Weekend Wink – The Luckiest Girl

It’s that time of year that green is all around us in Nashville as a welcomed sight. The grass, the leaves and this past weekend, the hue of celebrating the patron saint of Ireland, Patrick.

I met up with one of my former band mates, Keys, and we had a fun catch up lunch at my fave watering hole, Dalts.

Old friends make me a lucky gal.

Friends of yesteryear also keep me company with kind words and support he’s always throwing behind me.

I had a guest coming over for supper (oh, we will get into this supper vs. dinner debate at a later date) Friday evening and I hadn’t made my Lazy Lasagna (or anything that didn’t simply require a microwave heat up) in…well, I can’t remember when. Naturally, I acted like I was concocting an eight course meal, when really I was just layering ingredients.

Slaving away for supper.

Lucky for me, it turned out in my favor.

Once the lasagna was baked and in my belly, I promptly took a 16 hour nap, gearing up for the weekend festivities.

Pot of gold kickers.

In celebration of the season, I’d gussied up my pink tinsel Christmas Celebration tree and sat to enjoy my Saturday spiked coffee in front of it.

Lucky tree.

Perk Me Up.

Meeting up with friends for the celebration of Irish culture did not make for a dull time.

Lucky ladies.

I’m gonna need these hearts in pink for daily use.

We saw nothing but green until we started to consume cocktails of the day’s hue.

The Queen of green Jell-O shots…

.. might have had me seeing black and white.

While I was busy with Shamrock Shenanigans, my Iowa twins were road tripping down South.

Lucky they’re on their way to see me!

My neck aches for them.

It’s hard to remember just how little these two nuggets were a mere three years ago.

Time flies with twinning fun.

Three years later and still the cutest two shits I know.

Speaking of shits, I’m lucky to know the most fun one in all of Iowa City. My buddy N8 never misses a chance to morph into the best leprechaun every year.

Lucky leaning tower of green.

On Sunday, the actual day of Saint Patrick, I met up with First Mate for a gulp of our favorite boxed rosé. Although we didn’t get the green dye for to properly mark the occasion, we made do.

Pink and green are the perfect pairing.

It was so fabulous outside, we couldn’t resist a patio where Van Waffle asked me to take his picture. The fucking nerve.

My thoughts on being the photographer vs. the model.

All in all, the weekend of sunny skies, fabulous company and fun made me feel like the luckiest girl. Although, what makes my world go round always takes my lucky cake…

Lucky fur mama.

Here’s hoping a little luck comes your way this week.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Cocktails, Crocs and Kindness

There are some weeks that seem 14 days long and Friday couldn’t have gotten here soon enough. Nashville has been plagued with rain and dreary skies for the last month (not to bitch too much because I know it’s been earth shatteringly freezing above the Mason Dixon Line).

Once the work week was behind me, my gal pal Rasta came over for a little girl’s night in. She’s been under the weather since the holidays and is finally feeling better.

Jazz hands for happy health.

I’ve been cheating on The Pussy Posse with my side hustle, which is pet sitting. I can’t say I don’t love it because look at these faces…

Princess Purr-A-Lot.

Some definite puppy love going on.

Rocco the dog lives in an apartment complex and while I was dropping in on him, I could not help but notice the pile up of shoes at his neighbor’s place. The first visit I just glanced and thought they must have had company. The second visit I noticed that a pair were fucking Croc style knock-offs that were camouflage. I mean, please.

No. Just no.

Some dude actually wears those motherfuckers.

When I posted on my Insta about the in my opinion abhorrent shoes, I received messages with excuses examples of why people have them. My favorite response was that I should burn them to help the guy out. Slappy takes the cake because she has a matching pair with her husband – BUT only for outdoor purposes and they aren’t camo, so that’s OK?

Oh, Slappy….

My Iowa twins spent some much deserved time in Mexican sun after a winter with temperatures bottoming out at -52 degrees.

Riding back to Iowa…

They went from sunny and 80 degrees to about 12 degrees in two hours. Their vehicle needed pushing assistance from helpful Samaritans upon their landing back in Iowa.

Back to the snow.

Just as active as ever, they went from horse back riding to drive way ice skating in a day’s time.

Personal skating rink.

While they were outside burning through energy, their cousin was watching the Nashville Predators all the way in Iowa. Cheering for the yellow team because yours truly likes them. How fucking cute is that?

