Weekend What Day Is It Does It Matter Winks

Well, I for one, started this Ronacation off on the right foot. I wasn’t gonna let a worldwide pandemic keep me from fabulousness.

Safer at home day one.

I am fortunate to have the ability to work remotely and got my home desk all prepped and set.

Home office in the pussy room.

My desk is located in The Pussy Posse wing of the Mini Manse so, naturally, I have to display all things feline as to not wound the fragile feelings that cats pretend they own.

For those of you wondering, of course, I have pussies crawling all over me every damn day and I do not hate it. Not one bit.

But as the days rolled into weeks rolled into a month and then got all kinds of blurry as to what day of the week it actually was started taking a toll on my sparkly look. I morphed fairly quickly into a greasy-haired, messy bun, I-took-a-bath-so-I don’t-need-to-wash-my-hair-for-three-weeks, whatever-I’m-wearing-must be comfy-lady.

I’ve woken up like this precisely 32 days in a row now.

I’ve even taken things down 1,876,899 notches when taking Zoom calls, forgetting there’s a fucking video camera attached to the computer call. Blonde is hard.

I think many of us hold literal press conferences when we can say…

I mean, showering is not hard, right? But it’s so easy to skip washing my hair if I take a bath and because it’s long, I choose to wear the grease trap in a whale tail (a halved ponytail) or messy bun. If I get to feeling really fancy, I will shower AND wash AND then put deep conditioner in my hair, resulting in a wet bun for another five days (I am always cautious when taking my hair down from said wet bun, as I am not sure if it will have molded or if a kitten is hiding in there).

But the most impressive feat comes about every 14 days when I actually wash AND condition AND dry my locks.

There she is!

My Iowa twins are home from school the rest of this semester with planning for fall classes to resume. Like almost every other person I have seen on social media, the kids have started tie dying. Actually, I think this a prerequisite for Rona quarantine.

Am I the only one not doing this art?

If there’s anything my family knows how to do, it’s snack making. And Princess B is on it. She made her first batch of Rotel last Sunday and it was so tempting to get into my car (that wouldn’t make it down the block right now) and drive the nine hours to taste it.

Chef-boyarprincessdee

While Sister CBXB is teaching her kids how to cook, I’m letting mine snack when, where and on whatever they want to get them to shut the fuck up.

Rocky gettin cheezy.

I can’t stuff anything into my mouth without the prying puppy dog eyes from Prissy. I’ve conquered making a hot dog not fit into a hamburger bun. Rona probs.

A dog wanting a dog.

It’s a motherfucking shame that it’s taken a global pandemic to get family and friends to virtually gather. It’s not hard and why weren’t we doing this long before Rona?!

Virtual happy hours with friends near and far have helped me with my missing of in real life human connection.

A day in the life of quarantined CBXB looks a bit like the drawing I so accurately rendered below.

The Pussy Posse has a love/hate relationship with me right now.

While Tennessee is under a safer-at-home mandate until tomorrow, Nashville is under one until further notice. Mayor Cooper isn’t going to open the city until there are 14 days of COVID cases on the decline. Everyone has such mixed feelings but I think we can all agree it’s a fucking shame that kids are missing out on life milestones. In my apartment complex, it was shared that one of our resident’s daughters was turning 18, missing prom and her high school graduation. So her mom asked residents to decorate their balconies and come out of our places that evening for a surprise parade.

I still don’t know her name. But what a fucking fabulous feeling, helping spread a little joy with a community of neighbors whose names I mostly don’t know either.

All in this shitshow Rona prom/birthday/high school graduation parade together.

Speaking of prom, actor John Krasinski hosted a virtual prom last weekend for those missing out. On Instagram he wrote, “That’s right class of 2020, I’m DJing your prom with some friends this Friday night 8EST/5PST!!”

Best idea ever.

Due to it being a virtual prom, anyone could attend and Sister CBXB did it up right.

Prom Prince, Prom Princess, Prom chaperone.

