Weekend Winks – The Pussy Posse, A Penis Pot and Profile Pics

January is proving to be the most challenging time of the year for me. While I’m thrilled for a new year, something negative creeps into my bones whether I like it or not. My stutter is back. My bouncy leg comes out of nowhere. A sense of profound grief follows me around like Peanuts’ Pig-Pen’s dust cloud. It’s almost my Rapegativersary and my body realizes this. BUT all that being said, I have peeps who know how to keep me on the up and up, and so instead of treading water, I’m on a floatie.

My besite stopped by the Mini Manse Friday and we guzzled sipped wine (surprise!) and watched the Melissa McCarthy movie “Life of the Party.” Beyond hysterical.

Thank gawd for First Mate.

Saturday, two of my four pussies had vet appointments for annual check-ups. When I was scheduling, they asked which two and I said, “whichever two I can wrangle into carriers.” You know, Ted always just got swaddled in a blanket and sat on my lap during car rides so this carrier thing is new to me. And my pussies are not stupid (well, except for Ruby Sue – aka Thundercunt – who was the first victim in a cage).

Who wants a shot?

Fabio was a wee bit too big for the skull and crossbones carrier.

But not for the pink one. It was a full on wrestling match trying to shove his muscled ass into the cage but somehow after about a 10 minute struggle, I got the fucking door latched.

Beyond thrilled.

Ruby Sue on the other hand, was in some serious shock at the thought of getting on the scale. Or being at the vet. Or the car ride. Or all three.

Dime sized eyes.

While we waited for the vet, I almost laughed the building down when I saw this comparison on social media.

Better belly laugh yet came when Slappy responded…

I don’t care which way you lean, it’s fucking funny. Upon wondering what kind of comedy show my pussies were putting on in the waiting room, we got a clean bill of health for both Fabs and Thundie. Although Fabio gained 2.5 lbs last year, so he’s officially “big-boned”. Just more for this mama to love on.

While my pussies were braving the vet, my Iowa twins were eating ice cream in sub degree temperatures. Because they’re bad ass like that. Pretty unprecedented weather is coming through the state with temps supposing to feel like -41 later this week. Makes me love the Nashville 50 degree winter days all the more.

Cuteness overload.

First Mate had a girls gathering on Saturday evening and while I almost didn’t go, I was so glad I did.

What it’s like taking a selfie with me.

First Mate and Rach had to team up to pour my glass of wine.

My eye happened to catch what I thought was a tea pot on FM’s counter and thought aloud, “why the fuck do you have a penis pot on your kitchen counter?” Turns out, it’s actually a nettie pot used for sinuses and allergies and we got a full-on infomercial on how to use said pot.

Penis Pot Love

Best kind of therapy for me (friends, not the penis pot).

Perfect remedy for me.

First Mate tucked Rach and I into her couch and she had to wake us up from our peaceful passouts slumber the following afternoon.

What happened? Where am I? Who am I?

What I saw when I woke up.

Good thing is, we hydrated with water all night AND ate pizza (Rach had no memory of) so after a little coffee, we were good to go after a 16 hour girl’s night in marathon.

Hangover Schmangover.

There’s this “game” on Facebook where you can have your next five year’s predicted through photos. This is what a normal one looks like…

It takes your profile pic and then gives you standard photos for the next five years of your life.

Here’s mine…

The actual fuck? I’m not sure why I was surprised although my profile pic is of the twins.

Side note: if someone could put a pillow under my chin in 2023, I would greatly appreciate not getting a stiff neck from sleeping on the toilet face first. Thanks.

My current life philosophy. pc:#mytherapistsays

So while we all try to roll with punches that hit us, it’s always fabulous to have support of any kind. Thank you for yours.

Cheers!

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 – Girls! Girls! Girls!

Sometimes a little tender lovin’ TLC is best and there’s no better way than to hang with your gal pals at an old (in our case) fashioned slumber party.

First time with a selfie stick fail.

First time with a selfie stick fail.

None of the ladies could believe that I had never before used a selfie stick and as it will be no surprise to anyone, I couldn’t figure the fucking thing out all night.

Bo better

Bird Lady, Bex and First Mate – faces of disappointment.

So I reverted back to the good old day arm selfie with much clearer (whatever that means) results.

Old fashioned

Old school selfies rule.

While our pajama photo shoot lasted until way passed the wee hours of three, a few faces from the gaggle of my zoo were pissed that they weren’t yet fast asleep in sleeping bags.

Just go the fuck to bed.

Just go the fuck to bed already.

So we took heed of their facial advice and landed wherever we dropped for our beauty sleep.  A silent Saturday was in store at the mini manse, as everyone was catching up on their ZZZZZZZs.

Tired twosome.

Elsa and Rocky – a tired twosome.