GO YELLOW TEAM!

So many decisions needed to be made on my behalf regarding Saturday night because I had been properly asked out to supper. I haven’t been out – really out – since Rapegate and this was a fabulous sign that I was excited. I was excited I was excited which means there’s been some major healing on the forefront.

To platform or to platform?

We went to a fabulous foodie restaurant called Husk. Being that I am a frequent guest of lower status restaurants, I had to enlist in the help of Sister CBXB and BIL to guide me with choices, as Husk’s menu changes daily.

I am officially a fucking foodie. Between the crafted cocktails and quality of the meal, I feel like Chili’s isn’t going to be a place I frequent as often.

Never have I ever seen catfish so pretty.

First Mate ended up meeting us out after supper and I stayed all snuggled up on her sofa. Because neither of us can (or like) to cook, she spoiled me with coffee and Bubly the next morning.

Sunday morning two-for-one.

These two knuckleheads were up and at ’em early making the most of their day of rest (which honestly, I don’t think these kids ever rest and relax unless they are asleep in bed).

One version of Sunday Funday.

My version of Sunday Funday.

While enjoying my bloody mary at Dalts, I was recalling the time shortly after Rapegate began, I received a package from a reader when I arrived one Friday night. It was from a complete stranger who knew I frequented my favorite watering hole and contained the sweetest note of encouragement and a bottle of Captain Morgan Private Stock. Funny that this then popped up in my Facebook memories last night.

Speaking of sweet surprises, I received a package with the most purrfect for me present inside.

Truth.

You guys spoil me beyond and know just when a gal needs a smile. Thank you T. Ratt for thinking of me and gifting me my now favorite shirt.

Speaking of faves, you know that Princess B is basically morphing into her crazy aunt.

So many colors. So little time.

Except she has me drooling with envy over her fucking insane hair.

Gorgeous as all get out.

And she knows it.

What better way to end the weekend than with a sudsy soak?

Bubbles make my world go round.

Cheers to a fabulous first full week of March!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Sleeping, Sunning and Celebrating Beauties

There are 168 hours in seven days time. Last week, I think my eyes may have been open a solid 24 hours maximum. I caught some sort of bug that made me incapable from seeing the back of my eye lids. When I tried to go to work on Wednesday, I sat down to have coffee on the couch at 6am after 12 hours of sleep and suddenly woke up at noon.

Couch potatoes.

When I did make it into work on Friday, I sounded and looked stoned. My eyes were little slits, so being the 90-year-old I’d morphed into, I had to leave at noon and promptly take a four-hour nap upon my arrival home to the mini manse.

Day of the Living Dead.

In between sleeping all day and night like a newborn baby, I was able to catch up on some news. I almost taped my eye lids open to read every single report of R. Kelly being indicted on 10 counts of aggravated sexual abuse. Looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong overdue. He’s been taped having sex with minors, reportedly keeps women hostage and if you haven’t seen the documentary series on Lifetime, Surviving R. Kelly, watch it. The revelations will make you queasy. He was acquitted in 2008 for child pornography charges but where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Suck it R. Kelly.

#muterkelly

In not so fabulous news, I read that outright racist, Steve King, who was yet again voted into Congress by Iowa (narrowly beating J.D. Scholten who actually campaigned and visited every.single.county in the district while King sat back and watched) plans on running in 2020. If you live in one of the 39 counties in the 4th District of Iowa (click here if you don’t know if you live there) and don’t go to the polls and kick this motherfucker out of office, then you’re doing something wrong. The fact that he unabashedly quotes and defends white nationalism should be enough but if you need more convincing, contact me.

When this sleeping disaster woke from her slumber Friday evening, I was greeted with a FaceTime from Scooby. What this technologically challenged lady didn’t know is that if you have the iPhone 10, you can make your head anything you want. And now this is a must have for me.

Unicorns are real.

Saturday would have been Aunt Crazy Pants’ birthday.

Sisters.

While ACP should be here, we know she was having gin rickies galore upstairs, so in her honor, Mama CBXB and I got together to celebrate. When she showed up at the mini manse, we had unknowingly dressed as twins in green and sparkle.

Matchy, matchy.

Green was ACP’s fave color and we showed up in Irish spirit. We went to the Cheesecake Factory where her favorite gin rickey is served, we found a parking spot, one bar table was open AND I kept my eyes open until bedtime. Think we might have had some help from above.

