How to Join the Mile High Club

How do you join the Mile High Club?

You go to Denver, CO. Get your minds out of the fucking gutter.

My birthday has been never-ending this year (sorry not sorry to those who’ve been forced lucky enough to celebrate endlessly with me), and one of my gifts was a trip to Denver from Van Waffles.

Poor, poor me.

Being the spoiled biatch that I am, the vacay commenced with bloody marys at the ass crack of dawn in the airport.

Time doesn’t exist in airports.

There’s something about the heinous Nashville airport carpet that is a “thing” to local peeps. A shop even sells t-shirts about this beautiful floor accessory. Naturally, I had to join in on the social media fun.

Upon landing, we headed to our hotel downtown (Denver, what the fuck is up with your airport being 35 miles outside of the fucking city?). It was a sunny, 70 degree day that was just perfection. As soon as we left to explore the downtown, I somehow made a wrong turn but in such a right way.

My Mothership.

Yes. I came all the way to Colorado to shop in a Target because I’ve never been in my Mothership that was located in a downtown setting with no parking lot. I mean, it’s all about new life experiences, isn’t it?

Target in the heart of downtown.

Once Van Waffles was able to drag me out of the store that I just scoured the day before in Nashville (they have the same items in case you’re wondering which I’m sure you aren’t but now you know) it was time to enjoy pink wine in the sunshine.

A perfect day for rosé.

We then made our way to a shuttle that transported us to the famous Red Rocks amphitheater for a 311 concert.

I sure the fuck didn’t know what I was about to embark.

I was warned not to wear heels to Red Rocks. I listened. I was warned that it was “quite a walk” to the venue. I practiced hills at my local park in Nashville. But I still almost died (or so I thought) on the way up to that motherfucking theater.

The worst part was being sweaty, thirsty and having to stop to take a piss in the middle of my mountain climb in a hot, humid, stank ass port-a-potty. I’d never wished I had a penis more in my whole life as I tried to stand to pee over the gaping hole of other people’s waste (you know the feeling).

Mouth breathing.

Low and behold, much to Van’s bleeding ears, after all of my bitching…

As soon as I got to the fucking top of the mountain, my iWatch buzzed. I was certain that it might explode from my activity during the climb but alas it was just reminding me that I hadn’t come close to closing my step (in red) or exercise (in green) rings. And I’d had this watch on since 4:30am.

I work out a lot. Obvies.

What I do work out on a regular basis? My biceps. And by the time I spied the wine line, all was right in the world.

Workout more my speed.

All in all the weather was perfect, the band was killer and the night was fabulous.

If you ever get the chance to see a show at this venue, GO. But maybe watch my coaching videos above for reference before you attempt to mountain climb unless of course you’re in shape. Then it’ll be easy breezy for you.

When the concert was over, I walked down the mountain like I was a 94-year-old woman recovering from a hip replacement surgery. Mostly this was due to the fact that I fall down like it’s my day job and I’m not sure how much more my joints can take before I need a true knee, hip, ankle, elbow, and wrist replacement surgery.

Me: Sorry we’re having to walk down so slowly. (Literally taking left foot and stopping. Letting right foot catch up)

Van Waffles: It’s OK. Nobody knows us here.

Me: That’s so sweet fucking true.

After consuming every drop of water in the hotel (along with every bag of potato chips and maybe a Snickers bar because I got contact high from the legal marijuana smoked at the show) I woke up Saturday hacking like I’d been a lifelong smoker.

I soon got my act together because I had told my college bestie, Tdawg, that I would take her yoga sculpt class at Core Power Yoga where she instructs. She was picking me up at 10am and being that I take hot yoga, have taken many sculpting classes, I incorrectly assumed I was up for this challenge after a night out and a mountain hike.

Pre-yoga excitement.

Upon arriving, the serene yoga room had a reminder on the door.

Just what I need after a mountain climb.

