Weekend Winks – Mini Manse on the Move!

Last weekend was consumed with digesting the fact that I was being asked to vacate my beloved mini-manse due to circumstances out of my control (which would be an unplanned pregnancy by my landlord’s son who lives on the other side…so they’re expanding to my side of the duplex. Condoms rock for those of you who seem to be unaware of the perks such as my neighbor).

So all this week I cruised the streets of Nashville, Craigslist (there are some real doozies out there – people and places – one guy had a bong out on the refrigerator as we toured the apartment), paper and Internet with my gal pal G (you know, the one who wanted to beat up an 80-year-old on my behalf – read about it here).  After much stomach turning, sleepless nights, budget reviewing and armpit sweating, I signed a lease! Now I might have to sell a few body parts between now and July 1, but Ted and I have a new place to call home.

This closet made me do it.

I wore the closest thing I had to ruby-red slippers when I went to sign the lease on Saturday.

Clicking my heels and saying there’s no place like home…

Of course a few cocktails were called for as my mind whirled with thoughts of “WTF did I just do…is it the right thing….will Teddy adjust accordingly….?!”

Mine all mine!

I was quickly reminded of how much fun apartment living can be while celebrating with Mom on the patio.  All of a sudden, small rocks (pebbles, really) from the neighbor’s deck above fell through the cracks accompanied by screams of, “YOU CALLED ME A LAZY ASS! YOU F’ING BITCH!” More rocks thrown through the cracks. Ah, home sweet home.

My new patio wing…the rock quarry.

I had to share the news with my little B & B in Iowa via FaceTime. They insisted on cuddling while I recounted how much fun I will have posting about my neighbors above me.

What happened next Auntie CBXB?!

Father’s Day called from some southern spoiling for my dear old dad (and he hated every minute of it, as you can tell from the pics).

Double fisting gifts.

CBXB gifted Dad with a pretty sweet BBQ hat and a framed quote regarding legendary status I came upon this weekend. My dad often refers to himself as “a legend” because he was an athletic stud in high school and college (which even led to some time in the NFL).

Legendary loot.

The frame included this little picture…

He expected nothing less from the classy gal he raised right.

Hanging with The Legend…

All important margaritas were poured for our Father’s Day celebration (he was heavy-handed with his glass – go figure).

Just a few more ounces should do the trick.

My bro-in-law, celebrating his first Dad’s Day got the little twins giggling with delight (I wish he would call and make me laugh like that).

Fun Day Father’s Day!

Upon returning home from my parent’s house, I had to break the news to Ted that we would be leaving our mini-manse. He took the news about as well as I did when I found out last week …

Me taking the news (not so well, mind you) -

Ted’s reaction last night -

WTF? WE’RE MOVING?

I’ll keep you posted on the feline fun that is coming my way.

CBXB

Dads Rock

An ode to my dad, the dude who’s taught me quite a few important life lessons worth sharing …

#1) The art of playing dress up.

One should never take themselves too seriously (doesn’t he make a beautifully awkward looking woman?).

Kid and Pam. Duo of the Halloween circuit (click here to read about it).

#2) Giving good fashion tips and showing the importance of taking risks.

I may never have rocked neon pink jeans or turquoise sneakers if I hadn’t seen my dad risking it by wearing a pink feather boa.

It takes balls to boa.

#3) Instilling the importance of a family tradition during holidays.

Thus taking this lesson to heart, I’ve turned into a Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter, anything-that-has-a-theme seasonal maniac.

Pumpkin carving passion 101.

#4) Schooling me on the art of loving your birthday so much, it’s your favorite day of the year.

My birthday is in late March (and if you must know, three months exactly after Christmas), therefore it’s my birthday month. And, although it’s June, I’m still accepting presents and celebratory cocktails. I really took this lesson to heart. Thanks Dad.

I’m all business when it comes to taking tips on the art of blowing candles out.

#5) Showing the almighty ability to shake it up and party down without spilling your cocktail on the dance floor.

This might be the most important lesson learned from my father. I’ve fallen down stairs, tripped in grass and jumped into a pool without losing a drop of liquor from my glass. TALENT taught well.

Drip dry dancing machines. Liquor in tact!

#6) Establishing the idea that no matter what, your family will be there to pick you up in times of need.

Like the time I accidentally got shit faced at my sister’s bachelorette party and couldn’t walk to the car because me feet hurt.

My heels are killing me! I need a lift.

A family effort trying to throw my dad’s back out.

The dude who’s carried me through life like a champ.

