The Wapatoolie

You know the old saying ,”the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together?”

Oh you’re not familiar? Allow me to explain…

Our first Wapatoolie.

My dad and me sharing our first Wapatoolie. How sweet.

Every summer, my family tends to meet up at the Lake of the Ozarks and act like misfits from the Griswold family.

Heathens at their finest.

Heathens at their finest.

It was at the Ozarks where yet another one of our classy family traditions (which also include Jell-O and moonshine shots) was born.  Allow me to introduce you to…

The Wapatoolie


Looking just as refreshing as lake water, I know.

According to family legend (which was told by my dad, who is known for streeeeeeeeetching out a story or two), the Wapatoolie was first introduced to him and his twin (yes, there is a replica of my father….a story for another day) while at a college party with the Wisconsin football team.

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2 sharing the same farmer’s tan.

As the story goes, a party was unfolding where the two twins above were innocent bystanders.  With zero prodding, my dad boasted that he bravely took a shot of a Wapatoolie (ingredients consist of whatever the hell is in your bar at the time). Hand to Jesus, I swear I could see his chest puffing up with each oooh and ahhh he received from the Band of Griswold Misfits.

The story ended with a quote only a college football legend (again, a story for another day) could utter….”The Badgers started it but it took a Hawkeye to refine it.”

No shit.

Recipe for tastiness.

Definitely not from a college kid’s bar but a recipe for tastiness nonetheless.

Before the last syllable of the tall tale could be sputtered, us cousins were extremely busy at work mixing a Wapatoolie for the bullshitter storyteller.

Mix masters.

Mix Masters.

Down the hatch.

Tequila, bourbon, whiskey, white and spiced rum, margarita mix, vodka and gin topped with a dash of creamy Bailey’s…


Feels so good when it hits the lips.

The following evening, my cousins (all of whom are male on this side of the family, which probably just explained everything you needed to know) decided if their stud of an uncle could stomach a Wapatoolie, they could too.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The rest of us gleefully skipped to the bar to concoct the next round of poison potion.

Back to the mixing board.

Back to the mixing board.

Tough Guys...

Tough guys in the beginning…

Not so tough

….not so tough the first round…

or second round...first you don't succeed? Try, try again. Shoot, shoot again.

…or round two the following year…

And just like that, from one year to the next, the timeless, trashy tradition of the Wapatoolie was born.

Now, we extend the pleasure of this shot to anyone who dares to hang with our family…

Just get engaged to one of my male cousins?  A Wapatoolie for you!

First time to party with us at the Lake of the Ozarks?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Want to date my sister?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Think you can hang with us during football season?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Oh and for those of you who don’t drink liquor of any kind, we can mix a non-alcoholic version for you. Don’t worry.

Think you can hang with me and my dad?

So you wanna hang with us? You sure?

C'mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something...

C’mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something…


Your personal rite of passage into CBXB’s clan.

And if you’re too chicken shit, we understand and will be happy to cocktail with you anyway.

Until then...

Equal opportunity drinkers.

Just remember, the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together.




Princess and the Pea

My entire adult life, I have slept on a double (what I lovingly call a big girl bed) pillow top mattress that might as well be 402 years old. So soft and snuggly, it hugged my entire body whenever I flopped on it and the last few years has resembled a taco due to the large dip in the middle.

Princess and the dreaded pea.

Queen CBXB with a princess problem.

Being in love with my big girl bed, I couldn’t stand the thought of upgrading to an adult cradle with ample room for my ass and two cats until one was offered to me free of charge.

A queen for a Queen.

A queen for a Queen.

Purchased two years ago and barely used as a guest bed, I jumped at the chance to upgrade figuring if I didn’t, I would be glued to my double sized mattress for the next 40 decades (I love what I love and hate parting ways).


De-virginizing my adult bed.

Much to this queen’s dismay, my new bed is extra, extra, extra firm and after being hugged by the fluffiness of a pillow top mattress for as many years as I can remember, my slumber equaled that of an insomniac.