Princess B got to wear one of her dance recital outfits, as it’s been canceled. Obvies looked adorbs. Prince B opted to go with a business on top, comfy on the bottom ensemble. Also, obvies adorbs.

All dressed up with somewhere to go!

Thankfully the weather in Music City has been pleasant (I mean after the tornado and whatnot). These two outside babies had their own kittens two weeks ago.

Rolo and Girlie Girl post-delivery of kittens.

These two petite sisters were born last April. I didn’t get them into the clinic in time for spaying before the tornado and then Rona hit. They got pregnant in the meantime and had kids. My little babies had babies. Eek. I have yet to see the kittens but I can hear them under the stairs. The Nashville Humane Society is going to take the kittens that I haven’t homed once they’ve weaned and socialized. As for the mamas, Rolo has found herself a home with my girl Rocky Ryan! We’re gonna meet up for the pussy exchange when it’s safe.

Going to be an Iowa Hawkeye!

Girlie Girl is still looking for a furrever abode. She’s sweet, petite, a purrer and I’ve finally gotten to pick her up for cuddles. Also, she and Prissy touch noses every morning, so she’s cool with dogs, too.

A pose for your consideration.

Social distance drinking is one of the events that can be done with nice weather! Last weekend, First Mate and I were able to enjoy separate boxes of our beloved Bota Box Rosé together but apart.

Two girls, two boxes, two dogs, safe distance.

When I put the above photo on Instagram, I was trying not to piss my pants pleasantly surprised when the actual Bota Box company “liked” my photo. It’s not like I rushed to any conclusions or anything.

While I know we are all dealing with this pandemic on different levels, it’s comforting to know that we’re in this together, apart. I can’t begin to express my gratitude for all of the essential employees and those working in the medical field.

And if you are safer-at-homing it but must go out, be sure you have the appropriate attire for Rona. I mean, this may be a tad extra but you get the point.

Not letting Rona steal my fabulousness.

Stay safe. Stay healthy.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

Buy Me a Drink

 

My Viral Birthday

Holy fucking shit.

The tornado that ripped through middle Tennessee wasn’t even one month ago.

While the region was reeling, the global pandemic made its debut the day after the tornado with the first confirmed diagnosis in the state.

Now, I know many folks who showed up in droves to volunteer after the tornado are starting to test positive for COVID. I think this is largely due to the massive amount of good humans who showed the fuck up to help neighbors after a natural disaster. Since then, the Coronavirus has thwarted a lot of the efforts being made by organizations, supplies, volunteers, hard-hit businesses, etc.

But here we are in the throes of a global pandemic and we all have a fucking front row seat. My VIP ticket happened to include my first ever birthday in quarantine.

Oh hi! You feel like celebrating with people now? Too bad.

Since Rapegate, I would have been down to par-tay in isolation on past birthdays.

But not this year. Oh no. This is the first year where the bitch is baaaack to finding all things joy and ready to celebrate the entire year month week day. So I did just that in spite of a fucking global pandemic. I celebrated my face off.

We partied and Prissy force loved it.

While the circumstances were not the most epically fabulous, my peeps far and wide celebrated with me. Boston Barbie had a bottle of champs with me via FaceTime and sent a pizza for supper.

Quarantined prezzies were sent and loved hard.

Text messages and social media wishes kept a smile on my face.

First Mate tapped on my window and brought her own airplane sized bottle (is that what they are really called?) of fancy vino over and poured it into her own glass.

I almost burnt down the Mini Manse baked my own gluten-free birthday cake. While it was not on the top ten (or top 100) sweets I’ve ever tasted, it went down the hatch like a charm (I think it was because of all the sprinkles). Please feel free to spoil my hips after this shitshow is over with all of the gluten-free goodies. I won’t hate it.

Look the fuck out Martha Stewart.

While I’m now certain I can star in my very own baking show of failures (waiting for the phone to ring cooking channel), my gal pal in Scotland came up with an acronym for “when all this is over” – WATIO – and posed the question on her Instagram.

