Weekend Winks – Snoop Dogg, Fang Fingers and Flat Tires

When a gal pal wants to treat you to a night out for a belated birthday par-tay, why in the world would you say no? Of course we know I said yes, especially when the evening involved a Snoop Dogg concert. I was especially excited to escape from my reality after some particularly bad news came my way last week. A girl’s night out was just what this chick needed.

I over packed and lugged my beauty bag, taking over Funk 49’s kitchen counter to gussy up for a rainy night out in Nashville.

Yes, my bag of beauty tricks includes alcohol. Doesn’t yours?

Known for my booblegging skills at public events where liquor is priced like it’s solid gold, the glass below may or may not be Pepsi.

Sneaky sneaky.

The night was so full of fun that I forgot what a shit show my life has been for the past 24 months.

Problems? What problems?

After the concert, I didn’t want the night to end so I borrowed my Uber driver’s coffee on the way back to Funk 49’s house for a little perk me up.

Don’t worry. We gave him five stars – and I gave him back his coffee.

We kicked off our rainboots and did what ever girl party does after an evening out – ordered two pizzas for three ladies.

Hubba Hubba.

Upon stuffing my pie hole with at least 1.5 of the pizzas, I tried to coax Funk 49’s dog, Buddy, to lay with me in his bed…I don’t know why he seemed so annoyed.

My version of doggy style.

So I settled for a little downtime the following day with my own puppy Presh.

Prescription sunglasses are the only way to go when rehydrating on a Saturday morning.

While I was hunkered down in my Princess and the Pea bed, the Iowa twins were stuck inside for a third day in a row due to rain storms. So what did my genius sis do? She turned the garage into a bike bonanza for four-year-olds.

Rec room.

The Nashville Predators are in the NHL playoffs and my crew settled in for the third game of the series against the St. Louis Blues. Rocky, Princess Elsa Pants and Ted proved three times a charm, as the Preds skated their way to a 3-1 victory.

Fang Fingers.

I nestled into a Sunday full of job searching, #girlbossing, therapy homework, with a side of Glamour.

Sunday Funday.

No weekend would be complete without an evening full of leopard couch time with Ted – who now has his own personal shadow named Elsa Pants.

Forced Sunday snuggles – with extreme patience.

I found out that my first furry friend in Nashville crossed over to the Rainbow Bridge last night. Caesar was my constant companion when I worked as a personal assistant for a family when I first moved to Music City. He was my only “co-worker” and kept me company so many lonely nights in a new city. Love and miss you little guy.

Trying to keep the wheels from falling off my fragile state of mind, I hit the alarm early for a 7am yoga class today. But about .0005 seconds into the commute, I was t-boned in my parking lot, causing my chariot to come to an immediate halt for the time being.

No zen in sight on this Monday.

I decided it best to switch my morning coffee for something a tad stronger while on the phone with my insurance company.

A bloody mary to help ease spiked blood pressure.

So while I seem to be running into a tad of misfortunes lately, I can’t help but wonder…

I’m wide open for suggestions.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Bunny Booze Bonanza

Bunny shenanigans were underway all weekend – especially after Mama CBXB shared the genius idea of using a chocolate hollow bunny as a glass for guzzling champs. A+ start to the weekend.

If you know me, you are well aware of my inabilities in the kitchen. However, there is one art I have perfected over the years and it’s a bunny cake. Yeah, you read that right. So when my baking Betty Crocker of a sister asked yours truly for my special recipe, here’s what she received via text:

My exquisite bunny cake directions.

Easy to follow, right?

Right!

Pretty sure I should make a baking book solely on bunny cakes and Jell-O shots. I’m thinking it would be a best seller.

In other Easter prep, Princess B made sure the rabbit sneaking into her castle wouldn’t leave empty handed.

Masterpiece Easter.

While the twins were busy prepping for their furry visitor, I was also anticipating the arrival of Peter Rabbit. I had planned on leaving the libation for him by the door but accidentally drank all of the champagne in advance…

Easter cheers!

