The Birthday Bitch is BACK

Getting ready to start another 365 fresh days, I’m BAAAAAACK. I’d lost (now found!) the “celebrate everyday” mantra that I was so used to pre-Rapegate. Three years without any of my usual March references…”it’s my birthday month” or “did you know my birthday is exactly three months after Christmas,” (I mean, maybe we can say I’m god’s gift, OK?) to “we’re gonna do what I wanna do because it’s my birthday MONTH.”

YOU WILL CELEBRATE AND YOU WILL FUCKING LOVE IT.

Since I was a kid, my life revolved around Christmas, my birthday and then, the Iowa State Fair. Much to my cousin B’s dismay (I can only assume), I was born right smack dab in the middle of his birthday, therefore he was forced lucky to share his special occasion with me at every March family gathering. (He’s the super happy kid to your left in the pic below).

It’s all about meeeeeeeee. Sorry, not sorry B.

Instead of forcing myself to get it together and sorta celebrate like I have the last few years, I readily have my sparkly party stilettos on and am ready to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the fuck out of my day of birth. Like, for the remaining days of March. And also, because my birthday is on Monday, it’s really only fair to make it a birthday week.

I’m gonna huff, puff and blow those motherfucking candles out. Even if I light my own.

(side note, I’m gonna need someone to make a gluten-free yellow cake with chocolate frosting with one billion multi-colored sprinkles on it, thanks).

Huff. Puff. and Blow.

Huff.

Puff.

Blow.

I’m gonna act like my mom and document the fuck out of every.single.second of my special day. Like she did with my sweet pink and purple pony cake, accompanied by my lovely oversized spectacles and semi-mullet hair do.

My most gorgeous birthday photo ever.

Hello Gorgeous.

Documenting attire like the time she allowed (like anyone could ever allow me to do anything) me to celebrate my birthday with sweet wispy bangs and a crocheted vest that looked like one of my Grandma Vogel’s doilies she so effortlessly made.

Crochet nightmare

Always so fashion forward.

Celebrate

More my speed these days.

I’m going to open every text, social media well wish, card and gift like it’s the one and only thing I’ve ever received in my life.

Always act surprised.

Holy shit! I love it! No, truly I do.

I will not be holding up fingers to commemorate the age of which I am turning because I ran out of fingers after the age of 10. (side note: how hilarious is it that I have a shirt on that says First Mate, First Mate?).

Insist

I’m this many today.

I may, however, enlist the peeps around me to count other birthday fun.

When you’re out of fingers on both hands, just count drinks.

When one of you does show up at the mini manse door with my gluten-free cake in hand, I am going to need a shit ton of frosting on it. And having a crown crafted of construction paper wouldn’t hurt either.

Scoobs.

Paper Princess.

Then I may need assistance with eating the delivered cake if my hands are full with cocktails.

Keepin' it classy. As usual.

Are your hands clean?

I’m already practicing my ‘birthday adorable’ look that I mastered oh so few years ago for photo capturing.

Mug for the camera.

Oh who me? Why yes it is my birthday. I’ll just hold this pose for the rest of the day.

It’s a tradition I am still working on.

Adorableness FAIL.

Work in progress.

I’m going to dance, jump and twirl (but not down) to my heart’s content, acting as if I have one ounce of rhythm somewhere in my body.

PARTY!

Mosh pits before mosh pits were cool.

Dance

I may try a high kick, which for me is possibly as high as my hip…if I’m lucky.

Head banging also accepted.

This seems to be the appropriate dance moves when we run out of fingers in which to count cocktails.

I’m probably going to invest in some sort of kazoo or party favor to carry around next week so when anyone asks how my day is going, I’ll just blow it in their face. Like a classy lady.

Blow it out.

I’m fabulous. It’s my birthday week.

I’m gonna surround myself with my fabulous friends forcing in celebratory fashion.

The more, the merrier.

Oh the variety of bangs…

Did I mention it was all about me?

Along with gluten-free cake, diamonds, Louis Vuittons, rescue cats, anything sparkly, Iowa Hawkeye football season tickets, anything skull, stilettos, bubble bath, a new deep jet bath tub for said bubble bath, I will also be accepting birthday shots, wine and Skinny Pirates.

Why thank you

Birthdays taste so good.

I may or may not have consumed all liquids at this table.

Birthday Skinny Pirate in the house!

They just “get” me at Dalts.

This year, I’ll be drinking to the wise words my Gma always told me as I bitched about growing another year older, “having another birthday sure beats the alternative.” Jesus, it sure fucking does. I’ll drink to that!