Whether your dad is still cruising the streets or has departed to the big party in the sky, I’m raising my glass to each and everyone this Sunday.

Happy Father’s Day to all of the dads that have rocked our worlds.

Cheers!

CBXB

Trashtacular Moving Day Jesus Attire

You know, when I’m having a rough time of it (like getting kicked out of my mini manse due to my neighbor’s impending baby), not only do I tend to hydrate my liver over and over with Skinny Pirates, I like to look back at family photos of fun times.  While flipping through albums, I was reminded of how fabulously trashy my family can be while literally wearing emotions on our hats, shirts and koozies (to name a few) – it’s a great tradition we have, huh?

This recollection prompted me into concocting my forced moving day attire and now I am feeling the need to borrow my cousin D’s hat for my upcoming day of dread. I forgot about his lovely, beyond classy hat until I spotted it in a pic last night.

Captain D and CBXB, conveying our feelings through text on attire.

The cap reads, “Jesus loves you but everyone else thinks you are an asshole.”  I think that kind of sums up my bitter feelings at the moment – plus the white hat would really complement my blonde hair, yes?

I’m pretty sure I need D and his ‘tude with me on moving day.

And with a move on my horizon, my peeps have made sure to keep choices of hydration on hand. Plus, with a fridge like this, I will be able to lure ‘movers’ into helping with their free weekends, trucks and manpower (good thing most of my gal pals are married to nice, muscley dudes – did that sound like ass kissing? Is it working?).

Tough times call for booze filled fridges.

Between my hat, constant liver liquified state and my fabulous t-shirt that I may not take off for the next 45 days, I think my moving day attire will be appropriate.

I know Jesus loves me because the baseball hat says so.

But I will most definitely be guzzling Skinny Pirates moving day, out of my favorite koozie.

Message conveyed.

Do you think my landlord who’s kicking me out will get the hint of how I’m feeling about him?

CBXB

Whoever Smelt It Dealt It

My hilarious and always happy gal pal over at ourlifeinaction tagged me in a fun post on weird scents. You basically share scents that curl your toes, which otherwise may make other folks think you’re cray cray.

And here are my faves…

Alcohol. Captain Morgan. Skinny Pirates.

Duh. Read my posts much? If I didn’t mention this, one of you readers might have decided to call the loony bin and reserve a spot for me. A long sniff of my beloved Captain Morgan can relax me almost as much as taking a swig (I’m lying but didn’t want to sound like an alcoholic).  Captain reminds me of the fun Fourth of Julys in the Ozarks with my cousins, the smell puts me at my local watering hole Dalts on a fun Friday night and accompanies the ups and downs in my life with ease. I love this liquor.

Skinny Pirates for me, wine for my first mate on Friday nights.

My Cat, Ted. Teddy Bear. Mr. Bear. Teddy Ruxpin. Teddy Kruger. Teddy Back Bear. TB. Yogi Bear-ah.

Shut the F up at whatever you’re muttering to yourself about me right now. I’m not talking about the smell of his cat pan. Or the terrible duck food breath he blows in my face as he yawns. But there is a specific scent that he emits (like a secret potion that makes me love him even though he does stuff like chew on my purse handles, barf on my rugs, use my toothbrush (click here to read all about it) and meows his brains out daily like a roaring lion at 3:57am) when I catch a puff of his aroma and my heart swells with a little more love for my fur baby.

Duck food breath be damned!

Gasoline. Fuel. Petroleum.

Oh a good whiff of gasoline… the vapors creep into my nose and make my brain happy for an ecstatic three seconds. Typically (and luckily for my cerebrum) I only fill my gas tank up every two weeks (I work close to home, thankfully) so my brain function shouldn’t be too altered by my bi-monthly gas inhaling.

Fueling up on fuel.

Soil. Real black dirt. Not clay.

There is something about the smell of Iowa dirt (not the clay dirt that resides in Tennessee) that takes me back to riding the combine with my Grandpa. Or planting a garden with my dad as a kid. Or concocting mud pies in Grandma’s backyard.

Could this look anymore white trash with my dad in his wife beater? And I’m pretty sure he’s pointing to where I should dig. How sweet.

ADM Factory. Rotten food. Stank ass.

Eeew gross you think. And I’m right there with you. BUT inhaling this disgustingness means that I’ve made it to the nook of Iowa where my sister, bro-in-law and their little lovies reside. Maybe I should associate a different smell with them…

Smell spoiled food? Auntie CBXB is almost there and can’t wait to get her paws on you!