While I guzzled on the leopard throne, my youngest three patiently awaited the bunny’s arrival in the front window.

Triple watch.

My older two…well, could give two shits what was on the way.

We get what we want, when we want it.

You know you’re truly sisters when your attire matches on the same day. Princess Rah picked out her mom’s attire for the holy day. I did my own closet perusing.

Nasty Woman “preppy” style in Iowa.

Nasty Woman “trashy” style in Nashville.

Prince B put his mohawk helmet to good use when he trekked out on a spring bike ride around the driveway.

Hell on training wheels.

What beats some good, clean Easter fun once the bunny has departed?

Nothing. Nothing beats double the fun in mud.

Except maybe a jet tub full of bubbles and balls.

You know my gaggle of fur balls mean the world to me, so we were sad to hear that our cousin, Foxi Brown traveled to the rainbow bridge earlier today.

Foxy lady.

While she had a fabulously long and fun life, it’s never easy on the humans who love their fur babies. So tonight, join me in cheersing to the snorting, snotting, grunting ball of love that is now chasing New Cat around up above us.

Cheers to Foxi Brown!

Here’s hoping the bunny found you and you squeeze the furry loves of your life a little tighter tonight.

CBXB

CBXB!

Crazy Pants and Crazy Aunts

 

Being a crazy pants, entertaining aunt may be the death of me but it’s sure a lot of goddamn fun. A recent trip back home to Iowa was full of celebrations – and that’s just the kind of days this chick needed.

My Aunt Crazy Pants had a birthday a few weeks ago and although she’s kicking cancer ass, she still found her party pants. My sister (the not always happy about being my partner in crime but does it anyway) and Mama CBXB were able to join in on the festivities.

Fab four.

Birthday Queen.

Naturally, I couldn’t resist adding a little bit of fuchsia to the birthday bash.

I now want to grow a mustache. Only in the fuchsia hue.

We even forced Mr. Jakers to get in on the shenanigans.

We kept the thrown down going the following day because, well, why the hell not stretch out a birthday for as long as possible?

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

It was also my Aunt Crispie’s actual date of birth, so it was a double party whammy. Naturally our trashtastic family always uses the ever classy red solo cups for guzzling beverages of the alcoholic sort.

A trio of fun aunts. You figure out the crazy one.

Being the fun aunt just may be the reason of permanent paralysis below my waist… but so worth it.

A back adjustment the old-fashioned way.

One of the perks of being a short adult is my capability of stuffing myself into an extra-large kids t-shirt. Therefore, I get to wear matching tops with Princess B while she still thinks it’s cool.

It’s party time!

We ended Aunt Crazy Pants’s celebration week with a trip to trivia night at the local grocery store (yes, that is what we do in small town Iowa and it’s fucking fun). Although my brain cells only provided one correct question of 20, our team “The Rats,” were able to slip into second place while having a laugh riot.

Trivia tomfoolery.

Being that I live 1,000 miles away in Nashville, cramming in all celebrations close to my visit date is common. Therefore, Santa made a special visit just for me – even with a small, glittery tree.

Christmas in March.

We also scrunched in an early birthday bash for yours truly, so I really raked it in (don’t worry if you haven’t picked anything out for me yet – you still have time and yes, I will provide a list).

The more the merrier in March!

Any Iowa birthday party of mine isn’t complete without a trip to see my bro-in-law, Dr. Cocktail, who makes libations that rival any mixologist on the planet (and no, that isn’t an overstatement).

Manhattan man.

Mine. All mine.

While there were only four adults present at the kitchen island, it sort of seemed a fraternity party took place when we were winding down. But that only means it was an evening of amusement, yes?

A party of four…or 44?

Regardless of the time my head hit the pillow, I had the two most adorable alarm clocks bust in and interrupt my beauty sleep with their not-so-spot-on rooster imitations.

Cockadoodle don’t.

