Weekend Winks – Cinco de Drinko

How can you cram in the Kentucky Derby, Cinco de Mayo AND a Nashville Predators hockey play-off game all in one day?

Piece of cake for this liver of mine.

Oh how the anticipation of a Friday feels so good. A long week of work and an even longer week of insane non-fake news calls for a pit stop at my fave watering hole, Dalts.

Skinny Pirates for celebration and consoling.

There was something ultra empowering for victims of sexual assault this week, as America’s former favorite TV dad was found guilty in court for his heinous acts. As he fucking should have been in the first place after nearly five dozen women came forward and spoke out – and keep in mind these are his victims that chose to speak up. Think about the countless others who remain silent for their own reasons. I can’t wait for this man to rot the rest of his life away.

EPIC WIN FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT VICTIMS

On the far end of the negative spectrum, my home state, Iowa, that has always been my pride and joy, took women’s rights back about 50 years. BY THE FEMALE GOVERNOR. Now, I don’t care where you stand on abortion – however, this new legislation prevents abortions after six weeks of pregnancy. SIX WEEKS. Most of my friends who have had children, didn’t know they were pregnant until well after this point. Even if a child is molested and becomes pregnant, or a pregnancy occurs because of rape, the victims only have 45 days to speak up before they must keep the baby. FUCK THAT SHIT.

I mean, if the government truly thinks humans were put on this Earth to procreate, men shouldn’t be able to masturbate to fruition because, the sperm ejaculated could have produced a baby, right?

EPIC FAIL IOWA

All that being said, Dalts was happy to see Camo and Captain doing our drinking thang.

Camo with crazy runaway bride eyes – you guys remember her?

While I was sipping on Skinny Pirates, awaiting Mama CBXB’s arrival to Nashville, my Iowa twins were enjoying the simple treats in life…baseball and ice cream.

While I had my mini sombrero laid out for Cinco de Meowy, I had major tugging at my heartstrings when this popped up in my Facebook feed.

I have a love/hate relationship with these goddamn Facebook memories.

While I was a tad teary eyed Saturday, the twins were all giggle and games in celebration of Cinco de Mayo.

Princess B didn’t let dizziness deter her.

 

Prince B was a bit further from the tail…

 

I tried gussying up with a new product for the celebratory holiday – magnetic false eye lashes. It went about how you’d expect with me.

 

False eyelash-less, I hosted a small party for my NHL Stanley Cup hopeful Nashville Predators. Bird Lady, First Mate, Mama CBXB and yours truly partied regardless of the dismal performance by the Preds. They ended up losing at home 6-2…but the drinkos kept being poured anyhow.

Derby Success.
Cinco de Drinko Success.
Predators FAIL.

A gorgeous Sunday was made for a fun day of errands. Specifically to my second mothership, where I picked up a cat tree fit for my four pussies. Mama CBXB gifted it to her grandcats as a late Christmas gift.

Cray Cray Cat Lady version of Sunday Funday.

I was a usual shit show carrying it to the car, adorning the dumpster wedding veil I keep in my trunk “just in case,” to load the tower into my vehicle. I mean, I didn’t want to crush it, so I put it on.

Who doesn’t do this?

After clearing a little room for plants, we picked up a few flowers to help my black thumbs (I killed a cactus this winter) morph more toward green. Upon arriving home, the pussies couldn’t decide whether to climb on the cat nip loaded tower or eat all of the greenery and throw up.

Decisions. Decisions.

Fabio declaring his space.

Ruby Sue nestled right in.

Rocky couldn’t be bothered to try either, as he was near comatose on the bed.

Fine here, thanks.

Elsa Pants, aka Stank Face, bucked the trend and went for the plants.

…she owns this title.

I can’t wait to see what she’s left for me after work today.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

My Billion Dollar Pussy

Who knew you could buy a knight in shining armor?

He refuses to wear the armor.

This is a busted ass version of a fairy tale (what other version would you expect from me?), where I’m not the queen. That role is of course, has been occupied by His Royal Highness Teddy Bear ever since I rescued his ass seven years ago. I’ve happily played the role of loyal servant (and I still do) however, the perils of life turned me into a version of Humpty Dumpty…. one that weebles, wobbles and falls the fuck down (typically face first).