Gin Rickies for everyone.

Two other hooligans celebrating were my Iowa twins who are living it up in Mexico this week.

Off to the beach!

Bed bugs.

Beach beauties.

They have been so active, I’m exhausted just by looking at the pics sent of their overabundance of fun. On their second day – before noon – they’d been swimming, gone on a boat ride, zip lined and swam again. Meanwhile, I was very busy deciding to keep my celebration tree in full swing.

When you live in Tennessee, it’s no big deal if your Christmas tree is out all year. Or so I tell myself.

Rounding out the celebration festivities, who doesn’t love an Oscars party? The twins walked the red carpet in Mexico.

Award winning duo.

While I slid into my most comfortable stretch pants and did this…

Well, actually I did have on a floor length sequins jacket and rhinestone wine glass, so that counts as glam, right?

One of my long time buddies, Aha! came over and heard me say “shhhhhhhhhhh!” 4,902,653 times when a gown I had to have appeared on the red carpet. Which was every .00007 seconds.

Aha!

We paired our boxed wine with fancy cheese of course.

Snack City.

I loved this year’s show, which opened with Queen featuring Adam Lambert and had to rewind the performance of “Shallow” with Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga three times. I died. I cried. I’m still swooning over the fucking thing. Shortly after that part of the show, my cable went out. And that part wasn’t as pretty with me yelling into my phone for Instagram stories while I was missing out on Best Actor, Best Director and the other fucking big time categories you wait three hours to view. Oh, Comcast is getting a letter.

These two were not alarmed in the slightest by my raised voice.

Lucky for me the internet exists and Aha! was able to pull up the speeches I’d missed. Also lucky for me, I was gifted tickets to the Nashville Predators (hockey for you non sports folks) game last night. Dada CBXB sure hated it.

Armful.

We started the evening off at the very first honky tonk I ever took him to when he first visited Nashville.

Legends Corner.

We realized that when I am trying to take selfles of us, I lack the needed arm length when he is standing at his normal height (and not squatting to get a touchdown selfie during a Hawkeye game).

Selfie fail.

We got smart and asked another human to take our photo when we got into the arena. The seats were killer, the game was close and the Preds kicked ass by winning in a shoot out.

PREDS WIN!

And we all know how I ended the evening…

Sudsy soak.

Cheers to keeping our eyes open this week!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

The Love of Your Own Life

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

I do. I love me.

The day of love so many tend to loathe while others welcome the warm fuzzies with gigantic appetites that rival my admiration for wine.

The feel of Love Day for certain peeps.

As a kid, I carefully crafted a Valentine’s Day mailbox for school every year (you know, back when you could celebrate shit in school without the worry of the teeniest tiniest chance of offending someone). Students weren’t required to participate but I can’t remember when a kid didn’t. Everyone in class gave everyone a Valentine. If a kid didn’t have a Valentine’s Day box, my teacher always had an extra shoebox or two wrapped in red paper. No one was left out.

Will you be mine?

I was always lucky that I had a family who liked to celebrate everything, so no holiday was left out. Not even one that I often hear guys claim is “made up” for women to get gifts. (Well fellas, if you treated your gals “special” all the time, grand gesture days wouldn’t be needed, now would they? You could simply just get a well meaning card or write a note from the heart any day of the year but I digress). We’d wake up to little Valentines on our chairs at the kitchen table, maybe along with a box of chocolates. Always excited for the party to take place that day at school.

Fast forward to high school when the day of admiration became a sport of sorts.

If this high school Glamour Shot doesn’t make you want to be mine, I don’t know what fucking will.

The Honor Society sold carnations for a dollar and the members would drop the carnation off to your designated Valentine anonymously. Some peeps had armloads. Some had none. I just wanted a pink one.

Some girls got called to the office and paraded delivered – delivered in a vase and everything – flowers around school. It didn’t matter if it was from their dad, grandparents or boyfriend. I was one jealous bitch. Then, in an instant, that all changed.

Because I became that girl.

Oh hi. I got the flowers…and then some.

The Honor Society members delivered carnations during first period. I was in concert band every morning with my sweet silver Doc Severinsen trumpet at my side. Open flung the doors and our band instructor stopped our warm-up. A group of kids came in hauling carnations in large buckets for their soon-to-be owners. While I was hoping to get a flower or two, my eyes laid sight on the mother of all Valentine’s day hauls. A gigantic, white stuffed teddy bear with a red bow around its neck, holding a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. So enormous, you couldn’t see the person transporting it.