Truth.

Now, who wants to celebrate with me?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Off to a Spark!

First full week of 2019 is almost in the books and friends, I don’t know about you, but I was beyond ready to feel like lighting 2018 on fire and forgetting it took place. As well as 2017, 2016 and 2015.

Get in on the shenanigans on Instagram…..
My handle is @cowboysandcrossbones.

All of 2018 wasn’t awful in the slightest but I’m more than thrilled to shed the layer another year added. Like an exfoliation of sorts. Looking back, it seemed like last year was equivalent to a decade with all of the political chaos, senseless gun violence, devastating hurricanes and wild fires, the staggering realization of where America truly stands on rape culture and victim blaming, learning that the environment is most certainly going to say “fuck you” to humans in about 50 years, shutting down the government, forcing peeps to work without pay, who most likely already live paycheck to paycheck over some fucking dumbass wall (get it the fuck together politicians) – and that’s just the non-personal junk.

We made it!  Art by the ever kick ass Hannah Daisy of @makedaisychains.

Yet, there was some sort of seismic shift that took place toward the end of the year after I twirled fell and gave myself a severe concussion (what I mindlessly refer to as a coma…I mean, they both start with the letter c). Resting my brain and body was not only what the doctor ordered, it was what my mind and spirit also needed.  Almost three years after Rapegate, I was back in the celebratory saddle and not.a.fucking.thing. was going to stand in my way.

Holiday spirits were high and so very not dry.

Holla!day fun with the girls.

Christmas craziness with my Iowa twins.

Christmas cookies for Kris Kringle.

Christmas cocktails helped us jingle.

I have enough merriment to carry me and you through this entire new year.

Soon enough it was time to watch that famous ball drop, signifying whatever you want to call it. A fresh start, new chapter, another not going to follow any resolutions again, new year, new you bullshit. Aside from The Pussy Posse, a quiet night in with First Mate was the way to commence the out with the old, in with the new shenanigans.

First Mate with her fizz.

Nothing short of a klutz on my feet, I did my best to spoil our snacks before the evening even started. My leopard couch still smells like one big, raw shrimp – and the pussies love it.

Festive fail.

So we did what any gals would and filled up on champs instead (like we would have done anyhow).

Mind eraser.

The problem wasn’t with our selfie taking skills, of course. It was trying to get the fucking bottle of bubbly open (why can’t my cats get off their furry asses and help?!).

 

Once we popped the top, the champs flowed, my 2018 skin was shed and we did what all party animals do. We went to bed.

The first day of 2019 was also the very last game of my beloved Hawkeyes football season. My team was playing Mrs. America’s Mississippi State Bulldogs and Iowa was the underdog.

Last game of the season!

Dada CBXB and I were hoping to score a touchdown, hopeful our Hawks wouldn’t get blown out. Not only did they score multiple times, enabling our family tradition touchdown shots, they also WON THE GAME!  Final score was 27-22. The first day of 2019 was not a horrible one in the slightest.

W-I-N!

Cheers to a first week of freshness and hoping the spark stays alive in all of us this year.

Happy! Happy!

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Beat the Birthday Alternative

Getting ready to start another 365 fresh days, looking back on birthdays of yesteryear has been bittersweet. I’ve lost (and found!) the “celebrate everyday” mantra that I was so used to pre-Rapegate, coupled with the loss of relationships, deaths and general life changes that have been no control of mine.

YOU WILL CELEBRATE. AND YOU WILL FUCKING LOVE IT.

However, peering back over my shoulder now, there are extremely important lessons that I adhere to even today, as I prepare to celebrate another year of fabulous fun.

Huff. Puff. and Blow.

Huff. Puff. Blow.

Still at it.

Thank God I have candle blowing help now.

1) Always take a peek in a mirror before a photo is snapped, forever capturing the loveliness of you on your special day or you may end up with something like this….

My most gorgeous birthday photo ever.

Hello Gorgeous.

Relax already.

Seriously. Stare in the mirror and give a rat’s ass or you’ll be gazing at your lovely self in something as beautiful as a crocheted vest for years to come.

Crochet nightmare

Fashion at its finest accessorized with wispy bangs.

Celebrate

Own advice not taken. Clearly.

2) Upon receiving presents, always act like you’ve just received the best.gift.ever. Even if you have no clue what it is or have no intention of ever wearing/using/displaying/eating/drinking.

Always act surprised.

Holy shit! I love it! No, truly I do.