The Iowa State Fair….specifically greasy food aroma.

There’s almost nothing I adore more than going to the Iowa State Fair. Fried butter on a stick, pickles, giant tenderloins, donuts, cheese curds, funnel cakes, corn dogs, Snickers….just thinking about the smell of fair food made me gain 10 lbs in the last five minutes.

In fried cheese heaven at the Iowa State Fair.

What makes your nose happy? Weird scents tag, you’re it.

CBXB

Weekend Winks – Shit Show Style

You know how you feel when life decides to sucker punch you in the face? I am familiar with the feeling (aren’t we all?). Going about our business, minding our own business and tending to our business, when out of the blue the sky seems to fall an our life becomes an immediate shit show…

Thank God for t-shirts that say it all and before noon screwdrivers.

It’d been one of those weeks (that seems to keep reoccurring over the last four months) and I couldn’t wait to meet up with my First Mate and her hubs for a few happy hour libations on Friday.

The happy hour trio.

It was a dreary start to the weekend, so we were more than happy to stay dry and hydrate our livers while rain soaked the Nashville streets.

This calls for another round.

Just what the weekend ordered….a Skinny Pirate.

And many repeated cheers to the weekend!

Happy to return home and snuggle with my main feline squeeze Teddy B., I found a note taped to my door, which was odd but then thought maybe it was a letter from a secret admirer or better yet a clue to the beginning of a very cool scavenger hunt…but of course it wasn’t anything of such fun.

Letter of lovely news.

My mini-manse (and the zip code it comes with – read here) is one side of a duplex and the owner’s stoner son lives on the other half with his gal pal.  This note I received basically said in a very formal way, “I got my girlfriend pregnant on accident and now you’re f’d because we need your side of the duplex by the end of July because we don’t have any money to move and need more space. Sorry and let us know if we can do anything.”

First, I was utterly flabbergasted, as when my neighbor told me of the pregnancy news a few months ago, I asked him point-blank if they’d need my space with the answer being, “No, we’d move out before asking you to.  You’re totally fine – you may just be getting a new tenant.”

Second, I was completely livid that I’m paying the price for someone else’s life changing event. And can you do anything for me? You bet your ass you can. Do you have $3,000 for first and last month’s rent, pet deposit, security deposit and moving expenses? Oh, and about 12 hours per week to look at places during lunch, after work and all weekend long? Along with hours for the boxing and organizing your belongings?

Lastly, I kinda lost my mind. Life hasn’t been easy the past few years and I’ve taken solitude and pride in my little slice of my neighborhood, being able to scrape by and have finally – in the past few weeks – felt that I was getting back up on my feet financially. So this news feels like salt being scooped by the barrel into an open wound.

So what’s a gal do when she goes off the deep end? Buy a pack of cigarettes of course (which by the way, are the most expensive habit in the world. $6 for one pack? WTF?). I am a non-non-non smoker. Like don’t socially smoke. Never crave a cigarette. But once every decade it seems as if the moment of sheer insanity raids my body and I feel the need to become a chain smoker.

CODE RED

While sitting outside, bawling my eyes out I thought I would share just how ridiculous I look while smoking (and as I threw butts in the yard (because I’m having an acrimonious moment and can do that), I was secretly hoping a smolder might catch the lawn on fire…).

Smoking wreck. Not a natural when it comes to nicotine.

And while I let this news get the better of me -  I missed out on a friend’s party, a few days of Nashville sunshine, working out and maybe single-handedly gave myself lung cancer in one sitting – I ran out to have my dad ‘baby’ me (you know, say things will be OK while I’m crying, take me to eat Mexican and offer to pay on student loan bills so I have a little extra dough for moving) on Saturday night. Sometimes you just need your stand-by guy.

Dad to the emotional rescue!

While this news isn’t the end of the world (although it truly did feel like it this weekend), it just snapped me back into place of being the girl who once again needs all the help she can get, as I watched my pride sink back into the size of an inch worm. Luckily, I have amazing family, friends and a fur ball who stand by my side – whether it be forcing me out of my house to get fresh air (and a cocktail), wiping the snot off my nose or making sure I don’t resort to selling my body for extra moving money (I’m kidding mother), I know everything will be fine.

Cuddle dud let me maul him into the wee hours of the evenings.

On my way out of my beloved mini-manse, I’ll want to leave a note that simply says “SUCK IT.” And while I probably won’t, I will definitely be leaving behind a box of condoms.

Happy times are here again!