What. the. fuck.

What. the. fuck.

Not only was my sleep tank well below empty, my back and body ached. While my figure is more Jennifer Lopez than Gwyneth Paltrow, I concluded only skinny people with no hips or curves love a firm mattress, as it felt I had slept on a 2 x 4 board at a construction site.

Flat as a pancake, stiff as a board.

The very flat bane of my curvy existence.

Giving my new mattress a few more evenings to adjust, I simply became bitchier and bitcher the less sleep consumed.  Being that I received this mattress free of charge, I splurged on a pillow top mattress pad in order to avoid morphing into a character from a horror movie.

Surely this beyond expensive genius creation would solve my sleepless nights.

Fluffy for the fluff.

Fluffy as feathers.

Flinging my body on the pseudo pillow top, I thought my sleepless in Nashville struggles were ending.

All is right in my kingdom.

First world problems solved.

Turns out, three inches of squishy fabric didn’t cut it.


Still negative on the zzzz’s.

Every flip, flop, twist and turn was met with bit more comfort but it still felt as if there was a steel pea situating itself in between my spine and the rest of my body.

Mother fucking pea.

Who knew a mother fucking pea could cause so much misery?

Looking like a cast member of The Walking Dead, I once again shuffled down the aisles of Target looking for a solution to my sleepless problem with tears of longing for my old double bed forming in my eyes.

What have I done?! Messing with my precious sleep for a few more inches of much-needed space in order to justify being a grown up?! I want taco bed back!

Then, my bloodshot gaze fell upon my last line of defense…

Big Boy.

A memory foam mattress topper.

Inserting the cushy topper in between the stiff bed and my fluffy mattress cover, I now had a cushy six inches between my hips and the despised queen mattress.

Another layer of ooey gooey goodness.

Another layer of ooey gooey goodness added to the mix.

Anxiously crossing my fingers, toes, legs (and anything else I could think of), this queen was hoping for endless hours of required beauty rest.

I wish I may, I wish I might, have a solid sleep tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might, have a solid sleep tonight.

Turns out that I’m not only six degrees from Kevin Bacon but six is also the number of inches required to pad my curves for a royal night’s sleep.


Six is the lucky number!

Problem being solved is a fabulous thing but if I’d simply saved the money spent trying to mirror my old bed, I’d quite possibly be the owner of a brand new pillow top queen mattress.

It’s hard being blonde.

Kiss off

A pea fit for a royal museum.

No more princess and the pea for me -


Beauty sleep score!

I can now go back to being the Queen I’m meant to be!



Weekend Winks – Summertime Blues

Summer sniffles and sneezes found their way into CBXB’s mini manse this weekend…

1,402,734th sneeze of Friday night.

1,402,734th achoo of Friday night.

Thinking that I was going to beat the snot out of a cold before it got the best of me, I turned to my old friend, vino.

A little whine for the whiny.

A glass of wine a day keeps summer colds at bay. Right?


It turns out that gigantic glasses of wine do not thwart off watery eyes, itchy, drippy noses or soothe your vocal chords that now sound like you’ve been smoking cigarettes since gracing the world with your presence.

Crusty face

Rising but not shining.

Ted and New Cat were so concerned with my minor condition that they laid on the porch all day long.

I. don't. care.

Oh you don’t feel well? We don’t give a rat’s ass.

Leaving my empathetic felines behind, I tried jogging the cold away. Until I started up the first hill of the course and turned into what felt like a two ton puppy with the drippiest nose in all of Nashville.

Panting like a two ton puppy in the Tennessee heat. Made my nose run more. Runny nose running

Runny run.

While attempting to chase my summertime blues away, the twins were mauling my mom who is always hands on when she visits Iowa.

Twin wrangler.

Twin wrangler.

Prince B received his first hair cut with the bribe of a sucker.

Getting the hair did with the bribe of a sucker.

A little sucker for sweets.