Talk about a fun aunt. I went to visit my great aunt Marge, whose husband of 67 years recently passed away. Out of the five sisters in her family, her husband was the last to pass and holy shit was he was one gem of a person. He basically became the surrogate hubby to the four widowed sisters – much to his (dismay, perhaps?) delight.

Uncle Bill’s ashes sit in an urn next to Marge’s TV stand. She pointed at it and said, “I’m going in there with Bill but I gotta lose some weight first.”

A BV and water party night.

If there’s anyone I can think of emanating in this lifetime, it’s this spunky, hilarious broad. She’s 88, looks maybe all of 68 and acts 38.

She can also sing karaoke from the couch.

And is obviously true relation with our family tradition of Jell-O shots.

More whipped cream for you?

After my Iowa party parade, I made it to the airport and back to Nashville just in the nick of time, as inches of snow were starting to accumulate.  Although, I was a tad disappointed I didn’t get to play with my two faves in the snow.

Snow bunnies.

However, I’m not sure I would have fit in with this “angel”.

Angelic my ass.

Here’s hoping your day is filled with a little fun, a little crazy or a whole lotta both.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Sayonara 2016

Know anyone who had a ridiculously fabulous 2016?

Me either.

Not to say great things didn’t happen for folks in this dumpster fire of a year but seriously, although my Gma used to say, “don’t wish your life away,” I couldn’t think of anything more that I would wish for than the goddamn clock to strike midnight on December 31, 2016.

Yes. How we all feel about this past fucking year.

Yes. How we all feel about this past fucking year.

While I kicked my year of with bad shit happening to a good person (yours truly) last January, there have been highlights and honest-to-goodness reminders as to why I wished I was a mother fucking super hero (or ass kicking princess).

I tried taking a cue from Elsa early on…

Elsa's help.

But I’m not a sexy smoker (see below). Nor do I know how to inhale. And lastly, I hold grudges like my net worth (let’s be real…I’m elated when I have triple digits in my checking account, so not really saying much), therefore this wasn’t going to be my outlet to let 2016 the fuck go. Also, it was just February.

Not a Sexy Smoker

Trying to heed advice of my fave, fearless lighting designer, Hawaiian Housewife (I know you’re rolling your eyes to the back of your skull M), who seems to let any/everything roll down her back (except puke – in which case she likes to displace on moi) with her famous line of…

Good Advice

Well, I didn’t try a bag of dicks per se but instead used an Iowa ear of sweet corn.

Corn Bag

While delicious, this didn’t help in the hate that seethed out of my soul for the year of all shitacular years.

So what did I do? I sprinted, ran, happened to be at PetSmart on an adopt-a-pussy Saturday sponsored by Sweet Faces Cat and Kitten Rescue (yes, I am now officially the face of their rescue and I will give you an autograph) and I did what any sane person does. I picked out three cats to add to my brood because in the end, you really can buy love.

Three's a Crowd

And in the end, you now have four feline mouths to feed.

Mouths

Plus I gotta fill the tiny yapper of my Ewok resembling chug, Precious.

Chug Life

But in the end, I got my loving therapy through this….

2016 at its Finest

All of the extra feline lovin’ seemed to help my in heart failure main squeeze, Mr. Ted E. Bear rekindle his love for life. And that made me feel like one extremely lucky lady – even though I will forever be recognized as the crazy Nashville cat lady. I give zero fucks for that title if this little pussy can still be by my side daily.

Better Tedder!

Friends tried to help by burning some of my past hurts away, while I ignited flames with lighter fluid.

Fire Starter

The fire didn’t really cure anything BUT this shirt did reflect my outlook…

Win Win

So I’d call that a win-win, wouldn’t you?

Being involved in a traumatic, life changing event, I enlisted the help of a f.a.b.u.l.o.u.s. therapist that I regularly see on Thursdays (#therapythursdays anyone?). Upon completion of sessions, copious amounts of vino is required. And while I don’t mind drinking with my five (yes I said fucking FIVE fur balls), my sister and gusband (gay husband) are more than ready to join me in Iowa and Missouri, respectively, when I need the company.

