over my presents, Prince and Princess B were painting Easter eggs.

Egg paint

Serious about their artwork.

However, Princess B took it upon herself to mimic her Auntie CBXB and paint her nails instead of the boring old eggs.

So my mini me.

My mini me making my heart burst with pride.

Decorating eggs and fingernails creates quite an appetite and there’s hardly anything Princess B loves to gulp down more than salsa.

Salsa tastes so good. Who needs chips?

Who needs chips?

While my mini me was two fisting bowls of salsa, I was busy using two hands to double fist cocktails at one of my birthday celebrations.

Stop. Guzzle time.

Stop. Guzzle time.

Flattered that friends gathered to celebrate my presence on this planet, we yucked it up at one of Nashville’s cool eateries, Suzy Wong’s House of Yum.

Ladies out on the town.

Girls just wanna have fun. And cocktails. Lots of cocktails.

Mama CBXB trudged

Mingling with Mama CBXB.

I was gifted all kinds of goodies, including a beautiful bouquet of roses.

Showered with flowers.

Showered with flowers.

Tears of joy almost streaked my cheeks upon receiving a bell that says ‘Drink Please’. It didn’t stop ringing until about 2am on Saturday night.

Ring my bell.

Ring my bell.

The real humdinger came compliments of my galpal Jdub who not only made cupcakes with sparkles in the frosting but also bedazzled individual boxes for each guest with rhinestones and glitter.

I don't hate it.

Clearly the worst thing I’ve ever seen.

I mean, hello. I wish my friends knew me better.

I mean, hello. I wish my friends knew me better.

Decorator extraordinaire

Decorator extraordinaire is hired for the rest of my birthdays.

Slightly buzzed and on a sugar high, we pranced over to the club adjoining the restaurant and had zero fun.

Fascinator

Party hat pass around.

There, I met my gay soul mate (that’s for you Scooby…just seeing how often you read the blog! And Mr. Scooby you can’t tell him), as he was in the shiniest silver suit ever accompanied by a glitter vest. This is the exact outfit I would want my groom to wear – oh hell, it’s what I want to wear if I ever get hitched.

Lovebirds

You know you’re in a gay club when a man tells you he adores your fascinator.

After all of the whirling, twirling, cupcakes, cocktails and shots there was just one gal standing at the end of the evening.

Um...hello?

Um…hello?

I’m sure you’re not shocked I drank everyone under the table.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

The Beauty of Birthdays

Birthdays of yesteryear taught me some extremely important lessons that I adhere to even today, as I prepare to celebrate another year of fabulous fun.

Huff. Puff. and Blow.

Huff. Puff. Blow.

1) Always take a peek in a mirror before a photo is snapped, forever capturing the loveliness of you on your special day or you may end up with something like this….

My most gorgeous birthday photo ever.

Hello Gorgeous.

Seriously. Stare in the mirror and give a rat’s ass or you’ll be gazing at your lovely self in something as beautiful as a crocheted vest for years to come.

Crochet nightmare

Fashion at its finest accessorized with wispy bangs.

Celebrate

Own advice not taken. Clearly.

2) Upon receiving presents, always act like you’ve just received the best.gift.ever. Even if you have no clue what it is or have no intention of ever wearing/using/displaying/eating/drinking.

Always act surprised.

Holy shit! I love it! No, truly I do.

3) Insist upon holding fingers up to commemorate which age you were celebrating when photos end up in albums.

Insist

I’m this many today.

Even if you’re not quite sure how old you are, own whatever you are saying which will demand more attention on you.

Even

If I say I’m two and a half, I AM TWO AND A HALF, ya dig?

4) Cake matters. Choose your design wisely.

Scoobs.

Everyone wants a piece of Scooby.

Then insist someone hand feed it to you.

Keepin' it classy. As usual.

Keepin’ it classy. As usual.

5) Practice your ‘birthday face’ so you can look adorable in all photos.

Mug for the camera.

Oh who me? Why yes it is my birthday. I’ll just hold this pose for the rest of the day.

Camera!

Adorableness fail.

6) Be sure to have a themed party. Even if it involves you looking like an ass clown.

theme

Send in the clowns.

7) Dance, jump and twirl to your heart’s content, acting as if you have one ounce of rhythm somewhere in your being.

PARTY!

Shake, rattle and rollin’ expected.

Dance

High kicks accepted.

Head banging also accepted.

