Weekend Winks – Super Hero, Sun and Snuggles

Life. Last week was a doozy in the fact that my chronic fatigue kicked into high gear. I was so ready for Friday at 5pm, I came home and when I laid down on the couch, I woke up two hours later. I’m not a napper but damn it felt ah-mah-zing.

While I was busy snoozing, Prince B was kicking ass and taking names as a super warrior ninja.

Even ninjas use jazz hands.

He was supposed to use his super power abilities to make it through the obstacle course.

Nailed it.

You know what else this handsome devil can do? Model. His love of books rivals my own and Sister CBXB has taken the twins to the library since forever. Proof is in the banner below.

Literature stud since birth. Yes, I can get you an autograph.

Speaking of autographs, I can also secure you one of Princess B when she becomes a hair model.

Curls on point.

I mean…can you even?

After my mini marathon of a nap Friday, I moved my ass to the bathtub and read to relax. I went to bed around midnight and woke up at 11:30am on Saturday looking nothing like the storybook princesses do. But damn was I rested.

A not so Sleeping Beauty.

As soon as I saw the sun was out, I met Rasta up at the pool where we had on matching swimsuits that were filled out a skosh differently.

Twinning.

My other gal pal, Voodoo found the.perfect.float at my mothership, Target. I will be purchasing this on my next payday because, how could I live without it?

MINE.

Saturday night called for a birthday party for my gal pal G (you know, the one who defended my honor and almost fought an 80-year-old man). It was a real treat to see these ladies.

Fab four.

I don’t get to see them as much lately due to the fact that they have procreated. And while I am extremely busy raising four lazy pussies, I can’t get them to play games with me. So I borrow everyone else’s spawn.

Don’t worry. There was a babysitter babysitting me, too.

Sunday was so dreary I could only think of one thing that might make it better.

The perfect Iowa trifecta of goods. Fresh sweet corn, Anderson Erickson Old Fashioned Cottage Cheese and their fucking bomb ass French Onion dip (which I always call french vanilla – sooooooo hard being blonde). Please, for the love of GAWD can a grocery store start carrying these products below the Mason Dixon Line?!

Throw in a steak and this could be my last meal.

Still feeling tired as all get out, I went back to bed to read only to be pounced on (a very, slow, lethargic pounce) by Rocky.

14 lbs of pussy.

My fucking arm and hand went numb because how could I move this face? HOW?

Dead weight.

While trying to do things with my non-dominant left hand, I happened to scroll passed a very accurate meme on Instagram.

Further fucking proof of a snoozing Pussy Posse.

Obviously Rocco moved and I was able to resume finishing my book. Then I was down a pussy in the bed and went on the hunt for Fabio who typically is demanding a head rub on my chest. I found him on the kitty condo enjoying some solitude.

He just needed a minute.

While I was getting ready to pour myself a cup of Sleepytime tea, these two clowns were still up at 8:30pm when their usual bedtime routine starts around 7pm.

Night caps of milk.

Monday started out in the loveliest way possible. As my alarm did its duty, the pussies that were sleeping in each arm pit and on my chest scattered, knowing it was feeding time. I rolled over and saw cat ass. Awe.

Best view in bed.

Here’s hoping you don’t already feel like this today, too.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – World Traveler

OK, so maybe I’m not so much of a world traveler as a back and forth to Iowa traveler.

The past two weekends I’ve found myself in opposite ends of Iowa, partying it up with some of my fave family members starting with Prince and Princess B.

Twins are so easy.

Twins are so easy.

I hadn’t seen my hell on wheels duo since January and being that they’re now two and a half no moment spent with them is dull.

Princess B

This laugh is as funny as it appears.

Prince B

Nephew nuzzles are the best kind of love.

My sister typically stocks up on my beloved Anderson Erickson chip dip (seriously the best dip on the planet and my ample ass can prove it!) for me but Princess B had other plans.

Love us some dairy.

Who needs a spoon?

We also ganged up and loved on our favorite Hawkeye, Dada CBXB.

Three

As you can see, he hates the attention.

After a two night layover back in my own Nashville bed, I headed up to see my spunky Gma (you know, the one who pretends to hate Jell-O shots and wheels around the town square in style) as she’s not been feeling fabulous recently.

Gma

Happy to be hanging together.

I also found myself willingly stuffed in a trunk for the sake of a birthday surprise for my fabulous friend Mr. Scooby.

Got thrown in a trunk

Not much I won’t do for a laugh.

Mr. Scooby was surprised to say the least.

Surprise success!

My bestie Scooby flew me into Des Moines to surprise his hubs, Mr. Scooby for his birthday. This trip also served as a way for Scooby and myself to get shit faced at the finish line while his hot husband and equally good looking running mate, Royal, sprinted 13.2 miles at the annual Dam to Dam.

Drunk Mascot

Race runners with their soon to be drunk mascot.

A little too much excitement in the collecting of champagne bottles resulted in a bubble catastrophe in the grocery store. I swear my two bottles of wine at supper had nothing to do with it.

Clean up on aisle nine...

Clean up on aisle nine…

But the spill was definitely worth the trouble as Scoobs and I tailgated at the finish line at the ass crack of dawn the following morning.

Force fed champs well before noon

Force fed champs well before noon.

We also mustered enough energy to engage in a photo shoot while waiting for our runners.

Holla!

Holla!

They did it!

They did it!

After drinking the day away, we kept it up by cocktailing with a fellow classmate, Rolo.

Old friends.

Old friends are the funnest!

After our 118th cocktail of the day, we decided that Scooby looks like the dad from the ’80s TV show “Alf”.

Don’t you agree?

