Sayonara 2016

Know anyone who had a ridiculously fabulous 2016?

Me either.

Not to say great things didn’t happen for folks in this dumpster fire of a year but seriously, although my Gma used to say, “don’t wish your life away,” I couldn’t think of anything more that I would wish for than the goddamn clock to strike midnight on December 31, 2016.

Yes. How we all feel about this past fucking year.

Yes. How we all feel about this past fucking year.

While I kicked my year of with bad shit happening to a good person (yours truly) last January, there have been highlights and honest-to-goodness reminders as to why I wished I was a mother fucking super hero (or ass kicking princess).

I tried taking a cue from Elsa early on…

Elsa's help.

But I’m not a sexy smoker (see below). Nor do I know how to inhale. And lastly, I hold grudges like my net worth (let’s be real…I’m elated when I have triple digits in my checking account, so not really saying much), therefore this wasn’t going to be my outlet to let 2016 the fuck go. Also, it was just February.

Not a Sexy Smoker

Trying to heed advice of my fave, fearless lighting designer, Hawaiian Housewife (I know you’re rolling your eyes to the back of your skull M), who seems to let any/everything roll down her back (except puke – in which case she likes to displace on moi) with her famous line of…

Good Advice

Well, I didn’t try a bag of dicks per se but instead used an Iowa ear of sweet corn.

Corn Bag

While delicious, this didn’t help in the hate that seethed out of my soul for the year of all shitacular years.

So what did I do? I sprinted, ran, happened to be at PetSmart on an adopt-a-pussy Saturday sponsored by Sweet Faces Cat and Kitten Rescue (yes, I am now officially the face of their rescue and I will give you an autograph) and I did what any sane person does. I picked out three cats to add to my brood because in the end, you really can buy love.

Three's a Crowd

And in the end, you now have four feline mouths to feed.

Mouths

Plus I gotta fill the tiny yapper of my Ewok resembling chug, Precious.

Chug Life

But in the end, I got my loving therapy through this….

2016 at its Finest

All of the extra feline lovin’ seemed to help my in heart failure main squeeze, Mr. Ted E. Bear rekindle his love for life. And that made me feel like one extremely lucky lady – even though I will forever be recognized as the crazy Nashville cat lady. I give zero fucks for that title if this little pussy can still be by my side daily.

Better Tedder!

Friends tried to help by burning some of my past hurts away, while I ignited flames with lighter fluid.

Fire Starter

The fire didn’t really cure anything BUT this shirt did reflect my outlook…

Win Win

So I’d call that a win-win, wouldn’t you?

Being involved in a traumatic, life changing event, I enlisted the help of a f.a.b.u.l.o.u.s. therapist that I regularly see on Thursdays (#therapythursdays anyone?). Upon completion of sessions, copious amounts of vino is required. And while I don’t mind drinking with my five (yes I said fucking FIVE fur balls), my sister and gusband (gay husband) are more than ready to join me in Iowa and Missouri, respectively, when I need the company.

Therapy Thursday

IOWA!

My kind of pour.

My kind of pour.

Over the course of this year, I’ve let my pride of self-worth sit on a back burner and simmer (due to uncontrollable reactions to aforementioned bad shit happening).Β  With the help of friends who aren’t afraid to tackle the CBXB monster and family who’ve dealt with me forever, I was forced to not only wash my hair but show face at my fancy salon (with my fabulous chug in tow, of course) to get my pink rejuvenated and remain blonde.

Gussy

Those same folks about keeled over seeing me in flats and also forced me into my pre-2016 daily shoes…stilettos. I mean, I’ve always been known for my practicality.

Heeled UP

Counting on those who know you best, I hung in like a champ for my Iowa Hawkeyes football tailgates – and kept the family tradition of moonshine touchdown shots alive with Dada CBXB.

Tailgating

Cheering it on with family as often as I could.

CHEER

Speaking of cheering, you all have sent nothing but positivity, well wishes, fab karma, and outrageous juju my Aunt Crazy Pants’s way after her cancer diagnosis this summer. While she’s my end-all-be-all-twin, she’s still kicking some fucking cancer ass. And that’s the way we prefer.

Holla!

Aside from my family and very, very close circle of now known friends (funny how tragedy, traumatic experiences, etc. leads you to your faithful peeps) these two twin monkeys have done nothing but keep my rails from coming fully off the track. I mean, look at their faces. How lucky am I? Even if it was the most dismal year in the history of histories in my lifetime?

