Fa-La-La-La-Pussy Pageant

Is there anything better than a Christmas pageant?

Growing up, my sister and I were forced couldn’t wait to deck out in our finest holiday threads and put on the white trashiest show we could muster for our Gma and Gpa Morris.

Finest production in all of Southwestern Iowa.

Finest production in all of Southwestern Iowa. Paper beard and all.

Due to the fact that I’ve chosen not to create spawn from my own loins, I look to carry on this particular family tradition with main fur ball squeeze, Mr. Ted E. Bear. He’s grown into having a real knack for knowing when to hit notes on cue.

Falalala

Known for fur balls, meows in the middle of the night and Christmas caroling.

The newest members of our brood, however, could give two shits about partaking in the singing festivities. Either that or Ted has forced suggested he remain the one and only star of the 2016 Pussy Pageant.

Better

Choosing to nap over caroling. Ted’s got this covered.

As far as my little chug goes…

cute

Precious is far too busy looking cute and snotting all over her bed to be bothered with singing.

Therefore, please enjoy “Deck the Tree,” sung to you by my favorite pussy in the entire world, Mr. Ted E. Bear.

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Ahem.

Deck the tree if you can move me

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

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‘Tis the Season to be curious

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Curiosity

Move me and I’ll claw your eyes out

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!

DON'T

Troll the same box I see every single year

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

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See the blazing pink before me

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

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Watch me almost catch on fire

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Helps check all the bulbs

Break for naps, merriment is exhausting

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Moose mug break

Soak in all the glittery glory

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Admiring his hard work

I’m the only star in this joint

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Glitter tastes so good

I just found my newest chew toy

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

Hate the star

Eliminate all other feline competition

Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

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Remind your mom that you’re her one and only…

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FA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!

You’re welcome for your new favorite Christmas caroler.

CBXB

CBXB!

Cheers to a full tank.

p.s. – only 13 more days to Fuck Yeah 2017!

 

Weekend Winks – Winos, Weirdos and The Walking Dead

For some, weekend work functions can really suck if you let them. However, the right mix of co-workers (that you’re lucky to also call friends) can make any event more tolerable…especially if the event revolves around any sort of libation. Like a wine festival.

Trashy, classy and a tad sassy mix.

Sandwiched between trashy and classy. #heaven

I mean, who wouldn’t be pumped to be stuck between two blondes who know how to act incredibly VIP-ish.

We. Are. Somebodys.

We. Are. Somebodys.

Or, maybe he has a point….

Can you just carry everything? Thanks.

Can you just carry everything? Thanks.

We hightailed it to my beloved Dalts just as soon as we could to carry on the out-of-office shenanigans much to the rest of the bar’s dismay.

What

She loves us.

We critiqued all 4,09,265 selfies taken over a three hour period.

Ew.

Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

And then took one more.

Trashy is easily rubbing off.

My trashtacularness seems to be rubbing off on The Golden Girl.

While I was working on my wino wind down, the Iowa twins were frolicking in all of the fun that fall has to offer.

Double the fall fun!

Traipsing through the leaf debris.

Halloween bake-off.

Baking Halloween treats with creative flair.

Starting their Christmas lists a little early this year.

And starting their Christmas lists a little early.

After rehydrating my liver with a bloody mary Saturday morning, I was prepped and ready for the Iowa Hawkeye football game kick-off at 11am.

I even made my blogfamous Pigskin Sushi.

I even made my blogfamous Pigskin Sushi.

It may not look pretty but pickles and ham taste mighty fine together. Since the inception of our trashtacular family tradition of touchdown shots, we have yet to go a game with no moonshine. However, we were sorely disappointed when our team not only lost but only made field goals.

Losing like we mean it.

We’re thirsty after a 17-9 defeat.

It

Poor, lonely shot glasses.

The remainder of the weekend required a lot of lounging with my pussies (Rocky would like you to know this was snapped from a bad angle).

David and Goliath. Or Arnold and Danny.

David and Goliath. Or Arnold and Danny. Or the difference between my g-string and bra size.

The snooty duo of Ted and Presh stuck side-by-side, warming my leopard couch up for the premiere of The Walking Dead (holy fuck!) and promptly left the area when my less than quiet reactions to what was happening on screen turned into screeching.

The duo.

Patiently waiting for the flesh eating zombies.

The show forced me to lift my one night ban on drinking due to the high anxiety the events of the episode caused yours truly.

I might have gone overboard.

I might have gone overboard…

In closing, many of you know my bestie Scooby, who makes often appearances on this blog (although he doesn’t read it, so his husband Mr. Scooby has to tell him when he appears). Scooby is the friend that holds your hair back when you puke (while laughing at the back of your head), rushes to your aid when bad shit happens to good people, and will stuff a body into a trunk for a laugh.

So it’s suffice to say we’re family. And this family member is about to go to Atlanta on a manhunt because Scooby was involved in a hit and run while he was walking at a crosswalk yesterday. HE WILL BE OK. But he had to scramble to the curb after the vehicle ran him over and then the car fled the fucking scene.