Then Tdawg came in and blasted old school Nelly…”Andele andale moma E.I. E.I. uh oh!”

Uh fucking oh was right. She didn’t teach a power sculpt yoga class. She instructed a Jane Fonda on crack cardio class with a few yoga moves thrown in here and there while the room was heated. No big deal. This was just the second time I thought a workout was going to be the death of me in Colorado in a matter of 24 hours.

Yoga Barbie and a sweaty pig in a blanket.

Keeping everyone updated via Instagram stories, Sister CBXB kindly asked if we’d be partaking in our favorite college past time.

Not drinking.

Not doing drugs.

Yes. Embossing cards. We would stay in our dorm on the weekends and fucking craft homemade greeting cards. We were beyond cool.

Obvies.

Heading to her house after class to meet her offspring and hubs, she informed me that I am doing a fabulous job educating the youth of America.

Oh be still my beating heart. This is truly one of the highest honors of my life. Teaching kids the F-bomb and S-word is basically my equivalent to winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

Tdawg’s hubs, Cdawg was celebrating his birthday and when he offered me a mimosa to start his celebratory weekend, who was I to turn him down?

My Uber descended to their house and both the Dawgs could not have been more gracious, offering me a full-to-the-brim roadie I happily accepted. “Hopefully one day you’ll come out of your shell,” Cdawg’s dad said as I doled out departing hugs.

Shyness doesn’t become her.

Next up? I showered, gussied up in my finest sequins to meet a friend who until today was only a virtual friend. She’s a fellow blogger who lives in Boulder and when I reached out to let her know about my last second trip, she was available to meet! IN PERSON! When does this happen?

It’s Viv in the flesh!

We’ve been virtual friends for almost six years and she’s known me before the twins, before Rapegate, before losing my music business career…so it’s like we knew each other because we did. It just took it to an entirely new level being in the flesh. Best long lunch date ever.

I told her I didn’t smoke at the concert the prior evening because I don’t like smoking but maybe I would try an edible while in Denver. She said if I did, to nibble on the ear of a gummy bear because peeps usually over do it (and let’s be honest, I could eat a bag of regular gummy bears, so eating just the ear off of one would seem like an underperformance on my end).

After lunch, she sent me this very ominous meme.

I chose not to edible.

Avoiding edibles proved to be the best possible thing because I wanted to keep my eyes open to meet up with yet another gal pal SS. Our mammas were sorority sisters in college and we were childhood friends. I hadn’t seen her since 4th fucking grade.

Not much has changed since we were 10…

Then we went and met up with the rest of the Nashville crew.

Hanging with the gang.

Although I didn’t get high, just mostly drunk, I still had the munchies on the way back to the hotel and it was very upsetting when passing a gluten-free bakery that was closed. I handled it like a lady.

I was just trying to fuel up for the flight home, which was occurring in a matter of hours after our night out.

Too many people before coffee, a bloody mary and 6am.

Best part about the early flying is I got to sit by the Easter Bunny and I scored her phone number!

Furever friends. For real.

Immediately upon arrival home in Nashville, I got a bloody nose that was the gift that just kept on giving all goddamn day long.

Dry Denver air don’t care.

Once the door to the Mini Manse opened, Van Waffles looked at me and said in all seriousness, “is your birthday over now?”

What the fuck do you think?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Bitch Since Birth

Oh, the joys of having a birthday fall on a weekend.

Not hating my day of birth.

I got to do a whole lot of nothing (aka snuggling with pussies on dreary, rainy Friday night and Saturday), squeezed in some gal time with an at-home impromptu cocktail party (where a handle of Captain was drained by Skinny Pirate consumption) and the sprinkles on top of the weekend were the bottomless mimosas I was treated to on Sunday.

Skinny Pirate #1.

