Weekend Winks IS BACK

Well, well, well life seems to be falling into a sort of ‘normal’ now that the Rona vaccines are out and available. It seems like f-o-r-e-v-e-r but yet justlikeyesterday all of the shit hit the proverbial fan. Who could have foreseen the division created by political so-called leaders in fighting what could have saved hundreds of thousands of American lives by refusing to wear a fucking cloth over one’s face.

Anyhoo, I hope you and yours are well and on the hunt for the vaccine if you haven’t already been shot with the Fauci Ouchie. I’m pumped to say both of my folks are vaccinated and hugs will soon be shared by all of the CBXB clan! WHOOP!

My weekend kicked off with birthday festivities for the second time during Rona. There was nothing that was gonna stand in my way of celebrating this year. I have a full bday recap coming because I’m literally celebrating every.single.day. in March.

Oh hi Rona round two.

I rang in my birthday Wednesday night talking with two of my girls – Miss Bella outta Chicago and A3 outta Duluth.

I’d stopped to get myself some bubbly on my birthday and splurged on a fancy (for me because it was above my typical $6.99 budget) frugal bottle.

I was beyond spoiled to say the very least upon my arrival back to the Mini Manse. This doesn’t include all of the loving I got before, during and still after my day (don’t forget we’re celebrating ALL month and there are three days left in March).

Wondering what was in the tall box, I contemplated if it could possibly be a tent delivered to the wrong address.

Turns out it was delivered to the correct Mini Manse AND was filled with the best treats a girl with Celiac Disease could wish for – a case of GLUTEN FREE DOUBLE STUFFED OREOS that just hit the market and have been impossible to find!

Double Stuffed DELIGHT.

I laid in bed all birthday morning eating Oreos and read all of my messages over and over and over and over. To the point my pussies were trying to claw the device from my hands for some attention.

But Mama’s got some claws of her own. My gal Lash Goddess has been in my Rona bubble and started practicing her talon magic on me much to my delight.

I won the claw fight over the phone, masked up and headed to my fave watering hole on the planet in almost a year…Dalts. Annual birthday Skinny Pirates galore (not unlike a preRona Friday night) for me.

Due to the INSANE amount of rain, it was the purrfect Saturday to stay in bed and binge watch Schitt’s Creek (the show the rest of the world watched at the beginning of the pandemic).

I Netflixed and chilled. Prissy whimpered and whined for a bite.

Nashville has been hit so hard the last 365 days, it’s almost impossible to comprehend everything that has happened. Starting last March with a tornado that ripped through all of Middle Tennessee, a bombing downtown on Christmas morning and ass clown tourists passing Rona around to our citizens because…bachelorette parties are more important than grandma’s life.

GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY. @musicshitty

Insanity poured down on Music City once again. South Nashville was hit especially hard and its demographic of citizens heartbreakingly aren’t typically the type to keep the news in cycle.

Bridge of debris in South Nashville. @musicshitty

Another fun reason I lollygagged in bed was due to being triggered by a rape case in Minnesota. The state Supreme Court of the Land of 10,000 Lakes really knocked the wind outta this survivor’s sails.  A woman was raped while she was drunk in 2017. The rapist was convicted and sentenced in 2019 BUT his smarmy (like for real, who defends rapists?) lawyers appealed to the Minnesota Supreme Court with absolute credibility because IT IS LAW.

This is victim blaming at its fucking highest level. It made me physically ill. Not only because of the similarities to my case but holy fucking shit. A rapist never rapes just once and he’s being given a new trial.

This is absolutely infuriating. ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. It tore me to pieces and I cannot imagine what the victim must be feeling – reeling from – after having come forward, her case making it to court, her rapist found guilty and sentenced, only to be given a new trial UNANIMOUSLY by the state Supreme Court because SHE was drunk. Folks, this is rape culture.

This is why who you vote for matters. It matters a FUCK ton because judicial positions such as these are appointed by politicians in which citizens vote. You know, like how former president Covita stacked federal courts and the Supreme Court with lifetime nominees. THIS. SHIT. MATTERS.

Needless to say, I spent much more of the weekend holding space for myself, while Prissy and The Pussy Posse wallowed in bed with me.

After being fired up for two days straight, it was fitting to start my Monday with the gang who quite literally carried me virtually through the pandemic on Instagram. A workout crew, the Clams, started by Body By Trainor is almost always my saving grace.

Is there any better way usher in a week than with a swift one-two to the face?

I think not.

Love ya, mean it.

BUY ME A DRINK!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 as feathers.

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

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.

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…

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 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.

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.

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!

CBXB