Holly Jolly Drunk Girls

Holly and oh-so-jolly.

Holly and oh-so-jolly.

What would a Christmas season be without a ladies cocktail party?


While I’ve been in my new mini manse for a few months now, it’s not big enough to host the regular blow out I typically do every December. So this year, I limited it to females so we could get down with our sparkly selves.  The party prepping took place all day and kind of took over my living room.

Party prep

Watch your step.

Hosting a party will immediately give you an eagle eye on all things not perfect, like nicks in your black wall that you cover up with a Sharpie marker.

Sharpie finishing touches

No one will know the difference….

While I was busy coloring my wall, Teddy had his paws full pretending he was the Abominable Snowman atop my piano. He delicately tried to whip every single one of my sparkly deer with his tail.


Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, I’ll knock you down ’til kingdom come.

Sorry. Not sorry.

Sorry. Not sorry.

After rescuing my deer from the grey lion, I set up the all important party piece.  The bar.

The most important element of any party.

Oh come all ye thirsty!

Fancy barware

No party is complete without fancy, plastic barware.

I feel like this could be me.

I feel like this could be me.

Ready and willing...

Ready, willing and able to party all night!

As soon as the guests arrived, we whipped out the all important Jell-O shots.

Jell-O time!

Christmas angels. Well, two of them are anyway.

While we were standing there, minding our own Jell-O shotting business, someone jumped in to photo bomb (this must be a hereditary trait, since I like to invite myself into everyone else’s pics all the time).

Bombed by my mom.

Bombed by my mom.

While it’s hard to believe I could be associated with anyone who has not slurped down a Jell-O shot (I mean for Christ’s sake, my 90-year-old Gma even partakes), I found myself in that very situation.  Of course we devirginized her quickly – so quickly in fact that she requested a second cup of the gelatin goodness before the first was down her hatch.


Yes, you’ll have another.

You’d think that pregnant gals would feel left out during all of the drinking shenanigans but not in my mini manse. Simply shove whipped cream down their throat, so they can be inebriated on sweetness.

Party for a preggo

Partying for three (she’s having twins!).

Pregnant ladies also know how to keep the ambiance of a gathering going strong by providing entertainment. Have you ever seen a belly play Chopsticks on a piano?

Entertainer of the year.

Entertainer(s) of the year.

When it’s time for guests to leave, I classily beg to keep some of the party snacks they brought (you know, so us party animals have something to snack on at 2am…or so I have lunch for the next week. Whatever).

No spoon zone.

No spoon zone.

As the wee hours of the morning greeted us, those of us awake held a photo shoot before getting the leftover snacks out (how all models at photo shoots roll).

Christmas cocktails call for fabulous friends!

I never want the fun to end.

But someone had to put their foot down and demand we all go to bed.

Host with the most.

Host with the most.

He can be such a party pooper!



How to Throw a Party For Your Pussy

Oh the joys of being a cat mom! Parties aren’t just for folks who have human children (yawn) – us crazy cat ladies can find just about any reason to celebrate our love of pussy.

This May marks the fifth year Teddy B. and I have been in a relationship (I’m not going to lie, it took a little coaxing early on to persuade him to have his world revolve around yours truly but now he can hardly breathe without glancing my way for permission – oh wait that’s the other way around. I look to him for direction – I forgot I was talking about a cat there for a second) and why not acknowledge our happiness together?

First one must have a theme for a pussy party and I thought since we were celebrating our fifth anniversary, why not call it Cinco de Teddy?


Doesn’t he wear a sombrero well?!

You then must decide on party attire for you and the guest of honor.  I played along with the theme by wearing a T-shirt that captured what everyone in attendance was thinking…


Who, moi?!

Accompanying the darling shirt was a pair of leopard print jeans – I know, fitting right?


You can call me crazy but at least I’ll look cute…I think.

My kit cat’s giddy up was a perfect match for Cinco de Teddy – complete with a sombrero and poncho.

Ted's attire

As you can imagine, Ted could hardly wait to put this on.

To get your pussy pumped up, decor is a must for the party and I included balloons in this category.  Excitement coarsed through TB’s bod as he tried to claw a balloon open to suck on helium (he’s such a little party animal).

Who knew Ted loved balloons

Wondering if the balloon would hold him in midair…

Once I thwarted the helium heist, I showed Ted the other party elements like his serving bowls – which to his delight held three times the amount of food he’s normally allotted (while already a ‘big boned’ cat it was his party, so he deserved the extra helpings, yes?).


Double the pleasure, triple the food fun.

Other decor should include snaps of you and your pussy’s life together.  Grandma CBXB has a Teddy Bear Meow scrapbook she keeps in her classroom (see, I’m not the only crazy in the family – she proudly displays the love of her grandpet daily…ahhhh!), which I accompanied with our most recent Christmas card and a gift from our fabulous blogging friend, The Buxom Gourmand.


Yes. It’s true. I’m the best cat mom ever.