Me speedy recovery remedy after a fall.

While I’m the damsel in distress, my feline has caused me more torment as he’s decided to test the waters of almost every single ailment known to catkind while I was trying to trudge through the forest of life, getting us into some semblance of a kingdom. Even though his dramatic ailments added to my worry, he pulled the fuck through every time. Just like a knight in shining armour.

Just scaring mom for shits and giggles.

I couldn’t love my cat Teddy Bear more than if I birthed him from my own loins (but let’s be real, I’d pay a surrogate because ew, pain) and I would take a bullet the size of Donald Trump’s ego to save his furry life. Although over the years, the amount of cold hard cash I’ve shelled out to keep the love of my life alive and kickin’ rivals the amount NASA spends to put an astronaut on the moon. But it’s worth every fucking penny.

Like the start of many fairy tales, ours was love at first meow. Never mind the fact that he had an upper respiratory infection and ringworm due to being crammed in a one-bedroom apartment of 30 other felines before he was rescued (save your fucking jokes about this being me one day for later, please and thanks). Being such a trashtacular high maintenance gal myself, it felt nothing other than natural that this soon-to-be drama king chose me as his human soulmate.

Forced Soulmates.

After His Majesty’s ringworm and respiratory infection subsided, we learned that he had a food allergy to chicken (through several visits to the vet) as he would develop what basically looked like kitty chicken pox. The little red dots would scab over and Tedstar got to wear a cone, which ever pet owner knows is the best time ever.

The most pissed off cone head on the planet.

All the feels about the cone, complete with puke.

So I received a prescription card to purchase $80 per bag cat food that’s a mixture of peas and duck. Maybe I should have known when I walked into the kitchen one day and saw this…

Bitch Peas

Forcing Ted to be my bestie took a solid two years, as he was skiddish, nervous and full of anxiety due to the lack of human contact while he was one of 29 others the first year of his life. But one miraculous day, my shy little pussy morphed into a full on stalker. I couldn’t sit (and still can’t) down for 15 seconds without him creeping onto my lap or darting like a figure skater through my legs while I tried to walk or wanting to partake in chores as he sat on my hip (mostly pouring Skinny Pirates and applying lipstick) but he does love to assist…

…with laundry…

…with dishwasher loading…

…and unloading…

…and letting me know when the shitter’s full.

He even started presenting me with lavish gifts only a pussy could deliver to his mother.

Prancing in one night with a cardinal in his mouth while I was relaxing in the bath.

He proudly corralled tampons like John Wayne did cowboys.

Once, he even tried to reenact scenes from my favorite crime show, Forensic Files, by creating an outline of his body in a bush, as he misjudged it being a solid surface.

Forensic feline body outline.

As life tends to twist and turn, shit hit the fan after our first three years together. I went through what might as well have been a divorce, losing a long-term relationship, my house, my job AND getting to move in with my parents all in the same week.

WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.

Trying to get back up on my own paws, I moved four times in three years. During this tumultuous time in life, Ted remained steadfast by my side. Although he continued to be high maintenance as fuck, making his mother stress to the max about her sidekick literally kicking the bucket. Among his many ailments:

Kitty Celiac Disease which forces me to feed my cat rather than myself the week his food runs out.

Fancy fucking feast.

Bi-yearly upper respiratory infections that always allow us a road trip to the vet.

Kitty colds suck.

And often require overnight stays for fluids.

Skin sensitivity at the most random times of the year.

Also, requiring visits to the vet, along with medication.

In more than one place, at different times naturally.

Resting bitch face.

No cost for me.

Motion sickness that was a super fun thing to discover.

The utmost dignity for the unattractive regurgitating of food in his mother’s lap.

A case of curiosity as he went missing from the mini manse for 24 hours and I spent my last dime making color copies and plastering car windshields in my apartment complex.

Every. single. car. But worth the $300, as he was found.

Fleas…after being outside one time in his entire life. It was like he had a one night stand….with fucking fleas.

This dip was fun before a trip to the vet.

