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 – Slumber Party, Sniffles and Snuggles

Anything better than a fun old-fashioned slumber party?

Captain and First Mate back at it.

Captain, First Mate and Clark Griswold don’t think so.

I had three gal pals over to the mini manse in order to jump start my holiday spirit slump – and boy did it do some good for yours truly.

Sparkles, Umbros and wine for four.

Sparkles, Umbros and wine for four.

Not too long after one box of wine, we couldn’t figure out how to open the second…

How many bitches does it take to figure out a box of wine....

Um, it doesn’t even have a cork.

So I thought it was the best time to bring out my homemade sangria, Pirate’s Punch, which consists of Fireball, Captain Morgan and red wine.

Home made.

Who needs Betty Crocker when you can be Betty Crocked?

Upon proudly sharing my non-store purchased concoction, my friend Bex said “Tastes homemade.”

I can tell.

Uhhhh, thanks?

I made her drink it anyhow.

Made her drink it anyhow. Drink up bitch.

Or did I?

Typically a true party animal seeking to be the center of attention at all times, I knew my Tedstar was feeling low when I had to force him to take a selfie.

Stuffy host.

Stuffy host due to kitty sniffles.

When it was time for the ladies to sleigh bell it to slumber in their own beds, I gave away pussies as parting gifts.

Pussy parting gifts.

Just kidding. They stayed.

Saturday morning I was hoping to treat myself to brunch with sat-out-all-night-snacks but who wants room temperature carrots as hangover food?

Anything left for breakfast?

No breakfast for me.

While I was perusing an empty fridge, my Iowa twins were basking in the first snowfall of the year.

First snow in Iowa!

A few inches to start the season.

Being that they are almost four, this duo isn’t looking forward to the holidays, presents or Santa.

Not excited for Christmas. At all.

Not excited for Christmas. At all.

I for sure wasn’t excited to take Ted to the vet – worried that his sniffles may signify a worse problem than the common cat cold.

Hungover and Not Feeling Hot.

Getting the cold shoulder.

At the risk of sounding like an even bat shit crazier cat lady than I already am, I found TB’s little stuffed up nose and snot bubbles kinda cute.

Pissy pants.

Not at ALL amused having to breathe through his mouth.

I knew I was in for it on the way home after the vet because not only did he get shots of antibiotics but they also took blood as well, which is something that never thrills Ted E. Bear.

Trouble in the face.

Trouble in paradise for CBXB.

Dropping my pissy pussy off to pout the day away, I headed to my fave watering hole Dalts for a little happy hair of the dog.

Taking the edge off.

Taking the edge off.

I was only in the restaurant about 12 minutes before I inhaled a cheeseburger that I couldn’t eat fast enough but wanted to make last the entire day.

There was a burger here. I swear.

There was a burger here. I swear.

Heading home Saturday night to watch college football conference games, I was reminded where I was a year prior. The Big Ten Championship game in Indianapolis with Camo, The Silent Indian and Dada CBXB, cheering on my beloved Hawkeyes (who have had a less than stellar 2016 season BUT made it to the Outback Bowl – I’ll take it).

Big Ten 2015

Two Hawkeyes, a Spartan and a Volunteer.

Funny thing is, although Iowa lost in the last two seconds of the game, it was still one of the best days of my life. As I prepped to watch Wisconsin play Penn State, I couldn’t help but connect with this sign during Game Day.

Truth.

Truth.

Sunday snuggles meant that somebody was starting to feel back to his old self.

Sunday make-up session.

Sunday make-up session.

After a day of rest and relaxation, the work week has started off guns blazing. Which is why I may or may not have Pirate’s Punch in my mug…

Captain's Christmas punch may or may not be in my work mug today.

100% chance.

Here’s hoping there’s more snuggles than sniffles in your week.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

p.s. - Only 25 more days until Fuck Yeah 2017!

p.s. – Only 25 more days until Fuck Yeah 2017!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Single in the Sizzlin’ City

Girls just want to have fun is a severely underused statement, as was proven by the party I hosted for gal pals this past weekend.

Cheers to the ladies!

Cheers to the ladies!

Instead of a red carpet roll out, I had a piece of khaki carpet all dazzled up for everyone’s arrival.

Rolled out the khaki carpet

White trash version of the real deal.

Truth: my neighbors upstairs just moved in and left this on the sidewalk. Everyone loves a soaking wet, nasty piece of used carpet sloshing under their heels. Am I right, ladies?

An ode to our beloved show “Sex and the City,” we gussied up as our fave characters from the show.

Triple threat.

We know. We know. Dead ringers for Samantha, Miranda and Carrie.

What party would be complete without favors?

Party favors

Cocktails for everyone!

When you live in a mini manse with no storage, you don’t keep things like an ice cooler on hand. So you substitute a sink in its place.

Ice ice baby.

Ice ice baby.

My group of girls are serious about their party food. God forbid we go three minutes without the ability of shoving something in our not-so-quite mouths.

Chicken coming out of our ears.

Chicken nuggets galore.

Food galore

The added veggie tray among dips, chips and sausage wrapped cheese made us feel ‘healthy’.

Instead of gathering around and watching an episode of our favorite TV show of yesteryear, I decided to force gather the gals around and get their feedback on my sizzle reel.

Sizzlin' it. Just a little bit.

I fed them plenty of alcohol before this preview, so naturally they loved it.

While I was showing off skull rings, I incorporated a ring pop into the mix.

Ring Pop, anyone?

The gaudier the better.

When my pal, Bird Lady (we felt each other’s pain a few years ago working for the same über rich, wannabe country singer) said she’d never heard of a ring pop, I nearly forced my naughty finger clad with a sucker down her throat.

What's a ring pop?

Ring pop for one, please.

Of course no party is complete without a photobombing attack from yours truly.

Photobomb!

Not the first nor last time First Mate’s photo will be ruined by my photobombing expertise.

As the evening crept into the wee hours of the morning, we started making silly decisions. Like my Georgia friend Podunk, who swore to her husband that she’d stick to beer.

No shots for Podunk. Hubby's orders!

Yes, I’ll take a whiskey shot please.

Down the hatch

32 shots later….

Fully loaded with liquor we turned into a think tank around 2am, brainstorming ideas and writing them on our makeshift white board…paper towels hung from my busted up blinds.

Think tank.

We become geniuses after midnight. And 46 combined cocktails.

When the clock struck 3:30 am, we didn’t turn into pumpkins. Nope, not us. We turned into supermodels.

"Look sexy"

We know. We know. Dead ringers for Claudia Schiffer, Cindy Crawford and Elle Macpherson.

When heads finally hit pillows at 4:30am (after a rousing 3am rendition on my piano of chopsticks – you’re welcome neighbors) six minutes seemed to pass before the sun came up. Upon opening the freezer door to retrieve ice for much needed water later that morning, I was greeted with a leftover cocktail next to my Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Fire (have you tried this yet? It’s better than Fireball, FYI).

Good morning. Freezer finds.

Freezer finds.

Leftovers, anyone?

Leftovers, anyone?

Thirsty?

Apparently we were extremely thirsty.

How does one recover from an all night estrogen party? Lay by your private pool. (Which is typically full of screaming kids and chatty parents – somehow the universe just knew I needed quiet time).

Enjoying private pool

Pool for one.

New Cat recovered from the festivities by laying on top of every single piece of literature I tried to read the rest of the weekend.

Reading the newspaper blocker. Cat blocker

Cat blocker.

While Prince Charming could do nothing but scowl about loud ladies keeping him up past his precious bedtime.

If looks could kill...

Read my face, I hate you.

If looks could kill…

Here’s hoping you have a fabulous week.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!