Therapy Thursday

IOWA!

My kind of pour.

My kind of pour.

Over the course of this year, I’ve let my pride of self-worth sit on a back burner and simmer (due to uncontrollable reactions to aforementioned bad shit happening).  With the help of friends who aren’t afraid to tackle the CBXB monster and family who’ve dealt with me forever, I was forced to not only wash my hair but show face at my fancy salon (with my fabulous chug in tow, of course) to get my pink rejuvenated and remain blonde.

Gussy

Those same folks about keeled over seeing me in flats and also forced me into my pre-2016 daily shoes…stilettos. I mean, I’ve always been known for my practicality.

Heeled UP

Counting on those who know you best, I hung in like a champ for my Iowa Hawkeyes football tailgates – and kept the family tradition of moonshine touchdown shots alive with Dada CBXB.

Tailgating

Cheering it on with family as often as I could.

CHEER

Speaking of cheering, you all have sent nothing but positivity, well wishes, fab karma, and outrageous juju my Aunt Crazy Pants’s way after her cancer diagnosis this summer. While she’s my end-all-be-all-twin, she’s still kicking some fucking cancer ass. And that’s the way we prefer.

Holla!

Aside from my family and very, very close circle of now known friends (funny how tragedy, traumatic experiences, etc. leads you to your faithful peeps) these two twin monkeys have done nothing but keep my rails from coming fully off the track. I mean, look at their faces. How lucky am I? Even if it was the most dismal year in the history of histories in my lifetime?

For real.

Speaking of rails on the track, while my job is typically a full-on shit show, I have people surrounding me in the office that are full of life, love and overall kindness. Their humor, wit and ability to deal with crazy on a daily basis has made my 2016 a better place.

Work

What made this year – day after day – hour upon hour – minute upon minute – second upon second – all the more difficult was the constant issue of rape culture and the shaming of women, men and any human who has suffered this intolerable situation. From Brock Turner getting a fucking six month sentence after raping a woman in public on a campus, to the published accounts of victims reading letters to their accused in court, to a fucking presidential nominee with 12 – yes 12 women accusing him of inappropriate conduct…one being recorded on tape resulting in a TV anchor’s dismissal from a network by simply being in the situation and not stopping it.

But then, America voted that man president. Women I know voted for that man. Women I know that have daughters voted for that man. Men I know who have daughters voted for that man. Why? It’s beyond me.

Not only does he “grab pussy” because he’s a “star” but he’s totally going to “Make America Great Again.”

FUCK YOU TRUMP

TRUTH

I’m all for voting and standing by your decisions. And I’m also not saying I loved the other choice on the ballot but fuck. Nominating a male chauvinist pig (among many other indecencies as a human being) as POTUS made the end of the year almost unbearable as a person in my standing.

TRUTH TRUTH

This year has proven unbelievable in the most horrific ways. Unbelievable in the most humane ways. Unbelievable in the amount of support I have garnered at the hands of acquaintances, friends, social media buddies, family – the outpouring was (and still is) something that I can’t even still comprehend in the best way possible. To that, I am grateful. To that, I dedicate my first bottle (of tonight) champs to you.

CHAMPS!

I will put on my finest threads and ride out the rest of the hours 2016 has to offer.

MOTHERFUCKER

I will most likely headbang my way into 2017, giving zero fucks about the neckache I will endure.

Bangin'

Because if you are reading this, you have aided me through the darkest 365 day chapter of my life thus far. And I love you for being there digitally, emotionally, physically, snail mailingly, social medially, FaceTimingly, textingly, etc. You have no idea how much one message, like, encouraging word can carry me through days.

Together

The motto I have stuck to and lived by every moment of 2016…

MOTTO

And now, it’s time for a fresh start. Not to say I – or anyone else – is immune to bad shit. It happens. It’s life and makes up the DNA of our souls. But sometimes enough is enough.