Inflammatory Bowel Disease that took three weeks to uncover through exploratory surgery, endless testing and finally the right medications.

The gift that keeps on giving.

Congestive heart failure brought on by the steroid medications he was put on for Inflammatory Bowel Disease.

Which also took weeks of fun in the kitty ICU to uncover.

He’s been living with congestive heart failure for over a year now, which requires five medications daily, that I shove down his throat in a ball of cheese.

My own version of Walter White’s lab.

We single-handedly keep our veterinary’s lights on, where Ted is a motherfucking celebrity. He is their fave patient (most likely because we pay their mortgage bills).

Ted with his loyal and loving vet tech, Danielle.

Why go this far for my baby? Why the fuck wouldn’t I?

In the last two years, I’ve lost a career I’d spent years building, I lost the type of immediate family I thought would never be shaken, I lost friends who chose sides, I lost emotional, mental and financial stability I thought I’d created for myself. And then, I was raped. So this cat (and I want to punch people in the throat who say “it’s just a cat”), is – and has been my knight in shining armor.

Sometimes a smothering knight in shining armor.

He greets me at the door daily. He eats, shits, commands all of the attention, helps me put my make-up on every morning, sunbathes on his terrace daily, sleeps on my chest, demands the food in his martini glass be filled to the brim so as not to strain his neck, enjoys an occassional glass of wine (kidding…kind of…I mean he is my cat).

This little love has put up with his big hearted mother and accepted the siblings introduced – who KNOW the pecking order of the mini manse. It’s like the seas part and Ted’s fucking Moses when any of my other four fur balls are on my lap and the Bear decides he’d like to sit there instead.

My pussy posse.

Adding to the brood just made the love grown. And animal rescuing always begs the question…who rescued whom?

Currently his home on my chest remains the same when I’m flat on my back. Although now, due to his congestive heart failure,  he’s like a sprinkler system, as every time he exhales through his nose, my face gets a hydrating snot mist (I should probably bottle this up and sell it). It’s even more adorable when I’m yawning and he occasionally sneezes into my mouth. It’s like a snot shot.

#relationship goals

We’ve kept one another going during the shit show of our lives over the past several years. I seriously look this pussy in the face (and you know you’re not supposed to do that because cats can see into your soul but let’s be real, mine’s still dark and twisty so there’s no harm done) and instruct him to hang on as long as possible.

You go, I go.

Thing is, without the constant companionship and unconditional love of the bitchiest feline on the planet, I may have ceased my emotional fight. Sound crazy? I don’t give a fuck. This pussy and I have been through the good, the bad, the ugly and the worst.

Shoulders to lean on.

From all of my family and all of my friends, Teddy’s lead my army in putting this busted ass version of Humpty Dumpty back together again. And while I may be trying to pay off pussy debt well into my golden years, he’s worth every goddamn penny.

He sure as shit knows it, too.

Our goodbyes in the morning on my way out the mini manse to work go something like this, “I love you Baby Bear. Don’t go dying on me.”

I’m going no where…you’ve purchased me an additional 46 lives.

Phew.

I think I’ve earned a bumper sticker that reads “My fur kid costs just as much as your human spawn.” Because there’s no one else in life I would rather have in the driver’s seat with me.

All aboard for the shit show.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Abu Dhabi Derby Day

Ever wonder just how cliché it is to be a crazy cat lady?

Well, here is a peek into a wild Friday evening with me and my fave pussies.

You may just see two cats.

Rocky and Ted with front row lap seats.

We found ourselves minus plans after staying late the last day of the work week, so we huddled on the couch to catch up on some DVR (before my player spontaneously combusts at always being asked to remain 99% full). Except when we went to watch our weekly shows, a rerun of an Adele concert was on live TV.

But we're all watching live TV. A rerun A adele

And it captivated all of us.

Then between sobs, listening to Adele pine away at whatever it is her magical voice pines for, we tried to call every ex-boyfriend and girlfriend between the six of us (yes I have five furballs – and no, I give zero fucks about what folks think in regard, hence the crazy cat lady label!) because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Adele told us to.

S.O.S.

S.O.S.

