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
Cowboys and Crossbones 