After some basketball watching, Skinny Pirates and pie hole stuffing on Friday night, I was beyond elated when I woke up Saturday, realizing I slept 10 consecutive hours. Ten hours people! While this may seem like an overindulgent feat, I haven’t slept more than four hours at a time since Rapegate happened in early 2016. The lack of consistent sleep has only added negatively to my already challenging, stereotypical “blondeness”.

Feeling and looking like a million dollars, I hustled to the fridge and busted out the birthday cake Sister CBXB made while she was here. Then I promptly returned to bed to consume.

Because why the fuck not?!

Theses two demanded a lick.

I got sucked into the footage from the March For Our Lives coverage and holy shit. These fucking kids…I can’t even. My heart was aching while also bursting with pride at the firsthand accounts of honesty regarding an epidemic that knows no class, demographic, race or political affiliation. Gun reform isn’t a republican or democrat problem. It’s an American problem. It’s an issue that these kids who were born after 9/11 and Columbine have faced their entire lives – at schools, churches, movie theaters, concerts and many others face in urban communities daily. How fucked up is that?

I am hopeful that the rally cries this generation is making turns into meaningful legislation with compassion to act because thoughts and prayers aren’t, haven’t and don’t work as we have all witnessed. Realizing it’s encroaching on Second Amendment rights, how does a government limit rights stated in the Constitution and yet, the most basic human right is life itself? Is there truly a reason to have weapons of war in the hands of civilians? The government tells me to wear my seat belt and abide by speed limits (which I mostly do). I must take my fucking shoes off at the airport and walk on ever germy floors because of one shoe bombing incident.

This 11 year old girl spoke more eloquently than most adults I know.

My favorite quote from a Parkland survivor, “We cannot keep America great if we can’t keep America safe.” I love that these kids are fearless in their relentlessness to call bullshit. BRAVO. I stand with you.

Fucking truth.

I was happy to see that even in my home state of Iowa, they were marching even though it was dumping snow on them.

Speaking of Iowa, you know who was cooped up inside after ten inches of snowfall? My twins, who were going to decorate Easter eggs but ended up eating them instead.

Rainy Saturday night rolled around and my gal pal Rasta came over and delivered a very spot on gift.

We can’t wait to wear them to the pool this summer.

Sunday, I lolligagged in the bed just long enough before slipping into my bday giddy up.

I opened up gifts from bed, too….because why not?!

As for my giddy up, it was nothing but class, as always.

BITCH SINCE BIRTH

And, what outfit of mine would be complete without a pair of whore in church heels?

Dada CBXB was one lucky dude, accompanied by five gorgeous gals to brunch.

Practicing our drink counting in prep for football season.

We enjoyed bottomless mimosas, food and for me….

Mimosas.

Presents I obviously hated.

And more mimosas.

I was spoiled beyond but there are no complaints from this chick who got to laugh her ass off with some of the best folks in the world.

Bird Lady and Rasta took me to my fave honky tonk, Robert’s Western World to cap off my day.

Birthday Bliss!

I don’t think we made a scene at all.

Monday morning came waaaaaay too quickly, but it was well worth it.

Cat ass. My morning wake up call.

I’m so lucky to have you guys in my life. Thanks for knowing how to make a lady feel like a queen with all the kind well wishes, messages, cards and calls.

Until next year!

Love ya, mean it.

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!

Weekend Winks – Celebratory Shenanigans

Oh so many reasons to get into the party mood (as if I ever need an excuse) this past weekend!

A new job! My birthday! Easter!

Yep. That's right. Celebrating a new job, too!

Celebrating a new job and my 22nd-ish year on the planet at the same time.

Lucky for me, this year my birthday happened to land on a Friday, which was a double whammy of fun as the last day of the work week almost always finds me at my local watering hole Dalts.

A decked out Skinny Pirate waiting my arrival.

A decked out Skinny Pirate waiting my arrival.

The evening started out with the typical crew…

Dada CBXB, yours truly and Camo.

Dada CBXB, yours truly and Camo.

Naturally, I wasted no time getting wasted my drink on.

