Weekend Winks – Cheers to Seven Years!

It’s my seven year blogoversary!

Celebration Queens.

When I started Cowboys and Crossbones at the urging of my sister one wine filled night seven years ago, I didn’t quite know what kind of content I was going to create. Maybe ways to look fashionable on a budget? Or a nail painting blog? A lazy in the kitchen, you can do it too recipe blog? As I played with different ideas and posts, the more I shared about my life in general as a single Nashville, crazy cat lady, Iowa Hawkeyes, Skinny Pirate and wine loving gal, a lifestyle blog surfaced.

The photo above was taken on the same day I started CBXB and just appeared on my Facebook memories. Back when I thought the worst thing that could happen to me was my then boyfriend running over my cell phone on our way to eat Italian one Friday night. Oh, how life would school me.

Wait a second…you’re telling me life isn’t all sunshine and fuckin’ rainbows?

Naturally, with life milestones coming and going, I’ve been thinking about what has taken place since I started this blog. I loved so hard on Ted, moved three times, found a career I adored in the music production business, adopted New Cat, broke up with relationships not healthy for me, gained a niece and nephew (!), loved on Precious, lost my Gma, got promoted to an executive in a career I adored, lost New Cat unexpectedly, was sexually harassed at the career I adored, forced out of the career I adored, guzzled countless family tradition Hawkeye touchdown shots, hosted celebratory for anything parties, endured Rapegate (and the shit show that still ensues), adopted three pussies in one day (and love the shit out of them), lost Ted, gained a happy work environment, lost Aunt Crazy Pants, fell into depression, grew boobs as an adult woman due to weight gain associated with Rapegate, lost Precious, twirled my way down to a concussion, have discovered who my ride or die life peeps are and remain in therapy with my super hero Sheila to this day.

I’m still standing.

The amount of band aids I’ve required over the last seven years rivals the amount of silicone in a Kardashian body.

Finding joy again has been a long overdue relief. And while I’m focusing on me, being happy and moving forward, those steps that take you back can feel like falls that rival the depth of the Grand Canyon. My stress level has been off the charts and to cope, I’ve been looking into getting a dog. A constant companion that can travel with me (I’m still a pussy galore gal but none of my current posse loves an errand filled day in a car). While I’d just been thinking about it, First Mate knew a friend of a friend of a friend who was a foster and here’s what happened this weekend.

It was just one of those things that was meant to be and it was further solidified when her foster mom sent this photo to me…

Waiting on her forever home.

My response…

I’m ready for her.

The Pussy Posse and I are pleased to introduce you to the newly named Prissy. She’s a four-year-old Pomeranian that was being fostered by Russell Rescue TN.

We really hate each other.

Obviously.

While celebrating her arrival it was discovered she has a taste for boxed wine, just like her mother.

Booze Hound.

The Pussy Posse gained a new member but are still a tad on the leery side regarding Prissy.

The Big Three questioning their mama’s sanity while watching Prissy frolick about the Mini Manse as if she owns it.

I let the animal queendom work itself out as I headed to soak in some summer rays.

And ended the weekend as I always do…

Stressless soak.

Please send your good juju and patience to me as I attempt to run a zoo.

Cheers to another seven years!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Christmas in Retrograde

Anybody else’s life been feeling slightly off lately?*

*slightly off for me is the understatement of the fucking century but you get what I’m saying.

Ever heard of Mercury in Retrograde? I have but I thought it only had meaning for those who comprehended astronomy or astrology (neither of which I have any sliver of understanding). I mean it involves a planet and a fancy word that means backward so what the fuck would I know about it?

The Farmers’ Almanac explains, “Retrograde is when a planet appears to go backward in its orbit, as viewed from Earth. Astronomers refer to this as “apparent retrograde motion,” because it is an optical illusion.” According to Horoscope.com, it may be an optical illusion BUT “when Mercury is in retrograde, technology, communication, travel, logic, and information all get disrupted.” Ah. I see.

It is an explanation as to why life is a shit show for periods of time (if you’re looking for an excuse and I am always looking for an excuse for the complications in life no matter how minor).

