The past 240 days of 2016 have put me in a seemingly endless downward spiral, creating a monster of a walking, talking freak show shell of myself because when bad shit happens to good people, everyone responds differently. In my case, I’ve been left in a constant state of limbo for nearly 9 months, in which actions of those in authority performed, conducted demanded (by me) on my behalf were out of my control (a fucking nightmare for an OCD maniac such as moi).
Being wound tighter than a yo-yo that hasn’t been used since 1972, good news was delivered Friday morning that made me happier than in as long as my memory can serve me (which isn’t saying much these days). The kind of happy that makes you feel intoxicated in the absence of booze (of course that didn’t last long). The kind of happy that makes you feel genuine joy. The kind of happy that gives you a glimmer of hope, a sliver of validation and sparkling reminder that karma is a motherfucker when it’s doled out to those who deserve it.
The kind of happy that feels like sunshine.
The celebration between a mother and her little fucker.
As tidings of joy (god, I can’t wait for Christmas) spread, my support group helped me celebrate from coast to coast.
Love in the form of a 12 pack from Atlanta.
Feted with flowers from gal pal and blogging bestie Princess Rosebud from Cali.
Good thing for me the celebrating didn’t end with Skinny Pirates on Friday night. The party trickled into Saturday, where I didn’t have to choose a fave booze to holler’n’swaller t0 while cheering on my beloved Iowa Hawkeyes.
Room for all of my nearest and dearest game day delights.
A small hair of the dog did take the Friday night bite out of the 11am kick-off.
Even the tailgate crew gussied up in their game day finest.
Glitterati is a good sport.
Trying to keep our average American figures in check, our tailgate spread remained low carb (but who gives a rat’s ass how many are in your cocktail, amIright?).
Healthy spread to offset the dehydration of livers.
I even cooked something without a recipe…yes. Be ah-mazed. Because I still am.
Cauliflower crusted buffalo chicken pizza.
Family tradition continued the shenanigans of good fortune with touchdown shots.
Shot one! But not done.
Two and through.
The Hawkeyes eeked out a victory (a win is a win no matter how ugly) and while I take a victory even if not proudly, my heart about burst with delight when I received this video of Princess B.
I know that you are now overflowing with patriotism. I mean, who couldn’t after that rendition of the Pledge of Allegiance? And, speaking of overflow, here’s hoping all of you peeps in Iowa are staying as dry as possible although the waters seem to keep rising.
Four feet of sandbags and still a raging river in Cedar Rapids.
The rest of my weekend was spent deciding what mini manse improvement projects I should do now that I have a little pep back in my step. It’s amazing how much an ounce of relief can revive your spirit. My pal Mills made the suggestion below and I think it’s something that even I could handle in a day’s work.
I mean, I already have the bag of wine, I just need to find massive shower clips. Who can help?
The pussy posse dominated my Sunday, demanding some mama time. I’m sure you can guess who still remains king of the castle though, right?
Thank God I have enough body mass for all of them.
While I’m not a political pot stirrer, I couldn’t help but fall truly, madly, deeply in love with this shirt
Love trumps hate.
Truth trumps dishonesty.
Karma trumps asshats.
Here’s hoping nothing steals your sunshine this week.
Cheers!
Cowboys and Crossbones 