The Things I Do For Booze

What do you do when it’s snowed six inches overnight in a city that can barely function when it rains three centimeters and you realize that you only have enough wine for one more glass?

First world problems.

SOMEBODY! ANYBODY! CALL THE WINEBULANCE!

Since the Nashville Public Works denied my attempts to sweet talk a street sweeper to drop some vino my way, I trudged out of the mini manse to further assess the situation.

My snowmobile wasn't moving.

My snowmobile wasn’t moving.

So, I went back inside to load up on booze fuel in order to get my energy levels up in order to possibly face Snowmaggedon on my own.

Litle something warm.

Running on coconut rum and coffee.

With a belly full of warm libations, I headed out to haul my ass to the mother of all things blizzard. The liquor store.

Let's do this.

Let’s do this.

Naturally, I gussied Precious the Chug up in a matching outfit, as I needed company on my 1.5 mile walk.

P was all gussed up in a matching outit. Yes, I'm that pathetic.

Yes, I’m that pathetic.

Presh was all kinds of excited until she saw this first block of wet nonsense she’d have to traipse through.

IMG_0005

You want me to put my four inch arm in six inches of snow?

She turned around faster than one can acquire whiplash in a fender bender.

FUck that noise.

Fuck that noise.

So then I was off on a lone trip to kill more of my vastly shrinking brain cells.

So I was off in my not pink snowboots.

Losing site of each foot in the snow with every step.

Keeping myself entertained, I took selfies about every 200 feet.

Bending in this

Yep. Still shin deep.

I must say it was a tad eerie being out on typically bustling roads but I had no time to be scared because I was trying to thwart myself from heat exhaustion due to the 18 layers of clothing I’d thrown on myself before leaving my mini manse.

Lovely views

All down hill from here.

After getting tangled in branches that rivaled a Disney villain, I finally made it to the store after 90 minutes of non-wanted exercise.

Treacherous Trees

Treacherous trees.

Hallelujah!

I shoulda brought a backpack. Fuck.

Being that I didn’t want to over exert myself with back to back 1.5 mile walks (and also being that the entire way to the mini manse would be uphill), I decided to see if the bar next door was open.

Better fuel up before heading up the hill I just about had a heartattack comeing down.

Better fuel up before heading up the hill I just about had a heart attack coming down.

Everyone on the west side of Nashville appeared to be at the local joint, as it was asses and elbows at 4pm.

One tasty cocktail for me.

My kind of fuel.

Just so happens, I met up with some of my favorite gents who were looking for some snow day fun themselves.

Knights in Shining Armor

Snow days don’t suck.

1 100 for the road.

At all.

When it was time to say goodbye, my buddies became my knights in shining armor, giving this busted ass queen a ride up the hill. Naturally I insisted they come in for just one cocktail. And maybe a little guitar playing. And maybe a little dance party. And maybe another shot. Or nine.

We made it home shot!

The ‘we made it home shot’!

A little music break.

Guitar hero.

Because it's a snow day break.

The ‘because it’s his birthday shot’.

Head banging from the couch.

Head banging from the couch.

Because it's we're thirsty shots.

The ‘because we’re thirsty shots’.

Put your glitter kitty in the air. And wave it like you just don't care.

Put your glitter kitty in the air. And wave it like you just don’t care.

Because we can shot.

The ‘because it’s a snow day shot’.

Sock fighting with a chug at its finest.

Sock fighting with a chug at its finest.

Because we can't stop shots.

Because we can’t stop shots.

You know what comes in handy to soak up copious amounts of liquor consumed? Snacks. Unfortunately, due to the snow (and my decision to save myself with wine instead of food), I only had a pan of cornbread to offer as a feast.

Crumbs of cornbread.

It went over well.

All in all, I’d say we partied our cabin fever right out onto the snow covered sidewalks.

Um....so yeah, I'm empty.

The empty aftermath.

I know I did.

Snow days are hard.

What the fuck did happen last night?!

Snow days are hard.

Cheers!