Apparently, this shit happens a few times a year (it’s over August 2 but starts again on October 31 – be prepared for a freak show of a Halloween!). During this ass backward Mercury rotation, I have had a car tire almost fall off due to negligence during my last tire rotation (one lug nut was holding the tire on – there are supposed to be five), ruined an entire work outfit due to white paint around the Mini Manse door that didn’t have a fucking ‘wet paint’ sign, discovered mold in my kitchen cupboard above the stove (which we all know doesn’t get used so what the actual fuck?), found mushy, rotten wood is holding my patio doors together – barely (been 30 days and counting for maintenance), and these are just small examples. Could it be worse? Fuck yes.

Me. Until Mercury exits retrograde.

Speaking of could it be any worse, Podunk has really had a fucking bout with this spin of the planet.

Instead of sandwiched between two blondes, it was marble.

She had a bundle of marble fall on her and sustained four broken ribs, a torn spleen accompanied by internal bleeding, a bruised liver, a partially collapsed lung and a contusion on her arm.

Please send my gal all of the good juju you have for fast and proper healing of her injuries. I’m doing that, as well as hoping she has some leftover feel good meds to share.

I was so excited to see the end of the week I couldn’t get my ass in bubbles quickly enough Friday. I stayed in the tub nearly three hours after work.

Yes, I use every single product you see in this photo.

Prince B has had zero problems with this Mercury bullshit. In fact, he celebrated his Ninjaversary on Saturday. Not familiar with that holiday? It’s when you have an anniversary for ninja class. Duh.

The two faces of Prince B.

What’s a celebration without cake? Chocolate cake with lemon frosting to be exact.

Sweet ninja.

And of course, it’s not a celebration without balloons and matching party accessories.

Par-tay done right.

Always a prince and princess to me.

While Prince B was kicking serious ninja butt, I was trying to keep my legs attached to my body at a spin cycle class. I may have come in last place on the scoreboard but goddamnit I showed up.

What my shirt says.

Wondering about my ever growing gaggle of pussies? Welp, I trapped, spayed, neutered and released two adult cats. When I finally caught the third adult cat and took her in for surgery, she’d already had another batch of kittens. Please be aware of the adorableness below.

Beyond.

There are three kittens total that I’m going to catch and have spayed/neutered. Anybody want one?

The photo below gives me multiplying chills just like Danny in Grease.

Family tradition on the horizon baby!

Longtime friends passed through town and we had a pool party Saturday. I really made quite the impression on their youngster (surprise).

“Dad, she drinks more wine than you.”

I also got to see Uncle Toddy and Aunt Crispie as they made their way through Music City two weekends in a row. They really love posing for photos with me.

There’s always that one asshole in the family.

Keeping it cool on National Ice Cream day were the royal members of our family.

Ice cream dreams.

They’re always loved the cold stuff.

About to scream for their ice cream.

I wasn’t as excited over frozen dairy as I was the Hallmark Movie Channel marathon of Christmas movies. Why? Because Christmas in July. Duh.

Merry Christmas.

July decor in tact on the year round Celebration tree.

The pussies thought I’d lost my ever loving fucking mind (this tends to happen quite often).

The fuck is she doing now?

They got used to taking turns cuddling during the massive cheesiness in the Mini Manse living room for 16 hours straight.

Heavy rotation of pussies. Thank gawd there’s five of them.

I’m not mad about it.

This week, my ass is going to be planted on my leopard couch, adorned in my Gpa’s 45-year-old robe, along with my sequin Santa hat and rosé. Always, always rosé (during the week).

Suck it Reverse Mercury!

Aside from that, my excuse for anything that goes sideways before August 2 is Mercury in Retrograde. Please feel free to use it for yourself, too. You’re welcome.

Superhero Sheila can’t wait for my session this week.

Merry Retrograde!

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Tight Ends and Taylor Swift

Oh Nashville.

