Dog Days of Summer

If you know me in the slightest, you know that my fur kids are people to me (whenever I walk in my front door, no matter if I just took the trash out, I holler “where my peeps at?”). My world revolves around them. And, suffice to say, I have had the greatest honor and pleasure of rescuing a small zoo.

But there are always fur babies that hold an extra special spot in your heart and I’m sad to share that I came home from work last week and found that my chug, Precious, had passed away. She was in the exact spot where she normally awaits my arrival home. Although, upon calling out, her little tail didn’t wag and her head didn’t pop up in excitement of seeing her mama after mere hours away from one another.

Coolest chug on the planet.

To say that I am devastated is an understatement. I am having a hard time writing this now – and yet as we all know too fucking well – life moves on. For me, I’m trying to comprehend the timing. I’ve lost my two best fur friends within a year. Two fur peeps that were like guns in holsters by my side, one on each hip constantly. My chest has been heavy and my heart is honestly in pieces. But with my constant support system of the fabulous humans in my life, I’ve managed one moment at a time. One bestie told me that if she didn’t know me, she’d think I had Munchausen Syndrome of drama because so much shit has rained down in the last few years. But unfortunately, it’s all true. Which is why I always let people go first when we talk about how our day has been.

Ted and Presh. Best buddies playing forever over the Rainbow Bridge.

I dread walking through the front door where I found Presh but on the first day the task had to be done, I had a bouquet from the most kick ass friends in which a girl could wish greeting me. They were sitting right outside my door, easing the burden of the inevitable door walk through.

Flowers are a grieving gal’s best friend.

While I wanted to wallow in bed with the covers over my head, I realized I do have rent to pay, lights to keep on and four pussies to feed. When I came into work, pink roses awaited my arrival.

Team members showed their love.

My cousin and his wife were thankfully in town Friday and Dada CBXB and myself went to meet them for a much-needed Skinny Pirate(s) after the longest fucking week. While I do pride myself in being current, I couldn’t help but die when I snapped a pic of our cocktails and saw that a walker was in the background. If you get to Dalts before 5pm, you’ll be sharing the bar with people who make you feel like a newborn. And I don’t hate it.

Can you tell we’re related?

In my Iowa twin news, there were getting prepped for the arrival of Coo Coo (yes, that’s the phrase we use for grandpa – always keeping it classy).

Hunk of the month. I’m talking about the boy, not the dog.

Swish swish full of swag.

Coo Coo made it just in time for cocktail hour on Saturday.

Jazz hands run in the family, obvies.

Another thing that runs in the family? Fabulous nails. Princess B set out to give Auntie CBXB a run for her patriotic mani money.

Red, white and blue-hoo!

Tootsies too.

Same color scheme, slightly different approach for this old broad. I can’t wait to make Sister CBXB give me a manicure next time I see her since she’s got mad mani skills.

Patriotic claws.

While Coo Coo and the twins were living it up in Iowa, I was having a time getting my ass outta the bed.

Rasta and the sun coaxed me out of the mini where I floated the day away.

We were slightly alarmed after seeing the obviously-required-by-the-codes-department-sign hanging at the pool that missed vital information…

Who’s gonna save me?

Getting ready for a bath (full of bawling my eyes out) post swim, First Mate called and saved the day. She swung by with Bota Box Rosé (seriously the best box of wine on the market at the moment) and we chit chatted and then started to binge watch the show Younger (seriously an easy-to-watch-thirty-minutes-of-fuff). And then my main TV crapped out. Did we let ruin our slumber party?

The Gulp ‘n’ Go.

Nope. We moved the cheese platter, popcorn and the pussies into the bedroom.

Our Cardboardeaux Rosé accompanied us.

Nothing like nestling in for a binge…until someone says “I just need to rest my eyes,” and it’s lights out. So First Mate saw herself out of the mini after her host rudely passed out.

Slumber party shenanigans.

Starting the newest novel by Ruth Ware, I decided it was better to get more vitamin D while reading than complete and utter darkness under the covers. Sunday Funday found me back at the pool in 95 degree heat. While I have gained 40 pounds since Rapegate, the one perk of the extra LBs has been the enhancement of my flat chest (oh and I have pride in photos and videos that make the rounds to friends).

Wallowing in the sun.

Complete package.

With must needed thirst quenchers.

Again when I was side eyeing the bath tub (Precious would sit on the toilet while I bathed – again, nothing but classy white trash), knowing it would cause a tearfest, Bird Lady happened to call and suggest a cocktail and snack outing.

When she saw me she said, “Your hair looks really great. What did you do?”

“I finally washed it.”

So fresh and so clean cocktail hour.

Thanks again from the bottom of my heart for helping this gal, who is seriously trudging through the muck of life (I mean fucking seriously, was I a serial killer in a past life?), feel loved, important and heard. Words, gestures and hugs go the longest way.

Can’t wait to see her again and Bear again. Two great loves of my life.

Take care of yourselves. Look both ways before crossing the street. Make sure you don’t fall down any stairs. Wear a floatie in the lake. Make sure that seat belt snaps. Because if you’re reading this, I love you. And my heart can take no more losses at the moment.