What I want even more WATIO, is for you and your loved ones to be alive, healthy and ready to celebrate your faces off with me on my half birthday bash on September 25, 2020.

Until then, stay the fuck home. Let’s make my half birthday party go viral for reasons other than a worldwide pandemic.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

Nashville Strong

There is strength in numbers.

As many of you are aware, a tornado ripped through Middle Tennessee just last week. Its reign of terror was 50 miles wide and remained on the ground for 60 minutes, hitting in the dark of the night while many residents were asleep.

Strength in numbers.

I had gone to a Nashville Predators game the prior evening and upon returning to the Mini Manse, realized I left my phone in Mama CBXB’s car. I texted her via my iWatch to let her know.

Ignorance is bliss.

Mama CBXB came by around 6am on Tuesday morning to return my phone and told me there’d been a tornado and to turn on the TV. The images being shown were inconceivable.

I sat in silence. I sat in shock. I sat in sadness. I started freaking the fuck out when I saw the areas where the tornado reportedly touched down because I know people from every area. I checked my email. The CEO of our company sent a message at 6am to stay home until further notice. Our office building had survived the attack from Mother Nature but this is the view of damage from our parking lot, across the street at Tennessee State University.

The magnitude of damage was hard to comprehend via the television screen. The scariness of unknown lurked within every thought. My phone started dinging with messages, DMs, and calls that were concerned peeps checking on me, my friends and family.

None of the local stations broke for the national morning news programs and fresh information kept flooding in. Missing persons lists started circulating, the mayors of areas affected were conducting press conferences, advising residents of what to do. By 10am, the city of Nashville declared a state of emergency. Twenty-two people were confirmed dead and 50,000 people were without power.

The feeling of helplessness subsided when by finding out those loved ones in the areas hit the hardest, historic East Nashville, Germantown and North Nashville were alive. My girlfriend and her family lost their house but they were able to take cover with seconds to spare at 1:45am.

After seeing the above photos of her house, we spoke on the phone. You know what she said? “It could have been so much worse.”

She’s right. It could have been worse. And for some of our residents, it was as the death toll from the storm grew to 25 lives lost. The city went to bed Tuesday night with an uncertainty of what to do and how to help our neighbors while staying out of the way of first responders and city maintenance crews.

Strength in numbers.

The next day, local news showed the droves of volunteers answering calls from organiztions.

My office was able to open and operate off of a generator. We were the only business able to open in about an eight-block radius.

Friends, acquaintances and loved ones kept checking on me and all things Nashville that I love and adore.

Open for business, baby.

I poured over the news while at work, seeking ways we could help. That is the damndest feeling – knowing people need help, but having to stay away because you’d create more havoc. While I was scrolling through Huffington Post, I notice a familiar stature.

No big deal first day.

The Silent Indian’s first day at Edley’s BBQ in East Nashville ended up being a training in tornado clean-up instead of how to be a General Manager of the restaurant.

Before and after images started circulating on social media, creating awareness of the damage done to the heart of the affected areas.

Then, the names of victims started to trickle out. Mike and Albree were leaving an East Nashville speakeasy, Attaboy, headed to their car when they were struck by debris. Albree died on the scene, Mike later at the hospital.

Putnam County saw the most lives lost to the tornado.

With all of the devastating emotions reeling around, the communities stepped the fuck up, showing the world why Tennessee is known as The Volunteer State.

Tide rolled into East Nashville with their Loads of Hope program, helping first responders and those displaced by the tornado wash their clothes.

Animals were displaced from their families and heartbreakingly wondering the streets. The Nashville Human Association, along with numerous other animal rescues and organizations were on hand collecting donations, taking in stranded animals and spearheading social media sharing to get fur babies back to their loved ones.

Local companies started donating 100% of proceeds from merchandise to the tornado relief efforts. In four hours, an Instagram account, @nashvilletn, raised $50k. In a little over a week, they’ve raised $450,000 and counting. They hope to break $1 million by the end of March.

Anything on their website is 100% donated to the relief efforts. CLICK HERE to visit their online store.