You used to be my hidden gem of a city. I’d lure people to visit because if someone didn’t like country music, they weren’t interested in coming. Nashville was never just country music and cowboys but only true peeps who lived here knew that. Now, the secret’s out. It’s been out for quite some fucking time since the overly dramatic television show Nashville hit TV screens and the last few years, one hundred people have been moving here per day, taking up precious space on my interstates (yes, the interstates here are mine and mine only) and causing housing prices to sky rocket (seriously stop moving here or I’m going to be unable to afford to live in my Mini Manse that is a 42-year-old, popcorn ceilinged, ratchety carpeted, brass hardwared apartment that has gone up in rent almost $100 per year the last three years).

After this weekend, it’s suffice to say that Nashville is a legit city. Music City hosted the NFL Draft (downtown), the Country Music Marathon (downtown), Jimmy Buffett threw a parrot head party (downtown), and Taylor Swift decided to make a surprise appearance in the city with an impromptu meet and greet at the same time regular tourists and bachelor/bachelorette parties invaded the city while regular events went on per usual.

In 2017, Nashville’s population was 691,243.

This weekend, 600,000 more people invaded the city.

A projected 340,000 people for the weekend. That number nearly doubled for the three day shenanigans in Music City.

Most folks that live here took heed from the warning below…

The traffic lights literally spelled NFL. Photo credit: Pedro Esteban Tellez.

Just because my city was inundated with NFL fans didn’t mean I wasn’t in the mood for the draft. Two Iowa tight ends were projected to be selected Round One. So naturally, I gussied up at work in support.

Tight End University, Baby!

Lucky for me, First Mate is a sports head too and she hosted a draft partay at her castle.

Do gators eat hawks or do the birds peck gators to death?

Nothing says football party like a little two boxes of rosé.

True to the projections, my Iowa Hawkeyes tight ends, T.J. Hockenson and Noah Fant were selections eight and 20 overall in the first round. The University of Iowa is the first ever to have two tight ends drafted in the first round, which is why we’re now known as Tight End University.

I’m a size medium if anyone is at Raygun in the near future.

Detroit for Hockenson.
Broncos for Fant.

Might as well have been downtown.

Or maybe we were glad we were in air conditioning.

Either way, we had such a ball that we accidentally killed two boxes of rosé.

R.I.P. Bota Boxes.

Did I mention it was Thursday night? I woke up with such confusion at First Mate’s Friday morning (because I usually stay over on a weekend), I almost lollygagged too long to make it to work on time.

As if draft day one wasn’t enough, Taylor Swift decided to grace Nashville with her presence the day she dropped her first single off of the upcoming album. Hint after hint was dropped by Swift’s camp and Swifties from all over the planet somehow figured the fuck out where she was going to be at 11am on Friday morning.

If you want to stand where Taylor is standing, this mural is in the Gulch area of Nashville.

For those of  you Swifties out here, below is a video (it’s grainy but you’ll get the gist) captured by a dude who misses nothing in Nashville and is hip to every.single.thing happening in town. Taylor apparently stayed and signed autographs and graciously took selfies for hours.

One thing most Nashvillians can unite on is our disdain for the “woohoo” girls who come down for bachelorette parties. Now of course they pay good money and stay downtown but are, quite possibly, the most annoying of all tourists. So this was an especially funny site to see.

Speaking of bachelorette parties, check out the best sign from the marathon on Saturday.

A big congrats to the 30,000+ runners who completed the half and full marathon. I’ve done both and they are hard as fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Run for the tacos. @rosepepper

Even though neither First Mate nor myself did any kind of running, we still decided we needed tacos.

So we ran to eat Mexican.

While Nashville was abuzz with all kinds of shit happening, my Iowa twins were all primped up for a wedding. It’s too bad they don’t enjoy each other’s company.

Nothing but love.

J. Crew model in the making.

Hair model in the making.

I mean fucking COME ON.

When Sunday rolled around, I was ready for some mauling by The Pussy Posse.

Rocky and Fabio have snuggling down to a science.

The newest addition Scooch, is another story.

After watching everyone stand on their feet for three days downtown, my tootsies ached for them. Of course I remedied that the best way I know.