Alf Dad = Scooby

Well, we don’t think the hair looks the same…

Although a whirlwind of a time, it was a spectacular weekend seeing my gays who make me belly laugh so hard I count it as an ab workout.

Foursome

Best bikini workout ever.

There was one teeny, tiny kink in my flight back to Nashville.

It took off at 6am.

I woke up at 5:15am.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

This wouldn’t be such an issue in any other booming metropolis but the thing is this was the one and only flight out of Nashville via Southwest on Sunday. My hungover ass had to make the plane.

At 5:39am I announced my arrival at the airport running in, screaming like a crazy lady at the Southwest ticketing agents:

“WILL I MAKE A SIX AM FLIGHT?”

“You have a slight chance but your bag will never make it.”

Throwing my suitcase at the agent (while thanking her at the same time), I turned into an Olympic runner barreling through security (thank god for salt of the earth, nice, understanding Iowa people who suggested I budge when they saw dust at my feet due to my sudden athletic abilities) and sprinting to my gate in just enough time to dry heave (my body is only used to me doing arm curls in order to get a cocktail to my watering hole) when I sat in my seat as the airplane door slammed shut 30 seconds after my entrance.

Um, oops.

Aging five years in fifty minutes.

And you know what? Even with my beyond late check-in, the suitcase made the airplane.

Made it!

God I love Iowa airport workers.

As this post comes to a close, I’ve received word that things aren’t looking so hot for my Gma and your good karma sent her way would be much appreciated as my family and I hope she’s resting comfortably.

Gma

Ladies out on the town.

And as I am giving my liver a rest, here’s hoping your week is off to a fabulous start!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Auntie Style

An unexpected trip to Iowa made for a whirlwind weekend for this Nashville gal, as among other things my sister and her family were in the middle of a move.

Fun aunts are amazing

Totally hands on during the move.

My bro-in-law saw that Anderson Erickson (the best damn dairy company on the planet) took notice of my Iowa appearance and put the most delish chip dip in the world on sale (I can typically eat a carton and a bag of Lay’s potato chips in one sitting. Don’t judge.).

Dip baby, dip.

Dip baby, dip.

The best thing about traveling to Iowa is seeing my twin niece and nephew, who are obvious geniuses as they have now mastered one steep step.

Step mastered.

Little Einsteins.

While arriving in the wee hours Friday morning, we needed a little pick-me-up when the moving festivities began at 8am.

Moonshine for the move.

Who needs mimosas when you have moonshine?

All of us but one selected suitable moving shoes.

Appropriate moving heels. Cinderella style

Anything more appropriate than Cinderella glass heels on moving day?

While some of us felt like Prince B mid-move, we were able to keep our emotions in check.

Not excited.

My condolences on the changing of your diaper.

I was able to muster the energy it took to stand and point as the movers brought furniture in all afternoon.

Traffic cop.

Traffic cop.

During my breaks, I felt it necessary to ride horses with Princess B.

Ridin' ponies.

She’s wondering what the hell I’m doing on her brother’s pony.

Lunch was accompanied by whiskey and ibuprofen, keeping spirits lifted.

Lunch break.

I should pack this in my lunch every day.

Because whiskey is needed in Diet Coke when you get to do fun moving chores like dismantle a couch to fit through a doorway.

Fun times.

Of course, I stood and ordered rather than get my hands dirty.

After feeling like my index fingers were about to fall off, the move was complete and I couldn’t decide which one of the moving men I liked better.

Watching is exhausting.

Professional, polite, fun and hard-working – call this company if you find yourself in the depths of moving hell.

No one was more exhausted after the day’s activities than my dogphew, Gunner who lounged under his Gigi’s feet all evening.

Dogphew

Barking is hard work.

Another perk about Iowa is getting to see my college bestie, Whitney Lover (as she has the oldest and most worn Whitney Houston t-shirt that once was white but now appears to be a stained yellow) when she has time to slide me into her hectic schedule filled with three kids’ activies.

Everyone knows of her love for WL and she was gifted with a matching onesie for her daughter.

Much to her daughter’s dismay, she received a matching Whitney Houston onesie.

Besties

We know, we know. Best photo ever.

And I got to see her little Lady E who has the biggest blue eyes you’ve ever seen.

Lady E.

Lady E with Auntie CBXB.

While Whitney Lover and I were at the bar, we noticed that a 70-year-old was trying to remain hip and cool (or copying my style completely) as she had the exact same hue of pink under her grayish white hair.Β  Please refrain from telling Whitney Lover how amazing her hairstyle was that day – we heard about it every where we stopped.

Pink Lady.

WL and I agreed that it’d be best if I just ended it all now.

In between meeting WL’s neighbors and kids, we headed to her house after a few cocktails. I had arrived late, so the entire neighborhood was about 14 drinks ahead of yours truly which made getting out of a seat belt extremely difficult for one Neighbor.

How many clicks to get out of a seat belt?

How many clicks does it take to get out of a safety harness?

Texting

WL wouldn’t know as she was busy texting.

And with not one ounce of ease and after 12 minutes, we were able to slide Neighbor out of the seat belt and secure her feet firmly to the ground.

Mission accomplished

Mission accomplished.

The next morning it was time to say goodbye to my fave bebes, so I read to Prince B one last time as he sat on his throne.

Stories

His Royal Highness loves his caterpillar book.

Princess B thought she’d give brushing my hair a whirl (and thankfully left no snarls).

Hair brushing

Brushing at its best.

On the way back to Nashville, we stopped at a gas station where my thoughts of inspiring hair color for seniors around the Midwest were solidified, as I saw an 85-year-old with pink in her pixie cut.

Kill. Me. Now.

Kill. Me. Now.

Who knew I was such a trendsetter for the AARP crowd?

Lucky me.

CBXB

CBXB!