How to Become a Poster Child for Pussy

How does one become a pussy poster child you are wondering?

You adopt five fucking cats in six months (yes, you read that right). And then become that bona fide crazy lady who is a borderline hoarder of little furry beasts. But I didn’t mean to….

You see, my love of pussy started at a young age and never waned.

I might as well have been born a kitten.

I might as well have been born a kitten.

Planning vacation activities as an adult around cat shows on piers qualifies one for being a deranged feline lover.

Elbowing four year olds for a front seat.

Elbowing four-year olds for a front row seat to watch cats that do tricks.

Falling in love with aforementioned cat show host because he, well loves pussy as much as I do.

Soul mate.

Just as crazy about cats as me. #soulmates

Visiting Ernest Hemingway’s cat cemetery in Key West almost put me over the edge.

Noooooooooooo.

Sweet little souls I never knew.

Naturally I made an ass out of myself crying alone in a fucking cemetery for cats. Actually, I was bawling behind sunglasses so much so that a stranger came up and asked me if I was OK.

Cried

Why can’t all cats live forever?

Until that Key West vacation, I was a one pussy at a time kinda gal. Even though I’d always loved cats of all kinds, I had one precious prince at a time. Until there was New Cat.

Fuck Face.

A true Fuck Face of a feline.

New New showed up at my door one cold, snowy night and not wanting to love him after of course taking him in, I didn’t give him a name. He insisted on staying put in the mini manse and so, we kept this little Dennis the Menace who tore down window shades to get a better view outside, climbed curtains, broke vases, was once almost washed with clothes – you get the idea.

Couldn't even piss without him all up in my grill.

Hell, I couldn’t even piss without him all up in my grill.

Yet NC and Ted fell in love and became playmates as well as bruthas from anotha mutha.

Brotherly love.

Hugs, love and punches to the face.

The first time I ever felt famous was due to New Cat because I had to get a prescription for him from Walgreens. And felt like an ass hat when the nice pharmacist asked for the patient’s name and I replied with New Cat to a quizzical look. Which was then called over the loud speaker when the medicine was ready…so now I get notes on my personal prescriptions from my pharmacist (who is now a friend!).

Famous Pussy Lover

Nashville’s famous pussy lover in the flesh.

But very suddenly last summer, the most annoying cat in the world died of saddle thrombosis (a blood clot on his spine) at an emergency clinic in the middle of the night. To say that Ted was inconsolable is an understatement.

Pretty inconsolable.

Terribly sad mama and baby bear.

And then, I did the only thing a mother could do.

While stopping in at Pet Smart for Ted’s $75 bag of cat food, I accidentally saw these two mugs as Sweet Faces Rescue resided in the main aisle of the store with oodles of cats and kittens needing homes.

Double take on New Cat.

Double take on New Cat.

And then, I made the mistake of holding them.

At the same time.

Two's not a crowd.

Two’s not a crowd.

Fast forward three seconds and I was adopting two bros for my main squeeze ho.

Uh..

Uh…this happened.

Mothers always know what’s best for their kids and the attraction between the twins and The Bear was immediate.

Ted fell hard.

Ted fell hard.

Precious the chug, not so much.

Precious, not so much.

We had to ease her into the tuxedo twins.

I knew the two new felines needed names and due to my love of all things Griswold, I instantly knew what I would name this duo.

Naturally it onlyl made sensse.

Hallelujah! Holy shit! She’s naming them!

And so the mini manse then consisted of Clark, Cousin Eddie, Ted and Precious.

Clark, Eddie, Teddy and Presh.

The chug and the pussies.

But then, keeping in line with the Griswolds, my cat shitter got full.

Literally.

Cat shit alert.

Cat shit alarm clock is a fun way to wake up.

Diharrea galore made Ted ultra sick.

SKin and bones due to

Not a happy skin and bones camper.

The twins and Ted needed to be separated, so Clark and Cousin Eddie went to visit Dada CBXB.

Gpa

Obviously hating life with Gpa.

Dad fell in love with the twins by the time Mr. Bear was back in the saddle so, in keeping with the Griswold family style, I wrapped up the damn cats and gave them to him for Christmas.