After getting zero ex answers across the board (Teddy had the most to call), we woke to a bright, shiny Kentucky Derby Saturday. No one was more excited than Princess B who has discovered the many ‘looks’ Snapchat has to offer (why does my three-year-old niece know more about social media than moi?).

Derby Darling

Derby Darling.

I met up with Bird Lady, using the excuse for the Derby to day drink although we didn’t really adhere to any of the fancy rules.

No horses. No tiny jockeys. No hats. No mint juleps. Still fun

No horses. No tiny jockeys. No hats. No mint juleps.

However, I did place a bet on the race.  Since money is an object to me, I wagered a shot and when this kind gentlemen lost miserably, he paid in full. And now I have a new favorite shot: The Fresca.

I only bet booze. And I won.

I only bet booze.

And somehow this teeny tiny Abu Dhabi bar mug ended up in my purse by the end of the evening.

Trophy of sorts.

Trophy of sorts.

Sunday was for lovin’ on all of the mamas and mine was showered with flowers.

CBXB flower power mama.

The power of flower.

My sister was getting extra specially spoiled on her third mother’s day with a manicure, compliments of Princess B.

Princess B has mastered the Mother;s Day mani.

Just like the spa.

Obviously.

Obviously.

Bored Prince B waited patiently for the paint to dry on his mother’s nails so she could be off doing better things.

Can't be bothered.

Like pushing these two in a tire swing.

IMG_1754

Mother’s Day isn’t just for those chicks who have squeezed human life out of their bodies.

No way. No how.

Do you know how hard it is to open a bag of food every damn day?

Scoop a littler box?

Give every little furry being their own attention before they ignore you for 23.75 hours per day?

Exhausting.

Sweet friends reminded me of my status in the world.

Turns out, for us cray cray fur ball ladies, you really can buy love.

Turns out, you can buy love.

Preshy thinks so too.

Preshy thinks so too.

There was no better wind down for this mom of five than my sudsy Sunday soak while everyone was participating in their 23.75 hour daily ignore fest.

Just what a mama needs.

Just what a mama needs.

Here’s hoping you got just what you needed this weekend.

Cheers!
CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – The Catch Up

Never did I ever think I’d get the reaction I did upon sharing my experience of bad shit happening to a good person last week. Seldom am I left speechless but I can’t think of words powerful enough to convey my gratitude for the flood of support I’ve received in the last few days. The onslaught of kind thoughts, comments, messages and shared stories have been like a gigantic, constant hug of comfort from each and every one of you. I’ll never forget your kindness, you fabulous humans.

I hit the jackpot with peeps like you in my life.

I hit the jackpot with peeps like you in my life – and maybe also a Super Bowl bet.

But what in the fuck have I been doing the past four weeks (besides wallowing on the couch with Ted)?

Well, I’ve still been on the hunt for a full-time gig, since losing my job right before Christmas.

Current day job.

Best co-worker ever.

Some of us are working harder than others.

Some of us are working harder than others.

While I have been sitting on my ass eating my emotions (obvies prepping for bikini season), my favorite human duo experienced the beach for the first time.

Picture perfect Prince and Princess B.

Picture perfect Prince and Princess B.

Some fun in the sun and sand.

Two little rays of sun…one with a major ‘tude.

Even my dogphew Spike pretended he was in Florida livin’ the life.

Channeling Princess B.

Channeling his favorite little diva.

In recent weeks the main squeeze in my life, Mr. Ted E. Bear, has been back at the vet.  We’ve sadly discovered that he has a funky heart that could last days, weeks, months or years.

Sad heart.

Teddy’s least favorite counter on the planet.

While I have been freaked the fuck out (wondering when I am going to solidify my residency at the nut house), Bear is keeping cool and continuing to act like his old self doing nothing but stuffing his whisker pie hole with kitty caviar and snoozing his days away.

Gold medalist.

Not concerned in the slightest.

And……..to give Ted some more company (and maybe because I’m seriously just fucked in the head), hoping to give him more reasons to remain on this planet than just moi, this happened….

Crazy.

Bring on the crazy.

Yep. I’m cerifiably banana pants.

But we all already knew that, didn’t we?

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

The Bitch….er, I Mean Bear is Back.

