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 – 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!

 

Alive and Kickin’

Holla!

Did you think I fell off the face of the fucking earth? Well, I kinda did.

My 2016 in a nutshell.

My 2016 in a nutshell.

After the start of this year, I knew January was going to be a doozie, so I stuck my head in proverbial sand, pretending I was the world’s most glamorous ostrich.

A leopard print ostrich.

The first month of 2017 marked the initial 365 days without my sweet J.Bean on the planet. The absence of this fiery young force is missed tremendously by her family and friends.

First anniversary of a devastating loss.

A devastating loss last year.

Couple the above situation with the first anniversary of bad shit happening to a good person (yours truly) within days of one another, I almost hunkered down in my dressing room to cry the rest of my life away (with all of my furry pussies, of course). I was hoping a sparkly asteroid would hit my mini manse.

Awaiting the Glitterbombpocalypse.

Instead, almost one year to the day of my bad shit, I found motivation to get my ass the size of Iowa out of the closet. I chose to march with millions of other folks in hundreds of cities across the globe in solidarity with the Women’s March on Washington (if you’re one of the people still wondering why this took place (has your head been in the sand – or perhaps my purse from above?) I’ll be addressing that in a later blog). The Nashville march expected around 4,000 people. Over 15,000 showed up and peacefully flowed through the downtown streets.

#imarchwithlinda

#imarchwithlinda

Surrounded by thousands of fellow citizens made me feel less alone (which seems utterly ridiculous, since I have a support system that rivals the American military). On the actual anniversary evening of my incident, gal pals came over to the mini manse and at midnight, we cheersed the fuck out of surviving various bad shit that happens to all of us.

Cheers to

We survive. We persevere. We kick ass.

Starting the second month of 2017 off on the right high-heeled foot, I found myself feeling empowered, emotionally stronger and proud that I trudged through the worst few hundred days life has presented me thus far. Still struggling with PTSD, adjustment disorder and severe stress caused from one single traumatic event – I finally felt some of my happy seep back in. Happy – the one thing this lonely lady has needed most out of the many things stolen from her in an instant. And anything that makes me feel better seems like a goddamn victory.

Yay me.

I also found myself suddenly unemployed – but can’t say I was sad.

At all.

Although my wallet is waaaaay lighter, my spirits are brighter, not breathing fumes from a toxic environment. Stumbling into unemployment presented all kinds of fun. Like getting into a small fender bender on the way to a therapy session minutes after cleaning out my office.

I mean, C'MON.

Nothing a glass of vino can’t fix. With a side of car insurance…

Life Savers

… and a round of life savers.

Time away from the daily grind has been fabulous. It’s allowed me to arrange a long trip to Iowa, aiding Aunt Crazy Pants in kicking some cancer ass.

Aunt Crazy Pants

Jazz hands for Crazy Pants!

When bad shit happens to good people, sometimes they (who moi?) lose their fucking minds and adopt three cats at once without first consulting their existing pussy and chug.

Some of us were more happy than others on adoption day last year.

This milestone gave a big reason to celebrate! I mean, what pussy wouldn’t be thrilled to come home to a trashtacular mini manse and doting (albeit almost certifiably cray cray) mama?

Happy kit cat adoption day!

Dada CBXB and I threw down a party so hard, the cats needed to snooze the entire next day. And night. And then the next day. And night.

One year later…taking the damn manse over.

Having extra time on my personally manicured talons also means I can stare at these two mugs all day long.

Uh, yeah. Smiles for Miles

Uh, yeah. Smiles for miles from Iowa.

Waaaaaaay too cool for school.

Waaaaaaay too cool for school…

I'm waiting patiently to be their auntager.

… but not too cool to be models for their local library’s website. I’m waiting patiently to be their auntager.

While we creep into a Nashville spring, the reminder that human beings are generally kind has enveloped over me like a hangover seeps out of your pores on a Sunday morning. There’s finally a light at the end of the longest fucking tunnel I’ve ever looked down (maybe it’s more of a Grand Canyon type deal but you get the point, right?). Mind you, the hue is fuchsia with flecks of pink sparkle slowly falling all around. It doesn’t twinkle or glisten.

It glows. Radiating the biggest, brightest, fuchsia light I’ve ever fucking seen down a tunnel I’m starting to walk down. A tunnel I’m starting to run down. A tunnel I’m starting to sprint down. When I finally arrive at the other side of the tunnel (way out of breath needing a gallon of water but instead opting for a bottle of champs), watch out. Because it will be then that I’ll have gained the ability to pick up my rusty, once broken spirit and kick my ass into high gear.

Imthisclose.

Until then, I’m satisfied being just a little bit of a happier shit show.

At least I’m alive and kickin’!

Now, how the hell are you?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Welcome to the Jungle

Life lately has felt as if I’ve been needing a machete to cut through the roughage of life growing up all around me. While it can more often than not feel all-consuming, it’s always a bonus when you got folks who have your back in blowing off some steam.