Wrapped up the damn cats.

My equivalent of Aunt Bethany.

Ted was well, Presh was happy but then bad shit happened to me.

Who Loves me?

Who Loves me? Cats. Cats will love me.

I was in dire straits for too long, wallowing in depths of despair while Tedstar and Presh were like two old fogies in a nursing home.

And I turned

We all needed help.

So, Mama CBXB thought it would be a genius idea to get me a kitten.

Cute.

I didn’t hate that idea. At all.

Elsa Pants

So we ended up with Elsa Pants.

Typically, I rescue cats that are at least two years old, knowing their chances dwindle with each passing year they age. With this in mind, as I stood up with the newest addition to my family in Pet Smart, I saw these eyes peering out of a cage.

FUck. Those New Cat Eyes again.

Fuck. New Cat Crazy Eyes.

But wait! There was also a brother in the back of the cage who wasn’t adjusting well to rescue life because they were four when their owner surrendered them (stupid motherfuckers like that piss me off).

Strong, silent type.

Strong, silent type.

Naturally, I couldn’t leave them there one without the other. Yes, you heard that right.

Maybe I should just hold them? Maybe I should just try them on for size?

Maybe I should just hold them? Maybe I should just try them on for size?

SOLD.

SOLD.

Penny, the Queen of Sweet Faces Cat and Kitten Rescue about fell over when I told her I’d take all three of them (since I had rescued Clark and Cousin Eddie just a few months prior).

Negotiations.

Negotiations.

And just like that, I became even more famous for my love of pussy.

IMG_0513

I’m not sure who was most excited about getting to their new permanent mini manse home – the pussies or me.

Elsa Pants, Ruby Sue and Rocky. Two Griswolds and a princess on their way home.

Elsa Pants, Ruby Sue and Rocky. Two Griswolds and a princess on their way home.

Turns out, they were welcomed with furry Teddy Bear arms upon their arrival.

Settled in right away.

In order of importance according to Ted.

Naturally I’ve taken all kinds of shit for having four cats and chug, loving candles, reading and being single.

Daily occurrence.

Daily occurrence.

Fun gifts.

Appropriate gifts.

Friendly reminder.

Just doing what the advertisements that pop up on Facebook say!

But in the end, I really just don’t give a fuck because rescuing these babies has enriched not only their lives, they’ve helped save me. They’ve aided my sick little bear by assisting him to live on some love. And the company I keep is always feisty.

First Mate sent this to me one Saturday and I knew I’d finally made it as a Pussy Poster Child.

She said, “this just popped up on my feed and made me smile.”

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Now get on over to Sweet Faces Cat & Kitten rescue and stare into my smiling, happy face. And if you can’t adopt, why don’t you donate?

On a side note, I’m not allowed to go to Pet Smart when I’m upset. So if you see me headed that way….STOP ME.

Meeeeeeeow.

CBXB

CBXB!

Two Pussy Lovers in a Pod

It’s not every day you go on vacation and meet your soul mate.

Pussy lovers unite!

Pussy lovers unite!

We all know by now that I’m a cray cray cat lady. If you don’t believe me, check out my bawling episode in Ernest Hemingway’s cat cemetery post from last year.

Yep. I did this.

Yep. I did this.

So imagine my delight when I realized there was a living, breathing male pussy loving version of myself when I visited Sunset Pier in Key West.

I knew as soon as our eyes met that he might just be the perfect man for me (I mean, he lives in on the beach and hoards cats like yours truly albeit he’s about 65) as he wrangles seven cats with the ease of me slurping down a Skinny Pirate.

Back in his glory days tempting ladies with that mullet. And that vest.                 photo  catmanofkeywest.com

What’s the most telling sign that we’re meant to be together (besides the fact that his name is Dominique and he speaks with a French accent. *sigh*)?

The fact that he’s known as The Cat Man.

I took this to heart as I was recently bequeathed the nickname of Cat Woman from my pharmacist (after I had to get a prescription filled for a stray cat I’ve taken in and unemotionally lovingly named New Cat – it was a master blaster hearing that name called over the loudspeaker).