For real.

Speaking of rails on the track, while my job is typically a full-on shit show, I have people surrounding me in the office that are full of life, love and overall kindness. Their humor, wit and ability to deal with crazy on a daily basis has made my 2016 a better place.

Work

What made this year – day after day – hour upon hour – minute upon minute – second upon second – all the more difficult was the constant issue of rape culture and the shaming of women, men and any human who has suffered this intolerable situation. From Brock Turner getting a fucking six month sentence after raping a woman in public on a campus, to the published accounts of victims reading letters to their accused in court, to a fucking presidential nominee with 12 – yes 12 women accusing him of inappropriate conduct…one being recorded on tape resulting in a TV anchor’s dismissal from a network by simply being in the situation and not stopping it.

But then, America voted that man president. Women I know voted for that man. Women I know that have daughters voted for that man. Men I know who have daughters voted for that man. Why? It’s beyond me.

Not only does he “grab pussy” because he’s a “star” but he’s totally going to “Make America Great Again.”

FUCK YOU TRUMP

TRUTH

I’m all for voting and standing by your decisions. And I’m also not saying I loved the other choice on the ballot but fuck. Nominating a male chauvinist pig (among many other indecencies as a human being) as POTUS made the end of the year almost unbearable as a person in my standing.

TRUTH TRUTH

This year has proven unbelievable in the most horrific ways. Unbelievable in the most humane ways. Unbelievable in the amount of support I have garnered at the hands of acquaintances, friends, social media buddies, family – the outpouring was (and still is) something that I can’t even still comprehend in the best way possible. To that, I am grateful. To that, I dedicate my first bottle (of tonight) champs to you.

CHAMPS!

I will put on my finest threads and ride out the rest of the hours 2016 has to offer.

MOTHERFUCKER

I will most likely headbang my way into 2017, giving zero fucks about the neckache I will endure.

Bangin'

Because if you are reading this, you have aided me through the darkest 365 day chapter of my life thus far. And I love you for being there digitally, emotionally, physically, snail mailingly, social medially, FaceTimingly, textingly, etc. You have no idea how much one message, like, encouraging word can carry me through days.

Together

The motto I have stuck to and lived by every moment of 2016…

MOTTO

And now, it’s time for a fresh start. Not to say I – or anyone else – is immune to bad shit. It happens. It’s life and makes up the DNA of our souls. But sometimes enough is enough.

I say enough.

FUCK YOU 2016

Sayonara 2016.

FUCK YEAH 2017!

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

SUCK IT 2015

Kiss my ass 2015.

How I felt almost 365 full days.

How I felt almost 365 full days.

You know those years that seem to fly by, where you find yourself in disbelief that it’s time to ring in a new one? Well, 2015 wasn’t one of those for me. It felt that every 24 hours might as well be a 24 year period. Of course there were good days – and even weeks. But bad juju was most definitely in my corner at almost every turn.

Everything I touched turned to shit.

Everything I touched turned to shit.

It wasn’t any one thing but a slow build up of moments and major life losses that can’t be undone. My immediate family has been turned upside down, as I’ve stood by as a mere spectator with no ability to change the outcome.Β  I lost a few friends early this year for unexplained reasons (a lawsuit was even threatened…and I’m not even on any Real Housewife of Bravo program!) my Gma passed away from a quick illness in June, I suddenly lost my two year old pussy New Cat in July and the fur ball love of my life Ted fell seriously ill unexpectedly in August (and thankfully is on the mend after what a year of in state college tuition would cost – but he’s SO worth it, ya dig?).

Farewell to Gma.

Farewell to Gma the Great.

Farewell to my fave photogenic tuxedo cat, Newy.

Farewell to my fave photogenic tuxedo cat, Newy.

You know, the little shit who would never ever even let me take a piss alone.

Lavoratory Lovin'

Lavatory Lovin’

His Royal Highness, the ever dramatic Tedstar, who spent two weeks in a pet hospital ICU (mostly because he refused to eat and take a shit, therefore stalling his release back to the mini manse).

Pissed the vet didn't have a pink wrap.

Pissed the vet didn’t have a pink wrap.

In 2015 I also found myself being taken advantage of in personal ways – you know when you’re the emotional stability or constant support for someone and then they become ghosts when the favor is needed in return?

Ghost this.

Ghost this.

