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!
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.
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.
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.