Weekend Winks – Bird Shit and Losing Bets

The Nashville weekend started early with a chance to go see a Beatle in all of his glory – for free!

This didn't suck.

This didn’t suck.

Taking full advantage of what our suite had to offer, waiting for Sir Paul to take the stage wasn’t difficult.

Suite life

Stalking up in the suite.

Gals on a budget know what to do when presented with free food.

Double fist.

Taking full advantage of the free. Gals on a budget know what to do when presented with free food. Double fist.

Cramming it in with class.

The concert was beyond fantastic, with Sir Paul playing for nearly three hours.

American, England and Tennessee flags flying high. See that small black one in the background? It was a pirate flag, which I assumed was for me.

American, England and Tennessee flags flying high. See that small black one in the background? It was a pirate flag, which I assumed was for me.

Naturally I had to snap my photo with the rock star and I’m pretty sure it turned out good enough to be my Christmas card this year.


You can totally tell where I am, right?

Seems that flying on a kick ass concert high can be sucked right out of you the following afternoon when involved in a minor parking lot accident.

With someone who doesn’t speak English.


Fun times on Friday.

It did seem as if there was a small rain cloud over my head because while walking to a concert (yes, my third night in a row and yes, I’m still exhausted) I managed to get shit on by a bird. Without noticing it in my hair or my hand until I looked down to take a long guzzle of wine at the bar pre-show and then rushed to the bathroom.

Classy lady in the bar alert!

Bird shit. No shit.

Not bullshitting about the bird shit.

When the concert finally ended (Bluegrass shows promise two acts on the ticket, then invite everyone they know to come and play a song, which can make a concert last four hours), I mosied my way back to the mini manse to find this prize waiting for me by the door…

Left me this sweet surprise as he alwyas finagled his way out.

Ted’s way of showing me he’s done being a cone head.

Ted had a bum ear last week that he wouldn’t leave alone, therefore was forced into being in an uncomfortable state (you know, because he acted like the cone weighed 500 fucking pounds).

Ear infection?

Just trying to heal this little biatch.

It seemed like a small miracle the ear healed because every time I turned around Mr. Bear had weaseled himself out of the embarrassing accessory.

And then puked his way out of it.

All the shit I do and this is the thanks I get?

Cone head no more.

Good news arrived via text on Saturday morning proving that my niece, Princess B is going to grow up and be a rock star.

Rock star in the making.

Don’t worry, I’ll work on getting her a sparklier wardrobe.

It was also a big game day, as my blogging buddy Mark Bialczak’s alma mater was playing mine this weekend in college football. We had a virtual pinky bet that the loser had to post a big, smiling photo of the winner enjoying the game.

Food prepped

Our food was prepped.


The moonshine flowed for 31 points.

But in the end my team, the Iowa Hawkeyes were out played by the Maryland Terps and lost 31-38.

We took it pretty hard.


Loser face.

Drowning in my sorrows.

Loser post game activity.

But after we drowned in our sorrows for 30 seconds, we realized there was more football to watch, more snacks to eat and more cocktails to cuddle.

All peppy after taht.

Congrats Mark!

Who says sore losers can’t be smiling? Mark’s victorious photo will be posted on the blog soon.

Enjoy your week and be careful in parking lots…



Bring it On, You T(w)erps!

Oh what fun college football season can be!  The camaraderie, the rivalries and most definitely the smack talk.

My version of a game face. So tough, I know.

My version of a game face with a double chin.
So tough, I know.

Being raised in Iowa, we had no (and still have no) NFL team to support. So you’re either an Iowa Hawkeye (yeehaw!) or an Iowa State Cyclone (ew, gross) and pretty much rally around your team, hoping for a conference title and possibly, a trip to one of the top college bowl games (which can feel like the Super Bowl if your teams wins – don’t judge).

Vintage proof that Iowa was at the top of their game....decades ago.

Vintage proof that Iowa was at the top of their game….decades ago.

To me, nothing can really beat a college football game at my alma mater with the tailgating, the rowdy crowd, the marching band and the memories of raucous times of yesteryear (you know, like catching one hour of sleep between Friday night shenanigans and the Saturday morning shit show of a college town at 7am on game day).

Go Hawks!

“Responsibly” reliving our college days at the first Hawkeye game in Iowa City.