Goodbye to Gma the Great

I’ve never been one to take my family or time with them for granted, so it was real bummer when my Gma passed away a few weeks ago. Not only was she one of my best buddies, I know I inherited her brutal honesty, ornery streak and love of having my fingernails polished.

An ode to my Gma, HJ who recently passed away…


Always one to laugh at surprises…


…you took to my photobombing like it was one of your most treasured prizes.

Photo Bomb!

You never let anyone forget…


…when it was time to celebrate you bigger than the national debt.


I learned from the best…

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…how to celebrate my life full of zest.


Now seriously Gma, you taught me to party harder than Mae West.

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A love of leopard you instilled….


…which is now being passed down to the next generation, who’s thrilled.


It’s so fun you two met at a skating rink…


…even if after 44 years you still had to steal kisses quicker than an eye blink.


Although I took after Gpa avoiding kisses, rather craving a hard drink…

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…you always insisted on showing your love, making sure everyone was in sync.


Beauty sleep and a hairnet was apparently all that you needed…


…but truly it was your hair ‘dos that always succeeded.


So it was with glasses and confidence that I superseded…

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…the grace and confidence that you always heeded.


I wish I would have felt more impeded.

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The Iowa State Fair you never did love,

probably because you couldn’t wear foot gloves.

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It will never be the same, not bringing you a corn dog…

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…and discussing how I ate my way through the fair like a prize-winning hog.

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Circled blacked out dates always meant you had a companion…


…you always loved attention bigger than the Grand Canyon.


Attending every homemade Christmas pageant we made…

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…and most likely secretly prayed…


…that I would never end up a lonely old maid.

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The first to pass of five sisters, who lived out their misters,

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…you loved being pampered more than a fever blister.


Your nails were painted the day before you passed…


…and Jell-O shots without you will seem so miscast.

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Regardless of view near or afar, life will never be the same…


…without you as my shining rock star.

I love you Gma.



How to Go From Shitfaced to Sober While Watching a Sunset

Watching the sun go down in Key West is where you wanna be if you’re a tourist (and if I lived there, it’d be where you’d find me each and every evening with my Skinny Pirate in hand).

How does one catch the last of the day’s rays while in Key West?

First, you take a cocktail and grab a bike taxi. Then ogle over the 21-year old Serbian cycling dude while riding down the entire length of Duval Street.

blah blah

Please pedal as slowly as possible. Please.

I mean, the hair! The accent! Not to mention an always ready and able ride home from the bars. It may be true love.

In case you need a bike taxi while in Key West, call this number and request the Serbian

In case you need a bike taxi while in Key West, call this number and request the Serbian.

Once dropped at Mallory Square (a famous Key West spot folks flock to catch the sunset – complete with street performers), promptly get a cocktail and claim your spot on the dock losing yourself in the moment.

Deep thoughts with CBXB

Deep thoughts with CBXB…

Really, all I was thinking about was are they going to remake The Goonies? (you seriously thought I had serious thoughts? C’mon now!).

Holy Mary Mother of God - what a great movie (and boat).

Goonies never say die!

If you squint really hard, I'm pretty sure you can spot Sloth, Chunk and Data.

If you squint really hard, I’m pretty sure you can spot Sloth, Chunk, Data and Mikey…and wait – is that the Fratellis?!

But this is how gorgeous the sunset was before I stopped paying attention and wanted a Baby Ruth candy bar after I started thinking about the damn Goonies movie.



Once the sun is truly gone, you will need to take yourself and your cocktail down the pier to absorb all of the street performers. This daring juggler started out with fire….

My hair is highly flammable. Please don't drop that.

My hair is highly flammable. Please don’t drop that.

Flames just weren’t impressive enough, so he added a tomahawk and an ax to the show.

Fire, tomahawk and oh my!

I took four giant steps back when this occurred.

After getting a stomachache watching the young juggler (whose mom thinks he’s in college, by the way), there’s only one other thing to do. Get your palm read.

And let me tell you, nothing will take you from shitfaced to sober in three seconds flat like an Indian man telling you about you and your life. Mr. Mahadeo Jerrybanahan turned my drunk world upside down that night on Duval Street.

blah blah blah

All sobered up.

When I first sat down, MJ told me I hate (and he said hate) being told what to do (not a shock to anyone who knows me). He went on to say that I’m persuasive (you’re still reading this, right?!), convincing (you should go adopt a cat right now) and people like to be around me (give me some Captain and let’s get this party started!).

The sobering up started when he told me that I really dislike my stomach and have problems with it (I have Celiac’s Disease), I can have kids if I want (immediately making my arm pits perspire – but I’m already a fabulous cat mom!) and I will suffer great heartache (man, why did he have to tell me that?!).

While I was absorbing whatever kind of heart grief could be coming my way, Mr. Jerrybanahan told me that I would have two sources of income by the time I’m 50 and never again have to worry about money (um, I’m wishing this would start any day now) and that ultimately I will have a happy and fun life. Yeehaw!

After all of the life news, the night kinda seemed like this as my blonde, Captain’d up brain was processing the future….

blah blah

What just happened?!

And that my friends is how to sober up (and watch a beautiful sunset) in Key West. My palmist was already dead on about two things that evening – I was happy and having fun.