Being that Prince B not only got to visit a stylist first AND got candy, Princess B went shopping and got a haul that makes Auntie CBXB’s heart pitter patter.

Little CBXB in the making

Skulls, cats and studs? A little CBXB in the making, my friends!

Wallowing in my whiny self-pity, Ted stonewalled me when I asked him to pay me some kindness.

Shut the fuck up.

Again with this sickness nonsense? Shut the fuck up.

I turned to a cinnamon shot Saturday night, hoping to ease my scratchy throat.

Grandpa's cough syrup

Grandpa’s cough syrup on double time.

Even Cameron Diaz couldn’t believe I braved the polar vortex with my cold to see her new film, Sex Tape (wait and rent at home).


The lengths I go to for entertainment…

Knocking myself out cold with medicine, I was sure Sunday would greet me with a little healthier fun.

Can't stop. Won't stop.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

When I realized the sneezes were here to stay, I braved sweating it out at the pool.

Sweating it out at the pool

Just what the doctor ordered…sunshine and a bloody mary.

Unable to keep my eyes open and fearful of passing out, resembling a drooling beached whale at the pool, I retreated back to the mini manse where I was finally given deserving bedside manner.

Sniffles snuggled away.

Snuggling the sniffles away.

Proving that Nurse Ted is the cure for my summertime blues.






How to Keep Your Pussy Clean

I am the proud owner of Ted, the laziest feline on the planet.

Not only does his high maintenance ass require $60 green pea and duck prescription food due to a stomach issue, he now refuses to clean himself.

You lookin' at me?

Delicate cycle, please.

While doing laundry one evening this precious pussy decided to take great interest in an activity he’s seen me perform 9,562 other times since he came to reside in our mini manse.


Making sure he matches the clothes in the load.

Even more

Further examination.

In he goes

Committing to a cleaning.

Relieved I hadn’t yet started the water, I peered in to see if Mr. Bear made a soft landing.

Blending in chameleon

TB’s best chameleon impression.

He was walking around in circles, acting like the soft material below his royal paws was jagged glass.

Tail feather

Using paws of steel to navigate the rough terrain.

Seeing his head shoot up like a gopher from the ground, I thought Teddy was going to pop out of the cleaning device in no time.


Shadow seen. Six more seconds of washer fun.

As I tried to wait patiently (I didn’t want cat claws to ruin any of my treasured bedazzled threads, therefore refrained from raising my voice) TB decided he was tired from the 18 seconds of exploring and rested his weary head.

Tired from the 18 seconds of exploring

Acting like Ponce de Leon is exhausting.

Losing my cool, I pointed my finger and hissed, “Get your ass out of the washer. NOW.”

Which was greeted with the typical ‘go fuck yourself face’ from my gray fur ball.

You can't make me. Staring contest.

You can see how seriously TB takes me.

Being that victory for me was a must, I wicked witchily twisted the knob and water started to trickle in, alleviating my pussy in the washer problem STAT.

Blur of grey.

Blur of gray flashed before my eyes.

And because my little love is such an asshole, he insisted on leaping into the dryer to aid him with his damp paws.

Dry Time.

Demanding dry time.

When I kicked him out, Tedstar decided the next best thing would be to wallow in my clean laundry, making sure he touched every single piece with his wet feet while also distributing 130,837 of gray hair among the items before settling in for a four hour nap.


Thwarting my folding attempts.

Next time, he’s going in the spin cycle.




Being Known as the Fun One…

Being known as the ‘fun one’ just might be the death of me.

Hang on.

All laughs and games until you can’t feel your crotch.

While I was visiting my Miami Mini Me and her fam over the Fourth of July, we took their boat out and about. What I thought was going to be an afternoon full of watching the kids with water toys, instead turned into yours truly being a full participant.

Coaxed by cute faces (and a little begging) and with the gracefulness of an elephant, I hoisted myself up onto the Aquaglide (which does anything but glide) while blind as a bat without my prescription sunglasses.

All smiles at first, not knowing what was to come...

All a blur of smiles from my point-of-view.