One of my blogging buddies, Mark Bialczak went to the University of Maryland and they just joined our conference this year – the Big Ten. Our alma maters are playing this Saturday at 11am CST on ESPN2 and with a virtual pinky swear bet, the loser must post a photo of the winner rolling around in all of their victorious glory on their blog next week.

It's all smiles

Mark’s all smiles until the Hawks come to town…

Even though my team has the better record (Hawks are 5-1 overall with the Terps at 4-2) us Iowa fans know that anything can happen out there on the field. I ‘m in heavy prep mode as it’s no game day without a tailgate and I’m bringing out my non-secret weapons for help in the fun department.

Secret weapon #1.

Weapon #1 – Skinny Pirates.

Secret weapon #2

Weapon #2 – Popcorn Sutton ‘moonshine’ for touchdown shots.

You know, my family and their classy tradition.

Because you know, my family has classy traditions like that.

Lucky barware all set to go.

Weapon #4 – my lucky glass.

Food will be prepped and ready to go. A spread

Weapon #5 – our typical tailgate spread.

So with full bellies and some tipsy swagger, we’ll be cheering on the Iowa Hawkeyes at my Nashville mini manse (with hopes they kick some Maryland Terrapin ass) knowing Mark and his wife will be tuning in on the East Coast.

Game day smiles at first...

Terps fans smiles and brews.

Each and every 7 points acquired requires a moonshine.

Nashville based Hawkeyes celebrating another seven points with a moonshine shot.

And our fingers are crossed that we do more shots than the Terps fans.

Right Dad?

Right dad? You can tell he really hates scoring.

He really hates scoring.

Let’s hope you see Mark’s smiling face on my blog next week….

Game on! Go Hawks!



Rock ‘n’ Roll All Night…

For CBXB, it’s rock ‘n’ roll all night….and pay for it the entire next day.

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

It was a girls’ night out in Nashville as Motley Crue brought their farewell tour to honky-tonk central.

GNO Crue

Me and my crue.

After six two rounds of pre-party cocktails we headed to the arena, where we stocked up on more libations before going in to see Alice Cooper, the opening act, pretend to be decapitated on stage.


Sobriety is no accident. It’s also no fun.

Naturally, after the besiege of concert cocktails we felt it necessary to hold a photo shoot at every location in which we graced our presence.

Photo shoot begins.

Pictures in the hallway.

My one and only move still going strong.

Photos at the bar with my one and only dance move.

Bathroom selfies!

Selfies in the bathroom….. like all the classy ladies do.

Show selfies

Seat selfies.

With all of our modeling, we almost forgot that there was an actual reason we’d come to the Bridgestone Arena. Luckily for us, we didn’t miss Tommy Lee’s impressive drum solo he performed while his kit moved up and down the lighted truss at .000000001 mph.

Oh yeah, there was also a show going on.

A trick as spectacular as a its geriatric pace.

After the concert it made perfect sense to do an additional whiskey shot in celebration of the kick ass farewell concert performance Motley Crue delivered. But something in my mind was doubting my capabilities to get up for work the next morning.

What the fuck is half of 2/3 cup? WHAT?

What the fuck do you think you are doing with that Fireball?! It’s a school night for Christ’s sake.

Naturally I downed that whiskey like it was Pepto Bismol, which is why I look so effortlessly chic and fabulous today.

Looking how I feel...

I wear my sunglasses inside ’cause I’m cool like that. And still burping up Fireball.

While my exterior appearance mimics exactly how I’m feeling on the inside, I need to get my shit together as I get to do the same thing all over again tonight when attending a Sir Paul McCartney concert.

For free. In a suite. With food. And booze. Free booze.

My liver is screaming “kill me now” with my feet expressing their disdain for my attempt to prance around in my high-heeled hooker boots for a second night in a row. But who cares what my feet think, I’m going to see a music legend, right?

And as Paul McCartney says….Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da life goes on bra.

Although I have a feeling my motto tomorrow will be more along the lines of “Live and Let Die.”





My Eye of the Tiger

Eye of the Tiger

Rising up, back on the couch

Did my time, ate my cat food

Cat Food

Went the distance, now I’m back for a nap

Just a cat and his will to survive

Cat Nap

So many times, it happens too fast

I trade my snoozin’ for eating


Meowing my head off for a full bowl of food

I must fight just to keep my belly plump


It’s the eye of the tiger

It’s the thrill of the my life


Rising up to the challenge of annoying my mama

And the last known survivor

Cry Baby

Cries for food late at night

Just to interrupt my mom’s beauty sleep…

’cause I’m a tiger.