In my professional life, it’s been stunning to find out where I really stood with close friends and colleagues over the last six months. Two weeks ago I found myself divorcing the company I thought I would be with for the remainder of my working years.

Not a situation that bloody marys and Tylenol can't fix.

Not a situation that bloody Marys and Tylenol can’t fix.

Over the past three months, I’ve been called names…loving and thoughtful names such as “catty, scowly faced, bitchy” and my personal favorite, “a fucking whore,” all by folks I thought cared/liked/loved me.Β  (Truth –Β  I can be bitchy when a situation arises where that trait is needed.)

But you know…haters can suck it.

Or I'll cut a bitch.

Or I’ll cut a bitch.

I’ve arrived at a point (and thankfully it’s the last day of the year) where nothing could really surprise me and I am just over it. Therefore, I have been wearing my feelings on my phone sleeve.

Seriously.

Seems appropriate, yes?

But with a new year just hours away, I’m excited for the feeling of a fresh beginning in many areas of my life. And, while this year will go down in the books as one I never want to repeat, it’s shown me the resilience that life requires, the humor one must keep to be able to laugh at the most ridiculous of situations and thankfulness for those who truly love me for being me. Classiness and all.

Classy Lady

Love me, love my trashiness.

So to the family, friends, fellow bloggers, readers, acquaintances and co-workers who’ve been around this year – I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 2016, I’m ready for you full-bore.

Ready to raise some serious hell.

Ready to raise some serious hell.

Who’s with me?

CHEERS to the new year!

CBXB!

 

Merry Moments

I’m baaaack!

Miss me? Because I missed you as I greeted 2015 with about ten extra holiday pounds and 40,401 less brain cells.

Hello 2015!

Hello 2015!

While on a blogging break, I hung with my two favorite pussies more than I care to admit in Christmas pajamas.

Cat time.

Yep. Still a crazy cat lady.

I played reindeer games in hopes that Saint Nicholas would soon make an appearance.

Reindeer games.

All dolled up with no Santa in sight.

Ted nestled down in his Juicy Couture Pussy Palace while visions of life without New Cat danced around in his furry head.

Nestled all snug in his Juicy Couture Pussy Palace.

Seriously contemplating how to get rid of NC. I raise sweet cats.

A key for Santa was accompanied by my favorite treat.

Santa's fave.

Who wants milk when you can have Captain?

Christmas morning found Princess B playing her kick ass guitar from Auntie CBXB that makes all kinds of loud, annoying noise.

Rockstar in the making.

Rock star in the making.

While Prince B got his very own puppy from me.

Prince B got a puppy.

I almost wrapped up New Cat but settled on this instead.

And Princess B was so upset that she didn’t receive a stuffed dog too, she taught my mom a less by punching her in the face.

BItch slapping Mama CBXB for not gifting her a stuffed puppy.

WHERE’S MY PUPPY GIGI?!

And so she stole Prince B’s gift.

Mine. All mine.

Mine. All mine.

While I stole all of the chips and AE French Onion dip in the house.

'Tis the season of overeating....

‘Tis the season of overeating….

Which came in handy as I was leaving for Miami the following day.

Toes in the sand with my chip and dip gut.

Toes in the sand with my chip and dip gut.

But I visited the local Jewish Community Center where I tried to work off my Christmas caloric intake but couldn’t figure out how to use the damn equipment.

What the who?

Workout fail.

Trying to shed ten pounds in one morning didn’t really work out in my favor but that was OK as I was too busy kissing 2014 goodbye to care.

Kissing 2014 away!

I love you Captain.

I also got to hang with some real hipsters who obviously got all dolled up for the big night.

Hot friends

He had chips and dip over the holiday too.

And as it came down to the final seconds of 2014, I celebrated in my normal subtle way.

Double horns for double NYE excitement!

Double horns for double NYE excitement!

There was much to anticipate in the early days of 2015 – like one more Iowa Hawkeye football game. And while I wasn’t with my family to celebrate in our traditional game day ways, we still ‘tailgated’ together.

Representing the Hawks on the beach, bitch.

Representing the Hawks on the beach.

Overalls on in Tennessee

Overalls on in Tennessee.

Preparations for the game being made in Iowa by Prince B.

Preparations for the game being made in Iowa by Prince B.

Princess B could care.

While Princess B could give two shits about the upcoming game, as she was still busy with her brother’s puppy.