I say enough.

FUCK YOU 2016

Sayonara 2016.

FUCK YEAH 2017!

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

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.

Image 1

Ahem.

Deck the tree if you can move me

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

Image 4

‘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.

Image 40

See the blazing pink before me

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

Image 30

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.

IMG_2349

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

IMG_2308

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 – Slumber Party, Sniffles and Snuggles

Anything better than a fun old-fashioned slumber party?

Captain and First Mate back at it.

Captain, First Mate and Clark Griswold don’t think so.

I had three gal pals over to the mini manse in order to jump start my holiday spirit slump – and boy did it do some good for yours truly.

Sparkles, Umbros and wine for four.

Sparkles, Umbros and wine for four.

Not too long after one box of wine, we couldn’t figure out how to open the second…

How many bitches does it take to figure out a box of wine....

Um, it doesn’t even have a cork.

So I thought it was the best time to bring out my homemade sangria, Pirate’s Punch, which consists of Fireball, Captain Morgan and red wine.

Home made.

Who needs Betty Crocker when you can be Betty Crocked?

Upon proudly sharing my non-store purchased concoction, my friend Bex said “Tastes homemade.”

I can tell.

Uhhhh, thanks?

I made her drink it anyhow.

Made her drink it anyhow. Drink up bitch.

Or did I?

Typically a true party animal seeking to be the center of attention at all times, I knew my Tedstar was feeling low when I had to force him to take a selfie.

Stuffy host.

Stuffy host due to kitty sniffles.

When it was time for the ladies to sleigh bell it to slumber in their own beds, I gave away pussies as parting gifts.

Pussy parting gifts.

Just kidding. They stayed.

Saturday morning I was hoping to treat myself to brunch with sat-out-all-night-snacks but who wants room temperature carrots as hangover food?

Anything left for breakfast?

No breakfast for me.

While I was perusing an empty fridge, my Iowa twins were basking in the first snowfall of the year.

First snow in Iowa!

A few inches to start the season.

Being that they are almost four, this duo isn’t looking forward to the holidays, presents or Santa.

Not excited for Christmas. At all.

Not excited for Christmas. At all.

I for sure wasn’t excited to take Ted to the vet – worried that his sniffles may signify a worse problem than the common cat cold.

Hungover and Not Feeling Hot.

Getting the cold shoulder.

At the risk of sounding like an even bat shit crazier cat lady than I already am, I found TB’s little stuffed up nose and snot bubbles kinda cute.

Pissy pants.

Not at ALL amused having to breathe through his mouth.

I knew I was in for it on the way home after the vet because not only did he get shots of antibiotics but they also took blood as well, which is something that never thrills Ted E. Bear.

Trouble in the face.

Trouble in paradise for CBXB.

Dropping my pissy pussy off to pout the day away, I headed to my fave watering hole Dalts for a little happy hair of the dog.

Taking the edge off.

Taking the edge off.

I was only in the restaurant about 12 minutes before I inhaled a cheeseburger that I couldn’t eat fast enough but wanted to make last the entire day.

There was a burger here. I swear.

There was a burger here. I swear.

Heading home Saturday night to watch college football conference games, I was reminded where I was a year prior. The Big Ten Championship game in Indianapolis with Camo, The Silent Indian and Dada CBXB, cheering on my beloved Hawkeyes (who have had a less than stellar 2016 season BUT made it to the Outback Bowl – I’ll take it).

Big Ten 2015

Two Hawkeyes, a Spartan and a Volunteer.

Funny thing is, although Iowa lost in the last two seconds of the game, it was still one of the best days of my life. As I prepped to watch Wisconsin play Penn State, I couldn’t help but connect with this sign during Game Day.

Truth.

Truth.

Sunday snuggles meant that somebody was starting to feel back to his old self.

Sunday make-up session.

Sunday make-up session.

After a day of rest and relaxation, the work week has started off guns blazing. Which is why I may or may not have Pirate’s Punch in my mug…

Captain's Christmas punch may or may not be in my work mug today.