Project 615 is a local business that only does good and creates awareness through their tee shirts. All of the profits from the shirt below go toward the Middle Tennessee tornado fund. CLICK HERE to visit their online store.

There are numerous colors and variations of the shirt below from local Nashvillian, Love and Lion. Again 100% of proceeds from sales are headed to relief efforts. CLICK HERE to visit the online store.

The couple, Albree and Mike, were both service industry workers in East Nashville. The Fox Bar & Cocktail Club, where Albree worked, is selling pins in honor of the couple.  All proceeds will benefit service industry workers without employment due to the tornados.

CLICK HERE to purchase a “Pancho” pin, named after their cat.

Witnessing the outpouring of love, support and efforts made by friends and complete strangers alike have been beyond heartwarming. Those who have reached out questioning how to help, please invest in a product above as Nashville is now in the rebuilding stage.

The response for calls of supplies, volunteers, organizing, recovery efforts, etc. has been enormous.

After four full days of volunteers, many organizations pressed pause over the weekend. More than 30,000 people volunteered in Middle Tennessee during that time span.

Strength in numbers.

The cleanup efforts are ongoing, the rebuilding will take months and years but one thing I know is true about the city I love so madly…we’re always open.

See you all on Broadway soon.

There is strength in numbers.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Love Potion

Kicking the love fest weekend off in cuteness were my Iowa twins showing off their dough from our uncle.

Holla for two dolla!

I was surprised by a secret admirer with a single rose delivered (by a florist and everything!) to work. I haven’t slept a fucking wink since.

WHO IS THIS FROM?????

My Galentine’s day evening was spent with First Mate in our now annual tradition of going to a local joint, Sperry’s Restaurant. The last two Valentine’s days, we’ve ended up here and kept the staff on their toes, as we are about 40 years younger than their average customer.

Galentines guzzle.

I gifted First Mate’s dog, Jacey, with a new toy that we decided to use as our centerpiece.

When I saw First Mate’s mama had sent Galentine’s gifts, we stopped drinking our wine just long enough to open the pretty packages.

The cutest gift from The Perfect Setting in Franklin, TN.

As you may very well know (because I am extremely fabulous at documenting), First Mate and I are into budget friendly boxes of wine. However, as this was a rare evening out on the town, we splurged and ordered a bottle. And naturally, I documented the experience.

Bottle service.

When the waiter went to pour our purchased wine from a glass bottle into appropriately stemmed wine goblets, we stopped him short. Excuse us, we brought our own fancy glasses with us for dining purposes that said, “Cheers fo my Galentine.”

BYOG.

To soak up our fancy bottled wine, I got the surf ‘n’ turf and managed to use the entire tin of butter on the side.

Surf’s up.

Fries before guys is our motto, which is why we had to order a large batch.

Purrfection.

Or maybe I killed it…

Always keeping it classy in the ritziest part of Nashville.

While we were waiting on our second bottle of wine to be presented to us, our waiter almost lost a limb while clearing our table of plates. There may have just been a few left but no fry goes uneaten on our watch.

Take this away from hungry ladies at your own risk.

First Mate killed our second bottle of wine, so we are now even.

Galentine’s Day success!

Prince B woke with some sickness funk on Saturday but his sister, Princess B, was sure to keep some of the spotlight on herself (sound like anyone else you know?).

Prince B and a photobombing Princess B.

My side hustle, called Animal Queendom, is petsitting. All of the eyes in the Mini Manse are on Pop, a pomeranian we are watching this week. He looks like an actual stuffed animal because he’s almost too pretty to be real. However, that theory is out the window every time he has an accident inside the Mini Manse (he’s supposedly potty trained to go on puppy pads but hasn’t used one once since his arrival).

Double trouble.

Prissy was needing primped and she got a bath, which is usually her fave time. She even loves a blow out. But since we have pretty Pop around, she was mortified that Mama would make her do such a thing with company watching.

Totally embarrassed.

Speaking of water, the twins braved the chill to take a hop in the hot tub. They needed to get their fins wet before heading to Mexico next week!