To all those that came in for a few days, thanks for coming!

But mostly, thanks for getting the fuck out of town.

Love ya, mean it!

CBXB!

 

 

 

First Round Draft Pick

The NFL Draft has arrived in Nashville and everyone is losing their goddamn minds.

Now, not everyone is losing their minds because they love the sport of America football or the NFL or just the hype of a fucking gigantic event being hosted in downtown Music City. Nashvillians are losing their goddamn minds over the influx of traffic, the take over of production companies downtown (causing you to watch every step you take due to massive cords), road closures everywhere, the cutting down of trees for draft stages, tourists in general, NFL draft tourists – need I say more?

I lose my fucking mind over this guy, T-Rac, every time.

On top of the NFL Draft commencing today, the Country Music Marathon is this weekend which in and of itself always draws tens of thousands more to the downtown area. All said, it’s projected that 300,000+ peeps will be overtaking my city. The past few weeks I declared no one could beg me to go near the downtown radius the entire week all of these shenanigans are taking place (unless, of course they had a front row seat to the first round of the draft).

Oh, hi! Who me? Miss out on fun? Never.

The preparation for this major event has included Nashville’s Hard Rock Cafe taking their iconic guitar sign down (you know, gets in the way of a good TV shot), entire bars are being rented by the NFL organization, and temporary rooftop viewing areas are being put on top of restaurants – it’s fucking bananas.

Missing: One massive neon guitar sign.

Years, months, weeks, days and now the final hours until the culmination of the NFL Draft 2019 begin to unfold.

Staging of the stage.

Side stage complete.

Naturally being the football fan I am, I certainly thought I was going to attend the draft when I heard it was going to be in Nashville and –  key word – free. Also, two Hawkeye tight ends are slated to be picked during the first round, Noah Fant and T.J. Hockensen. They will attempt to make 2019 the third Iowa draft class to ever feature more than one first-rounder, after the classes of 1997 and 1986. Would I Iove to take Dada CBXB (he was drafted by the Colts when they were in Baltimore after his college career, FYI) and see that happen in person? You bet your ass I would.

From a Red Raider to a Colt.

However, there is a lottery to get into the viewing area of the draft stage. Yes, there are mega huge TVs all over the city streets but in lieu of standing with other fans asses to elbows, I can sit ass to elbow with any and all members of The Pussy Posse. And, I don’t have to worry about standing en masse to get into one of these germy portable toilets that will surely run out of toilet paper within the first minutes of the event commencing.

Talk about crazy town.

When my gal pal Energizer Bunny asked if I wanted to go with her bestie Dance Pants for a last minute trip downtown, I had to think about it for .0000000000002 seconds (hypocrite at my finest).

EB: “Want to go-“
Me: “–YAS!”

Entrance to the NFL Draft experience on Broadway.

The aforementioned bars being converted into additional TV spots was equally impressive. Tootsies World Famous Orchid Lounge grew about 50 extra feet, which will be a secondary broadcast location for the event.

Finishing touches.

Stages here.

Stages there.

Stages everywhere.

Typically the downtown Nashville shopping scene is full of nothing but honky tonk trinkets. But every single store we passed had NFL team merchandise displays and every bar we passed had an NFL Draft 2019 neon light in its window.

No team left out.

Let’s not forget the people watching….

Bang This x 2.

People watch we did.

At one point as women who were wearing shorts shorter than bikini bottoms galloped by our bar window, Dance Pants said, “those gals are going to get a bad infection.” I immediately vowed to never sit on a bar stool without first wiping it down with an antibiotic wipe.

Regardless of whether you are watching the NFL Draft 2019 near, far or not at all, Nashville is definitely where it’s at this weekend.

The Bat Building is always a beaut.

Happy to have the projected 342,700 of you visit Music City this weekend. Just don’t forget to be one of the 30,000 departing people from the airport on Sunday or Monday.

Also, for those of you in motor vehicles, please kindly leave early (or late) enough so I can make it to work on time this upcoming Monday.

Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Because if you decide to stay, I will punt your ass out.