CBXB

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The Snowpocalypse of 2016

Living in Nashville, winter has brought on a whole new experience when it comes to weather.

The city is currently completely shut down (the mayor has asked everyone stay off the roadways today) due to inches of ice on roads and temperatures below freezing, topped with new fallen snow.

Lacking appropriate snow accessories.

The snowcessories most Tennesseans use to clear their cars (maybe minus the Captain).

While this seems piddly compared to what other Americans are experiencing to our north, this slight winter weather halts an entire city, as there is a lack of equipment to care for the roads. Citizens can hardly handle driving in the rain, let alone freezing precipitation and quite frankly, current weather conditions happen about once every 15 years.

90 minute workout

It was a 90 minute workout and half a tank of gas to get my car de-iced.

Because I had to get through this first…

How badly do I really want wine today?

How badly do I really want wine today?

And while businesses, schools and folks everywhere are turning into Jack Nicholson from The Shining due to cabin fever, I’m not sorry the Snowpocalypse of 2016 is now occurring. Because snow days are fun. Snow days are for play.

Being raised in the Midwest, it was a very rare treat to get your ass out and actually play in the snow when you were supposed to be sitting in a social studies class.

I'm a lotta help. But I look cute.

Helping Dad shovel the sidewalk. The broom was a big help.

Growing up in rural Iowa, no one batted an eye when several inches (or feet) of snow, high winds and freezing temperatures were included in the forecast for the next day. No one rushed home early from work clogging up the streets, made a mad dash to the grocery stores buying all of the milk and bread in sight and no one abandoned their vehicles on the side of the road due to the frozen flakes falling from the sky (as people tend to do in my current state of Tennessee).

Anytime winter weather is in the forecast, the South freaks the fuck out.

No shit.

Bread and milk aisles in Nashville when snow is in the forecast.

Where I grew up, school was never, ever cancelled the night before predicted winter weather – which often included blizzards, sleet, hail, ice accompanied by subzero temperatures and wind chills (in Tennessee, entire counties and districts will call off school if any meteorologist utters the word “snow” during the weather segment).

Getting a snow day in Iowa was about as possible as Martians landing in the community park.

I DON'T WANT SNOWFLAKES IN MY EYES.

I wish I may, I wish I might, please let the snowfall cancel school for my delight.

So it was a rare treat when the phone (that was connected to the kitchen wall – oh the good ‘ol days) would ring in the wee hours of the morning announcing that school was cancelled (mostly because the buses couldn’t make the trip to get kids in the country).  Instead of sleeping one moment more, my sister and I got our asses out of bed like it was Christmas morning, adorned ourselves in all kinds of snow gear and headed out to play in the wonderland of white (usually with our cousins, who lived right across the street).

It takes this kind of snow to shut down schools in Iowa.

This kind of snow won’t merit a school snow day in Iowa.

After getting gussied up in our winter finest, first we’d sled in the road, which felt like we were breaking all kind of societal rules.

The dog.

How ’bout my mom’s shit kickers? So warm in subzero temperatures.

Next, my sister and I would build snowmen complete with cute, cozy accessories (mine came off of my body).

Sacrificing my warmth for a fashionable snow man...or maybe snow gal with the pink stocking hat.

Sacrificing my warmth for a fashionable snowman, naturally.

Then my cousins, the Morris boys, thought it would be a good idea to dig through the snow to Timbuktu.  I would rather have made snow angels and bedazzle my handmade frozen creatures but of course I agreed to help excavate (as I had a cute shovel I wanted to put to use – and by I, I mean my cousin Derek. Let’s remember my fingernails are jewels, not tools).

Can we live here?

Can we live here?

I thought it was nothing short of a winter miracle when my dad and Uncle Lewis came out to play with us, constructing a snow fort out of a drift in my backyard, complete with a tunnel – diverting the dig to faraway lands (thank GOD – I was getting tired of being the project manager).

All these years later, I long for a true snow day to build (well, rather sit on my ample derriere and watch my cousins, dad and uncle construct) a fort but instead, I’m longing for a winebulance to head down my snow covered roadway, rescuing me from my current situation.