About as big as this dog I gifted Princess B a few years back.

I think I literally turned green with envy at whomever was going to be the recipient of this stuffed animal. I mean, I thought I would get a flower or two because my girlfriends and I always sent them back and forth. But this, this shit was different. This was the stuff that warm and fuzzy, cheesy as fuck Valentine’s memories were crafted.

Being in the brass of the band, I sat in the last row of the room. And I’ll be damned if that fucking bear didn’t inch its way closer and closer. I kept thinking…which girl had a boyfriend that sat near me. I couldn’t wait to see who was going to get the pristine bear.

As the hidden stuffed animal transporter walked behind me, I almost gave myself whiplash looking to my left. But to my unabashed chagrin, that motherfucker was lifted over my head and sat into my lap. Hershey’s fucking kisses and all. To this day, that is one of my best Valentine’s Days (which may seem a little sad since my day of love peaked in high school but I mean, it’s true).

And it didn’t come from a love interest. Or the non-existent boyfriend I had at the time. It came from a friend. From a best friend who (although didn’t take me to his senior prom and I will never, ever let him forget it) remains a bestie to this day.

Oh the bangs. On both of us.

The teddy bear came from Scooby.

We share a love of stuffed animals. Obvies.

Relationship game still on point today.

This gesture seemed like the grandest of all gestures in the universe at the time. All of these years later, it still does. My gay best friend gave me the best Valentine’s Day memory. Why? Because he didn’t have to do anything. But he loved me and wanted me to know. Isn’t that just a simple thing to do?

Grand gestures aren’t needed (but if any of you have a Louis Vuitton en route for delivery today, professing your love for me, I am not going to turn it down). A single flower is nice. A card will do. A simple text message. A smile, a hug, a thank you. Whether it’s love or like in today’s climate, bringing happiness to any and all of those around us isn’t really that hard. We just have to be kind to let one another know that we like – or even love – them.

If force dancing with your head taller than you female cousin at your uncle’s wedding isn’t a grand gesture of love, what is?

More importantly, regardless of whether we are madly in love with our kids…

I mean…

COME ON.

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our romantic partner…

Thank you boyfriends of yesteryears.

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our friends…

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our careers, jobs, co-workers….

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with extended family…

Regardless of whether we are madly in love with our fur babies (which you all know I’m bat shit about)…

Regardless of what it is in your life that you love, be madly in love with your own authentic self first.

Yep. This about sums it up for me.

If you don’t love – let alone like – yourself as your own #1, no one will love the you who is meant to be loved.

Bitch, I’m a Queen. A Queen Bitch Supreme. And I know it.

Be your own damn Valentine.

Make some snacks.

Toast to yourself.

Appropriately colored libations required.

I’m taking myself out with First Mate tonight – same as we did last year – to not only toast to our love of one another but also to how bad ass we both are in our own right.

Now treat yourself to your version of a stuffed teddy bear this Valentine’s Day. You deserve it.

Be the love of your own damn life.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Super Twins, Super Friends, Super Bowl

Anyone else feel the wrath of the Polar Vortex last week? Living in Nashville, it was just a touch chillier than usual. But my where my Iowa twins reside it was a balmy -51…and that was the actual temperature, not the wind chill. Busting out of the house on Friday night made for two happy kids (and two happier parents).

Cheering on their cousin at a basketball game.

With blue tongues.

While the twins were cheering being out of the house during the Polar Vortex, I was watching the Iowa Hawkeyes basketball team school a fifth ranked Michigan. An unranked Hawk team won with a score of 74-59. God I love a rush to the court.

ON IOWA.

I’ve been meaning to give the Mini Manse a facelift since I’ve been letting everything pile up in the three years since Rapegate. Now that I’m back to giving fucks about everything, it was time to roll up my sparkly sleeves and get to work. I decided to start with The Pussy Posse wing, which I am also converting into an office Carrie Bradshaw style (you know, since I will have a martini by my side while I’m writing).

Disaster area.

As you can see, I had my work cut out for me. Basically, it looked like I was removing into the Mini Manse instead of reorganizing. My Posse couldn’t have been more excited for the overhaul.

