Weekend Winks – Wild Beer, Wild Times and Wild Pussies

Looks like this is the kinda week I'll be having. At least I have the appropriate mug.

Does anyone have a private jet so I can fulfill my niece’s request below? All she wants to do is play and paint her nails red with me. I promise that I will act like an ass because I’ve done so before while riding private.

Plus, just listen to her little voice. I’m considering driving through the night just to get a mani with her tomorrow. That’s not crazy is it?

Before trying to solicit my body for a plane ride to fulfill Princess B’s wishes, Dada CBXB and I stopped by Mr. Whisker’s Liquor in Nashville Friday for a tasting of Wild Ginger Alcoholic Beer and Wild Alcoholic Root Beer (both of which are gluten free).

Beer tasting with the Big Guy.

Big guy with a tiny cup.

Naturally, we almost cleaned out the supply before heading across the street to my beloved Dalts.

Greedy grab.

Greedy grab.

Dada lasted long enough to see Bird Lady and The Silent Indian.  We were asked to ‘keep it down’ before we were even inebriated –  I mean hell, I was still on my first Skinny Pirate!

A little too loud for the patrons with hearing aids. Surprise.

A little too loud for the patrons with hearing aids.
Surprise.

So to quiet ourselves down, we opted for tequila shots.

Tequila totally tones it down.

Tequila totally tones it down.

Speaking of surprise, I ran into one of my old bandmates and we reminisced about the days when we kicked some rock ass.

Bandmates reunite!

Reunited and it feels so good.

Sleeping off my Friday fun, someone could hardly contain their excitement for Saturday.

Jumping for Saturday joy!

I wish I had .0001% of this chick’s energy.

Mustering up the gumption to get out of my mini manse proved worthwhile as I got to see my cousin who was visiting from Atlanta on a weekend girls trip. While we had good intentions to make it a brunch, it also turned into lunch and almost supper.

Hussies!

Why thank you, we’ll have another.

Just there a teeny, tiny while.

Just there a teeny, tiny five hours.

In an attempt to detox, I slapped on a face mask and wanted to soak in the suds. But Ruby Sue had other ideas and ended up in the tub with me.

Jason and

A look-a-like Jason Voorhees and my stalker.

Wanting none of the water park action, Ted and his shadow Elsa Pants barely moved the entire evening.

Two peas on a purple pod.

Two peas on a purple pod.

We moved the party to the bedroom for a change of scenery. Mr. Bear made sure his spot was secure on my chest as he evil eyed the fuck out of Elsa and Rocky.

Triple show down.

Triple show down.

Ruby Sue, deeming herself princess of the mini manse declined the slumber party and sat in her color coordinating throne.

Princess bed for a princess.

Yes, her eyes are always that wide.

Judging from my Monday morning thus far, I’ll be drinking out of this coffee mug non-stop the next five days.

Looks like this is the kinda week I'll be having. At least I have the appropriate mug.

Truth.

Here’s hoping this is a week where you have your shit together.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Abu Dhabi Derby Day

Trophy of sorts.

Ever wonder just how cliché it is to be a crazy cat lady?

Well, here is a peek into a wild Friday evening with me and my fave pussies.

You may just see two cats.

Rocky and Ted with front row lap seats.

We found ourselves minus plans after staying late the last day of the work week, so we huddled on the couch to catch up on some DVR (before my player spontaneously combusts at always being asked to remain 99% full). Except when we went to watch our weekly shows, a rerun of an Adele concert was on live TV.

But we're all watching live TV. A rerun A adele

And it captivated all of us.

Then between sobs, listening to Adele pine away at whatever it is her magical voice pines for, we tried to call every ex-boyfriend and girlfriend between the six of us (yes I have five furballs – and no, I give zero fucks about what folks think in regard, hence the crazy cat lady label!) because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Adele told us to.

S.O.S.

S.O.S.

After getting zero ex answers across the board (Teddy had the most to call), we woke to a bright, shiny Kentucky Derby Saturday. No one was more excited than Princess B who has discovered the many ‘looks’ Snapchat has to offer (why does my three-year-old niece know more about social media than moi?).