When the ominous clouds rolled in over the beach, I shoulda known what was going to happen as the Hawks have had a piss poor season. Even though we were playing an equally dismal team, the University of Tennessee Volunteers, I just knew it would be a good game, forgetting the fact that I attended one of the top party schools in the nation (according to a 2013 report). So I suppose fun in the sun got the better of my team.

Clouds rolled in...

Lightning did not strike for my Hawkeyes.

After a 21-0 Vols lead in the first quarter I was suddenly thrilled that I didn’t make any bets with the Tennessee fans around me. Finally in the third quarter of the game Iowa scored but still managed to make the Tennessee Vols look like a Superbowl team.

FINALLY a touchdown shot!

A much needed celebration touchdown shot.

The Vols had not won a post season game since 2008 and I was less than thrilled that my Hawkeyes were able to grant them a big W with a final score of 45-28. And so I did what any fan would do after losing a hideously named Taxslayer Bowl…

Drowning in my sorrows.

Drowning in my salt water sorrows.

Upon my arrival back to Nashville, I was greeted with fuck you flowers from my buddy and Vols fan, Camo.

Greeted back to Nashville with Tennessee colored flowers compliments of my buddy and Vols fan Camo. So sweet.

A masked insult in a lovely bouquet.

And I thought maybe 2015 wasn’t starting off on the right foot…

Maybe we didn't start the new year off on the right foot afterall...

Um, I think I miss you 2014.

Until I ran into my best friend at Dalts, which made everything right in the world again.

Captain to the rescue!

Skinny Pirates to the rescue!

So now I am back in love with the idea of a new year and I plan to kick 2015’s ass.

I hope you do, too.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Cheers to a New Year!

Spending the last day of the year on a Miami beach was a tough feat.

Sunglasses always do the trick.

Squeezing out the last bit of 2012 fun.

And I didn’t mind gazing at this gorgeous sunset as I sipped on my happy hour cocktails (booze makes primping so much more fun).

Hard times with a night in Miami

See ya 2012!

Choosing a vodka proved to be as difficult as narrowing down a sparkly ring from Cartier (although I somehow managed).

I cheated on my Skinny Pirates with vodka

Cheating on my Skinny Pirates with Grey Goose.

I had a little help from my favorite Miami Meower, Butterscotch in the attire department.

Wardrobe assistant

Vocal wardrobe assistant (don’t tell Ted)!

I settled on black sequined pants (duh), a fuchsia cardigan and leopard heels, (and yes, that’s my heel in my cup which didn’t deter this party goer from drinking – why would I waste?!).

Nothing but class with bare feet in the posh elevator!

Isn’t everyone chic in Miami (aside from yours truly as I’ve proven)? Here’s a peek at my favorite bartender of the evening, pouring me a much needed glass (or five) of champs.

Bartender Miami Chic

Miami’s version of Hugh Hefner.

And while looking at this handsome Florida gent, I wondered what I was missing in Nashville, as the phone buzzed with a picture of my dad and my curiosity quickly waned.

or Nashville Geek

Miami chic or Nashville geek? Tough choice!

Obviously, you can’t take Nashville out of the girl as I carried my red Solo Cup with me down the elevator.

Red Solo Cups are so chic - only in Miami.

Red Solo Cups are so fancy – in Toby Keith songs.

I realized my true calling during my jaunt to the car…

look but don't touch

Game show gesture model!

I just kept getting better and better as I tried to get ascloseaspossible to this Bentley without spending my New Year’s Eve in the Miami Dade County Jail.

Yes, now I want to work on the Price is Right.

Yes, now I want to work on the Price is Right.

All of the car modeling made me thirsty and I needed to quickly guzzle a martini when we arrived at the bar.

Martini mania

Soothing the three minutes of modeling work.

And after each drink was received, a toast was in order – it was New Year’s Eve after all!

Our 1,345th toast of the evening.

Our 1,345th cheers of the evening.

Which of course led to my expertise in photo bombing (a dying art).

model

Almost 2013!

And as the clock struck midnight and Ryan Seacrest winked at me, I was pretty sure this is how the evening went…

Although my dreams looked like this...

A handsome group.

Drinking 432 martinis will help you acquire double chin while you sleep (not so good for my modeling career), as well as require a sign to arise from deep, dark (passed out) slumber.

Drinking 432 martinis will give you a double chin while you sleep, as well as require a sign for your to arise from slumber.

WAKE UP!

A brand new year, same old me.

CBXB

CBXB!