I'll cut a bitch.

I’ll cut a bitch.

While his multiple broken bones will require surgery, he’s going to be OK after this scariest of incidents. Please send him and his family all of the good juju you can muster while he’s traveling home to Kansas City to prep for surgery and recover.

I’m way the fuck over 2016.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Welcome to the Jungle

Life lately has felt as if I’ve been needing a machete to cut through the roughage of life growing up all around me. While it can more often than not feel all-consuming, it’s always a bonus when you got folks who have your back in blowing off some steam.

Ahhhh....Fridays are so refreshing

Like Dada CBXB always ready for a cold one.

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And suck I do.

And when I need it, suck down Skinny Pirates, I do!

With a little extra help from Camo and The Silent Indian, my spirits were flying higher in no time at my local haunt, Dalts.

You know what else exposes my pearly whites? Pics from the world’s cutest niece and nephew.

Party up north.

Two Iowa clowns.

I can't even.

I can’t even.

Not only should these two faces be in magazines, billboards and on TV (I beg their mother to let me be their auntager) but Princess B could rock the world of hair with her tresses.

Hair care

But then again, her awareness of self is already gigantic – I wonder if the world could handle her.

All 'tude. All the time.

All ‘tude. All the time.

Speaking of cuts, Precious got her summer chop going on and won’t stop strutting around the mini manse.

Chug-a-lug got a cute cut, too.

Chug-a-lug got a cute cut, too.

Ripping myself away from twin photos and my real life ewok proved difficult but somehow I managed when my buddy invited me along to see Guns N’ Roses – which from the hype was going to be the Nashville concert of the year.

I know. I'm so rock'n'roll.

Don’t even tell me. I’m so rock’n’roll.

You know when you don’t want to get your hopes up, keeping expectations low because aging rockers somehow, someway, typically disappoint?  Well, this wasn’t the case Saturday night.

I have always wanted to see Guns N’ Roses in all of their glory but when Axl Rose (who looked like he could be a Real Househusband of LA due to over botoxing but sang like a motherfucker), Duff McKagan and Slash (the ultimate shit of rock guitar shredders in my book) came out and took the stage in Music City my expectations were far exceeded.

I’ve seen the Stones. I’ve seen Paul McCartney. I’ve been backstage, side stage and on stage at numerous stadium shows for some of the greatest acts in the industry due to my work life. However, this show took the proverbial cake because I couldn’t stop smiling the entire show (or screaming, or air guitar playing or stopping myself from buying a new wardrobe so I have a GNR shirt for every goddamn day of the week).

I died.

Tri-Slashta.

That show put some much-needed kick ass pep back in my step. The concert also reminded me of the time years ago I made an ex-boyfriend dress as Axl to complement my Slash. Not hard to wonder when I want to dress as old rockers for Halloween why we’re not still together (well, aside from the fact that he’s dating a newer version of me who will probably go the route of a Hooters waitress for dress up holidays). Ya dig?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where did I go? Straight to the lovin’ teeny tiny T-rex arms of my fave chug, Presh.

Straight to bed.

Rocked out, lights out.

Sunday marked a milestone in the mini manse. The baby, Elsa Pants, ventured to Ted’s glass of kitty caviar – and lived to tell about it.

Fed the beast. Martini meows.

Martini meows.

Another fabulous pick-me-up over the weekend? One of my beloved gal pals, Bex, found the hardback (you know, because hardbacks are way more convenient than a paperback or Kindle) version of my all-time fave books, Stephen King’s The Stand. I have been looking for this nearly a decade and she stumbled upon it at a used bookstore – and remembered! Great friends kick ass.

HARDBACK!

Although I don’t have my hands on this masterpiece yet, I did settle down with Stephen King’s newest End of Watch and it was so fantastic, I read it all on Sunday. With company of course.

Wild Nashville nights.

Wild Nashville nights.

A little less wild in my jungle by weekend’s end.

Cheers!
CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Brakes, Birds and Breakdowns

You know when you’re a mass of walking nerves, sometimes it’s good to lay low. Therapist Miss Sheila says I’m supposed to be doing everything I can to relax. Which is exactly what I did on Friday night, aside from the fact that I was bombarded by my zoo. We cozied up watching our fave TV show Forensic Files (don’t piss us off, we know how to kill you slowly) while the fur balls took turns sitting in my lap.

No cages needed.

No cages needed.

Being that I have not had a check card since June 10 (First world problem? Yes. A gigantic pain in my ass not having a check card for two weeks? Yes. Bank’s fault? Yes.) I felt like I’d won the lottery since having to guess how much money to take out of the bank every time I went to see my new best friend teller.

I'm rich! I'm rich!

I’m rich! I’m rich! I’m rich!

While I was busy rolling in the dough, the Iowa twins were lolligagging in the Hawkeye State sun on Saturday.

Lounging at its finest.