Derby Darling

Derby Darling.

I met up with Bird Lady, using the excuse for the Derby to day drink although we didn’t really adhere to any of the fancy rules.

No horses. No tiny jockeys. No hats. No mint juleps. Still fun

No horses. No tiny jockeys. No hats. No mint juleps.

However, I did place a bet on the race.  Since money is an object to me, I wagered a shot and when this kind gentlemen lost miserably, he paid in full. And now I have a new favorite shot: The Fresca.

I only bet booze. And I won.

I only bet booze.

And somehow this teeny tiny Abu Dhabi bar mug ended up in my purse by the end of the evening.

Trophy of sorts.

Trophy of sorts.

Sunday was for lovin’ on all of the mamas and mine was showered with flowers.

CBXB flower power mama.

The power of flower.

My sister was getting extra specially spoiled on her third mother’s day with a manicure, compliments of Princess B.

Princess B has mastered the Mother;s Day mani.

Just like the spa.

Obviously.

Obviously.

Bored Prince B waited patiently for the paint to dry on his mother’s nails so she could be off doing better things.

Can't be bothered.

Like pushing these two in a tire swing.

IMG_1754

Mother’s Day isn’t just for those chicks who have squeezed human life out of their bodies.

No way. No how.

Do you know how hard it is to open a bag of food every damn day?

Scoop a littler box?

Give every little furry being their own attention before they ignore you for 23.75 hours per day?

Exhausting.

Sweet friends reminded me of my status in the world.

Turns out, for us cray cray fur ball ladies, you really can buy love.

Turns out, you can buy love.

Preshy thinks so too.

Preshy thinks so too.

There was no better wind down for this mom of five than my sudsy Sunday soak while everyone was participating in their 23.75 hour daily ignore fest.

Just what a mama needs.

Just what a mama needs.

Here’s hoping you got just what you needed this weekend.

Cheers!
CBXB

CBXB!

 

Master of the Mini Manse

Properly named perch.

It seems just like yesterday that I welcomed the furball love of my life Teddy Bear into my mini manse.

After the first feline object of my affection, Nicodeamus passed away (and I truly thought I would die of a broken heart), I laid eyes on Ted via the Nashville Cat Rescue’s website.  He’d been saved from a one bedroom apartment full of 30 cats (I thought I was a hoarder) and when I went to take a look at that sweet little face, it was love at first meow.

Me and my garfield

Instantly wrapped around his paw.

Upon bringing TB home, I had a partially screened in porch.  My new little prince had such a sweet, timid demeanor I allowed him to relax on the porch alone, taking in his new surroundings.

Soaking up the sun

Soaking up the sun.

After a few months, Tedstar suddenly came out of his meek shell, morphing into a tiny lion, deciding that he was King of the Jungle Porch. One evening while I was letting Calgon take me away in a bubble bath, His Royal Highness ‘presented’ me with a beautiful, live cardinal fidgeting around in his mouth.

Feathers flew.

Feathers flew.

I screamed bloody murder at the horror of seeing a blinking bird in the jaws of my supposedly shy Teddy Bear. Then I thought my poor pussy’s muzzle was going to break because his mouth was open so wide. I stood there naked, sopping wet with trauma tears (because I didn’t want to have to feed Ted through a straw the rest of his life due to breaking his face trying to release and save our feathered friend that most likely carried bird flu) streaking down my face when he wouldn’t let the cardinal go until a towel was thrown over his head. (For those of you holding your breath or shedding a tear over the bird, it lived).

Noooooooo!

You guys, the bird! Teddy’s jaw! My BATH!

A very relaxing, spa-like evening indeed.

Once Ted had a whiff of wildness, he got very daring after The Great Bird Incident.  One afternoon Bear attempted to escape the awful prison I keep him in by leaping off the porch to a nearby bush (about four feet away) which turned out like this:

Body outline

Body outline of my ferocious feline.

He’d climbed to the porch railing and apparently thought the bush was sturdy enough to hold him (Teddy sometimes has blonde moments like his mother) but alas he sunk all the way down to the bottom.  It was super fun trying to get a hysterical cat out of the tangle of limbs.