Birthdays taste so damn good.

Birthdays taste so damn good.

As the night moved along, other friends graced my trashtacular ass with their presence and the shenanigans began to up their ante (mostly due to my behavior, of course).

A drunk girl, another birthday girl and my brutha from another mutha.

A drunk girl, another birthday girl and my brutha from another mutha.

I mean, what's not to love after eight Skinny Pirates and I lost count of birthday shots?!

I mean, what’s not to love after eight Skinny Pirates and I lost count of how many birthday shots came my way?!

But never fear, my knight in shining Uber armour appeared!

Uber

Poor Nova, wishing he’d made better choices than appearing at Dalts to buy me a birthday cocktail.

Waking up feeling not at all like Kate Upton the following morning, I proceeded to the fridge for my go-to after the night after partying liquid. A real Coke.

I woke up like this.

I woke up like this.

Slight problem for this blonde. There wasn’t a goddamn single Coke in my fridge which hasn’t happened since 2004 when I lost my first job. But, no problemo! I was just gonna hop in my chariot and run to the gas station.

Only when I walked out of the mini manse with keys in hand, I hazily realized my car was at Dalts.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. No Coke. No Diet Coke. No tea. No coffee. And this chick needed her caffeine.  After a very close come apart, I scoured the fridge one more time and…it was a birthday miracle folks!

Do you see what I see?

Do you see what I see? Yes, clear in the way back.

Nestling into the couch, reviewing my celebratory messages, I received one of those “I love you but seriously bless your heart” texts from a Lady friend.

Truth hurts.

Truth hurts.

Speaking of cats, I was able to muster the energy to hang with the fur balls while sipping in my caffeine.

More cats please.

More cats please.

I mean seriously. that face!

I mean seriously. That face!

Obvies Ted is everyone’s main squeeze when it comes to the cuddles, so I left the pussies on the couch to do much more pressing things like open up gifts from my Prince and Princess in Iowa.

Except I couldn’t get the box open.

I wish I may, I wish I might opening this fucking box tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might open this fucking box tonight.

Well the effort was well worth it being that these two masterpieces were inside.

Obvious mini Picassos on the rise.

Obvious mini Picassos on the rise.

Then it was on to my fave snail mailed cards and this was the first and best one I opened.

Good thing I rarely use my burners.

Good thing I rarely use my burners as glitter hearts fell out of the fabulous card.

Onto the Easter shenanigans that greeted us on Sunday, my fave twins patiently awaited the arrival of Gpa, my Dada CBXB, that they lovingly refer to as Coo Coo.

Patiently waiting for CooCoo.

Sleep sacked and Mrs. T in their finest attire.

No spoiling here.

No spoiling here.

And the Easter Bunny didn't miss those sweet Prince and Princess B.

And the Easter Bunny didn’t miss those sweet Prince and Princess B.

FullSizeRender

Easter down south was in full swing with Presh dressed pretty as a princess.

I was busy playing Suzy Homemaker with less than desired results in the form of a failed bunny pie.

Way more of a back story for this piece of art.

Way more of a back story for this piece of art.

I also tried to burn my mini manse down by turning the burner full of golden sparkle hearts on to boil eggs that weren’t even on the right heating device.

Eating is much more my forte than cooking.

Eating is much more my forte than cooking.

Thank God there was someone else making all of the other fixins.

Thank God there was someone else making all of the other fixins.

Fat, happy and a bit tipsy is a weekend done right in my book.

Thirsty

Presh couldn’t agree more.

Here’s hoping the bunny found you.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Photo Bombs and Egg Hunts

The fun meter was cranked to 11 in Nashville this past weekend, as family came to town to participate in all kinds of shenanigans.

Aunt Crazy Pants graced me with her presence and photo bombing expertise to kick off the monkey business.

Bomber gets bombed.

Double fisting and photo bombs make for fun on a Friday night.