My pussy is baaaaaaaaaaack!

The bitch is back. And no, I'm not talking about me.

The bitch is back.
And no, I’m not talking about me.

A little over a month ago, Ted became sick in what felt like a matter of minutes – as one day he seemed happy, healthy and bitchy as ever but then suddenly lost almost half his body weight, wouldn’t eat and became lethargic (couldn’t even hold his head up to meow profanities at me).  Taking him to the vet, I had to leave him in the kitty ICU.

Full on worry mode

Yes, we asked that the bandage match his eyes.

And then the worrying at the mini manse began…

The Griswold twins were plagued with uneasiness over Bear’s absence.

The Griswold twins were worried.

Clark was so terrified he had to take a nap.

Precious thought she may never again get a bath, since Ted demands he be the one to clean her.

Our favorite little chug on the planet, Precous was worried.

Destined to be a forever dirty dog?

Speaking of worry, I was about thisclose to being shoved in a straight jacket and taken to the nearest loony bin.

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sit still. But thank god I could still drink.

Liquor and pills make everything better. Wait. What?

Just your regular, every day shit show.

My nerves frayed more when every single test ran on Mr. Bear turned up with nothing to report and another was conducted with days to wait in between for results. But you folks came out in droves with your good wishes, karma, prayers and support.

Messages of good

Cutie of a well wisher.

Cards

My friend’s kid is obviously going to be the next Picasso.

With all of that love swirling around for TB, he mustered the strength to pull through a surgery, was granted a diagnosis (that’s treatable!) and after what felt like eons in the pet hospital, I wrapped him up and took him home.

Homeward bound

Homeward bound.

Think somebody missed someone?

Think somebody missed someone?

Seeing my typically plump pussy so lean, I did what any mother would do.

Fur and bones

Fur and bones.

I put food in his face every time he turned around (and then tried to wrangle Presh away).

Eat his heart out, much to P's dismay.

A double dose of duck and tuna.

Favorite snack of peas whenever he wants.

His fave green peas always at the ready.

Malts are also now in his diet.

Malts make everything better.

Overflowing his martini glass with food. EAT DAMMIT!

Overflowing his martini glass with food.
EAT DAMMIT!

While thwarting off his furry roommates in order to get to his heaping amounts of food I shoved in his face, Tedstar’s presence was missed so much that he couldn’t get one moment to himself.

Not alone...fur friends

No peace on the porch.

so happy together

Cuddles on the couch are so cute.

Or were they?

Except when the 24/7 cuddles aren’t welcomed.

After shipping everyone else out of the mini manse so Ted could get some r and r, he is now basking in the glow of being an only child again.

Self

Alone in the nap bed.

Self

Alone on the porch.

Couchin'

Alone on the couch.

Ridin' in style

Alone in the car.

And…

Alone with me at work.

Alone with me at work.

Where I continuously maul him all day long.

Where I continuously maul him all day long…

Much to his dismay.

…much to his dismay.

The bear is now demanding his fur bros and sister reappear before I kiss him to death.

Yes, I know I’m a crazy cat lady. And I don’t give a fuck.

The bitch is back!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

Weekends Winks – Parties, Pussies and Precious

Weekends are typically welcomed with opened paws at my mini manse but when it’s college football season, I wish the five working days would fly by faster than I can chug a Skinny Pirate.

We hate football. Obviously.

We hate football.
Obviously.

Coming as zero shock to anyone who remotely knows me, I accidentally lost my goddamned mind while perusing the Halloween aisles of Target (my mothership) slightly inebriated after a Friday evening at Dalts.  Being a celebration queen, I’m thinking of charging admission (one bottle of Captain per person) into my mini manse during the month of October.

Hello. I have a problem and it's called Halloween.

Hello. I have a problem and it’s called Halloween.

While I was busy with my spiked pumpkins, Prince B was prepping for a Hawkeye game against our in state rivals, the Iowa State Cyclones.

Hawkeyes

How could any team deny this face a W?

Princess B was more concerned with her fingernails than football.

My mini me.

Remind you of anyone?

Dada CBXB and I decided to go party with the Nashville Iowa Club downtown for the game watch and our decision proved to be a wise one.