Face to face, comfy in A/C

Acting tough, always hungry

Face to Face

Staring Mom down ’til I get what I want

From a cat with mad skills to survive

Stare Down

It’s the eye of the tiger

It’s the thrill of my life


Rising up to the challenge of driving mama to drink,

Forgetting that she already fed me


And I’ll eat to my furry heart’s delight….

‘Cause I think I’m a tiger.

Eye of the Tiger

I’ve got the eye of the tiger…

And have my ma right where I want her…



Weekend Winks – R ‘n’ R Style

Still in a recovery mode from the stomach flu, my Nashville weekend was tame compared to my typical shenanigans.

My Skinny Pirate substitution for the weekend.

My Skinny Pirate substitution.

As I found myself shooting back the pink stuff, my dad was able to carry on the family tradition of touchdown moonshine shots on college game day.

Family Tradition.

Somebody had to keep tradition alive as our Iowa Hawkeyes won 45-29…good weekend to be sick, eh?

In lieu of my typical Saturday tailgating treats, I knew I was almost fully recovered when cookie dough was my snack of choice.

Snacking on

Snack attack.

While perusing social media in between college football games, I came across the most loving gesture that a man could do for his girl…



While it’s no surprise that this vino loving gal is cray cray over cats, it seems as if my nephew Prince B is also taking a shine to all things feline.

Handsomest cat on the planet...but don't you dare tell Ted I said that. (Don't tell Ted I said that)

Handsomest cat on the planet…but don’t you dare tell Ted I said that.

Speaking of the furry little love of my life, Teddy had a small little sore (we’re talking barely visible) on his ear that he managed to turn into a full on gaping wound yesterday, as he couldn’t leave it alone.

Ear infection?

Such a drama king.

After freaking the fuck out about it (and emailing his vet), I hunkered down on the couch and hovered over him with a watchful eye (like any crazy good cat mom would do).

Watchful eye on the couch.

You scratch, you die.

I wanted to be sure to get all of the happy snuggling in before I risked my life by lassoing a cone around my bear (which forces him to walk backward AND makes it impossible not to get kernels of his $60 food stuck in crevices – how embarrassing).

Paybacks are going to be such a bitch.

Paybacks are going to be such a bitch.

Here’s hoping my eyes aren’t clawed out by the end of this week…



Pussy Patrol

My dynamic duo

My dynamic duo with obvious personality galore.

When I found myself on what felt like death’s doorstep the past few days with stomach flu, I turned to my two pussies to aid in my caretaking.

Down with the sickness.

Down with the sickness.

I mean, it’s the least these little shits could do after all this cat mom has done for her darling Teddy Bear and force adopted New Cat.

Pussy pink eye

Or the time when New Cat had pink eye?

Head butt from a cone head.

And got to wear a cone on his head for three weeks?

So it was heartwarming when my two bitchy beyond high maintenance felines put their furry noggins together, figuring out a way to patrol their sick mother.

Mr. Bear is the brains behind every operation while Mr. Tuxedo is the belly.  Yes, I said belly as this black and white cat looks like he swallowed a 16 pound bowling ball while adorning a head the size of a pin since coming to reside at our mini manse.

Mr. Bear is the brains behind every operation while Mr. Tuxedo is the belly. Yes, I said belly as this cat looks like he swallowed a bowling ball while adorning a head the size of a pin since coming to reside at our mini manse.

Fuck mom. What’s for supper?

Ted decided to throw his thick boned body on my aching stomach for 16.8 hours each day, forcing me to lie as still as a wax statue on display at Madame Tussaud’s museum, so as not to interrupt his day long nap.

Held down his sick mama from moving one inch. All day.

We flipped sides once to alleviate any growing couch sores.

While Ted was busy taking one for the team on the sofa, New New mimicked me by playing dead.

This looks just like her, right?

Looks just how I feel.

When I did make it up off of the couch taking my ass to either the refrigerator or my bed (each destination seemed like a marathon distance) Ted demanded to check everything that went into my body.

Malt Check

Chocolate malt cleared for consumption.

While Tedstar was busy smacking his chops over ice cream, New Cat perused my sack of meds and liquids left by pals at my doorstep.

