Weekend Winks – Snoop Dogg, Fang Fingers and Flat Tires

When a gal pal wants to treat you to a night out for a belated birthday par-tay, why in the world would you say no? Of course we know I said yes, especially when the evening involved a Snoop Dogg concert. I was especially excited to escape from my reality after some particularly bad news came my way last week. A girl’s night out was just what this chick needed.

I over packed and lugged my beauty bag, taking over Funk 49’s kitchen counter to gussy up for a rainy night out in Nashville.

Yes, my bag of beauty tricks includes alcohol. Doesn’t yours?

Known for my booblegging skills at public events where liquor is priced like it’s solid gold, the glass below may or may not be Pepsi.

Sneaky sneaky.

The night was so full of fun that I forgot what a shit show my life has been for the past 24 months.

Problems? What problems?

After the concert, I didn’t want the night to end so I borrowed my Uber driver’s coffee on the way back to Funk 49’s house for a little perk me up.

Don’t worry. We gave him five stars – and I gave him back his coffee.

We kicked off our rainboots and did what ever girl party does after an evening out – ordered two pizzas for three ladies.

Hubba Hubba.

Upon stuffing my pie hole with at least 1.5 of the pizzas, I tried to coax Funk 49’s dog, Buddy, to lay with me in his bed…I don’t know why he seemed so annoyed.

My version of doggy style.

So I settled for a little downtime the following day with my own puppy Presh.

Prescription sunglasses are the only way to go when rehydrating on a Saturday morning.

While I was hunkered down in my Princess and the Pea bed, the Iowa twins were stuck inside for a third day in a row due to rain storms. So what did my genius sis do? She turned the garage into a bike bonanza for four-year-olds.

Rec room.

The Nashville Predators are in the NHL playoffs and my crew settled in for the third game of the series against the St. Louis Blues. Rocky, Princess Elsa Pants and Ted proved three times a charm, as the Preds skated their way to a 3-1 victory.

Fang Fingers.

I nestled into a Sunday full of job searching, #girlbossing, therapy homework, with a side of Glamour.

Sunday Funday.

No weekend would be complete without an evening full of leopard couch time with Ted – who now has his own personal shadow named Elsa Pants.

Forced Sunday snuggles – with extreme patience.

I found out that my first furry friend in Nashville crossed over to the Rainbow Bridge last night. Caesar was my constant companion when I worked as a personal assistant for a family when I first moved to Music City. He was my only “co-worker” and kept me company so many lonely nights in a new city. Love and miss you little guy.

Trying to keep the wheels from falling off my fragile state of mind, I hit the alarm early for a 7am yoga class today. But about .0005 seconds into the commute, I was t-boned in my parking lot, causing my chariot to come to an immediate halt for the time being.

No zen in sight on this Monday.

I decided it best to switch my morning coffee for something a tad stronger while on the phone with my insurance company.

A bloody mary to help ease spiked blood pressure.

So while I seem to be running into a tad of misfortunes lately, I can’t help but wonder…

I’m wide open for suggestions.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

How to Take Yoga Lessons From Your Pussy

I bust my ass (quite literally) in hot yoga a few times a week. I strategically avoid knocking down my neighbor, trying to perfect a head stand (while secretly hoping no other drop of sweat but my own hits my mat -eeeeeeww!).Β  When I get antsy and know that my sweaty leg will no doubt hit some poor soul’s head, I wait until I get home to show off for Ted.

Last night after class, I came home to perfect my tri-pod head stand. Little did I know I had my own yoga master under my own roof. While I was showing Mr. Bear my moves, he yawned, made eye contact with me, holding my gaze and slid his back leg up through his two front paws. WTF?!

That's all you can do?

That’s all you can do?

Then when I asked him how in the hell he did the pose, he stretched even further by laying his head down on all three limbs. BITCH! I can barely get my forehead to my knee (he obviously doesn’t get his flexibility from me).

blah

I’m too tired and you’re too obnoxious to show you my tricks.

When I pleaded with this show off one more time, he simply opened his eyes (I actually think I saw Teddy roll his eyes at me. AT ME!), yawned like a lion and took a nap.

blah

I can even do this with my eyes shut. Duh.

So there’s how you get your cat to teach you yoga. You don’t.

But this has earned Ted a new nickname – Yogi Bear-a – it’s all he’d answer to last night. Diva!

CBXB

CBXB!