Reserved for

Reserved for the two biggest Hawk fans in Tennessee.

This club didn't know what was about to it them...

This club didn’t know what was about to it them

Joined by Camo and my gal pal Bird Lady, we enjoyed our traditional touchdown shot after every seven points was put on the scoreboard by our fellas in black and gold.

Shot one!

Shot one!

Shot two...

Shot two!

Somewhere in between three and four....

Somewhere in between three and four….

Watching the game with 170 of our closest Hawkeye friends was everything I wanted it to be and more – mostly due to the fact that the boisterous crowd cheered like our team had just won the Super Bowl – no matter if we’d just scored or just earned a first down.

Hawks win! Hawks win!

Hawks win! Hawks win!

With a victorious 31-17 score and our bellies bloated with moonshine, the entire crowd joined in for a rendition of the “Hawkeye Victory Polka” (which probably gives you an idea why my liver is still thriving as my alma mater sings this song during games as frequently as our fight song).

IMG_7066

In a more poignant moment, the Hawkeyes paid tribute to former player (and former New York Giant), Tyler Sash, who suddenly passed away last week at just 27 years old by wearing his number on their helmets.

A nice win in tribute of Tyler Sash.

RIP #9

Cuddling up on the couch seemed like the best Saturday night idea of all time until I realized that Precious the chug smelled like a sewage container.

Stank ass.

Such a stank ass little pig pen, Ted couldn’t even face her.

So we remedied the problem much to her dismay.

Presh isn't so sure about being so fresh and so clean clean.

Presh isn’t so sure about being so fresh and so clean clean.

Because Mr. Bear is still in recovery from his month long debacle with illness, Clark and Cousin Eddie are spending some quality time with Dada CBXB and love being the stars of his show.

Griswold twins hanging at Gpa's pad.

Griswold twins hanging at Gpa’s pad.

The human twins didn’t want to just hang on Sunday because they were anxiously watching the construction of all things fun in their backyard…

Anticipation o

Worth the wait!

I can’t wait to dominate play time on this bitch.

Seeing photos of swings made me dizzy on Sunday but that didn’t stop me from going on a hot brunch date…

…with my cat….

…on my couch…

….who proceeded to eat the other side of my sandwich.

Taking crazy to an entirely new level.

Taking crazy to an entirely new level.

Judge away.

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Purrfect Dates and a Puppy

My beloved little fur ball Ted had his first date this past weekend.  You see, my pussy decided to take a self-appointed vacation a few weeks ago without letting me in on his plans and this little cutie below helped him find his way back to me.

Ted's first play date left him tuckered out.

No longer my little boy, on his first date and all.

While I was busy helping Mr. Bear get all gussied up for his rendezvous, my Iowa twins were going bananas over their own news.

Off the fucking rails.

Seriously off the fucking rails.

Because this was happening…

Welcome to the clan Spike!

Meet Spike.

Ever since my first dogphew Gunner suddenly passed away last November, the hustle bustle of the castle that houses my little prince and princess seemed too calm (right, sis?).

As you can imagine, the announcement of acquiring a new fur ball really wound the twins up – Princess B even dressed up in her finest prom gown (compliments of moi – surprised?) while awaiting Spike’s arrival.

I can't.

Who doesn’t wear sparkles on summer afternoons?

She hates him.

She hates him.

Prince B found the accessories that accompany a puppy way more intriguing than the dog himself.

Naturally they took right over and Spike learned his place immediately.

Exactly how toddlers would be housed at my mini manse.

This little ball of love has no clue what he’s in for – I especially can’t wait for Halloweennot that we ever over do it in my family or anything.

Puppy without a pen.

Welcome to the clan, buddy.

In other news, all is right in the world now that I have my Christmas Vacation 2015 ornament. How fitting is it that it’s called “Meowy Christmas”?

MINE! How fitting.

I mean, hello!

Ted shared my Christmas in July excitement when I presented him with our new Clark W. Griswold decoration.

Are you OK, comfy? Enough room?

Bitch please.

About that same time, the meme below was sent to me by a friend.

IMG_5593

Not like it’s going to be true or anything.

CBXB

CBXB!