So helpful.

In other animal news, my side hustle is pet sitting and I finally have a logo. With Hawkeye colors and a crown, could it be more fitting?

Pet Sitter Extraordinaire.

Mama CBXB provided an organizing break on Saturday morning with a much needed mimosa.

Respite from reorganizing.

While brunching, I was reminded of a long, lost pet peeve I hadn’t seen in many moons. Does it bother anyone else when parties of two sit on the same side? It makes my skin crawl for some reason.

Why can’t I just let people eat in peace?

After carb loading, it was back to finishing the cat room and it turned out swimmingly (if you like all things cat and also don’t mind memorials to my lost fur ball loves, fittingly stored in cocktail shakers and a disco ball for Ted).

 

Yes. I know you think I’m crazy. No, I don’t give a fuck.

After the finishing touches on the organizing, it was time to relax.

Some of my fave gal pals from the ‘hood came over to bitch, moan, celebrate, laugh and lean on each other.

Nothing better than gal pals.

Galentine’s Day prep.

Sunday marked a sad sports day for me. The official end of football season. However, I am much more of a college football fan than an NFL lady but still, I have to wait until August for my beloved sport to start again.

See ya later Tailgater.

While I loathe the fucking Patriots (don’t forget Bill Belichick released my dad from the Baltimore Colts back in the day – oh, and that video camera in opposing teams’ locker rooms still seems a lot like fucking cheating to me). However, between both teams combined playing in the Super Bowl, my Iowa Hawkeyes had the most players of any other college representing.

The Patriots have four former Hawkeyes total on their team. Adrian Clayborn and James Ferentz are on the roster, while Cole Croston and Riley McCarron are on the practice squad. The Rams sport two former Hawks, starting guard Austin Blythe and Henry Krieger-Coble on the practice squad. Not a bad turnout from one college program, huh?

Dada CBXB and I decided to forgo our usual tailgating snacks for a Chili’s enchilada platter and it did not disappoint in the slightest.

Um…I’m still eating on this today when I was starting a diet on Monday…

Filler up for a snoozefest of a defensive game.

While I was rooting for the Rams, I will always be happy to see former Hawkeyes achieving great feats.

One of my all time fave Hawks and my all time fave coach, celebrating.

It was even cooler that Coach Ferentz’s son also will be receiving a Super bowl ring.

Iowa girl through and through.

Lastly, I learned news yesterday of a spunky, feisty, young, bad ass mother of two who has been given a diagnosis none of us want. She’s got an army around her but I ask you to send your magic, juju, positivity and whatever else you can muster her way.

FUCK CANCER.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – The Pussy Posse, A Penis Pot and Profile Pics

January is proving to be the most challenging time of the year for me. While I’m thrilled for a new year, something negative creeps into my bones whether I like it or not. My stutter is back. My bouncy leg comes out of nowhere. A sense of profound grief follows me around like Peanuts’ Pig-Pen’s dust cloud. It’s almost my Rapegativersary and my body realizes this. BUT all that being said, I have peeps who know how to keep me on the up and up, and so instead of treading water, I’m on a floatie.

My besite stopped by the Mini Manse Friday and we guzzled sipped wine (surprise!) and watched the Melissa McCarthy movie “Life of the Party.” Beyond hysterical.

Thank gawd for First Mate.

Saturday, two of my four pussies had vet appointments for annual check-ups. When I was scheduling, they asked which two and I said, “whichever two I can wrangle into carriers.” You know, Ted always just got swaddled in a blanket and sat on my lap during car rides so this carrier thing is new to me. And my pussies are not stupid (well, except for Ruby Sue – aka Thundercunt – who was the first victim in a cage).

Who wants a shot?

Fabio was a wee bit too big for the skull and crossbones carrier.

But not for the pink one. It was a full on wrestling match trying to shove his muscled ass into the cage but somehow after about a 10 minute struggle, I got the fucking door latched.

Beyond thrilled.

Ruby Sue on the other hand, was in some serious shock at the thought of getting on the scale. Or being at the vet. Or the car ride. Or all three.

Dime sized eyes.

While we waited for the vet, I almost laughed the building down when I saw this comparison on social media.

Better belly laugh yet came when Slappy responded…

I don’t care which way you lean, it’s fucking funny. Upon wondering what kind of comedy show my pussies were putting on in the waiting room, we got a clean bill of health for both Fabs and Thundie. Although Fabio gained 2.5 lbs last year, so he’s officially “big-boned”. Just more for this mama to love on.