CBXB

How to Piss Off Your Pussy

Agreeing to look in on my neighbors trio of cats while they were away truly didn’t seem like a big deal. Until I had to tell my own feline, Teddy Bear that I was running an ‘errand’ every evening one week, interrupting our after work couch shenanigans (which consists of wine, TV, belly rubs and naps).

Where do you think you’re going?

Sneaking next door, I was surrounded by little balls of fur, excited for some much-needed attention.

McCain

Smoky

Valcor

Being a gal that always coos over anything with fur, I happily doled out love to the three cats lined up for my affection.

Triple threat to my happy home.

But then I found myself caught up in the situation, mirroring acts that Ted adores…like chin scratches.

Wallowing in CBXB’s love.

And treating the felines to supper…

My dining companions.

I’m not sure why I thought I could sleuth around behind my bear’s back without him being suspicious. I could tell by TB’s shadow he was pissed upon my return home.

Suspicious mind…with a curled tail to prove it.

As I went to scoop him up, I could barely see anything but pupils he was so angry.

What the F were you thinking? I KNOW.

Our typical snuggle became awkward very quickly.

Never light as a feather but definitely stiff as a board this go ’round.

Being ever the drama puss, Ted threatened to electrocute himself by licking the bathroom light switch.

Over doing it, don’t you think?

When he decided it would be better not to acquire burnt fur, I was treated to plenty of his rear view.

Seems to translate as “kiss my ass Mom.”

In a sheer moment of genius, I knew what was going to bring my bear back around.

Ted’s version of kryptonite.

In less than two seconds, I had this fur ball eating tuna off of his favorite lip plate (I’d have tried the palm of my hand but wanted to keep all of my fingers in tact).

Lip service.

Soon after we’d assumed our typical positions back on the couch.

Look of forgiveness…

or revenge?

We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?

Good deeds never go unpunished (at least when Mr. Bear is involved).

CBXB

Give Her the F’ing Nuts You SOB!

WARNING! Excessive profanity contained in the paragraphs below (spewed from a four-year-old’s mouth). Read at your own risk.

My foul mouthed sister in her earlier days. Don’t let this sweet face fool you.

My entire family (yes, I can say that proudly) has a knack for our fabulous trashiness (see White Trash Wednesday or anything in the Grizzies category).  After previous posts divulging of family classiness, I could not resist sharing “The Great McDonald’s Ice Cream Incident” once again. I first divulged this jewel a year ago when I had all of nine readers, therefore none of you who aren’t relation will be laying eyes on this for the first time (lucky you).

Growing up in a small (population 1,200) Iowa farming community, our Saturday nights were spent 20 minutes away at the nearest Pizza Hut (I thought was so fancy – I used to be easily impressed. USED to be).  Often times my grandma and grandpa would join us for our family date night and we would head to McDonald’s for ice cream afterward.

One Saturday we were on our journey through the drive thru, Dad chauffeuring us in the front seat with Grandpa.  My mom, sister, grandma and myself were all in the back and giving our orders (sounds like a dream of a Saturday night, huh?).  As Dad was receiving and passing the treats out, my sister got her sundae.

My four-year-old sibling looked my dad square in the face and said (without hesitation or skipping a beat), “You goddamn son-of-a-bitch I wanted nuts on my sundae.”

Immediate silence followed (although I was instantly delighted that I wasn’t the sister in trouble this time).

I assume my reaction was something like this one captured above (you’re loving the classy outfit with hair clips, aren’t you?).

Moments later, reactions set in. Grandpa busted out laughing. Grandma’s jaw hit the floor.  My mom leaned up over the seat to hiss in my dad’s ear,  “MICHAEL!” and my dad replied, “What? I don’t say those words,” (which I instantaneously knew was a lie because anytime he had his head under a sink being the ‘plumber,’ I never remembered him saying shoot, gosh darn it or duck).

Little did Grandpa know how his heart would burst with secret pride over my sister’s nut rant a few years after this photo was snapped.

So, my toddler sister just put the phrase together all in her own right? Well, being classy, a little trashy and quickly having my sister’s back, my grandma said, “I bet she learned it from all of those John Wayne movies.”  Um, yeah, since we had a three channel cable line up in our metropolis.

Being white trash is knowing better but doing it anyway, while not giving a rat’s ass what anyone else thinks. My sister just got a head start – you gotta love her spunkiness!

All guts and glory for this kid.

So fabulously trashy…I can’t wait to see how her kids carry on the tradition.

CBXB