I have been in the worst mood the past few weeks. Nothing self inflicted – mostly my reaction to first world problems kind of bad mood. I haven’t been able to shake it the fuck off (where is Taylor Swift when I need her?!) and it’s been an emotional and mentally exhausting time. The kind that sucks the joy from your bones.
Anyone else been stuck in a foul funk?
Luckily for me, aside from implementing the coping skills gained from therapy, my fur babies just know when mama needs extra TLC.
I can never stop gazing at her purrfectly imperfect underbite. It’s the fucking cutest thing to me.
My middle boy, Fabs, is the pussy most attached to my side by demanding attention, head rubs, head butts and figure eighting between my legs in horrible attempts to trip his already klutzy as fuck mother. But damn do I love the companionship (and let’s be honest, constant attention).
As for my twins, Rocky and Ruby Sue (aka Thundercunt), they may as well be attached at the hip. At night, this is their exact position, only I’m in the middle.
Coming home and being surrounded by The Pussy Posse is a tremendous aid in the day-to-day bad mood struggle. You know what else helps? Weekends. And booze.
First Mate has been busy running around the world traveling for her new job, so we needed a catch up on a fabulously fall weathered Friday.
What the fuck would we do without our friends?
College football is also another sanity sidekick I eagerly anticipate every Saturday. My Iowa Hawkeyes lost two of the last three games, so there was some extra added bubbles into the mix, as our family tradition shots have been shockingly sobering the last two weeks.
Still touchdownless during the first half against Purdue, we overindulged in all the tailgating snacks.
Then FINALLY, Iowa scored two touchdowns, double shots went town smoothly and our livers were back up and running.
While I was celebrating Saturday away, my two little monsters in Iowa were busy prepping for Halloween.
I’m not exactly sure what was in this concoction, or which witch is gonna consume but brewing took place outside of their palace.
Princess B has become quite the “baker” as she learned how to deep fry an Oreo.
The grocery chain Trader Joe’s is one I have never stepped foot in, mostly because it’s in the middle of a highly congested area of Nashville (and we all know how I feel about the fucking traffic here nowadays). A new store opened in my neck of the woods, so I decided to make my way in for their CBXB priced wine I’m always hearing about.
I got a cart (buggy if you’re from below the Mason-Dixon Line) and soon remembered why I don’t go to grocery stores on Sunday. Especially stupid since this Trader Joe’s had its grand opening this week.
There is no way the store wasn’t at its capacity, as every aisle I tried to venture down was asses to elbows to shopping carts nipping at my fucking ankles. Therefore, I just stayed in the wine aisle and gazed lovingly at the gigantic assortment offered.
After the shitshow of Trader Joe’s, I went to my mothership, Target and ran into First Mate. Obvies it’s obvies why we’re besties. Afterward, we headed to Dalts for our new favorite Sunday cocktail, the poinsettia (champs with cranberry juice).
After settling back into the Mini Manse, I practiced my Sunday selfcare for two hours (yes, I have to drain the tub and add more hot water but soooooo worth it).
As for the funky feelings, they are still lurking around the corners of my mind but what can’t be cured by pumpkins and wine?