While my pussies were braving the vet, my Iowa twins were eating ice cream in sub degree temperatures. Because they’re bad ass like that. Pretty unprecedented weather is coming through the state with temps supposing to feel like -41 later this week. Makes me love the Nashville 50 degree winter days all the more.

Cuteness overload.

First Mate had a girls gathering on Saturday evening and while I almost didn’t go, I was so glad I did.

What it’s like taking a selfie with me.

First Mate and Rach had to team up to pour my glass of wine.

My eye happened to catch what I thought was a tea pot on FM’s counter and thought aloud, “why the fuck do you have a penis pot on your kitchen counter?” Turns out, it’s actually a nettie pot used for sinuses and allergies and we got a full-on infomercial on how to use said pot.

Penis Pot Love

Best kind of therapy for me (friends, not the penis pot).

Perfect remedy for me.

First Mate tucked Rach and I into her couch and she had to wake us up from our peaceful passouts slumber the following afternoon.

What happened? Where am I? Who am I?

What I saw when I woke up.

Good thing is, we hydrated with water all night AND ate pizza (Rach had no memory of) so after a little coffee, we were good to go after a 16 hour girl’s night in marathon.

Hangover Schmangover.

There’s this “game” on Facebook where you can have your next five year’s predicted through photos. This is what a normal one looks like…

It takes your profile pic and then gives you standard photos for the next five years of your life.

Here’s mine…

The actual fuck? I’m not sure why I was surprised although my profile pic is of the twins.

Side note: if someone could put a pillow under my chin in 2023, I would greatly appreciate not getting a stiff neck from sleeping on the toilet face first. Thanks.

My current life philosophy. pc:#mytherapistsays

So while we all try to roll with punches that hit us, it’s always fabulous to have support of any kind. Thank you for yours.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

Weekend Winks – Spirits, Sparkles and Small Spaces

First full work weeks after holiday time off requires some celebrating for making it back into the regularity of well, regular life. What better way to do it than a little impromptu girl’s night out?

Girlfriends are the gift that keeps on giving.

Hi 2019. It’s me. Be nice.

While I am pretty sure I gained my body weight consuming every.single.alcoholic beverage I cold get my paws on, I’m back at hot yoga, trying to sweat out all of the impurities.

Nama-trying-to-get-fit.

Those not having to try hard in the slightest are those Iowa twins of mine who got to frolic in the snowfall over the weekend.

Snow Princess.

Snow Prince.

Although, I will say my B-I-L did have his work cut out for him, pulling two almost six-year-olds through the white fun.

Two ton ride.

While I haven’t made a new year’s resolution since fourth grade (I vowed to read 52 books and yes, I achieved that goal and then some because deep down, I’m a librarian rock star at heart), I did locate a possible dream vacation goal for 2019. Thing is, I wonder if all of my pussies can also cross the Canadian border…?

Who’s in?

I mean, don’t they look like they’re ready to be world travelers and not the laziest beings on the planet?

Three of my indoor four.

And for those of you keeping track, I still have this family of four I’m feeding outside. Anyone interested in rescuing? Anyone? Anyone? ANYONE?

My outdoor four.

Aside from my Meowfest goal, I’ve been besieged with social media tags on how I should exit this world. And I have to say, I’d really like this casket now because it matches my pink sparkly bass drum coffee table and I think it would make a good napping station.

I would actually sleep in this now. Morbid much?

What’s a day of rest without a little fun? First Mate and Rach called the first brunch of the season and who was I to say no?

Eeny Meeny Miny Mimosas!

From OJ to grape juice.

Finally, it’s time to take the Christmas decor down from the mini manse. Which meant I needed to climb up into Camo’s attic where he graciously allows me to store my warehouse’s worth of holiday bins. It’s the getting them down part that’s the most fun.

I may or may not still be stuck here.

Good news. I wiggled my way down and now all of my neighbors think I’m moving out, as I’ve decided to store my bins outside of the mini manse.

Nope. Not moving.

S.O.S.
@therosepepper

When the Alexa that I don’t own was no help in de-decoring, I decided to do the next best productive thing and immerse myself into bubbles.

It’s ain’t easy being me….as we’re all well aware.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!