Near tears stuck with mere ounces of wine left.

Near tears stuck with mere ounces of wine left.

Anyone want to road trip it to the liquor store with me?

C’mon!

CBXB

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The Snuggler

Winter weather got you feeling tired and blue with no one but an orange pussy to nuzzle up to?

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Yep. Been a crazy cat lady since birth.

Yes, that old photo pisses The Bear off.

And yes, that old photo pisses The Bear off.

Between pouring hot water on frozen car doors and shivering my ass off in the current (and unusual) frigid Tennessee weather while scraping ice off of my windshield with a spatula (yeah, this Iowa chick has lost her winter luster) I do the only thing I know how to keep warm.

Drink liquor. Hot liquor.

Hot Toddy

Four Two hot toddies per day keeps the cold air at bay, right?

I’m sure you’re all shocked that I have other methods than just my thermostat to ward off the chilly temps. My stay warm cocktail basically gussies up bland hot chocolate (I know, I know, I’m a genius).

Allow me to introduce you to ….

The Snuggler

Here’s what you’ll need for this belly heating treat:

tasty trio

A boozy electric blanket for your body.

Start by pouring a hearty amount of Kahlua into a handsome mug.

blah

Follow with a heavy-handed glug (I seriously wait for the liquid to make a gulping sound as it escapes the bottle) of peppermint schnapps.

peppermint

Mix a package of hot chocolate (I use a diet version, so as not to feel guilty about the generous amount of liquor included in my concoction – and therefore call it The Skinny Snuggler) with the libations and top with boiling water.  The true recipe calls for one part Kahlua, one part Peppermint Schnapps and two parts hot chocolate but now that’s not any fun, is it?

Hot water

Upon completion, you will have to fight off those around you who want a sip (or lick) of their own.

Paws off!

So you’ll need to make a batch big enough for sharing – because sharing is caring, isn’t it?

Mix. Drink. Share.

Repeat.

Mix. Drink. Share.

Repeat.

This method will lead to some serious snuggling.

Let the mauling begin!

Let the mauling begin.

And ends up being quite a fun cold weather remedy.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – The Big Three

Princess and Prince B counting down to the big three.

Princess and Prince B counting down to the big three.

It seems like a mere two months ago my sister and bro-in-law were bringing the twins home from the hospital.

Tiny twosome.

Tiny twosome.

But, in fact, it’s been over 1,000 days since this duo came into our lives and made my tiny Grinch heart grow a billion sizes.

My muscles have also grown.

My muscles have also grown.

While I celebrated in spirit with them from Nashville, to say the twins were excited might be a tad of an understatement.

Kind of excited.

Hating their cupcake battered life.

Obviously.

Obviously.

Because they’re banana pants (and have the energy of lightsabers on crack), the twins jumped their birthday away (too bad bouncy chair isn’t considered an Olympic sport or we’d have gold medal winners in the family).

Airborn.

Airborn.

Airborn times two.

Airborn times two.

But there was ample time to crash with seven month old horse puppy, Spike after all of the festivities.

Full

Cute cuddles.

Speaking of puppies, Precious the chug spent some time with Ted and yours truly at the mini manse.  When it came time to snuggle, Presh (or Pweshy, as the twins call her) reeked so badly that Teddy B. couldn’t be bothered to face her.

Stank ass.

Stank Ass getting the cold shoulder.

To ease the burden on my pussy’s nose, I dipped my fave chug into a bubble bath.

Puppy baths are way easier than trying to bath my pussy Ted.

Puppy proves a better bather than my pussy.

Heat dry.

Baking back to fluffiness in the sun.

Being that I’m cuckoo over fucking cocoa puffs for my pussy, I’ve been hyper sensitive since his three week stay at the kitty cat ICU last August (and yes, I’m still making payments on it if you were wondering – and also yes, I am still without a job, so please feel free to send bags of cash my way). His ailments turned out to be treatable but he still is all skin and bones, so we headed to the vet just to double check.

My very svelte fur ball.