3) Hold up fingers to commemorate which age you were celebrating, as these photos will end up in albums and you won’t always remember what outfit you wore which year (side note: how hilarious is it that I have a shirt on that says First Mate, First Mate?).

Insist

I’m this many today.

Even if you’re not quite sure how old you are, own whatever you are saying which will demand more attention on you.

Even

If I say I’m two and a half, I AM TWO AND A HALF, ya dig?

When you’re out of fingers on both hands, just count drinks.

Three times….infinity?

4) Cake matters. Choose your design wisely.

Scoobs.

Everyone wants a piece of Scooby.

Then insist someone hand feed it to you.

Keepin' it classy. As usual.

Keepin’ it classy. As usual.

Just be careful if your cake starts on fire due to the copious amount of candles.

5) Practice your ‘birthday face’ so you can look adorable in all photos.

Mug for the camera.

Oh who me? Why yes it is my birthday. I’ll just hold this pose for the rest of the day.

Camera!

Adorableness fail.

Oh hi, just an adorable Mexican giddy-up for a girl who can’t keep her eyes open.

6) Be sure to have a themed party. Even if it involves you looking like an ass clown.

theme

Send in the clowns.

Even if no one shows up, you still look like you got it going on.

7) Dance, jump and twirl to your heart’s content, acting as if you have one ounce of rhythm somewhere in your being.

PARTY!

Shake, rattle and rollin’ expected.

Dance

High kicks accepted.

Head banging also accepted.

Head banging also welcomed but you’ll regret it in the morning. Trust me.

8) Noisy favors are a must. Especially if party goers are under the age of six.

Blow it out.

Blow out birthday party.

It’ll wear them out and force them to be couch potatoes.

Overcrowded couch? What’s better than that?

9) Always go with the celebratory flow.

Go with the flow

Balloons in my hair? Sounds like a good birthday look.

Or at least let someone catch you when the flow gets to be too much for you to stand on your own.

Hey-oh!

Hey-oh!

10) Don’t ever turn away a birthday kiss, no matter how much you think it may hurt your face.

Scruffy faces hurt my cheek. Always low maintenance.

Always being low maintenance, scruffy faces hurt my cheek. Shave already!

Presh loves to French kiss. Don’t judge.

11) Even if you share the same birthday with a cousin (gentleman to my left in photo below with thrilled look on his face) be sure you try to be the star of the show anyhow.

Sharing

Sorry. Not sorry B. Happy Birthday by the way!

12) Never, ever, ever, ever turn down a birthday shot. Ever.

Why thank you

Birthdays taste so good.

13) Enjoy the fuck out of the loved ones who surround you for celebration because you never know when it’ll be the last time.

Teddy B and me.

Crazy and Aunt Crazy Pants.

This year, I’ll be drinking to the wise words my Gma always told me as I bitched about growing another year older, “having another birthday sure beats the alternative.”

She was one smart lady.

I’ll drink to that!

No matter how hard I have to huff, puff and blow on my candles.

Cheers to your birthdays of yesteryear – as well as a year full of the happiest of birthdays for all of us and those we hold dear!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Holy Shits, Dips and Shots

There’s all kinds of crazy taking place in my Nashville bubble and I can’t say that I hate it.

Precious and I made our Billboard.com debut in music artist Ryan Kinder’sStill Believe in Crazy Love,” (scroll all of the way to the bottom of the article to watch the entire) video. There’s a long, fabulous story behind this experience I will share later (regarding Rapegate) but I did what any normal person does when they have their two seconds of fame.

Celebrating on a budget.

No pawtographs, please.

Naturally, I had to go out to toast my newfound famousness and First Mate was happy to oblige my obsession with myself.

Why am I not being bombarded?

While I basked in my glow of nothingness, the Iowa twins continue to morph into little people and are more hilarious than ever.

Princess B has been rocking pigtails, enjoying the Indian summer above the Mason Dixon line while she cheers her bro on in anything sports related.

Smiles for miles.

No. No it does not get any cuter.

Speaking of sports, I’ve been nil reporting on our tailgating shenanigans and Dada CBXB and I were in full force this weekend.

Her version of tailgating.

Our version of tailgating included almost every liquor under the sun, my dad’s self-dubbed “World Famous Wings,” the blogfamous “Eat Shit and Die Guacamole,” and snacks to soak up our hope of scoring any points against the number four ranked Penn State.

Spread right.

I made sure to be gussied up with sparkles and shine for a little extra luck for my Hawks.