Look at this painting that my ultra talented gal pal from The Buxom Gourmand crafted for Teddy! How much more puurfect could this be?! We are proudly displaying our new favorite artwork in our mini manse. We love and thank you, Bronwin!


Ted, martinis and pink leopard print? Oh MY!

It’s important to capture the calm before the storm (in this case, shoving a cat into a poncho and sombrero), so be sure to snap a pic prior to the start of the party.


If he only knew what was coming…

Before traumatizing Ted with his party attire, I let him sniff around the treat table…


Gimme a cupcake!

Sometimes dressing a pussy can take some liquid courage, so I worked on mine outside while Ted explored the party fun inside.


I think he might hate me…but oh well! Gimme another Skinny Pirate, please!


I’m thinking of all of the paybacks coming my way…


And yet I keep the photo shoot going…

Siesta time

Until Teddy was so embarrassed he pretended it was siesta time.

In order to perk your pissy pussy back into a party mood, get out the sweets!


Gma CBXB baked goodies.

I think I like

Turning Ted’s poncho frown upside down!


What sombrero?

Feels so good when it hits the lips (or whiskers in Ted's case).

Feels so good when it hits the lips (or whiskers in Ted’s case).

Enticing your feline with cat cupcakes will make all of the clothing cares disappear… (yeah, right. I will be punished for the next five years over this party).


Thoroughly enjoyed.

Be careful after all the sugar rush because you’re sure to have party poopers crash after consuming.


One cupcake and it’s couch time?!

Teddy was so exhausted from all of that licking, he had to pass out with his back to party goers.

Party pouting = FAIL!

Party pouting = FAIL!

I suggest you heckle your pussy back into the party spirit if you catch them napping.

Fiesta time Ted!

Fiesta time Ted!

If that doesn’t work, mocking the sleeping beauty will totally do the trick.

Mockery will totally win this feline over.

It’s exhausting being the life of the party.

The combination of heckling and mockery will make the silently sleeping cat love you more than life itself.

He's so over me

He’s so over me.

As the party is winding down, you’ll find it hard to keep the party attire off of your pussy.


I have this sneaking suspicion that I will be losing sight in one eye to a claw…

And that folks is how you throw a party for your pussy (or dog, bird, rat, snake, ferret, rabbit, snail, fish, etc…)

Party on!



Reunited and It Feels So Good!

Have you ever missed someone so much it made you mad, refusing to pay any attention to them at all upon their return?

Me either.

Cats (at least mine anyway), have the innate ability to make you feel like shit for being away from them longer than they deem necessary (for Ted, it’s right at 8 hours).  And while I was recently living it up on a cruise, it was easy to forget the icy feline welcome (I forgot about the welcome, not the cat) awaiting me at home.

I’m back. And he’s pissed.

Now if you read much of this blog, you must know that Teddy is spoiled beyond belief (he is the little love of my life, after all).

He drinks out of a glass (bowls make him lean down too far, thus hurt his neck).

I discovered Ted’s “bad neck” when he dirtied every single glass of water I sat on a table.

I tried to break his glass guzzling habit by demonstrating…but then he just waited for me to make an ass of myself every night when I got home from work and refused to drink out of the bowl without my assistance. How conniving.

His Majesty’s food costs $60 per bag because he has an allergy to chicken (which was oh so easy to diagnose after 6 cheap visits to the vet).  I have to present a prescription card at Pet Smart every time I need to purchase the fancy duck and pea mix (they won’t sell it to me if I don’t have the RX card…who the F would want to buy pet food that expensive for fun? Apparently there are many other crazy cat ladies out there – I’m not alone!).

And if you were wondering, I don’t eat the week I buy his precious delicatessen (easy way to diet…starve yourself while saving up to feed your cat).

Ted the vegetarian. Obsessed with peas…eating my supper before I get a chance.

This little fur ball also skips the pet carrier, being swaddled in his favorite blanket and sitting on my lap when I escort him anywhere.

Teddy’s chariot. He demands to ride in style. And yes, we’re both buckled up.

This cat never spends a day in a kennel while I’m away.  He either vacations at with my folks (who adore their little grandcat) or he gets to go and spend time at his buddy’s stomping grounds (Ted’s own private Disney World) – complete with a screened in porch (for Ted to run in and out of 972 times per day), a basement to explore and stairs to frolic up and down.

So living the life of luxury, this cat could care less that I am back home and ignores me all waking hours the first day we’re reunited.

After the blase reception…After the cool brush past my leg, instead of practically crawling up it for attention… After the absence of purring when I snuggle him up under my chin… After the darting of his eyes, avoiding my ‘look at me I’m back and missed you so much and can’t wait to smother you’ stare occurs all night long…I get this on my lap before I go to work this morning:

Those are my legs under Mr. Bear (shut up, it’s a bad angle).

All of this after being a spoiled rotten little bitch. And I kinda love him for it.