Ahhhh....Fridays are so refreshing

Like Dada CBXB always ready for a cold one.

IMG_3223

And suck I do.

And when I need it, suck down Skinny Pirates, I do!

With a little extra help from Camo and The Silent Indian, my spirits were flying higher in no time at my local haunt, Dalts.

You know what else exposes my pearly whites? Pics from the world’s cutest niece and nephew.

Party up north.

Two Iowa clowns.

I can't even.

I can’t even.

Not only should these two faces be in magazines, billboards and on TV (I beg their mother to let me be their auntager) but Princess B could rock the world of hair with her tresses.

Hair care

But then again, her awareness of self is already gigantic – I wonder if the world could handle her.

All 'tude. All the time.

All ‘tude. All the time.

Speaking of cuts, Precious got her summer chop going on and won’t stop strutting around the mini manse.

Chug-a-lug got a cute cut, too.

Chug-a-lug got a cute cut, too.

Ripping myself away from twin photos and my real life ewok proved difficult but somehow I managed when my buddy invited me along to see Guns N’ Roses – which from the hype was going to be the Nashville concert of the year.

I know. I'm so rock'n'roll.

Don’t even tell me. I’m so rock’n’roll.

You know when you don’t want to get your hopes up, keeping expectations low because aging rockers somehow, someway, typically disappoint?  Well, this wasn’t the case Saturday night.

I have always wanted to see Guns N’ Roses in all of their glory but when Axl Rose (who looked like he could be a Real Househusband of LA due to over botoxing but sang like a motherfucker), Duff McKagan and Slash (the ultimate shit of rock guitar shredders in my book) came out and took the stage in Music City my expectations were far exceeded.

I’ve seen the Stones. I’ve seen Paul McCartney. I’ve been backstage, side stage and on stage at numerous stadium shows for some of the greatest acts in the industry due to my work life. However, this show took the proverbial cake because I couldn’t stop smiling the entire show (or screaming, or air guitar playing or stopping myself from buying a new wardrobe so I have a GNR shirt for every goddamn day of the week).

I died.

Tri-Slashta.

That show put some much-needed kick ass pep back in my step. The concert also reminded me of the time years ago I made an ex-boyfriend dress as Axl to complement my Slash. Not hard to wonder when I want to dress as old rockers for Halloween why we’re not still together (well, aside from the fact that he’s dating a newer version of me who will probably go the route of a Hooters waitress for dress up holidays). Ya dig?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where did I go? Straight to the lovin’ teeny tiny T-rex arms of my fave chug, Presh.

Straight to bed.

Rocked out, lights out.

Sunday marked a milestone in the mini manse. The baby, Elsa Pants, ventured to Ted’s glass of kitty caviar – and lived to tell about it.

Fed the beast. Martini meows.

Martini meows.

Another fabulous pick-me-up over the weekend? One of my beloved gal pals, Bex, found the hardback (you know, because hardbacks are way more convenient than a paperback or Kindle) version of my all-time fave books, Stephen King’s The Stand. I have been looking for this nearly a decade and she stumbled upon it at a used bookstore – and remembered! Great friends kick ass.

HARDBACK!

Although I don’t have my hands on this masterpiece yet, I did settle down with Stephen King’s newest End of Watch and it was so fantastic, I read it all on Sunday. With company of course.

Wild Nashville nights.

Wild Nashville nights.

A little less wild in my jungle by weekend’s end.

Cheers!
CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Like a Boss

Sometimes the end to a loooooooong work week requires day drinking on Friday. Like this past one, where I met up with Camo and Dada CBXB well before 5pm at our favorite watering hole, Dalts.

Wasn't even 5:30 yet.

Pretty as pictures before happy hour started.

But we quickly recovered in the beauty department.

Much better.

Not quite as special looking two minutes later.

Being that I’m always down for an extended celebration, my sister sent some fingerless Iowa Hawkeye gloves for a belated birthday gift that made me start to crave the tailgating season (which starts in t-minus five months).

Ready for tailgating season.

Perfect tailgating practice makes for perfect tailgates.

While I was busy lounging in winter gear at the bar, the Iowa twins were kicking back and unwinding after a long day of play.

Chillaxin.

Chillaxin.

Due to the fact that our family doesn’t use traditional monikers (shocking, I know) for extended relatives (Grandma is Gigi, Grandpa is Cray Cray, Auntie CBXB is Aunt Juju) we went bananas seeing the twins in giddy ups that appeared to be custom-made.

Cray Cray for their Cray Cray, who they loving refer gpa.

Cray cray for their Cray Cray.

When it comes down to snack time, these peeps know how to do it up right. What to do with left over Easter candy? Why you make a Peep s’mores, of course.

Peep s'mores

Delicate deliciousness for Prince B.

 Marshmallow mania.

Not so delicate marshmallow mania for Princess B.

Dada CBXB decided to splurge on some new living room attire, in which my expertise was needed. Naturally, I suggested he go with an animal print but he went with boring old brown instead.

Furniture shopping with

Trying to put flair in the furniture shopping.