Teddy was so tired, he couldn’t even muster a glance at the camera – and we all know how he likes to be the star of the show.

No look for you.

No look for you.

Ruby Sue’s eyes remained open but she was also snoring. I know, I know, I have one talented pussy right here.

Wide-eyed sleeper.

Wide-eyed sleeper.

Even the always peppy Precious was down for the count on Saturday after a long night with the girls.

Down for the count.

Pooped chug.

But I’m pretty sure Presh was still groggy from getting her teeth cleaned the day before…I mean, look at those eyes.

Dazed and confused.

Dazed and confused.

I received a custom Bitmoji that is now my screen saver on my cell (DON’T tell the twins) from my gal pals who reside in the Windy City.

My

They were out shopping and found what will soon be part of my daily uniform.

Diamonds

Shirt reads: Cats diamonds are a girl’s best friend. TRUTH.

My Iowa twins were enjoying some unseasonable warm weather over the weekend, acting as adorable as ever.

Princess

Princess B – always a crowned jewel.

Check out the abs on Prince B below. I’m going to start taking workout pointers from my three year old nephew.

Long, tall Prince B.

I’m trying this technique tonight at the park but need to figure out how to also sip my Skinny Pirate.

Sunday I found myself surrounded by more fabulous friends as we met up for a drunk brunch.

Ladies who drunch.

Ladies who drunch.

As always, I ended the weekend in a bath full of relax.

Best bubbles on the block.

Best bubbles on the block.

Here’s hoping your week is full of the TLC you need.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

The Dumb to My Dumber

Folks often tell me that I act like my aunt Crazy Pants. We could be known as Thelma and Louise (but we’re not as cool and fabulous – we wouldn’t drive off a cliff on purpose, we’d do it because we were lost and missed a turn) although we more often times resemble Lucy and Ethel (on our best days) but in reality we can most identify with Dumb and Dumber.

Crazy!

Crazy times two.

Of all of the things we have in common, we share a love of Jell-O shots which are a staple at every family gathering (classy, I know) and party I throw.

Jello Love

Jell-O shots = Love

I mean we really love the spiked gelatin.

oving Jell-O maybe a little too much.

Like really, really, really love.

Down the hatch. How many?

Especially with whipped cream.

Our consumption of Jell-O shots makes us both more limber (until we wake up the next morning and can’t move).

Jell-O makes us limber

Who doesn’t do a leg lift after a bit of J-E-L-L-O?

Hey-o! Almost to the toes!

Hey-o! Jell-O makes me stretch almost to my toes!

However, I do not ever try to do tricks with my shots of liquor. There’s too much risk that it won’t make it to my mouth, which in my mind would be a travesty.

She can shoot Jell-O with no hands!

She can shoot Jell-O with no hands!

Or can she?

But really, she can’t.

Can't. Stop. Laughing. At. Her. Or, I mean with. WITH HER.

Can’t. stop. laughing. at. Aunt Crazy Pants. Errr, I mean with. Laughing WITH HER.

Upon making sure that whipped cream was ground into my carpet (thus I will not be getting my deposit back), Aunt Crazy Pants decided to go on a path of destruction in my mini manse by taking her tipsy ass into my beloved dressing room.

Fave room in my mini manse...

What CBXB does with extra bedrooms.

My dressing room is home to my two shoe towers (and no, I still don’t have too many shoes Dad and yes folks, I do wear all of them).

Tower of Shoes

Wall of bliss.

Admiring my collection

Even Ted admires my collection daily.

All was well in my closet kingdom until this tiny bull walked into my china shop and decided to trip into one of my towers that was bolted to the wall. The shelving quickly turned into a leaning tower of shoes, as it had about six inches in between the wall and the back of the racks.

Bag of Crazy

Apparently, the whipped cream on her glasses obstructed her view.

We then had to call in Camo during our girls night in to put a temporary band aid on the problem so we wouldn’t be making any trips to the emergency room with stories of shoe boxes falling onto our heads.

Closet hero

Closet hero.

Saving the Closet

I’m a big help, I know.

Crazy Pants can kiss my ass.

Think HGTV will come calling due to my mad holding skills?

When Camo was rewarded with a beer, Aunt Crazy Pants tried to show her gratitude by mauling him.

Mauling. Part 1.

Manhandling, Part 1.

Mauling Part 2.

Manhandling Part 2.

Make it stop. No seriously, make it stop.

Make the manhandling stop. No seriously, make it stop. Somebody muzzle her.

L-Dawg came in to save the the day (and Camo’s dignity) by wrangling Crazy Pants with a dish towel.

L-Dawg wrangled Crazy Pants

Making sure no more Jell-O shots spill and CP stays in her seat.

For the next eight minutes, all was good in my mini manse hood until this happened….

Down the hatch.