100% chance.

Here’s hoping there’s more snuggles than sniffles in your week.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

p.s. - Only 25 more days until Fuck Yeah 2017!

p.s. – Only 25 more days until Fuck Yeah 2017!

 

 

The F Off 2016 Countdown

Fuck 2016.

I have loathed almost every.single.second of this year that instead of an advent calendar counting down the days to my typically fave day of the year – Christmas (I mean, second to my birthday of course), I’m counting the days (30), hours (720), minutes (how do I compute this?) and seconds (for real, I can’t do math that well) and milliseconds (who can help me out here?).

Like really, really, really, really hate you.

Like really, really, really, really hate you 2016.

This year did start off on a fabulous high-heeled foot with smiles, champagne and high hopes of a bright and shiny new year.

Yay! A fresh start from a shitty 2015!

Yay! A fresh start from a shitty 2015!

But somehow, this year just took a big dump on almost everyone I know.

For me the sparkle of 2016 lasted about 24 hours.  Family drama involving cops, divorce, death of a young friend, bad shit happening to a good person (that would be moi), and still on the hunt for a job –  all squeezed in on or before January 27, 2016.

How can this be happening already?!

How can this be happening already?!

If someone would have told me what the next 11 months entailed, I would have punched myself in the face, possibly crawled into an oven set to broil or figured out how to construct a time machine into the future (although I would need help with the dimensions portion of this project due to the aforementioned horrible math skills).

Fuck 19

Fuuuuuuuck.

So, here’s the kick off to my Fuck Off 2016 countdown to better days for everyone I know ahead.

Fuck you for making me feel ashamed of myself to which was no fault of my own.

Fuck you for making me feel ashamed of myself to which was no fault of my own.

Fuck you for a culture of victim ignoring, shaming, and turning the other cheek when convenient.

Fuck You 2

Fuck you for taking the happy, the uncompromising confidence, the pride, the sparkle, the light, the love out of a girl who has never known any different.

img_3122

Fuck you for taking away my ability to give a rat’s ass about my appearance to the outside world.

Fuck You 4

No really, fuck you. I mean me in no make-up in public….I think it’s been since 7th grade.

Fuck You 6

Fuck you for the seven months of sleepless nights on my leopard couch because being alone with my thoughts became unbearable due to an act on one single night.

Fuck You 7

Fuck you for the lasting post traumatic stress disorder, severe adjustment disorder and extremely delayed response to that event I’ve been trying to cope with over the last 11 months.

Fuck You 9

Fuck you for the pile of emotions that creep and sneak and fall from the sky at unexpected moments that are bigger than the goddamn mountain of laundry I avoid doing.

Fuck You 8

Seriously fuck you. I’ve never been a crier.

Fuck You 9

Fuck You 10

But fuck you for real 2016! I just.can’t.stop.

Fuck You 11

Fuck. Even Ted got into the emotional mix.

Fuck You 14

Fuck you for making my cortisol levels soar, my energy plummet, allowing my anxiety take over, laziness to kick in, sleeplessness be a constant and for making my diet consist of mainly Pepto Bismol, Aleve and carbohydrates.

Fuck You 15

Fuck you for taking away my excitement for my most wonderful time of the year…celebrating any and everything.

Fuck You 12

Fuck you for the Halloween fail.

Fuck You 13

Fuck you for the sucking the Christmas spirit out of my soul (except my Clark Griswold glass, of course).

Fuck You 16

My gift to 2016.

My gift to 2016.

Fuck you for the lonely feeling of fight – but the fierce (while faint) is still in me and ready to kick some ass.

Thank You

Oh 2016…

Fuck You 20

And so, the countdown for me, for you, for the upside down world we live in at the moment is on. I say we commit to a bottle of bubbly per Fuck You 2016 countdown day.

Holla 2017!

Who’s with me?!?

Holla 2017!

CBXB

CBXB!