Yep. Seriously.

Yep. Seriously.

As I watched The Cat Man prep the fur balls for the upcoming show, I elbowed six-year-olds in the head so as I could score a seat in the front row.

Pussy prep.

Pussy prep.

Clapping among six year olds.

Clapping among toddlers.

What makes The Cat Man ultra impressive is the fact that he can get cats to do tricks…with each other (anyone who’s ever owned a feline knows how cooperative they tend to be).

Pussy whisperer.

Pussy whisperer.

Two at a time.

Synchronized stool sitting.

Fire

Ring of fire.

Teddy has some work to do.

Teddy clearly has some work to do.

What was the shining moment in our budding May-December romance?

Our shared characteristic for the love of a camera. Although I couldn’t really tell if he was flirting with me (and the other 94 peeps that wanted a photo with him) or trying to get rid of my stalking ass after I started to put my arm around him and he said:

“Stay where you are. Go back to your seat,” accompanied by his French accent.

Of course I refused to move without a snapshot of us.

When he caught wind of my cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs mentality over pussies, The Cat Man couldn’t help but lean into my Cat Ladyness and turned me into his own personal Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Lean

Close.

Lean 2

Closer.

Lean 3

My ass almost hit the pavement.

While no phone numbers were exchanged, we promised to meet again.  Well, really I told him I’d stalk see him again when I was back in Key West.

I’m now practicing tricks with Ted and New Cat in the hopes they can perform along with The Cat Man’s crew next year.

Fingers crossed I don’t set my mini manse on fire.

Cheers!

CBXB!

How to Make an Ass of Yourself Acting Like a Local

Find yourself feeling awkward while in a city other than your hometown? While on a trip to Key West, I practiced the art of acting like a fool local to better fit in with the citizens of the beautiful destination.

While trying to be mistaken as a local, it’s best to try to blend in with your surroundings.

Blending in with my surroundings fail.

Blending fail.

You’ll want to take as many pictures of the ocean as possible while you sit your ass on a beach chair all day. You won’t look like a tourist. At all.

Exhausting

Salt water photo #461.

To ensure your native status, find a local celebrity and become fast friends.

Hello? Peter Cottontail? Bombard the E. Bunny's house.

Stalking Peter Cottontail. We’re now besties.

Throw yourself in front of tourist traps, like ghost story trolleys. Locals hate that kind of shit.

Throw yourself

The only thing scary on this tour is me.

Do as the residents do and hop on any car with one million stickers and repeat the world welcome every time another human walks by.

Car model Price is Right just called and offered me a job.

Pretty sure I almost caught chlamydia by sitting on that damn car.

Hit your concierge up for local hot spots that mostly residents frequent. Once you’ve arrived, act like you’ve never been out of the damn house before as you ooh and ahh over the gravel floor, the open air ceiling and the patio lights that are a staple at every other beach restaurant (and that you also have hanging on your own porch).

Blue Heaven is truly heaven on earth.

Blue Heaven is truly heaven on earth.

Even though you grew up in a small farming community and own two cats, be sure to document the strange creatures roaming around the restaurant that seem so foreign. All locals get picture happy in native establishments.

A cat?!

A cat?! Where’s my camera?

Peeps! In real life!

Peeps! In real life!

Coax those little chicks to sit on your finger in between every bite of delicious nourishment.  Everyone that lives in Key West does this. Trust me.

Polly want a cracker?

Polly want a cracker?

Spot a mama hen cuddling with her newly hatched chick and suddenly long for a feathered baby of your own.

Cluck

I need that beaked baby!

Proceed to cluck and grow your own wings to entice the real, live Peeps to follow you out of the restaurant.  I promise you will not look like an ass clown.

Mama Hen

Mama Hen at her worst.

When the Great Poultry Heist fails miserably, console yourself (and solve all of the world’s problems) by swinging in a hammock under palm trees talking in a voice just loud enough to keep your fellow vacationers up ’til dawn.

Chatty

Are you there God? It’s me, CBXB.