Cheers!
CBXB

CBXB!

 

Game Changing Moments

For everyone there are moments in our lives that epitomize time where we will never forget the place, the exact feeling of that minute.  I’m talking about the big life changers – births, space shuttles exploding, wedding days, traumatic events. Then there are the smaller instances you don’t realize the significance of what you’re about to experience and the way it will shape the days ahead, forever changing your life.

Like the occasion it was presented that life as a ballerina wasn’t on the table.

Maybe not ballet....

Step ball changing my way through elementary.

Maybe the time you realized Christina Aguilera was not singing about you in her hit song “Genie in a Bottle.”

No belly dancing...

Anyone got a magic carpet?

Could be when you realized you not only lacked the tact but also the appropriate attire for becoming a super model.

I see London I see France I see above your underpants.

I see London
I see France
I see above your underpants.

Pleated khakis look good on a runway…

Bitch, please.

..said no one ever.

Remember when you saw your first concert and it inspired you to be a rock star?

Judo chop!

You either have it or you don’t. This Elvis doesn’t.

Maybe the time you had the first bite of your now favorite delicatessen, you knew nothing else would ever taste this good.

Taste bud changer. Don't judge my classiness of food choice.

Taste bud changer.
Don’t judge my classiness of food choice.

Maybe it happened when you realized that the art of watching a collegiate football game would never again be a dull time if you add in some Skinny Pirates and moonshine?!

College football changer.

College football changer.

Possibly being educated about where feminine products are appropriately placed turned your world into a real life Monopoly board game, making all the difference.

Womanhood changer.

#SOS

A few months after the beginning of Rapegate, I found myself at the downtown Nashville police department that was all but deserted of anything reminiscent past the ’80s. I sat alone and waited impatiently for my name to be called so that I could further discuss my impending case against Shane the Rapist. My leg was inadvertently bouncing so hysterically that the lone security guard came over to ask me if I was OK.

GAME CHANGER.

MOTHER FUCKING GAME CHANGER.

I was to meet with a detective and make a ‘spoof’ phone call to my fucking rapist. A spoof phone call means that the detective would route a police phone to show up as my cell number on caller ID when calling Shane the Rapist. I was a fucking nervous wreck not ever wanting to speak with the dude who violated me again, let alone try to lure him into admitting he did it against my will over the phone. The detective came to escort me back and immediately said to me, “why are we doing this call so long after your assault.” Um, gee dude, I don’t fucking know. This is my first (and hopefully only) experience being raped.

When I sat to make the phone call, the detective could not figure out how to do the spoof correctly. He went to get two other veteran detectives who also could not get the spoof to work correctly. And there was no way in hell I was going to use my personal cell phone to call because what if Shane the Rapist called me back? So, the initial detective went and retrieved a manilla file folder that had a single piece of paper in it. When I glanced over, it was a printed out email with directions on how to conduct a spoof phone call from fucking 2006. An ENTIRE DECADE prior to this moment.

Three fucking stooges.

It was in that split second that my game changed. There was nothing I could do about the ineptitude about the “experts” handling my case like the Three Stooges as I sat there helpless trying not to let the tears of rage, frustration and fright fall down my cheeks.

It was in that split second that my game changed.

Right then and there.

I can’t help what happened to me. I can’t change the way I feel about this situation. I can’t help the sleepless nights, the not wanting to be alone with my thoughts, the shame I still experience. But I CAN do something about it. I’ve been fighting the fuck for my mental life and while it’s nothing short of a fucking marathon, I’m doing it.

News today came about a goddamn glorious friend who is nothing but exuberant, feisty as fuck and full of fire. This game changing moment dawned on me when I heard news about her prognosis with breast cancer. There she was one day, sitting in her doctor’s waiting room, headed in for a mammogram. And boom. Cancer.

Motherfucking unwanted game changer.

She can’t help what is happening to her body. She can’t change the way she feels about this situation. But she is fighting the fuck out of it. She has the support that resembles an army backing her, much the same as I do, when uncontrollable circumstances that are unfair as fuck arise.