We were making such a quiet commotion at our table that a stranger jumped in on the antics.

Nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you.

Speaking of commotion, the Easter Bunny was getting a run for his money in Iowa as Prince and Princess B practiced their hopping techniques.

Friday night shenanigans.

Trying to out hop the bunny.

Apparently my nephew didn’t inherit my ample ass, as his jumping caused him to fall out of his pull up.

I've never had this problem.

I’ve never had this problem. Ever.

Back at the mini manse, I was busy making sure Aunt Crazy pants stayed far, far away from my precious shoe towers that she tried to demolish last time she was in Music City.

She's baaaaaaack!

She’s baaaaaaack!

And she’s just as loose lipped and talkative as ever…you know, the kind of lady who says whatever she is thinking with no filter. Gotta love that!

Say wha...?! No filter.

Say wha…?!

We were waiting to greet my cousin Tballs (the kid that shit in the baby pool) and his fabulous fam who were coming in to pick up Crazy Pants and take her to Hotlanta to spend time with them.

Tballs

Tballs – cousin

Hussy #5

Hussy #5 – wife

I’m pretty sure you can tell from the pictures above, this couple is zero fun and I was not unhappy to welcome them into the mini manse for some wild times.

Due to the aforementioned wild times, Easter greeted us around noon in Nashville and Teddy couldn’t have been more thrilled.

Image

World’s pissiest bunny.

But at the crack of dawn above the Mason-Dixon Line the twins were up and at ’em racing to see what the furry Easter fella left in the yard.

Iowa eggs.

Iowa egg hunt pajama style.

Princess B scored some fashionable goggles and a Frozen dress.

Goggles consumed

Pretty princess.

While Prince B sifted through the loot one by one.

Eggstravaganza!

Eggstravaganza!

At the mini manse, we were prepping for a leisurely afternoon hunt.

Nashville egg prep with the help of New Cat.

One hungover bunny.

Turns out, one of the girls was far from impressed with what the egg hunt had to offer.

What. Ever.

What. Ever.

Her ‘tude turned around after I slaved over the decision of whether to cook or escort the clan to my beloved Dalts.

Slaved all day in the kitchen.

Happy Thanksgiving, er…I mean Easter.

But the real topper to the weekend was receiving this picture of Princess B who calls this her “Auntie CBXB” outfit.

Identifying with Auntie CBXB. My kinda girl.

My kinda girl.

Naturally, I’ve died and gone to heaven since I have an almost exact replica of yours truly.

Isn’t that just what the world needs?

CBXB

CBXB!

Easter Eggstravaganza!

Oh the Easter bunny will be hopping all over the planet this weekend and I can’t wait to drink one too many Skinny Pirates and pass out before he burrows his way into my mini manse Saturday night.

Eggs, Captain and a cat shirt.. A heavenly Easter for me.

Eggs, Captain and a cat shirt…
A heavenly Easter for me.

In past years, Easter consisted of the bunny dropping off Underoos, with my sister and I traipsing through the house like manias scaring nothing but the camera.

Easters

Tough bunnies.

As we got older, celebrations consisted of egg hunts with cousins, battling for treasures scattered in the yard careful not to knock over the four year old among us (well, I don’t know if we were careful about it but he remained standing).

Who needs a basket when you got plastic?

Who needs a basket when you got plastic?

Traditions have long remained in the family and we’ve had the same baskets since our first Easters (I know, I know. My basket is not the pink one. No clue what in the fuck the bunny was thinking).

Two

Two kids, two antique baskets.

What would a family tradition be here at CBXB without a little sneaky trashiness?  You see, this man loathes the fake grass used in baskets.

Grass hater.

Grass hater.

Since Dada CBXB whined, cried and carried on one year about how the ‘damn grass’ gets all over the house, I’ve been more than happy to always hide it in the most unsuspecting places. Under his pillow, in his shoes and last year, the shower.

Shower surprise.

