I jingled ’til I jangled.
‘Tis the season to get blitzened and that’s just what happened in the fabulous city of Nashville this past weekend.
Friday night kicked off at Fontanel Mansion – Barbara Mandrell’s (my own personal idol – like I cried in the grocery store when I saw her idol) former 27,000 square foot log cabin.
Gorgeously decorated gigantic mansion.
I took it upon myself to visit every single nook and cranny of Babs’ former house, where many of the family’s photos, furniture and keepsakes remain on display.
Bathing in Barbara’s tub. Jealous?
Because I’m not well versed in climbing in and out of tubs while wearing four-inch heels, I nearly fell and broke my neck trying to remove myself. Thank God this plant was around to help.
Life saving Philodendron.
After having my existence preserved by a plant, I sat down and touched up my makeup in a bathroom made of mirrors (no wonder this chick is my idol).
Multi-tasking at its finest.
Hello? Yes. I’m very busy being fabulous.
And to further solidify that my idol should be my idol, I found a framed picture of Barbara and her cat. At Christmas. Be still my beating heart.
After my exhausting lavatory experience, I had to lay down on Barbara’s actual bed.
Absorbing all things Mandrell.
Wonder what rich people do with their indoor pools when they host a party? Cover it up and put tables on it.
Taking full advantage of a sparkly (yes! I said sparkly) black couch was a must. If this piece of furniture would have fit in my purse, I’d have taken it.
This picture does no justice to the sparkle.
There was about 83 Christmas trees throughout the house and I took it upon myself to shake every single gift under the lit lovelies.
For moi? You shouldn’t have. But I’m so glad you did.
And as the boozing continued on into the wee hours, the stuffed teddy bears got kinda…well…
Naughty listed bears.
What does one do after attending a party on Friday night?
Host a ladies cocktail party at her own mini manse on Saturday. Duh.
Ladies night…oh what a night.
What party is complete without Jell-O shots? Not mine, that’s for damn sure!
As you can see below, First Mate is daintily eating her Jell-O, while this classy broad almost swallowed my own fist to get it down the hatch more quickly.
A preggo lady partied hard with the assistance of whipped cream.
Yep. This is how pregnant ladies roll in Nashville. Hard core!
When it’s time to shut down the party (you know, at 2am) and a house guest suggests setting an alarm for 8 in the morning, a wrestling match for the phone is a must.
NO ALARMS or I will body slam you.
And with visions of kitty plums dancing in his head, Ted snuggled down in his favorite kind of bed. Made out of tissue.
Party hosting is hard.
So while I should have taken a cue from the great Bear and snoozed a little more this weekend, my lack of shut-eye is making a Tuesday feel like it should be Friday already…
…but I can sleep when I’m dead. There’s fun to be had, people!