Inspector Gadget

Inspector Gadget, disappointed at the lack of tuna in the bag.

Each pussy did their best to get in some face time with mama, however.

Face Time

My own personal scarf made out of cat.

Face Time 2

FaceTime at its finest.

Naturally Teddy Bear was exhausted after day one of my illness and he retreated to his Juicy Couture Pussy Palace (where he refers to himself as king) to recuperate from all of his caretaking.

Juicy Pussy Palace

Snuggling down for a 24 hour nap.

It wasn’t until New Cat decided to maul my face that Ted was roused out of his leopard fur tent.

Too close for comfort

Too close for TB’s comfort.

A flash of gray fur rolled passed me fast as a tumbleweed as Teddy resumed his spot on my abdomen.

Lick her lips again and I will end you.

Lick her lips again and I will end you, you fucking new feline you.

The most recent addition to the mini manse was forced to watch all of the snuggling action from the floor as Ted is a master at throwing cold shade at anyone (or cat) that gets in his way.

Ignoring NC

The shut out.

Thing is, New Cat has his own wily ways, as he’s taken pointers from his conniving older brother. Waiting until Bear was snoring in a deep slumber, NC made a leap for my lap, nestling in ass to ass with his not-so-tiny sibling who barely batted an eye due to my mad multitasking abilities (rubbing one pussy’s belly while catching the other…I know, I know impressive).

Three's a crowd.

Three’s a crowd.

While I’m now almost fully mended (Skinny Pirates sound good again!), I’m willing to rent my pussies out to patrol you if you’re feeling under the weather.

You’re welcome in advance.




Weekend Winks – Football ‘n’ Flu

Funny how one minute we can be knocking back shots and the next be laid flat-out on the bathroom floor.


From this….

2.5 seconds flat. Not the four seasons but it will do.

…to this in 2.5 seconds flat.

It all started on a happy note Saturday.

With my Iowa Hawkeyes off on a bye week, I was headed to a tailgate for the Ole Miss vs. Alabama game. The hostess, Lady, is a Mississippi chick through and through and requested that I cheer on her team. But come to find out, I don’t own any navy (the horror reversecommuter!) so I concocted my own anti-Alabama attire with the help of some duct tape (which I’m sure assisted Ole Miss with their victory).

Tailgate attire

Classy dressing at its finest.

Ole Miss Baby

Lady and the duct taped Tramp.

As all of my friends are crazy about procreating, the tailgate was toddler friendly with much of the halftime show featuring free-flowing tears.

Tailgating with toddlers

Who needs a marching band when you have this for entertainment?

Feeling left out (and guilty) because I left my two-year-old feline at home (anybody know where I can get a cat papoose?), I scooped up a kid to feel included.

Even rented a baby.

Rent-a-baby looks natural on me, yes?

But all of the fun and games came to a crashing halt with the sudden regurgitation of everything I’d consumed over the weekend. First thinking it was food poisoning but quickly resigning to the fact that it was the stomach flu as I camped out on the bathroom floor overnight to alleviate my body from over exerting itself in the mad dash from my bed the toilet every 45 minutes.

Not the four seasons but it will do.

Not the Four Seasons but it will do.

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, I texted my buddy Camo to see if he had any anti-nausea medicine he could drop off the following day. Not only did he have quick dissolving tablets to trick my body into absorption (instead of the expulsion it was doing to everything else I tried), he delivered it at 4am along with some hydrating fluids.

Knight in shining Camo.

Knight in shining Camo.

Unable to watch TV due to pulsating eyelids, I kept up on highlights of a family wedding I was missing out on in Iowa.

Wedding shenanigns and photo bombs.

Wedding shenanigans and photo bombs.

When it came time to the caretaking, I’m sure you all know who was the first in line for snuggle duty.

Ted cold shouldering New Cat out of nursing duties.

Mr. Bear cold shouldering New Cat out of nursing responsibilities.

Even with all of the cat cuddles, my stomach still hated my guts. But my gal pal G (the one who fights 80-year-olds) left a sweet surprise outside of my door after she picked up a prescription for me.

My friends kick ass.

My friends kick ass.

And while still on the mend, I’m pretty sure my most demanding pussy will insist I stay home sick every day.


Mother lover.

Here’s hoping your week has been and remains healthier than mine!