Black, gold and perfectly bold Keds for Kate Spade sneakers.

Trying to one up Gwen Stefani by wearing my boyfriend’s face on my shirt instead of my shoe.

Much to our delight, we were able to do a traditional touchdown shot right before halftime because the Hawkeyes scored. Yeehaw!

We just wanted to drink….we didn’t think it’d actually be a good game!

As the second half wore on, our Cinderella team grew thisclose to beating the Nittany Lions with a last minute touchdown. Did you hear me screaming Saturday night?

 

The Hawkeyes did not hear my victory cries because they lost during the last play of the game with four seconds left. But we did an “E” for effort shot and are proud fans for hanging that close as an unranked, always overlooked team.

How ’bout them Hawks?!

Losers brunch was delish, as it was my dad’s self-dubbed “World Famous Omelette,” which never disappoints.

Breakfast of non-champions.

It’s been just over a month since I suddenly lost the furry little love of my life, Ted. And while I can’t yet write a full post about the magnitude of his loss to me, I miss him every single second of every single day.

But funny how I saw this Facebook memory and within minutes received a message from the gal who runs the cat rescue in which I’m a poster child, saying there may be someone I should go check out at Pet Smart if I was ready.

I have a love/hate relationship with the fucking memories that pop up on Facebook daily.

It took all of four seconds with my torso in the kennel to decide what the next chapter of pussy life will be like at the mini manse.

READY

A little shopping around with my newest pussy and shooting our first selfie before heading home.

Who doesn’t do this?

While the newest member of the fam has decided his fave place is under my bed, updates will follow as I mold him into my sidekick. Boy, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s in for – hope he’s ready by Halloween for matching outfits.

Here’s to having a fabulous week.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

Weekend Weeks – Redneck Style

The South gets a bad rap for people doing stupid things and I wanted to jump on the bandwagon this past weekend. Doesn’t it make sense to have a couple of cocktails and then get guns out of the closet?

Red neck? Fabulously trashy? Ultra stupid to give me a machine gun?

Redneck? Fabulously trashy? Ultra stupid to give me a machine gun?

First Mate and Mr. Mate recently got home from vacation, setting up shop in their front yard. Naturally, I needed to go and see what the hell they’d been up to so we convened at their palace Friday evening.

You can see why we're friends, right?

You can see why we’re friends, right?

After a few rounds of Skinny Pirates, Mr. Mate decided it’d be a good time to show me a gun he recently handcrafted. Smart, yes?

Palm trees, cactus and a horse...what more could one ask for?

Palm trees, cactus and a horse…what more could I need? A homemade machine gun, of course.

Billy Bad Ass.

You can stop holding your breath.  This piece wasn’t loaded.

This is heavy.

Reacting to the heaviness of this metal –  I could never be Rambo.

Photo bombing Mr. Mate as he was trying to have a pic snapped of him. I'm such a bitch.

Photo bombing Mr. Mate as he was trying to have a pic snapped of himself and his weapons. I’m such a bitch.

Since I consider myself a professional photo bomber, I always love to see the work of other PBs in action. Look what my friend’s dog did to her sweet baby…

Cute baby bombed by Spanky the dog.

Spanky the dog should probably be my side kick.

You know how my kit cat Teddy has been such a shit about the entire moving process we’ve been going through the last month and refused to snuggle with me for weeks on end? Look what I woke up to on Saturday morning.  A wet nose, a tiny smile and major purring. We’re back together again!

He's baaaaack1

All is forgiven. FINALLY.

After my morning love fest, I took my rear outside and revamped a tired, light green wicker chair I inherited from my folks. One coat of metallic silver and poof! New life for the old chair (hope my parents never want it back).

Never met a spray paint I didn't like

Never met a can of spray paint I didn’t love.

My ever-constant hero, Dad came in to remedy a slight problem in my laundry closet. A washer and dryer that won’t let the doors slide shut. Oops.

Dad to the rescue!

Dad to the rescue!

Who needs doors when you can hang a shower curtain? Holla!

Laundry hero!

Laundry hero!

While I was busy making my dad sweat away,  my little cuties from Iowa were having a pool party. Looks like my niece B is taking after her Auntie CBXB. She can ‘turn it on’ whenever she sees a camera. My nephew B on the other hand, can’t quite figure the damn contraption out.

Camera!

Camera!

What the what?

What the what?

First Mate pimped out Mr. Mate on Saturday evening for all kinds of hanging shit up fun at my new mini-manse.

