Is there any better feeling when the clock strikes 5pm on Friday and happy hour is screaming your name?
Meanwhile I cozyied up to a gal pal that blew in from the Windy City for a short trip.
This past Saturday was a bigger deal than the rest in regard to our Iowa Hawkeye tailgates, as it was homecoming weekend and my squad prepped for the Fighting Illini of Illinois.
My very own self appointed Homecoming King helpfully added cat hair to all elements of the decor.
Due to another early ass 11am kick-off, we opted for a brunch spread of egg and sausage tacos, bacon and french toast.
Dada CBXB and I knew we needed some sort of foundation due to the possibility we’d be taking a moonshine shot before noon (which we did).
For good measure, we had to do a victory shot as well because our Hawkeyes have a 6-0 record for the first time since 2009 (and are now ranked #17 thank you very much).
Busy keeping our livers in check down in Tennessee, the Iowa twins were visiting their first winery (we start them young) Saturday afternoon.
While the twins were learning the wonders of grapes turning into wine, Jdub and myself were on the way to see my
boyfriend, best friend, party buddy favorite performer, Kid Rock at the Woods Amphitheater just outside of Nashville.
Being that we’re two fairly basic bitches, we needed something to ump up our redneck ante. Thankfully the merch table took care of our accessory needs, announcing to the world what we already knew…
We had no problems looking like white trash, gallivanting around the lawn seats, trying not to spill booze on everyone. It was especially hard not to look like complete and total assholes when we discovered that our tickets were not simply general admission….we had assigned seats.
My luck didn’t stop there. Kid Rock wore pink just for me. Just for me (and probably not because it’s breast cancer awareness month. Whatever).
He was so purty, I had to adjust my sunglasses I wore at night (because yes, I am that fucking cool).
Killing time after the show, we called everyone in our phone books. Sorry
not sorry for the late night calls, endless voicemails, photos and texts sent to our close (and not so close) friends. We just wanted to tell everyone about our Saturday night.
We had zero fun.
Here’s hoping you’re your own American badass this week.