How to Be Somebody at a Grammy Party

When I was invited to attend a Grammy viewing party sponsored by the Nashville chapter of The Recording Academy, how could I say no?

Like I’d ever say no to a party. In a bar. With cocktails. And food. And photo booths.

Holla at the Grammy party.

Four somebodies at a Grammy party.

What does one wear when the invitation states, “dress to impress” as the advised attire?


To leopard or not? Boots or heels? Oh the woes.

Selfies helped narrow down the wardrobe before I was all set to make my appearance.

How do I look?

All gussied up with somewhere to go.

Upon arriving to the gala, I prepped myself to walk the extremely short, fairly stained, freshly vacuumed red carpet.

nothing but glamour

Walk of fame.

As no media was present, I shouted my own name acting as paparazzi while I traipsed down the crimson rug.

Acting as own paparazzo

Hey CBXB! Look right here!

Meeting up with my posse, we beelined for the bar (Anyone surprised? Anyone?) prior to taking our seats.

Patiently witing

Ready to mingle.

Because I’m not a fan of standing for hours, I make a habit of arriving as soon as the doors of a venue open (completely being ‘uncool’ as all of the other Nashville hipsters arrive fashionably late).

Start time

No one on the floor but me and the DJ… but my ass will get a seat. Hallelujah!

I sat guzzling wine and flipping through the evening’s program, admiring my V.I.P. paper bracelet that so hideously clashed with my other accessories and watched all of the other somebodies arrive for the show.

Took my seat

If I were a true V.I.P. I probably wouldn’t need this bracelet now would I?

Assessing Nashville’s interpretation of “dress to impress” footwear choices had me arriving at the conclusion that this city embellishes their feet for comfort. Classy comfort.

All kinds of footwear

Sensible wedges, sneakers and cowboy boots, oh my…

Guess which is me?

I missed the comfort memo.

As the venue filled up, I was a happy camper conversing with old friends and enjoying fabulous new times.

Image 18

Party time!

Does this wine match my nail polish? Does it?!

I forced deep conversations with my trio of gents that probably made their ears want to start bleeding.

Seriously? Who is Pharrell's hat?

Do you think Pharrell was trying to mimic Smokey the Bear by wearing that God awful hat?

No seriously, do you?

No seriously, do you?

When they couldn’t take the fashion talk anymore, my buddies lured my vocal chords into remission by announcing the presence of a photo booth near the exit.

Record scratch.

A what?

Let me touch up my lipstick…

Take 1

No talking during photo taking…

Booth 2

Apparently no smiling during photo taking, either.

Kiss my...

We weren’t meant to be models. Clearly.

And while we hoarded the booth (much to my insistence) for a quarter of an hour, we forever captured the essence of us being our best version of somebodies in snapshots.

Lucky us.



Weekend Winks – Babies and Booze

Just passing time away at a baby shower.

My version of a baby bottle.

Is there any better way to spend a Nashville weekend than hanging with cats (naturally), friends and cocktails?

Of course there’s not.

Much to Teddy’s annoyance, we’re still housing the little fur ball that we rescued a few weeks ago. I’m affectionately calling him New Cat, so as not to fall in love with the sweet boy as I try to find him a more permanent home.

Is my shadow still here?

Beyond annoyed with his new shadow.

In great effort to hide from his newest best friend, Ted tried to obstruct himself in a mound of pillows.

Hide out

So not invisible.

My two favorite people turned one last weekend and at their super hero themed party, I acquired a temporary tattoo…

My favorite pair

Super Girl with her sidekick, Captain Cutie Pie.

…that still resides on my forearm one week later (I swear I shower).

Temporary my ass.

Temporary my ass.

Sporting my Incredible Hulk ink, I headed to a baby shower for my gal pal Coco (the Shit Dip recipe creator) who is expecting twins this spring.

Baking twins 'til April.

You can barely tell she’s baking babies, can you?

Seeing an assortment of friends, mostly all moms or mothers-to-be made the afternoon fly by.

Which one of these is not like the other...

Which one of these is not like the other…

Two non moms.

The two non-moms.

To avert anyone from thinking I was carrying anything other than alcohol in my belly under my billowy shirt, we made signs to ease minds.

Twins for one. Skinny Pirates for another...

Twins for her. Skinny Pirates for yours truly.

As the shindig wound down, it was time to clear out the wine bottles and of course I was more than happy to put my expert gulping skills to use.

Sombody's got to do it.

Stand back and let a classy professional kill it.

While I was downing all of the vino east of the Mississippi, my Iowa nephew was eating all of the watermelon west of the river.



I love spending a Sunday parked in front of the TV, gussied up in my finest pjs, snuggled down with Ted. Which is why my body almost went into shock as I went against my weekly ritual to watch the Grammy Awards at a viewing party last night.

Stop. Grammy time.

Stop. Grammy time.

Joining a fine trio of fellas at the party, we decided it was time to bring our band out of retirement and grace the over saturated Nashville music scene with our presence again.

You’re welcome Nashville.

In celebration of our revival we had a hard time paying attention to the awards show.



But when we turned our attention toward the big screen, it tended to look like this….


Um…was that Madonna?

Which made this morning all the more fun as I groggily got myself up for work.

But as I left my mini manse, a certain pouty pants of a Bear had a friend helping him bid me adieu on his favorite perch.


Peacefully sharing the view together…

Think my resident fur ball is falling for New Cat?