Husband honey do for some other chick is any man's dream come true on a Saturday night.

Husband honey do for some other chick is any man’s dream come true on a Saturday night, right?

Our (his) efforts were a huge success, as we got my ‘piece de resistance’ mirror up, centered perfectly (I had nothing to do with that) on the wall. Celebrate!

We wanted to capture the spirit of Johnny Cash. Did we do it?

We wanted to capture the spirit of Johnny Cash. Did we do it?

All of the bossing around on Saturday evening really wore me out, so on Sunday I busted a move up to the pool and there was no one else there!

Peaceful pool.

Private pool.  That’s how I roll.

Upon my return to the mini manse, I was greeted with water dripping out of my bathroom light fixture. You can imagine how thrilled I was – especially since this is the second leak I’ve had in less than a month.

Leaks are fun. Especially when you've had two in 30 days. Neat.

Leaks are fun.

Before using the saucepan above for a tiny swimming pool, I made my second supper in the new place. Skinny spaghetti, which inadvertantly ended up looking like Mickey Mouse.

Which strangely ended up looking like Mickey Mouse.

Sorry Minnie.

Ted remains completely famfoozled over the noises coming from above him (you know, neighbors walking around), so he parked it on the bar for the remainder of the weekend to de-stress.

Taking after his mother.

Taking after his mother.

Cheers to a fabulous week!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Shit Show Style

You know how you feel when life decides to sucker punch you in the face? I am familiar with the feeling (aren’t we all?). Going about our business, minding our own business and tending to our business, when out of the blue the sky seems to fall an our life becomes an immediate shit show…

Thank God for t-shirts that say it all.

Thank God for t-shirts that say it all and before noon screwdrivers.

It’d been one of those weeks (that seems to keep reoccurring over the last four months) and I couldn’t wait to meet up with my First Mate and her hubs for a few happy hour libations on Friday.

The happy hour trio

The happy hour trio.

It was a dreary start to the weekend, so we were more than happy to stay dry and hydrate our livers while rain soaked the Nashville streets.

on a dreary day

This calls for another round.

Just what the weekend ordered....a Skinny Pirate.

Just what the weekend ordered….a Skinny Pirate.

Cheersing to the weekend!

And many repeated cheers to the weekend!

Happy to return home and snuggle with my main feline squeeze Teddy B., I found a note taped to my door, which was odd but then thought maybe it was a letter from a secret admirer or better yet a clue to the beginning of a very cool scavenger hunt…but of course it wasn’t anything of such fun.

Letter of lovely news.

Letter of lovely news.

My mini-manse (and the zip code it comes with – read here) is one side of a duplex and the owner’s stoner son lives on the other half with his gal pal.  This note I received basically said in a very formal way, “I got my girlfriend pregnant on accident and now you’re f’d because we need your side of the duplex by the end of July because we don’t have any money to move and need more space. Sorry and let us know if we can do anything.”

First, I was utterly flabbergasted, as when my neighbor told me of the pregnancy news a few months ago, I asked him point-blank if they’d need my space with the answer being, “No, we’d move out before asking you to.  You’re totally fine – you may just be getting a new tenant.”

Second, I was completely livid that I’m paying the price for someone else’s life changing event. And can you do anything for me? You bet your ass you can. Do you have $3,000 for first and last month’s rent, pet deposit, security deposit and moving expenses? Oh, and about 12 hours per week to look at places during lunch, after work and all weekend long? Along with hours for the boxing and organizing your belongings?

Lastly, I kinda lost my mind. Life hasn’t been easy the past few years and I’ve taken solitude and pride in my little slice of my neighborhood, being able to scrape by and have finally – in the past few weeks – felt that I was getting back up on my feet financially. So this news feels like salt being scooped by the barrel into an open wound.

So what’s a gal do when she goes off the deep end? Buy a pack of cigarettes of course (which by the way, are the most expensive habit in the world. $6 for one pack? WTF?). I am a non-non-non smoker. Like don’t socially smoke. Never crave a cigarette. But once every decade it seems as if the moment of sheer insanity raids my body and I feel the need to become a chain smoker.

CODE RED

CODE RED

While sitting outside, bawling my eyes out I thought I would share just how ridiculous I look while smoking (and as I threw butts in the yard (because I’m having an acrimonious moment and can do that), I was secretly hoping a smolder might catch the lawn on fire…).

Smoking wreck

Smoking wreck. Not a natural when it comes to nicotine.