My game changing uniform is now permanently on.

For her.

For me.

Here’s to kicking the shit out of the game changers we don’t want. The game changers for which we don’t ask. The game changing moments no one expects or wants in their lives.

Swinging for the fences of good game changers.

Love you friend.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Super Twins, Super Friends, Super Bowl

Anyone else feel the wrath of the Polar Vortex last week? Living in Nashville, it was just a touch chillier than usual. But my where my Iowa twins reside it was a balmy -51…and that was the actual temperature, not the wind chill. Busting out of the house on Friday night made for two happy kids (and two happier parents).

Cheering on their cousin at a basketball game.

With blue tongues.

While the twins were cheering being out of the house during the Polar Vortex, I was watching the Iowa Hawkeyes basketball team school a fifth ranked Michigan. An unranked Hawk team won with a score of 74-59. God I love a rush to the court.

ON IOWA.

I’ve been meaning to give the Mini Manse a facelift since I’ve been letting everything pile up in the three years since Rapegate. Now that I’m back to giving fucks about everything, it was time to roll up my sparkly sleeves and get to work. I decided to start with The Pussy Posse wing, which I am also converting into an office Carrie Bradshaw style (you know, since I will have a martini by my side while I’m writing).

Disaster area.

As you can see, I had my work cut out for me. Basically, it looked like I was removing into the Mini Manse instead of reorganizing. My Posse couldn’t have been more excited for the overhaul.

So helpful.

In other animal news, my side hustle is pet sitting and I finally have a logo. With Hawkeye colors and a crown, could it be more fitting?

Pet Sitter Extraordinaire.

Mama CBXB provided an organizing break on Saturday morning with a much needed mimosa.

Respite from reorganizing.

While brunching, I was reminded of a long, lost pet peeve I hadn’t seen in many moons. Does it bother anyone else when parties of two sit on the same side? It makes my skin crawl for some reason.

Why can’t I just let people eat in peace?

After carb loading, it was back to finishing the cat room and it turned out swimmingly (if you like all things cat and also don’t mind memorials to my lost fur ball loves, fittingly stored in cocktail shakers and a disco ball for Ted).

 

Yes. I know you think I’m crazy. No, I don’t give a fuck.

After the finishing touches on the organizing, it was time to relax.

Some of my fave gal pals from the ‘hood came over to bitch, moan, celebrate, laugh and lean on each other.

Nothing better than gal pals.

Galentine’s Day prep.

Sunday marked a sad sports day for me. The official end of football season. However, I am much more of a college football fan than an NFL lady but still, I have to wait until August for my beloved sport to start again.

See ya later Tailgater.

While I loathe the fucking Patriots (don’t forget Bill Belichick released my dad from the Baltimore Colts back in the day – oh, and that video camera in opposing teams’ locker rooms still seems a lot like fucking cheating to me). However, between both teams combined playing in the Super Bowl, my Iowa Hawkeyes had the most players of any other college representing.

The Patriots have four former Hawkeyes total on their team. Adrian Clayborn and James Ferentz are on the roster, while Cole Croston and Riley McCarron are on the practice squad. The Rams sport two former Hawks, starting guard Austin Blythe and Henry Krieger-Coble on the practice squad. Not a bad turnout from one college program, huh?

Dada CBXB and I decided to forgo our usual tailgating snacks for a Chili’s enchilada platter and it did not disappoint in the slightest.

Um…I’m still eating on this today when I was starting a diet on Monday…

Filler up for a snoozefest of a defensive game.

While I was rooting for the Rams, I will always be happy to see former Hawkeyes achieving great feats.

One of my all time fave Hawks and my all time fave coach, celebrating.

It was even cooler that Coach Ferentz’s son also will be receiving a Super bowl ring.

Iowa girl through and through.

Lastly, I learned news yesterday of a spunky, feisty, young, bad ass mother of two who has been given a diagnosis none of us want. She’s got an army around her but I ask you to send your magic, juju, positivity and whatever else you can muster her way.

FUCK CANCER.

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!