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!

The Dumb to My Dumber

Folks often tell me that I act like my aunt Crazy Pants. We could be known as Thelma and Louise (but we’re not as cool and fabulous – we wouldn’t drive off a cliff on purpose, we’d do it because we were lost and missed a turn) although we more often times resemble Lucy and Ethel (on our best days) but in reality we can most identify with Dumb and Dumber.

Crazy!

Crazy times two.

Of all of the things we have in common, we share a love of Jell-O shots which are a staple at every family gathering (classy, I know) and party I throw.

Jello Love

Jell-O shots = Love

I mean we really love the spiked gelatin.

oving Jell-O maybe a little too much.

Like really, really, really love.

Down the hatch. How many?

Especially with whipped cream.

Our consumption of Jell-O shots makes us both more limber (until we wake up the next morning and can’t move).

Jell-O makes us limber

Who doesn’t do a leg lift after a bit of J-E-L-L-O?

Hey-o! Almost to the toes!

Hey-o! Jell-O makes me stretch almost to my toes!

However, I do not ever try to do tricks with my shots of liquor. There’s too much risk that it won’t make it to my mouth, which in my mind would be a travesty.

She can shoot Jell-O with no hands!

She can shoot Jell-O with no hands!

Or can she?

But really, she can’t.

Can't. Stop. Laughing. At. Her. Or, I mean with. WITH HER.

Can’t. stop. laughing. at. Aunt Crazy Pants. Errr, I mean with. Laughing WITH HER.

Upon making sure that whipped cream was ground into my carpet (thus I will not be getting my deposit back), Aunt Crazy Pants decided to go on a path of destruction in my mini manse by taking her tipsy ass into my beloved dressing room.

Fave room in my mini manse...

What CBXB does with extra bedrooms.

My dressing room is home to my two shoe towers (and no, I still don’t have too many shoes Dad and yes folks, I do wear all of them).

Tower of Shoes

Wall of bliss.

Admiring my collection

Even Ted admires my collection daily.

All was well in my closet kingdom until this tiny bull walked into my china shop and decided to trip into one of my towers that was bolted to the wall. The shelving quickly turned into a leaning tower of shoes, as it had about six inches in between the wall and the back of the racks.

Bag of Crazy

Apparently, the whipped cream on her glasses obstructed her view.

We then had to call in Camo during our girls night in to put a temporary band aid on the problem so we wouldn’t be making any trips to the emergency room with stories of shoe boxes falling onto our heads.

Closet hero

Closet hero.

Saving the Closet

I’m a big help, I know.

Crazy Pants can kiss my ass.

Think HGTV will come calling due to my mad holding skills?

When Camo was rewarded with a beer, Aunt Crazy Pants tried to show her gratitude by mauling him.

Mauling. Part 1.

Manhandling, Part 1.

Mauling Part 2.

Manhandling Part 2.

Make it stop. No seriously, make it stop.

Make the manhandling stop. No seriously, make it stop. Somebody muzzle her.

L-Dawg came in to save the the day (and Camo’s dignity) by wrangling Crazy Pants with a dish towel.

L-Dawg wrangled Crazy Pants

Making sure no more Jell-O shots spill and CP stays in her seat.

For the next eight minutes, all was good in my mini manse hood until this happened….

Down the hatch.

Down the Crazy Pant hatch.

There was no turning back once she was out of Jell-O shots, so we put a boa on her and made her dance (and we have videos to prove it).

After the finishing shots, there was no wrangling her. So we put a boa on and made her dance.

Dumb and Dumber at our dancing finest.

I’m happy to report that the mini manse is still standing. But I’m certain that’s due to the fact that Aunt Crazy Pants went home.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!