And while I let this news get the better of me –  I missed out on a friend’s party, a few days of Nashville sunshine, working out and maybe single-handedly gave myself lung cancer in one sitting – I ran out to have my dad ‘baby’ me (you know, say things will be OK while I’m crying, take me to eat Mexican and offer to pay on student loan bills so I have a little extra dough for moving) on Saturday night. Sometimes you just need your stand-by guy.

Dad's to the rescue...

Dad to the emotional rescue!

While this news isn’t the end of the world (although it truly did feel like it this weekend), it just snapped me back into place of being the girl who once again needs all the help she can get, as I watched my pride sink back into the size of an inch worm. Luckily, I have amazing family, friends and a fur ball who stand by my side – whether it be forcing me out of my house to get fresh air (and a cocktail), wiping the snot off my nose or making sure I don’t resort to selling my body for extra moving money (I’m kidding mother), I know everything will be fine.

Cuddle dud let me maul him into the wee hours of the evenings.

Cuddle dud let me maul him into the wee hours of the evenings.

On my way out of my beloved mini-manse, I’ll want to leave a note that simply says “SUCK IT.” And while I probably won’t, I will definitely be leaving behind a box of condoms.

Happy times are here again!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Gunslingin’ Style

Friday nights call for good times at my favorite Nashville watering hole, Dalts.  With a little help from my First Mate and her hubs Mr. Mate we made sure our livers were nicely saturated.

blah

Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name…

blah

Enjoying the best Skinny Pirates in town, while toasting a big cheers to Papa Ottorino.

Mr. Mate gifted me a birthday present (yes, my birthday was in March…yes, I accept presents all year round) that will come in handy while at the shooting range (to learn about my lunch time, redneck shenanigans, click here).

Blah

Pink sunglasses, ear plugs and ear phones. Love.

Of course it made sense to try my new accessories on immediately and look like an asshole at the bar.

What? I can't hear you.

What? I can’t hear you.

Also making perfect sense was holding a 20 minute photo shoot, displaying my new giddy up.

Ear condems

My fancy new ear condoms.

Don't mess with CBXB

Don’t mess with CBXB (especially after a few Skinny Pirates).

Gunslingers

Tough lookin’ gunslingers, huh?

I caught Teddy in his own cocktails when I returned home.

But unlike his mother he detests being photographed while slurping.

Doesn't like to be interrupted while slurping

GAWD MOM! Enough already.

Saturday morning found Ted and I cozied up in bed so snuggly, that we couldn’t get up and were forced to watch hours of TV.

Snuggle time

TB’s favorite nook.

Leave me alone!

And cranny.

We were interrupted by a string of texts featuring my folks, who manage to somehow cram every corner of Home Depot in my dad’s teeny, tiny clown car (seriously – the man is 6’4″ and we’ve dubbed his ride “The Fred Flintstone Mobile” because he his knees are practically up to his ears when he drives – and if he really needed to, Dad could break through the car floor and move the vehicle with his feet). Except on Saturday, my folks weren’t Fred and Wilma.  They were Tarzan and Jane squeezing a tree, four bags of mulch, flower-pot and a bird feeder into a car that appears no bigger than a go-kart.

Tarzan

Tarzan – trying to see through the windshield.

and Jane...

And Jane…acting as the ‘eyes’ on the way home.

I also received a few pictures via text from Iowa. Apparently, my niece is taking after her Auntie…

Ruffles make my butt look big? I said she takes after her Auntie CBXB

Do ruffles make my butt look big?

My nephew is almost to cool for the crib as he rocks a pair of skinny jeans (which I’m sure he’ll be killing his mother over (and me, too for posting on a blog), while posing so sweetly.

Chillin' in skinnies...he needs to move to East Nashville, since he's such a hipster.

This kid needs to move to East Nashville, since he’s such a hipster.

After forcing my lazy rear out of bed, I went for a run in the beautiful 80 degree, non-humid day.

blah

Then I rewarded my efforts with cocktails on the patio wing of my mini manse.

blah

Every mile merits a Skinny Pirate. Right?

Sunday found a belated Mother’s Day outing for CBXB’s Mama.

Like mother, like daughter!

Like mother, like daughter!

A Bellini or a Mimosa? Why not both?

Bottomless...

Double the cheers!

And who else wanted to join in the celebration of my mom? Well, Leonardo DiCaprio, of course.

blah

You have yourself a sparkly day Mama CBXB!

He may have been toasting his love, Daisy during the moving The Great Gatsby but girls can dream, can’t they?

CBXB

CBXB!