Lounging at its finest.

I mean...that face.

I mean…that face.

Being that I’ve been under the social radar recently, it takes a lot for me to muster up the energy to get my ample ass up off the couch, get gussied up and go make a positive contribution at a party. Talking myself up all week for a birthday celebration on Saturday, I’d put on my finest sequins, pink lipstick and even washed my hair.

Ray of fucking sunshine.

Ray of fucking sunshine.

Halfway to the party, my dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree (which would usually make me ecstatic over my love of all things bright and shiny but I knew this wasn’t gonna be good).

There was also a high pitched, ear piercingly loud beep that accompanied this display of lights (almost identical to the most annoying sound in the world that Jim Carrey makes in Dumb and Dumber). I did what any grown woman would do and called my dad. While shouting over the beep and trying not to melt in the 100 degree heat, I had to throw my car into park in order to get it from rolling forward.

Luckily, I wasn’t on the interstate and was able to get the goddamn car to a service station, where the beep would.not.stop. As soon as I pulled in, I had to have a moment to myself and I screamed “OHMYFUCKINGGODCANICATCHAFUCKINGBREAK?!” in my car so loudly, a service manager came out of the store to see if I was OK.

Then he wanted to know what in the hell was making the beeping sound.

Turns out, it was the brakes.

Hood Rat

No good under the hood.

When I came home from the shop, where I was lucky enough to spend $1,000 on my piece of shit rust bucket of a vehicle, I decided to fill the bird feeder as I waited on my Saturday night date.

No Go

Do you see what I see?

That’s right, no bird feeder.

Everything I touch turns to shit, I tell you.

Turning everything I touch to shit in 2016.

Being all dressed up with nowhere to go, it was good old Dada to the rescue.

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Thankfully, he took a crack at hanging up the fallen feeder seeing that I was about to go bananas on the plastic piece of shit that was the cherry on top of my day.

First crack.

First try.

Having some issues (mostly being that I lack any kind of tool, nail, screw, etc. that could possibly aid the situation) we called in Camo as reinforcement.

I'm such a good project manager.

Red necks carry tools in their trucks at all times.

I’m happy to report that none of the chicks around my mini manse will be starving anymore. Crisis averted.

Cheers, not tears.

Cheers, not tears.

Sunday morning I had 1.4 thousand notifications on Facebook when I checked my phone which made me suddenly wonder if I had a bona fide cyber stalker.

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But then, I got a text message from the alleged perpetrator and my day was made by an old friend.

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You know, it is the little things that keep you going. I so appreciate all of the good juju, karma, happy thoughts, texts, letters, etc. that remind me that this isn’t a lone battle. It’s just gonna be a long one with some pink, sparkly armour, all of your support and of course, my ever present fur ball side kicks.

Presh

One who gives a shit.

Feed Us.

And four who just want to be fed.

Love ya, mean it!

CBXB

CBXB!

Take Your Chug to Work Day

Being that today is National Take Your Dog to Work Day, I couldn’t leave my Precious behind with all of the pussies in the mini manse.

Not another day with the pussies.

Not another day with the pussies.

Hell, I take the chug (chihuahua/pug mix) everywhere else I go…

Bitches do have more fun, you know.

Bitches do have more fun, you know.

Shop 'til we drop.

Supermarket sweep in the dog aisle.

We get our hair done together.

Dynamic duo getting gussied up together.

She helps select plants for my black thumb to slowly kill over the summer.

Perfectly picking out plants for my black thumb to slowly kill over the summer.

So when I asked P if she wanted to join me at the workplace today she was all –

The longing to go to work look.

WHAT?!

Ready.

Ready.

So I stuffed her into the Louis and she was carried through the streets of downtown Nashville in style.

A lift through downtown Nashville in Louis Vuitton style.

No autographs please.

She may join in on a meeting or two during the day.

May join in a meeting or two. Like a boss.

Like a boss.

Presh will claim my chair as her throne knowing she’ll still be overthrown.

Throne for Precious.

Making room for mom.

Throne fit for two.

When she gets tired of my ample ass in her face, she’s got her own personal air conditioner.

Keeping cool with her own personal air conditioner.

The way her mane blows, she might as well be in a Suave commercial.

Precious has a knack for knowing things – like she’s the cutest dog in the entire universe. But she really loves reading all of the accolades she’s showered with when arriving to the workplace.

Basically, she’s the pretty girl at the party who pretends to not know she’s pretty so people tell her she’s pretty.

Yeah, that’s Precious.

Adorn me. Now.

Adore me. Now.

So all of the office peeps follow orders and fawn all over P like it’s their job.

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Naturally after all of this hard work today, I’m taking Presh out for a round at happy hour.

A few dogtails will be had in celebration of a successful day.

A few dogtails will be had in celebration of a successful day.

One proud mama.

One proud mama.

The best part about this national Take Your Dog to Work Day? It’s on a fucking Friday.

Hallelujah!

CBXB

CBXB!