Splishy, splashy fun.

I’ve been trying to get my Mini Manse back in organizational shape and this weekend I tackled my dressing room. It’s still a work in progress but you can now see the floor.

Dressing room debacle.

What do you do with leftover Valentine candy? You make a love potion, of course!

Potion prep.

Just add water and shaving cream.

Play to your heart’s content.

Now that I’m back on the take care of myself bandwagon after a four year hiatus, I have been experiencing some pinpointed trouble. The sciatic nerve on my right side has been some sort of a sneaky monster in the last six months or so. It reared its head when I sneezed last week while in the tub and I thought my right ass cheek was going to blow off of my body (and I was going to have to call for help to get out of the bath). Luckily I was able to hoist myself up and turned not to the medical corners of the internet but to my peeps on Instagram. I received all kinds of fab advice on supplements to take for joints, muscles and stretches to perform for my sciatic issue.

Pill popper.

After a thirty-minute supplement popping sesh, I headed to a local pub to meet Sleepy for a cocktail on Sunday. My Lyft driver was impressively on point with her customer kit. I had to snag a sucker before she dropped me at the Alley Pub.

Passenger goodies.

Mama CBXB also joined us in our lazy day shenanigans (when I should have been working away in my dressing room but what’s another day after it’s been four years, huh?!).

Sunday Funday.

The rest of the weekend look liked this…

Furballs cozied up on the couch, Netflix and a little vino.

Feline version of Siamese twins.

There’s really nothing better out there than being surrounded by furry love and adoration (which I am the one doing all of the fucking adoration, of course).

Cheers to a fabulous week ahead!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Love Ya, Mean It

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Who love me? My pussies. My pussies looooooove me.

The day of love so many tend to loathe while others welcome the warm fuzzies with gigantic appetites that rival my admiration for wine and Skinny Pirates.

The feel of Love Day for certain peeps.

As a kid, I carefully crafted a Valentine’s Day mailbox for school every year (you know, back when you could celebrate shit in school without the worry of the teeniest tiniest chance of offending someone). Students weren’t required to participate but I can’t remember when a kid didn’t. Everyone in class gave everyone a Valentine. If a kid didn’t have a box my teacher (shout out to my first grade teacher, Mrs. Shawler who reads this blog!) had an extra shoebox or two wrapped in red paper. No one was left out.

Will you be mine?

I was always lucky that I had a family who liked to celebrate everything, so no holiday was ignored. Not even one that I now often hear claims that it’s “made up” for people to get gifts. (Well peeps, if you treated your loved ones “special” all the time, grand gesture days wouldn’t be needed, now would they? You could simply just get a well-meaning card or write a note from the heart any day of the year but I digress). My sister and I’d wake up at home to little Valentines on our chairs at the kitchen table, maybe along with a small box of chocolates. We were always excited for the party to take place that day at school.

Fast forward to high school when the day of admiration became a sport of sorts.

If this high school Glamour Shot doesn’t make you want to be mine, I don’t know what fucking will.

The Honor Society sold carnations to fellow students for a dollar every Valentine’s week and the members would drop the flower off to your designated recipient anonymously. Some peeps had armloads. Some had none. I just wanted a pink one.

Some girls got called to the office and paraded delivered – delivered in a vase and everything – flowers around school. It didn’t matter if it was from their dad, grandparents or boyfriend. I was one jealous bitch. Then, in an instant, that all changed.

Because I became that girl one year.

Oh hi. I got the flowers…and then some.

The Honor Society members delivered carnations during first period. I was in concert band every morning with my sweet silver Doc Severinsen trumpet at my side. My sophomore year, the doors flung open and the band instructor stopped our warm-up. A group of kids came in hauling carnations in large buckets for their soon-to-be owners. While I was hoping to get a flower or two, my eyes laid sight on the mother of all Valentine’s day hauls. A gigantic, white stuffed teddy bear with a red bow around its neck, holding a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. So enormous, you couldn’t see the person transporting it.