I plopped my ample derriere in between MMM and her brother, (my ex-Mini Boyfriend as he used to be in love with me but has grown up *sigh* and is into peeps his own age. How appropriate).


If I hold my hands up like this, will they act as a spoiler for the float?

As we started at the slowest rate possible, I was thinking this ride wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Hee hee. Faster!

That all you got Driver?

Settling in, thinking this was smooth sailing, I heard my MMM shout “FASTER! FASTER! FASTER!”

Wait, seirously? You want to go faster?

Wait, seriously? You want to go faster? SHUT UP!

Being that my ass is the size of the Grand Canyon, I was able to hunker down, keeping us on the water.


Me and my mad ass skills.

But then came the water to the face. More specifically, to the eyes not protected by my prescription sunnies.



As you can see, the beautiful lake water is the color of fluorescent moss and slightly stung when hitting my eyeballs. I couldn’t remove my arms that were strategically placed around each kid, therefore unable to shield my face (more importantly mouth) from the lake liquid.

Doesn't taste well, either.

The water tastes as good as it looks.

After being further blinded by the lake as it crept into my eyes and unable to take deep breaths due my soggy lungs, we started to lean.  Not wanting the Aquaglide to win, I hung on for dear life. That is, until I realized my ex-MB was underneath my rear end and I feared smothering him to death.

Descent into the green lake. DO you think the lochness lives in here?

Look closely for the tiny feet under my not-so-tiny hiney.


Bracing myself to do a water cartwheel, while not knocking either kid in the noggin.

Inevitable capsize

Inevitable capsize.

The first thing I did after gulping down even more of the lake like it was a gigantic Skinny Pirate, I looked around for both kids, immediately realizing it didn’t matter because I can’t see a damn thing without my glasses on. Then I thankfully felt MMM grab my shoulder and she assured me that my ex-MB was near the boat being picked up.


As I was wondering how I could possibly climb the ladder up to the boat due to the lack of feeling below my waist, MMM oh-so-sweetly asked me to ride with her again.

Oh sure, I'll stay on and do it again.

Oh sure, I’m fun! Let’s do it again. KILL ME NOW.

And away we went….



Thankfully most of the bruising has faded away from my backside. And more thankfully, my folks already have grandkids, as I’m not sure anything will ever be the same below my belly button.

But at least I’m known as the ‘fun one’.




Weekend Winks – Moonshine-a-Rita Style

My Nashville weekend was full of cats (naturally), a little singing, snacks and all kinds of cocktails.

Being that I was about to piss my pants upon entering my mini manse Friday after work, I was unable to stop and conduct my typical greeting to my adoring felines. Not having any of that, Mr. Needypants wouldn’t leave me alone for all of 32 seconds to go to the bathroom.

Can't even piss without a cat in my lap.

Crazy cat lady can’t even piss without a cat in lap.

After showering New Cat with the appropriate affection on the toilet, I rushed around as was hosting a vocal rehearsal for No Name Band and needed to pull the proper ingredients for a successful evening.

Friday night delight

Successful ingredient #1: A buffet of Captain for Skinny Pirates.

Snack attack.

Successful ingredient #2: A few ‘healthy’ snacks.

While all of the rehearsal shenanigans were taking place inside, these two couldn’t have cared less what was going on.

My less than impressed audience.

Curiosity definitely not killing these cats.

Earlier in the day, I received a brand new (to me) queen size bed (I’ve been sleeping double my entire adult life) for free and was beyond excited to give it the first test run.

Happy for all of three minutes.

Happy for all of three minutes.

Being that the bed is solid as a rock…I got about two hours of sleep.  But beggars can’t be choosy, right?

While visiting my folks this past weekend, I gave little Elvis a manicure, which he was none-too-thrilled about receiving.

Stop. Mani time.

Stop. Mani time.

It turns out that my niece, Princess B does a pretty good imitation of her feline uncle.

Takes after her feline uncle.

Cray cray cat lady in the making.