After his failed prison break, the porch was promptly screened to the ceiling, preventing my blue blooded attack cat from parting ways with yours truly (he obviously loved his new home).

blah

My detainee’s private jail cell.

Of course Tedstar continually looked for a way out but much to his dismay, I locked that shit down like Fort Knox.

Don't jump

Does curiosity kill?

Presently in my mini-catsle, I’m the evil queen happy to keep my royal subject Ted preserved behind second balcony porch bars, knowing that I won’t have any unwelcome gifts or a clumsy cat stuck in a bush.

Still trying to leave me.  Good thing his fur isn’t as long as Rapunzel’s hair.

Trying to persuade my fave pussy from walking the second story proverbial plank, I christened the porch in honor of Mr. Bear.

Properly named perch.

Properly named perch.

Highly unimpressed with a 2 x 4 wood sign, Teddy still thinks there might be a chance to break free, walking on the backs of chairs like he’s a high wire act in the circus.

How can I pounce out?

Now that I’ve introduced three new court jesters into our royal family, I have a feeling they’ll be putting their furry noggins together to thwart my attempts to keep them behind my gated tower.

Court jesters.

The new pussies on the porch prowl.

Now, who’s the real master of the mini manse?

I think we all already know the answer.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Thirst Quencher

Double Fisting

Sometimes rough weeks call for more than one bottle drink at a time. Thank god I have family who never lets me quench my thirst alone – even if they are 900 miles away in Iowa.

Runs in the family.

True sister love right here, folks.

After a dehydrating Friday evening, what better way to spend Saturday than with a fellow animals-are-better-than-humans-loving gal pal?

Pussy Galore and Birdy Lady.

Pussy Galore and Bird Lady.

I was so depleted in brain cells parched, the decision to decide on just one drink was too much for my noggin. So I ordered one of everything (with a side of gluten free biscuits and gravy).

Yes, I went to the bathroom 1,956,298 times.

Yes, I went to the bathroom 1,956,298 times after brunch.

Settling on my favorite breakfast liquid of mimosas, our afternoon ended something like…

Day drinking at its finest, folks.

Day drinking at its finest, folks.

Just kidding.

We ended up sauntering over to see First Mate and let her dote on our drinking needs with tequila.

Because clearly I needed more.

Because clearly I needed more to loosen up.

My Iowa twins were up to all kinds of fun this weekend, starting with a royal make-up job.

My fave princess with Princess Elsa face paint.

My fave princess with Princess Elsa face paint.

This little lady turned into a mini Kim Kardashian while admiring herself (and I can’t say that I hate it).

Selfie mania.

My heart swells with selfie taking pride.

Prince B was decidedly more thrilled with the idea of snack break than face paint.

Happy

Screamin’ for ice cream.

My house full of pussy turned it down a notch come Sunday and lounged on the porch.

What?

Yes, Ruby Sue’s eyes do glow in the dark. And Ted’s pissed his don’t if you can’t tell.

Mr. Bear kinda whored around, spreading his little Grinch lovin’ around.

Snuggle

Rocky and a bull headed Ted.

I thought little Elsa Pants may have jumped off the porch to escape the furry madness but thankfully I found her in the midst of bedding lined up waiting to be cleaned.

Purrfection

Purrfection.

While we were busy lazing around the mini manse, the twins were having a white trash play day.

White trash kinda play day.

Classing up the neighborhood topless.

Sunday funday can tucker a toddler out, so thankfully the twins got their big kid beds this weekend.

A girl and her dog.

My dogphew Spike may have been the most excited about this development.

Sad to see a weekend end, I ended up in a tub full of suds, soaking up the best my glass of vino had to offer.

Ahh...

Favorite wind down.

Here’s hoping your weekend didn’t leave you thirsty.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Game Changers

Swinging for the fences...

For everyone there are moments in our lives that epitomize time – where we will never forget the time, the place, the exact feeling.  I’m not talking about the life changers – births, space shuttles exploding, wedding days or the likes of presidential assassinations. Rather, the smaller instances you don’t realize the significance of what you’re experiencing and the way it will shape the days ahead.