This grass needs cleaned.

What’s not to love about little skinny pieces of plastic that can be found in couch crevices, door hinges, car mats, toilet seats, dryer vents and bathroom drains all 365 days until next Easter?

Easter grass. The gift that keeps on giving the whole year through.

Easter grass.
The gift that keeps on giving the whole year through.

Now that we have twin baby bunnies in the mix, I’ve spent Easter in a new way since we can’t always get together being 1,000 miles apart.

basket hoarders

Totally not excited to see the bunny.

Presently, I get to double fist baskets all day long.

Double

Who has my Skinny Pirate?

One for me and one for my pussy. (You didn’t think I was getting greedy did you? And yes, you New Cat lovers, he gets a basket too but is such a big, fat baby that he hides whenever there is any kind of commotion going on, OK?)

Easter King.

King Ted.

Whatever your Easter traditions may be, here’s hoping the day is filled with glee!

Cheers!

CBXB

 

Weekend Winks – Hippity Hoppity Style

Money hunt with the help from Captain.

Money filled eggs + Skinny Pirates = Perfect Easter

As Easter found its way to Nashville yesterday, I packed up the kit cats and headed out to see what the bunny left behind at my parent’s house.

Over the river...

Ted is the best navigator ever – or so he thinks.

New Cat was a little less chill, as he howled the meow of his people the entire 30 minute ride. That being said, this car ride was the longest one we’ve shared yet and the first time he’s been in a kennel that wasn’t whisking him away to the vet.

New Cat

Not so happy New Cat.

After the incessant bawling, Mama needed an Easter cocktail immediately upon arrival.

Drove me to drink.

Driven to drink.

While sipping on refreshments, we got to FaceTime with the twins in Iowa. My niece has taken a shine to the phone (naturally) and being able to see herself on the screen.

Getting down with her bad self

Hello Gorgeous.

Cute Faces

Double the fun – definitely double the trouble.

My buddy The Wandering Poet spread the bunny love by decorating eggs with his Twitter Krew.

Krew

Best batch of eggs this year.

Which reminded me of the years full of egg hunts with cousins and our beautiful makeshift Easter baskets – plastic grocery bags.

Old school baskets. Trashtacular baskets

Trashtacular Easter at its finest.

While I didn’t have any cousins to trample, I was able to take my sweet time in collecting eggs and finding my Easter basket (I was very good this year…if you believe it).

Easter mania

Double fisting.

Tedstar refused to move from the chick pail full of eggs scooped up from our annual money hunt (instead of candy, my bunny stuffs the plastic with cold hard cash). And this year, none of the eggs jingled when shook with the usual dimes, nickles and pennies.

Guard cat.

Guard cat.

Score!

Score!

What did get Teddy up and running strolling was a Toblerone bar that he knew he couldn’t have – but tempted himself anyway.

Lured with chocolate

Inconspicuous fail.

Aside from our annual money hunt there is another family tradition that involves the cheap, Easter basket grass and my dad.

This guy loves him some Easter grass.

This guy loves him some Easter grass.

Being that I can’t help myself from leaving a trail of this stringy shit everywhere like my own version of the Tasmanian devil, my dad once made the mistake of voicing his disdain for my messiness with the fake plastic grass.

Easter Grass Galore

Case  in point.

In the past I’ve hidden piles of this festive filler under his pillow, in his shoes, in the bed, etc…So this year the E. Bunny got smart and inserted paper grass into my basket instead, hoping to thwart finding strings of plastic on the floor until Christmas.

But…I can’t be stopped.

What's behind his shower curtain?

A little shower surprise…

Peter Cottontail was here.

The CBXB Bunny was here.

After planting the Monday am prank, the cats and I high tailed it back to our mini manse, where we closed the fabulous weekend with one last cocktail.

Easters taste so good.

Easters taste so good.

We hope Peter Cottontail was as kind to you as he was to Nashville.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!