Be sure to pack your finest sleep accessories as you will be amazed at the energy it takes to act like a resident of whatever community you’re visiting.

Clucking and talking is hard work.

Clucking and talking is hard work.

As you can see, acting like a local is exhausting but if you follow my tips, you’ll fit right in.

CBXB

CBXB!

Key West Clicks

Oh the perks of a beach vacation…

Being the lucky gal that I am, saying yes to a trip to Key West for a break in the dreary Tennessee weather was not a hard decision. What does one do while on the way to a beach destination?

Greet lunch with a fruity cocktail, naturally.

A good way to start...

Vacations require cocktails at all times.

What better way to prepare your bod to slip into a bikini than to stuff your face with fresh crab claws and french fries?

Crab Claws

Thank God swimsuits contain elastic.

Instead of racing into lycra, I thought about being tied up and roasted for someone else’s dinner after all of the noontime sodium collected in my gut.

Pig Roast

CBXB hog roast.

Checking into the hotel, I could hardly wait to see where I’d be sipping my morning Bloody Mary’s…

Balcony

Balcony fail.

But the view from my vacation porch didn’t really matter much because I immediately planted my crab claw happy ass here…

View

Successful view.

After a hard day soaking up the sun, it was time to research the Key West nightlife. I had a difficult time deciding if this particular bar would be a good choice or not…

Should I Stay?

Should I stay or should I go now?

After an evening filled with Skinny Pirates, a sunset and me remaining fully clothed I decided to detox with yoga on the beach the next morning.

Namaste

Namaste.

Practicing yoga under palm trees with the sound of ocean waves in the distance sounded to good to be true.

Yoga Under Trees

Little slice of paradise.

And anything that sounds too good to be true usually is, right?

TRUTH.

Because just as the few folks who were ferocious enough to put their vacay hangovers aside and partake in yoga we were greeted with this unsightly horror…

Dog Stroller

Fucking seriously.

And while you may be thinking what’s wrong with a baby at beachside yoga (aside from everything), there’s something even more wrong with the fact that there were two (yes TWO) Pomeranian puppies in that stupid stroller (I say this as an animal lover) that did nothing but whine, whine, whimper, bark and whine every other second for the full hour.

Not this cute.

The pups resembled Ted’s adorable buddy Nigel above but quickly turned into the most heinous dogs ever with their incessant noise.

There’s nothing more relaxing than concentrating (bark) on perfecting (whine) a plank (bark bark) with two (whimper whimper whimper) upset dogs. What made these little fur balls even more annoying?  The fact that both their humans completely ignored their yammering while they were doing downward dogs. Yes, parents can make even the most adorable kids ugly to others. Congratulations to the vacationing idiots.

After the most non-relaxing hour of yoga in history, I started in on the day’s real matter of business.

Mantra

Driven to drink by dogs and stupid humans.

So I parked it on my favorite lounge chair to begin the day’s vacation festivities.

Bloody Mary

Why can’t reading by the pool while sipping cocktails be a real job?

Drinking All Day

I would be a star employee.

Although I could never keep the fruit attached to the rim of my glass.

Lime Fail

Lime fail #27.

I would probably be the first employee ever to be fired from beachside lounging with cocktails…

No Moonshine?

No moonshine on the beach? Oops.

One of the best features of Key West is being able to stroll along the street, stop into bars and carry cocktails down to the Sunset Pier.

Sunset Pier

See ya tomorrow.

I thought the next best thing to the sunset was a band (that didn’t play anything other than Phish songs – a fail in my book) that had a dog on stage. Seeing this chillaxin’ canine melted any animosity I held against the entire species due to those yapping yoga puppies.

Dog Me

Can I have your dog? Please?

Watching sunsets and admiring dogs can leave one famished, so naturally you must cram your face full of swimsuit busting food.

Bikini Mania

Working on my bikini body.

Then have a nightcap (or three) at the World’s Smallest Bar.

World's Smallest Bar

Seriously. That tiny.

And because even in flip-flops my feet ache after walking 10 too many steps, I jumped at the first chance I could to cruise in the most gorgeous cab I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Pink Taxi

Can you drive me back to Nashville?