My very svelte fur ball.

Turns out my little Tedstar isn’t catorexic. But there is something ultra fishy (pun intended) going on in his lungs and we were sent home to wait on results. Thankfully, we had quite handsome company drop by to ease our nerves.

Company came to check on him.

Instant anxiety remover.

My nerves took a different route and found comfort in a box of wine, as I tried to maul Ted back to A+ health.

Camera hog.

Camera hog.

We’re still waiting on the word, so please keep your paws crossed for us!

CBXB

 

The Perfection of Stinky Roses

IMG_9497

Iowa is not a word many folks associate with perfection (unless, of course, you’re me and think everything about the damn state is pretty spot on with being mistaken for heaven as Kevin Costner so kindly did in his 1989 movie).

However, perfection touched the state I hold so dear to my heart in a way that before 2015 was unimaginable. My Iowa Hawkeyes had a perfect – yes I said perfect – regular college football season. The Hawks are typically mediocre (but full of heart!), and us fans were just hoping for a winning season to get to a bowl game. So you can imagine our surprise when our team kept winning game after game after game….after game (and we kept doing shot after shot after shot…).

Our livers love us.

Our livers love us.

Our perfect record granted the Hawks a slot in the Big Ten Championship game held in Indianapolis, so you bet your ass our classy clan was there.  It was going to be an especially fun game, as my buddy The Silent Indian is a Michigan State Spartan fan – the team Iowa was up against.

An unbiased Camo, The Silent Spartan Indian, Dada CBXB and some drunk Iowa cheerleader.

Because I’m psycho (and also an asshole), I made our foursome leave Nashville at 3:30 am so our arrival to Indianapolis would be in conjunction with my Saturday morning staple College Game Day – who was finally broadcasting live from an Iowa game.

Worth it.

Running to secure a spot. The only exercise my body received all fall.

Sunglasses hide early morning sins.

Sunglasses hide early morning sins.

One of my favorite things about College Game Day are the signs fans make in hopes of making it to the broadcast. And these fans didn’t disappoint.

The Silent Indian left speechless.

The Silent Indian left speechless.

Truth

Truth

Even Tay knows a thing or two about the lack of respect given to the Hawks.

Even Tay knows a thing or two about the lack of respect given to the Hawks.

The Silent Indian and yours truly snuck our way up into the fourth row, so I could get a better look at my 81-year-old commentator boyfriend, Lee Corso.

A Hawkeye and a Spartan friends...for now.

A Hawkeye and a Spartan – friends…for now.

We also became famous for .00001 second during the broadcast.

Famous. Obvi.

Blink and you missed it.

After standing for four solid hours in freezing temps (I’d still be standing there if I could be), we headed into warm up next door with my boyfriend Captain Morgan at a party sponsored by my favorite rum.

My boyfriend, his girlfriend and me.

My boyfriend, his girlfriend and me.

We had no fun.

We had no fun.

After the Captain shenanigans, it was time to take our seats and watch one helluva heartbreaker as Iowa lost in the last seconds of the game.

Time.

A fabulous view of a tough loss.

The Gloating Indian

The Gloating Indian. Yes, we let him stay and watch the Spartans get their trophy. Sometimes I have a heart.

Aren’t you glad this wasn’t your four-hour ride home with a sore loser?

FullSizeRender_2

No explanation needed.

So Iowa loses one game post season but do you know where that got us in the line-up of bowl games?

For the first time in 25 years, the Iowa Hawkeyes were going to grace Pasadena, CA with their presence at The Rose Bowl against the Stanford Cardinals.

HELL YEAH BABY!

HELL YEAH BABY!

And while the richer Iowa fans with jobs swarmed the fuck out of California, my unemployed ass  hosted a game watch at the mini manse on New Year’s Day.

Who needs Cali when I had a green carpet for a step and repeat?

Who needs Cali when I had a green carpet for a step and repeat?

Booze at the ready.

Booze at the ready.

Tailgating treats galore.

Tailgating treats galore.

Mascots in their best giddy up.