Like the occasion it was presented that life as a ballerina wasn’t on the table.

Maybe not ballet....

Step ball changing my way through elementary.

Or maybe the time you realized Christina Aguilera was not singing about you in her hit song “Genie in a Bottle.”

No belly dancing...

Anyone got a magic carpet?

Could be when you realized you not only lacked the tact but also the appropriate attire for becoming a super model.

I see London I see France I see above your underpants.

I see London
I see France
I see above your underpants.

Khakis look good on a runway.

Bitch, please.

Said no one ever.

Remember when you saw your first concert and it inspired you to be a rock star?

Judo chop!

You either have it or you don’t. This Elvis doesn’t.

Maybe the time you had the first bite of your now favorite delicatessen, you knew nothing else would ever taste this good.

Taste bud changer. Don't judge my classiness of food choice.

Taste bud changer.
Don’t judge my classiness of food choice.

Or was it when you realized that the art of watching a collegiate football game would never again be a dull time if you add in some Skinny Pirates and moonshine?!

College football changer.

College football changer.

Possibly being educated about where feminine products are appropriately placed turned your world into a real life Monopoly board game.

Womanhood changer.

#SOS

Recently I found myself  in a downtown Nashville community building that is still all but deserted of anything reminiscent past the ’80s. I sat alone and waited impatiently for my name to be called so that I could further discuss the bad shit that happens to good people.  My leg was inadvertently bouncing so hysterically that the lone security guard came over to ask me if I was OK.

GAME CHANGER.

MOTHER FUCKING GAME CHANGER.

It was in that split second that my game changed.

I can’t help what happened to me. I can’t change the way I feel about this situation. I can’t help the sleepless nights, the not wanting to be alone with my thoughts, the shame I still experience. But I CAN do something about it.

So from this day forward, my uniform is permanently on.

Pads are on.

Bring it.

My blingy armour will remain in tact.

Armour is in tact.

Let’s do this.

I mean, it is fabulous.

I mean, it is fabulous.

I’m rounding up the biggest posse I can wrangle.

Rounding up the posse. You in?

You in?

And this tasty treat will be on the menu at my next mini manse party.

Mmmm... I'll have some of that.

Mmm…my favorite.

Who wants to play with me?
CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Like a Boss

IMG_1469

Sometimes the end to a loooooooong work week requires day drinking on Friday. Like this past one, where I met up with Camo and Dada CBXB well before 5pm at our favorite watering hole, Dalts.

Wasn't even 5:30 yet.

Pretty as pictures before happy hour started.

But we quickly recovered in the beauty department.

Much better.

Not quite as special looking two minutes later.

Being that I’m always down for an extended celebration, my sister sent some fingerless Iowa Hawkeye gloves for a belated birthday gift that made me start to crave the tailgating season (which starts in t-minus five months).

Ready for tailgating season.

Perfect tailgating practice makes for perfect tailgates.

While I was busy lounging in winter gear at the bar, the Iowa twins were kicking back and unwinding after a long day of play.

Chillaxin.

Chillaxin.

Due to the fact that our family doesn’t use traditional monikers (shocking, I know) for extended relatives (Grandma is Gigi, Grandpa is Cray Cray, Auntie CBXB is Aunt Juju) we went bananas seeing the twins in giddy ups that appeared to be custom-made.

Cray Cray for their Cray Cray, who they loving refer gpa.

Cray cray for their Cray Cray.

When it comes down to snack time, these peeps know how to do it up right. What to do with left over Easter candy? Why you make a Peep s’mores, of course.

Peep s'mores

Delicate deliciousness for Prince B.

 Marshmallow mania.

Not so delicate marshmallow mania for Princess B.

Dada CBXB decided to splurge on some new living room attire, in which my expertise was needed. Naturally, I suggested he go with an animal print but he went with boring old brown instead.

Furniture shopping with

Trying to put flair in the furniture shopping.

Speaking of flair, I have a new office that was in dire need of being CBXBfied. So, trying to stay true to my subtle self, Camo helped haul and hang accessories that made me feel right at home.