You know you’ve had a fabulous trip when this is how you feel about returning to ‘real’ life…

Vacay Over

Why do vacations have to end?

If anyone is looking for a sidekick for their next beach getaway, holla at me!  I’m an expert at drinking in the sun…

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

 

How to Make an Ass of Yourself in Front of Ernest Hemingway

While in recently Key West, I HAD to go to visit the Ernest Hemingway house because I knew he was a fellow cat fanatic.  I’d always heard about his love (like love, love) of six-toed cats (often referred to as Hemingway cats but properly known as a polydactyl cat).

As soon as I stepped foot into his house, I knew this was a man after my own feline loving heart…quite possibly my soul mate who just happens to be six feet under (ugh, why couldn’t he be alive? He’d only be like 142 or something).

love!

Captain and Ted.

EH and one of his many loves

Ernie and one of his many loves.

Hemingway received his first six-toed white cat named Snowball from a Captain (um, does this sound like fate to anyone else?!) of a ship and the rest is history.

While the house was gorgeous…

blah

Yes, I could live here with cats galore (or just Teddy, as he’d prefer).

blah

A perfect upstairs wrap around porch from which His Majesty Mr. Bear could reign over the Kingdom .

blah

Teddy and I could throw one kick ass party here. Who wants to come? Cats welcome but none allowed in if they’re prettier than TB…he has a complex.

After EH winning me over with the gorgeous house, I was out on the hunt for some of the descendants of Snowball who still rule the roost here. I muscled my way up to the front in each room, ruining every other tourist’s photos and videos because … well, I’m a crazy cat lady. What can I say?

blah

Perfectly perched on the bar (definitely my kind of cats).

blah

Taking over the bed. All of it.

blah

Hanging in the gift shop. Cat not for sale if you were wondering (because I asked).

I was in some serious feline euphoria, getting ideas for what I should acquire for my own little furry love.

cat house

Once I showed Teddy this cat bar, he demanded I have one constructed for him.

Cat cocktail bar

One bowl for Ted, one bowl for me. I can’t let my bear cocktail alone now can I?!

Teddy was so pissed when he saw that there are actual cat mansions to live in…what kind of diva am I raising?!

Cat Hotel

The future Teddy Bear Manor (or so he thinks).

Everything was all fur and games and I was feeling warm and fuzzy…

Until this happened…

blah

Uh oh…

At first I thought this was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen (further confirming my love of EH).  Each sweet kitty soul has their own gravestone on the property. Which may seem sad to you but my icy heart was melting because this meant that a cat was loved, appreciated and truly cared for during their life here (and yes, I’m a shit show when it comes to cats – and well aware of it).

Kitty cat memorials

Kitty cat memorials.

blah

blah

Memorial wall.

Once I saw the wall of names, I wondered (on accident) how many plaques I would need in a lifetime for my cats. WHAT DID I JUST LET ENTER MY MIND?!?! And then I got closer to this cross with two cats, which reminded me of the first furry love of my life, Nicodeamus and my living, breathing, sometimes way-to-bithcy but I love him anyway Teddy Bear.

babies

Gulp.

After this, all hell broke loose causing rivers of waterworks down my cheeks, snot running from my nose and no f’ing Kleenex in sight.

Crazy cat lady cry

Crazy cat lady cry.

I kept trying to use the inside shoulder material of the black dress I was wearing to stop the faucet my nose had become. I had the cries you get in a really sad movie, where you’re trying to be quiet but you can’t quite catch your breath and I was on this tour alone (cue the song “All By Myself”) when a stranger came up to me and said “Miss, are you OK?”

I wanted to respond with,”Are you shitting me? I’m standing in a mother fucking cat cemetery bawling. Alone. Over cats.” But instead I just said “I have bad allergies,” knowing that this person left my side understanding I was out of my cat loving mind.

At least Ernest wasn’t alive to see my embarrassing display. Only a mere 78 tourists got a front row seat to see me making an ass out of myself.

Can a cat lady get any crazier?!

CBXB

CBXB!

Key West White Trash

White trash can be fabulously trashy, right? Right?!