Mascots in their best giddy up.

Front row seats acquired.

Front row seats acquired.

There was just one teeny, weeny tiny problem. My Iowa Hawkeyes apparently left all of their motivation in 2015. It was 21-0 before the end of the first quarter and we were left with empty shot glasses in our hands. So we did the next best thing.

Sympathy shot.

A sympathy shot.

And then there was sympathy shot number three.

Thank God someone was keeping track.

Thank God someone was keeping track.

Followed by sympathy shots four and five…

Thank god my jazz hand also communicates the number of shot we're on.

Jazz hands for the number of shot taking!

After a very dismal final score of Stanford 45, Iowa 16, I laid down on the green carpet for a well deserved tantrum.

Tantrum

I wanted to win dammit!

Dada CBXB tried to join me but found the ground was too far for him to reach, therefore conducted his tantrum on all fours.

As far as he goes.

Losing at its finest.

While the post season games for my Hawkeyes didn’t come out with wins, I couldn’t be more proud of the team, my favorite coach on the planet, Kirk Ferentz, and the fans who are tried and true season after season.  For all of the haters who are going to lecture me on our lack of a tough schedule, mediocre players and how the Big Ten Conference is weak, you can go fuck yourselves.  I love the fact that most of the Hawkeyes are from the Midwest, many walking on from small Iowa towns (although I also love the fact our quarterback is from Nashville!), going on to become great college football players and going on to play in the NFL. I love the fact that Coach Ferentz will make a stand out player miss an entire quarter of an important game because he was late to practice (please don’t do that again Desmond King –  you’re my favorite player and THANK YOU for coming back for your senior year!).  And I love that there typically no more than a total of eight four star prospects on the entire roster, making us always seem like somewhat of a Cinderella team.

Thank you to the Iowa Hawkeye football team for putting some much needed pep in my 2015 step. Your two biggest fans can’t wait until September!

We're still your number one fans.

We’re still your number one fans.

Until then, we’ll be drinking moonshine shots every time the Iowa Hawkeye basketball team sinks a bucket to keep our livers in tact for next football season.

Just kidding!

Or am I…?

Cheers!

CBXB!

SUCK IT 2015

Kiss my ass 2015.

How I felt almost 365 full days.

How I felt almost 365 full days.

You know those years that seem to fly by, where you find yourself in disbelief that it’s time to ring in a new one? Well, 2015 wasn’t one of those for me. It felt that every 24 hours might as well be a 24 year period. Of course there were good days – and even weeks. But bad juju was most definitely in my corner at almost every turn.

Everything I touched turned to shit.

Everything I touched turned to shit.

It wasn’t any one thing but a slow build up of moments and major life losses that can’t be undone. My immediate family has been turned upside down, as I’ve stood by as a mere spectator with no ability to change the outcome.  I lost a few friends early this year for unexplained reasons (a lawsuit was even threatened…and I’m not even on any Real Housewife of Bravo program!) my Gma passed away from a quick illness in June, I suddenly lost my two year old pussy New Cat in July and the fur ball love of my life Ted fell seriously ill unexpectedly in August (and thankfully is on the mend after what a year of in state college tuition would cost – but he’s SO worth it, ya dig?).

Farewell to Gma.

Farewell to Gma the Great.

Farewell to my fave photogenic tuxedo cat, Newy.

Farewell to my fave photogenic tuxedo cat, Newy.

You know, the little shit who would never ever even let me take a piss alone.

Lavoratory Lovin'

Lavatory Lovin’

His Royal Highness, the ever dramatic Tedstar, who spent two weeks in a pet hospital ICU (mostly because he refused to eat and take a shit, therefore stalling his release back to the mini manse).

Pissed the vet didn't have a pink wrap.

Pissed the vet didn’t have a pink wrap.

In 2015 I also found myself being taken advantage of in personal ways – you know when you’re the emotional stability or constant support for someone and then they become ghosts when the favor is needed in return?

Ghost this.

Ghost this.