Although Father’s Day was a month ago and I am absolutely behind on gift giving (I just like to streeeeetch a holiday out, OK?) I lovingly wrapped up Dad’s gift in my fave hue.

Pink Present.

Pretty in pink.

Teeny tiny hose.

What gigantic man doesn’t need a teeny tiny pocket hose?

I couldn’t stop laughing my ass off at my nephew Prince B, who just learned the meaning of  ‘cheese’ before a photo.


First time cheeser.

Saturday evening called for some low-key cocktails and company.

Saturday night's alrigh

Saturday night mini soiree.

Snack Queen

Of course the Snack Queen had to have munchies.

After a few libations, we got the Moonshine-a-Rita out for a taste testing.

Mooneshine-a-rita. Boob Juice.

Moonshine-a-rita is also known as Boob Juice (as will make clothes fall off if too much is consumed).

Naturally, I couldn’t just stop with one Boob Juice shot.

Shot # ?

Feels so good when it hits the lips.

And the over consumption of moonshine lead to (no, not clothes falling off – get your head out of the damn gutter!) photo bombing.

Photo bomb!

Sober or tipsy, I’ve got the skills for ruining a pic.

All of the party shenanigans made NC feel drunk by association.

Pussy passed out with PBR. So proud.

My pussy passed out with PBR. So proud.

Once we had a leaning chair calling for someone to sit in, we decided it was time to call the sober drivers.

Call cabs.

Ominous sign of a broken tailbone.

Detoxing by the pool was a fabulous way to spend Sunday.

Detox with sun

Sunglasses hide sins.

In between sips of a bloody mary and dips in the pool, I ran to my fave Hallmark store to purchase a must-have ornament.

Frosen. Christmas in July

Christmas in July with a Frozen theme.

I couldn’t wait to get my hands on this year’s Christmas Vacation ornament, which did not disappoint.


I got the last one – fate!

After the holiday shopping spree and the pool, I was greeted back to the mini manse with two feuding felines on the porch.

Two feuding felines. Ted can't keep his big mouth shut. Wonder where he picked those skills up?

Ted can’t keep his big mouth shut…I’ve possibly been a bad influence.

Giving my precious pussies a lecture in love, I showed them the sibling fondness occurring in Iowa.

why can't they just get along like my B & B?

Why can’t my cats love like B & B?

Apparently the visual sunk in, as this is how we spent the rest of our Sunday.

Come to find out, they kissed and made up.

The kiss and make-up session.

Here’s hoping your week is off to a fabulous start!



Beauty and the Beast

My gal pal, who is as pretty, preppy and classy as a Kate Spade clutch and I were recently killing time while waiting on a concert to commence.  And what do ladies do when bored?

Conduct a photo shoot at the table, naturally.

The photographer gave us strict instructions on how to pose for each pic with each of our interpretations having wide range.

Pose #1. Wacky

Kate Spade went for jazz hands, while I went for the trashtacular Miley Cyrus pose.


Take 1: Beauty and the Beast – Peace Out.

Pose #2. Sexy

I chose a facial expression which made me resemble a middle-aged woman who just had her lips plumped. Very becoming, I know. Kate Spade went for gangsta cute, which I think she nailed.


Take 2: Beauty and the Beast – Simply irresistible.

Pose #3. Surprise

Naturally I went all out with my photo bombing face. Ms. Spade was unsure of what to do, so she studied my mad skills while I held the pose for a solid six seconds. I don’t even think I blinked.

Taking a gander at my mad skills.

Beauty taking a gander at the Beast’s hand/eye/mouth coordination abilities.

Kate Spade went for a scary surprise, while I was able to keep my “look how big my mouth is and white my teeth are when I wear red lipstick and how I’ve been able to keep my jazz hands as wide as possible due to show choir in high school” pose.

Classy and trashy all in the same pic. Guess which one I am?

Take 3: Classy, accompanied by wide-mouthed white trash.

You know my beastly ways try to keep everything sophisticated.