Speaking of flair, I have a new office that was in dire need of being CBXBfied. So, trying to stay true to my subtle self, Camo helped haul and hang accessories that made me feel right at home.

What office is complete without zebra print chairs?

What office is complete without zebra print chairs?

Of course there is a Hawkeye nook.

Of course there is a Hawkeye nook.

Saturday Work Day

Like a boss.

Since I stole art from my mini manse for my office meant I had a bare wall (THE HORROR) to deal with, which I quickly remedied.

Stole from home, so had juje the dressing room walls back up.

Eeeew gross.

After about four hours of arranging, I executed my new design in my dressing room (you know, what us single gals do with extra  bedrooms).

I hate skulls, the color pink and sparkles, obviously.

I hate skulls, the color pink and sparkles, obviously.

While I was slaving away doing loads of laundry and redecorating small spaces, Ted, Rocky and Elsa Pants were a huge help while waiting for new sheets to be put on the bed.

Lots of laundry help.

Paw patrol.

Sweetest scene of the weekend was seeing Ted’s shadow, Elsa Pants follow him any and everywhere.

Ted and his shadow, Elsa Pants.

The Bear cannot escape but secretly loves it.

Speaking of cats, this crazy feline lady cannot wait to take in the moving Keanu this weekend. Guess what my household of pussies will be this year for Halloween?

Halloween outfit decided.

Gangsta pussies.

While the work week has begun, I can most certainly say this is what I will be having for happy hour this evening.

Today feels like that kind of Monday.

Care to join?

Here’s hoping you’re already owning your week like a boss.

Cheers!

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 – Ghostbusters, Rockstars and Star Wars

Oh Halloween.

How I love the kick off to a long-awaited holiday season, especially when it falls on a weekend.  Oftentimes as a kid, I had multiple costumes for different Halloween parties (the horror of wearing the same thing twice), so I followed my own tradition and mixed it up this year.

Stay Puft mania!

Stay Puft Marshmallow man mania!

My costume was so on point that the TV show The Goldbergs tried to bring back the beloved ’80s Ghostbusters characters only to fail.

Suck it Goldbergs!

Suck it Goldbergs!

As you can see, our group dominated this category. And we did our own costuming.

Ghostbusters

Ghostbusters done right.

Another Halloween scene called for more comfortable attire, as my crew was going to see a show and I didn’t really want to sweat (let’s be real, I don’t sweat, I glisten) to death (plus, I wanted to pee and the Stay Puft outfit makes you hold it for however long you’re wearing it).

Rock Trio

Lenny Kravitz, Alice Cooper and Kid Rock.

Not to be left out, my fave little chug (chihuahua + pug mix) Precious was an adorable little ladybug.

Ladybug

Most precious lady beetle ever.

Those Iowa twins of mine? They’re obsessed with Star Wars (as all kids I know have been except yours truly…I still don’t get it but whatever).

IMG_8264

Yes I know. The cutest fucking Princess Leia and Yoda you’ve ever seen.

Seeing how excited the twins were over their costumes, I decided Ted and I would stay in the same family of sorts and dress up as galaxy characters as well.

PastedGraphic-1

October 31st happened to not only be the day of candy collecting but also a game day for my beloved Iowa Hawkeyes, who have yet to lose a game and are ranked #10 in the nation (yeah, that’s right!).  My team was geared up to keep their record pristine against the Maryland Terps (turtles, in case you didn’t know what a terp was because I didn’t know).

Trick or Treat

Ghoulish game day treats.

Teddy Back Bear

Teddy Back Bear enjoying some ribs while still trying to put weight on after his bought with illness.

So….with all of that being said, our touchdown tradition carried on in great force on Saturday!

TD 1

Touchdown celebration #1!

TD 2

Celebration shot #2!

TD 3

Third touchdown is a charm!

Victory

Victory is sweet!

Now one of my blogging besties, Mark Bialczak is a fellow Big Ten fan, who cheers on his Maryland Terps. Last year, we had a bet that whomever’s team lost must be featured on the winner’s blog and ….. here he is in all of his loser glory this year!

Terp stew.

A Terp loss means a bottle of wine is needed.

Kinda feeling bad...but let's be real. The Hawks have sucked for years and the T

But how bad do we feel that his other team was the Mets?!

The celebration carried on to my fave Nashville watering hole, Dalts.

Skinny Pirates are my treat!

Skinny Pirates are a treat to my tricks!

Isn’t the day after Halloween the best when you are tallying up your treats?

Loot Round Up

Princess B laying out her line up.

You know my twins Clark and Cousin Eddie are still hanging with Gpa CBXB as Ted is still in weight gaining mode.

Cuddles

A belly big enough for two.

Ted was exhausted from all of the weekend shenanigans (of course) so he made it beyond difficult to do anything the rest of the weekend.

So I didn’t do shit.

Snoozefest

Snoozefest 2015.

Here’s hoping you are recovered from any kind of sugar overdose you may have encountered.

Cheers!

CBXB