About as big as this dog I gifted Princess B a few years back.

I think I literally turned green with envy at whoever was going to be the recipient of this stuffed animal. I mean, I thought I would get a flower or two because my girlfriends and I always sent them back and forth. But this, this shit was different. This was the stuff that warm and fuzzy, cheesy as fuck Valentine’s memories were crafted.

Being in the brass of the band, I sat in the last row of the room. And I’ll be damned if that fucking bear didn’t inch its way closer and closer. I kept thinking…which girl had a boyfriend that sat near me? I couldn’t wait to see who was going to get the pristine bear.

As the hidden stuffed animal transporter walked behind me, I almost gave myself whiplash looking to my left. But to my unabashed chagrin, that motherfucker was lifted over my head and sat into my lap. Hershey’s fucking kisses and all. To this day, that is one of my best Valentine’s Days (which may seem a little sad since my day of love peaked in high school but I mean, it’s true).

This moment of sweetness it didn’t come from a love interest. It came from a friend. From a best friend who (although didn’t take me to his senior prom and I will never, ever let him forget it) remains a bestie to this day.

Oh the bangs. On both of us.

The teddy bear came from Scooby.

We share a love of stuffed animals. Obvies.

Relationship game still on point today.

This gesture seemed like the grandest of all gestures in the universe at the time. All of these years later, it still does. My gay best friend delivered my grandest Valentine’s Day memory. Why was this so significant? Because he didn’t have to do anything. But he loved me and wanted me to know. Isn’t that just a simple thing to do?

Scooby was celebrating Galentine’s Day with me before Galentine’s Day was a thing.

Galentine’s Day started about a decade ago on the TV show, Parks and Recreation by Amy Poehler’s character to celebrate “ovaries before brovaries”. It was about women celebrating female friendship.

Now, Galentine’s is a nonofficial holiday celebrating all things love without romance.

Grand gestures aren’t needed (but if any of you have a Louis Vuitton en route for delivery today, professing your love for me, I am not going to turn it down). A single flower is nice. A card will do. A simple text message. A smile, a hug, a thank you. Whether it’s love or like in today’s climate, bringing happiness to any and all of those around us isn’t really that hard. We just have to be kind to let one another know that we like – or even love – them.

Finding yourself in a non-traditional Valentine’s day sitch? You aren’t alone. You do have love in your life.

Maybe we are madly in love with our offspring and the kids around us…

Maybe we are in love with our partner who we married on Valentine’s Day…

Maybe we are madly in love with our careers, jobs, work pals….

Maybe we are madly in love with our parents and write them letters to them when they’re away…

Maybe we are madly in love with extended family…

Maybe we are madly in love with our fur babies (which you all know I’m bat shit about mine and is honestly the greatest love in the entire universe)…

Maybe we are madly in love with thoughts of yesteryear…

Maybe we are madly in love with our sibling…

Maybe we are madly in love with our friends…

Regardless of what it is in your life that you love, be madly in love with your own authentic self first.

Yep. This about sums it up for me.

If you don’t love (let alone like) yourself as your own #1, no one will love the true you who is meant to be loved.

Be your own damn Valentine. Because whether you realize it or not, there is some sort of love in your life worth celebrating (even if that deep, deep love is for binge watching Netflix).

Make some snacks.

Toast to yourself.

Johnny always shows his love.

Whatever it may be, treat yourself to your version of my stuffed teddy bear this Valentine’s Day.

Heart heels – my updated stuffed animal.

After spreading some love around the office today, I’m mauling my fur babies and then taking myself out with First Mate. The same as we did last Galentine’s Day and the year prior- to not only toast to our love of one another but also to how badass we both are in our own right.

Last day of love we went to Sperry’s – an old school steak house where the same patrons have been visiting during the restaurant’s 45-year existence. First Mate and I felt like runway supermodels surrounded by folks in their eighth decade of life and said yes to the complimentary dessert and adult beverages that headed our way.

So fancy in 2019.

Now go be the love of your own damn life. If you need inspiration, please think of me.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!