Head banging also welcomed but you’ll regret it in the morning. Trust me.

8) Noisy favors are a must. Especially if party goers are under the age of six.

Blow it out.

Blow out birthday party.

9) Always go with the celebratory flow.

Go with the flow

Balloons in my hair? Sounds like a good birthday look.

Or at least let someone catch you when the flow gets to be too much for you to stand on your own.

Hey-oh!

Hey-oh!

10) Don’t ever turn away a birthday kiss, no matter how much you think it may hurt your face.

Scruffy faces hurt my cheek. Always low maintenance.

Always being low maintenance, scruffy faces hurt my cheek. Shave already!

11) Even if you share the same birthday with a cousin (gentleman to my left in photo below with thrilled look on his face) be sure you try to be the star of the show anyhow.

Sharing

Sorry. Not sorry B. Happy Birthday today by the way!

12) Never, ever, ever, ever turn down a birthday shot. Ever.

Why thank you

Birthdays taste so good.

Cheers to your birthdays of yesteryear – as well as a year full of the happiest of birthdays for all of us and those we hold dear!

This evening, I’ll be drinking to the wise words my Gma has told me every year, “having another birthday sure beats the alternative.”

Smart lady.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – FUN

The Nashville weekend was brimming with basketball, booze and those babies I adore in Iowa.

Ted was so happy to finally get a full bowl of his prescription cat food Friday night that he acted as if any kind of nourishment hadn’t touched his lips in three years (TRUTH: I couldn’t get to the vet early enough this week, so he and New Cat were forced to eat tuna, poor things).  It was such a lip smacking good party, Ted couldn’t get his head under the bowl (well, in his case martini glass) fast enough and ended up with food all over his furry bod.

Getting crazier by the second in the mini manse.

Getting crazier by the second in the mini manse.

My Iowa twins were gussied up in their finest Iowa threads in order to cheer our Hawkeye basketball team in the first round of March Madness.

Hakweyes most dynamic duo.

The cutest cheerleader and football player my eyes have ever seen.

Although Princess B could have cared less that the Hawkeyes won when she found out the celebratory meal would take place at Chili’s….home of her beloved salsa.

Mostly excited for the salsa at Chili's.

Who cares about basketball?

Wishing I was guzzling salsa with Princess B, I instead gave my kitchen a facelift with a new rug. First I thought it was a bit busy for the room – but who a I kidding? The busier the better in my mini manse!

You like?

You like?

There’s also something I’ve neglected to share with readers and for that I am sorry. Because I know you hang on every. single. aspect. of my trashtacular life.  So it is with great pleasure that I remind you my birthday is this Wednesday.

As in two days.

As in exactly three months after Christmas.

If you second day air mail packages, you’ll be right on time. If you snail mail, it will just keep my party going. I accept well wishes all year round however, so please don’t refrain as I obviously hate hearing about myself.

Birthday!

First gift of my birthday month!

Speaking of presents, I gifted Princess B with an Elsa swimsuit in which she promptly put on and pranced around.

Iowa's very own Elsa.

Iowa’s very own Elsa.

And when this tiny chick is in love with something it’s full on, full force. So she demanded to wear it out to play – with her leopard shades of course.

Too cool to take the suit off. Outdoor Elsa.

Outdoor Elsa.

The second round of March Madness came on Sunday night for the Hawkeyes, and Dada CBXB was luckily in Iowa not only watching the game with the twins but also on a big screen.

Back to the madness that is March basketball.

Not hating life in the slightest.

When all was said and done, Iowa got their asses handed to them and we decided to mourn the loss differently.

Hawks lose. Losing kisses.

The twins kissed their blues away.

While I decided to drown in my sorrows with the fullest martini I’d ever seen.

martini so full

A martini worth the moola.

A cocktail so full, I couldn’t use my hands to move it, therefore I sipped it as if I was a classy lady.

Look ma, no hands!

Look ma, no hands!

Upon returning home, I found my two pussies in a shoving match atop the pink sparkly hamper (which is normally Ted’s domain only).

Shoving match ensued. But I was face first into a martini, so....

Two’s definitely a crowd.

Upon the completion of the feline WWF show, I decided to make us friendship bracelets, as a reminder we can all get along.

Good idea, I think yes.

Again, crazier by the second here at the mini manse.

Here’s hoping you have a crazy fun week friends!

CBXB

CBXB!