Down the Crazy Pant hatch.

There was no turning back once she was out of Jell-O shots, so we put a boa on her and made her dance (and we have videos to prove it).

After the finishing shots, there was no wrangling her. So we put a boa on and made her dance.

Dumb and Dumber at our dancing finest.

I’m happy to report that the mini manse is still standing. But I’m certain that’s due to the fact that Aunt Crazy Pants went home.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Trashtacular Toddler Sitting

With almost every single one of my friends procreating their brains out, it’s hard to get together when they have to jump through hoops with husbands, schedules and finding childcare.

A solution search for more girl time, I ran across this posting on Craigslist … and think I may have found the answer.

Posted: August 13: Bibbysiter Avaelible (cuntry area of Nashvul)

Lookin for a sumbuddy to kinda watch ur cids while u have a gud tyme?

Plees considr me.

My name is Daryhul and I am vury gud at watchin baebees.

Look kids, no hands.

Bib for baby, hands for beer.

Need a gurl’s nite owt?

Time to partay.

On the prowl with no offspring.

Or do u want to sneek to the laek and shotgun som buhr?

Who cares about the kids? They're in good overalls.

Who cares about the kids?

Faster!

They’re in good overalls.

Possubley a nite owt on maine strete or a roll in the haye with yur boyfrund of the weke?

Flavor of Week

All gussied up.

 If u brang yer cids to me, I cud rock them on my bales of hae.

bibbysitter

Expert at rocking babies on straw.

Brung yer cids to my hous fer a small hoerly pryce.

Playground.

Every child’s dream playground.

I wul evun let them swam in the puhl.

Swimming

Beating the heat.

Plese send me a leter or jest drup bye.  Im avaleable most daes and nites.

Daryhul

I wonder if this dude also pet sits? It really doesn’t matter, Ted would hate his overalls.

But at least I’ve found a solution for us gals to get together more often, right?

CBXB

CBXB!

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!

Holly Jolly Drunk Girls

Holly and oh-so-jolly.

Holly and oh-so-jolly.

What would a Christmas season be without a ladies cocktail party?

BORING.

While I’ve been in my new mini manse for a few months now, it’s not big enough to host the regular blow out I typically do every December. So this year, I limited it to females so we could get down with our sparkly selves.  The party prepping took place all day and kind of took over my living room.

Party prep

Watch your step.

Hosting a party will immediately give you an eagle eye on all things not perfect, like nicks in your black wall that you cover up with a Sharpie marker.

Sharpie finishing touches

No one will know the difference….

While I was busy coloring my wall, Teddy had his paws full pretending he was the Abominable Snowman atop my piano. He delicately tried to whip every single one of my sparkly deer with his tail.

Helpful

Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, I’ll knock you down ’til kingdom come.

Sorry. Not sorry.

Sorry. Not sorry.

After rescuing my deer from the grey lion, I set up the all important party piece.  The bar.

The most important element of any party.

Oh come all ye thirsty!

Fancy barware

No party is complete without fancy, plastic barware.

I feel like this could be me.

I feel like this could be me.

Ready and willing...

Ready, willing and able to party all night!

As soon as the guests arrived, we whipped out the all important Jell-O shots.

Jell-O time!

Christmas angels. Well, two of them are anyway.

While we were standing there, minding our own Jell-O shotting business, someone jumped in to photo bomb (this must be a hereditary trait, since I like to invite myself into everyone else’s pics all the time).

Bombed by my mom.

Bombed by my mom.

While it’s hard to believe I could be associated with anyone who has not slurped down a Jell-O shot (I mean for Christ’s sake, my 90-year-old Gma even partakes), I found myself in that very situation.  Of course we devirginized her quickly – so quickly in fact that she requested a second cup of the gelatin goodness before the first was down her hatch.

Virgin

Yes, you’ll have another.

You’d think that pregnant gals would feel left out during all of the drinking shenanigans but not in my mini manse. Simply shove whipped cream down their throat, so they can be inebriated on sweetness.

Party for a preggo

Partying for three (she’s having twins!).

Pregnant ladies also know how to keep the ambiance of a gathering going strong by providing entertainment. Have you ever seen a belly play Chopsticks on a piano?

Entertainer of the year.

Entertainer(s) of the year.

When it’s time for guests to leave, I classily beg to keep some of the party snacks they brought (you know, so us party animals have something to snack on at 2am…or so I have lunch for the next week. Whatever).

No spoon zone.

No spoon zone.

As the wee hours of the morning greeted us, those of us awake held a photo shoot before getting the leftover snacks out (how all models at photo shoots roll).

Christmas cocktails call for fabulous friends!

I never want the fun to end.

But someone had to put their foot down and demand we all go to bed.

Host with the most.

Host with the most.

He can be such a party pooper!

CBXB

CBXB!