What office is complete without zebra print chairs?

What office is complete without zebra print chairs?

Of course there is a Hawkeye nook.

Of course there is a Hawkeye nook.

Saturday Work Day

Like a boss.

Since I stole art from my mini manse for my office meant I had a bare wall (THE HORROR) to deal with, which I quickly remedied.

Stole from home, so had juje the dressing room walls back up.

Eeeew gross.

After about four hours of arranging, I executed my new design in my dressing room (you know, what us single gals do with extra  bedrooms).

I hate skulls, the color pink and sparkles, obviously.

I hate skulls, the color pink and sparkles, obviously.

While I was slaving away doing loads of laundry and redecorating small spaces, Ted, Rocky and Elsa Pants were a huge help while waiting for new sheets to be put on the bed.

Lots of laundry help.

Paw patrol.

Sweetest scene of the weekend was seeing Ted’s shadow, Elsa Pants follow him any and everywhere.

Ted and his shadow, Elsa Pants.

The Bear cannot escape but secretly loves it.

Speaking of cats, this crazy feline lady cannot wait to take in the moving Keanu this weekend. Guess what my household of pussies will be this year for Halloween?

Halloween outfit decided.

Gangsta pussies.

While the work week has begun, I can most certainly say this is what I will be having for happy hour this evening.

Today feels like that kind of Monday.

Care to join?

Here’s hoping you’re already owning your week like a boss.

Cheers!

CBXB!

The Dick Pic Debacle

photo 1 - Version 2

I got another dick pic!

Just kidding. April Fools. But this is such a goodie, couldn’t refuse sharing again.

Do not, I REPEAT DO NOT ever send a dick pic. Ever.

Do not, I REPEAT DO NOT ever send a dick pic. Ever.

________________________________________________

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

This not-in-the-slightest fairytale post contains a blurred out dick pic I received as a love note.

________________________________________________

It all started with an innocent girl’s night out. My friends and I rarely get together, as everyone is busy with work, husbands and offspring (I of course, am extremely busy with my mini manse full of fur balls).

Girls Night

Wild gal nights out no more as procreating became a focus point for everyone but yours truly.

Several years ago, I found myself single and when our gaggle of gals ran into a group of Ohio guys at a honky tonk, my bestie G (you know, the one who almost got in a fist fight to defend my honor against an 80-year-old man) chatted up a nice fellow who had recently moved to Music City. At the end of their 82 second conversation, she turned to me giddily exclaimed, “I gave him your number!”

New Cat, New Cat your order is ready.

Fucking bitch.

OK, so maybe I was overreacting a tad.

I looked at the dude who was obviously an old frat guy (you know the look – “fancy” leather flip flops, khaki shorts, golf shirt tucked in with a belt typically accompanied by swoopy bangs on forehead (affectionately called Bama Bangs) – at least in the South anyway – but this guy had a shaved head) I thought it wouldn’t kill me to put my toe back in the dating pond, as dude looked harmless.

Something along the lines of these guys. So NOT my type.

Being that I’m from Iowa, I assumed Mr. Ohio and I could bond over Big Ten football (even though I loathe THE Ohio State Buckeyes).  So I talked to the guy for about four entire minutes, he asked if I’d like to go to happy hour the following week and I accepted.

And soon after wished I hadn’t.

The following day I received no less than 23 texts and tried to be a good sport before turning into an extremely annoyed lady –

Nice meeting you last night! You too.

What’s for breakfast? I don’t cook.

Send me a pic! You know what I look like, I just met you last night.

What’s your last name? No Googling before our date.

Are you on Facebook? Isn’t everyone?

And on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on until I finally said (at 7:30pm) that I was going to bed.

Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, I reached out to G and my sister who both thought maybe this guy was simply nervous and overly anxious for our date in a few days.

OK, OK maybe I wouldn’t write him off – yet.

But then, I received this the following morning…

Thought you might like this.

Um...creepy?!

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I didn’t respond because I didn’t know what the hell to say. Who sends half naked pictures to a chick when she’s already said yes to a date?

That you’ve only talked to for 240 seconds?