In my professional life, it’s been stunning to find out where I really stood with close friends and colleagues over the last six months. Two weeks ago I found myself divorcing the company I thought I would be with for the remainder of my working years.

Not a situation that bloody marys and Tylenol can't fix.

Not a situation that bloody Marys and Tylenol can’t fix.

Over the past three months, I’ve been called names…loving and thoughtful names such as “catty, scowly faced, bitchy” and my personal favorite, “a fucking whore,” all by folks I thought cared/liked/loved me.  (Truth –  I can be bitchy when a situation arises where that trait is needed.)

But you know…haters can suck it.

Or I'll cut a bitch.

Or I’ll cut a bitch.

I’ve arrived at a point (and thankfully it’s the last day of the year) where nothing could really surprise me and I am just over it. Therefore, I have been wearing my feelings on my phone sleeve.

Seriously.

Seems appropriate, yes?

But with a new year just hours away, I’m excited for the feeling of a fresh beginning in many areas of my life. And, while this year will go down in the books as one I never want to repeat, it’s shown me the resilience that life requires, the humor one must keep to be able to laugh at the most ridiculous of situations and thankfulness for those who truly love me for being me. Classiness and all.

Classy Lady

Love me, love my trashiness.

So to the family, friends, fellow bloggers, readers, acquaintances and co-workers who’ve been around this year – I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 2016, I’m ready for you full-bore.

Ready to raise some serious hell.

Ready to raise some serious hell.

Who’s with me?

CHEERS to the new year!

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Merry Moments

Anyone else love the holiday season?

I hate celebrating.

I hate celebrating.

We packed up the Nashville sleigh and headed to see the Iowa twins for their third visit from Santa.

Twice the fun!

Twice the fun!

Precious the chug came as my mascot and was voted most popular over the Christmas weekend.

Precious the chug.

Presh had no clue what she was in for all weekend.

She was squeezed, kissed, loved and given the new name Pweshy by the twins.

Lots of lovin' for Pweshy.

Princess B and Princess P.

When the chug was napping, Auntie CBXB’s makeup bag was quite the exciting place to play.

Easy, breezy, beautiful cover girl.

Easy, breezy, beautiful cover girl.

Both twins obviously have a future in the beauty industry as I demonstrated their mad application skills.

Easy, breezy, trashy, c

Ready for date night.

After scrubbing my face for what felt like a solid eight hours, we moved on to matching manicures.

Mani Time

I’m being told EXACTLY how to apply the polish.

And then…it was Christmas eve Griswold family style.

CHRISTMAS DAY!

Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?

Speaking of the Griswolds, Dada CBXB has been watching my adopted feline twins Clark and Cousin Eddie since my main squeeze Ted E. Bear has been adjusting to life with inflammatory bowel disease and pancreatitis (both treatable in cats!). Since he’s had them the past few months, Dad’s fallen in love and we made it official as I pretended to be the Griswold character Aunt Bethany and wrapped up my damn cats, gifting them to the big guy.

Dada officially got the twins, Clark and Cousin Eddie.

Dada and his Griswold twins.

Santa delivered all kinds of festive fun but I decided to dress up as his sparkly girlfriend for the shits and giggles of merriment.

We need some Christmas spirit. Obviously.

We need some Christmas spirit.
Obviously.

The biggest gift under the tree helped someone think they were hot shit taking their new power wheel out for a spin.

Hating life.

Not hating life.

I was also not hating life as I bonded with my new dogphew, Spike. He is a six month old golden doodle who is already the size of a small polar bear and makes the best cuddle partner.

Mauling

Maul me please.

In not so merry news, I recently lost my job so it was only fitting that my favorite gift was a coffee mug with a well known slogan from the movie Bridesmaids that has become my personal motto.

My Transition from a 9-5 Office Job to the Health & Fitness Industry ...

Help me, I'm poor.

Striking resemblance, no?

But I’ve still got my sparkle with the help of my mini me.

Princess, Precious and Poor.

Princess, Precious and Poor.

Here’s hoping your holiday weekend was filled with lots of jingling bells and cocktails!

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!