To me, being white trash is knowing better but doing it anyway, while not giving a rat’s ass what anyone thinks – which is a category I may fall into because I feel it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission in most cases.

So I brought the fabulous trash to Key West (not on purpose but this trait just tends to shine through on me)…

Checking into the hotel, I spied a hammock screaming for me to come and have happy hour cocktails on it.  I immediately went over and took a seat (if that’s what you call laying on a hammock).

Happy Hammock

Happy Hammock Time

I promptly turned into a Captain Morgan model with no makeup and a shoddy ponytail, while continuously sipping (gulping – I was on vacation don’t judge!) my Skinny Pirates.

Fancy Tails

Fancy Tails

Noticing a wedding taking place behind me on the beach made me think about crashing it but then I’d have to get up off the hammock. No bueno.

This is what a crasher looks like

This is what I look like as a wedding crasher.

And as this nosy gal was trying to sit up for a better view of the nuptials, I ended up flipping the hammock all the way over, landing legs up for all of the tourists trying to enjoy a quiet drink on their patio viewing pleasure. I’m pretty sure I ruined quiet time anyone was trying to have because I was laughing so loudly (a fun or annoying trait of mine, depending on how you look at it)…I think I actually heard a few room doors slam shut. Oops.

My landing view wasn’t all that bad. And then I laid in the sand for a second – 1) to make sure I didn’t break anything and 2) the sand was a nice, fine sand providing a nice, fine cushion. I kinda wanted to take a nap there.

Palm me

Palm me.

While I didn’t end up snoozing under the hammock, my world was a little fuzzy due to the head bump (and four Skinny Pirates I just enjoyed), so didn’t it make sense to jump into this beautiful, fuzzy pool?

On a dare, jump into this fuzzy pool because it seems like a good idea.

This would have felt better in a swimsuit.

Think the classy hijinks stopped there? I wish. Hanging poolside the following day proved to be a lesson in classy for this gal.

A trashy gal hanging at the pool

Tranquil pool no more with CBXB’s arrival.

Heckle the nice lady trying swim laps around the boozers on floaties enjoying their vacation in a non-lap sized pool because she’s making you feel bad about not exercising (and creating a wake in the pool, hence making tipsy people feel tipsier). OK, I didn’t heckle her really but I did sneak a snapshot because she was ultra serious about these laps, wearing a hair cap and a nose plug like an Olympian swimmer.

Why you gotta work out lady?

Why you gotta work out lady while I’m trying to act like a lazy fat ass on vacay?!

Being that I typically stay at hotels where I am required to wear flip-flops like they are a natural part of my feet, I was just getting used to the pool boy bringing cocktails. Then, a gentleman came by and asked if I wanted a frozen towel. Of course I wanted a free frozen towel!

what the...

But what do you do with this thingy?

I mean it felt good against my check but what the…?

Things that make you go, hmm...I usually stay at the super 8 with bed bugs

Things that make you go, hmm…

I took a peek at some classier pool gals and then joined in on the “what you do with a frozen towel fun” after I was able to finally get my frozen towel unrolled by dunking it into the pool (therefore defeating the purpose of the frozeness but oh well).

Burn notice.

Burn notice.

And while I was unintentionally sprinkling my fabulously trashiness all over Key West, I ran (well really spotted from behind) into someone who raised the bar.  This chick was walking hand-in-hand with an albino-like red-head who seemed oblivious to what her shorts read.

there were 1,378 men following this lady and her "shorts"

I Heart Black Guys. Which isn’t a bad thing if you are actually holding hands with a black guy instead of the King of Sunblock.

There were 1,378 men following this lady and her “shorts” (which actually looked like swimsuit bottoms they were so tight) acting like discrete (and not accomplishing) paparazzi, trying to get a picture of this chick (and of course I had to join in the chase to snap this pic).  I actually thought I might see her on the evening news there was so much hoopla surrounding her.

Which made me think I needed to get a pair of shorts that read I Heart Furry Cats. Think I’d get the same reaction?

Just trying to keep it classy.

CBXB

CBXB!

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.

Going...going...

Going…going…

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.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!