My silence seemed to only pique his interest more.

Do you like piercings on guys?  No response.

Do you want me to pick you up at 7:30 or 8pm? No response. (Although we said happy hour you stupid fuck and I might as well put my photo on a milk carton if I give you my address).

Do you have any tattoos I’ll be surprised to find? No response but fucking seriously?

And after forwarding everything to my sister and G, I got two similar responses:

CRAIGSLIST KILLER CANCEL DATE IMMEDIATELY

Of course I was already in the process of excusing myself from hanging with this psycho because I was sure to be hog tied and either end up at the bottom of the Cumberland River or in one of his apartment rooms for 3.4 years before eventually gnawing through my own arm to escape.

Either way, no thanks.

Here’s how it went as I tenderly tried to turn him down…

The Break Up

Now I’m sure you’re thinking that I went easy on him as I used the word “reschedule” which I’d soon regret. But I didn’t know how much this D-Bag knew about me, having my phone number, so I went for the easing out of it approach.

Which didn’t seem to work well because this kept happening (I’ve blurred out anything associated with my job)…

photo 2

D-Bag kept sending me pictures of himself sitting at his desk, “funny” memes he’d found online and asking how I was doing. My silence was turning out not to be so golden.

The photo below came the evening that we were supposed to be meeting for drinks and I suppose it was allowing me to see just what I was missing out on.

I must say, a step up from his khaki shorts.

Oh gee, you look like 874,912 men that reside in Nashville.

photo 3

At my usual Friday night happy hour, I was laughing and showing friends what D-Bag had been sending over and over with no response from me and another photo popped up.

photo 4

THOUGHT U MAY LIKE THIS?!?!

He thought I might like this?!

photo 3

My initial reaction:

MY EYES!

MY EYES!

As the entire bar turned to look at our table because yours truly couldn’t stop screaming, “DID HE REALLY JUST SEND THAT? DID HE REALLY JUST SEND THAT? DID HE REALLY JUST SEND THAT? DID HE REALLY JUST FUCKING SEND THAT?!”

I happened to be sitting next to First Mate at the time – much to her arm’s dismay as I almost ripped it off upon seeing the penis of a complete stranger with whom I’d had a four (FOUR!) minute conversation.

Hold me. Hold me with your good arm.

Hold me. Hold me with your good arm.

I’m pretty sure I single-handedly polished off a bottle of Jager before stumbling home to pass out in the comforting paws of Ted.

Down the hatch

Please be a mind eraser. Please.

When someone doesn’t respond to your naked picture you’d think that would be the biggest hint of all time, like a neon sign blinking “STOP TEXTING ME YOU CRAZY ASS CLOWN” but it turns out this douche really wanted to get together.

photo 5

When he didn’t stop, I was going insane trying not to respond. Naturally, I was discussing this with everyone from work friends to girlfriends to my family. We couldn’t decide if going to the police would make him angry (or crazier) and if I responded, it would most likely egg him on.

He didn't stop.

Stop the madness!

I thought of sending a pic of me with runaway bride eyes (remember that Georgia lady and her eyes?!) and one of Camo’s menacing guns, D-Bag might piss himself and leave me alone.

Crazy bitch with a gun.

Yes, it would be aimed at his penis.

But I refrained. I sat on my hands and D-Bag’s messages kept coming with no replies from this chick.

photo

By this point, he’d been texting to no one for over a month and I was beyond pissed off.

Furious.

You don’t fuck with an Iowa girl.

Don't mess with a girl who's been corn fed.

Nope. Don’t do it.

You don’t fuck with a crazy cat lady.

Image 6

Seriously. Don’t even think about it.

And you most certainly don’t fuck with a picture happy blogger who will be sure everyone knows that you, a gigantic D-Bag, work at the downtown Nashville Omni hotel where you started as a Project Manager from Ohio but are now permanently residing in Music City.

There also may or may not be flyers up of him in all of his glory at the hotel.

Image 3

Bloggers mean business.

Sorry you if you can’t erase the images above from your mind.

But I just had to share because as D-Bag said…

I thought you might like it.

CBXB

CBXB!