Weekend Winks – Super Hero, Sun and Snuggles

Life. Last week was a doozy in the fact that my chronic fatigue kicked into high gear. I was so ready for Friday at 5pm, I came home and when I laid down on the couch, I woke up two hours later. I’m not a napper but damn it felt ah-mah-zing.

While I was busy snoozing, Prince B was kicking ass and taking names as a super warrior ninja.

Even ninjas use jazz hands.

He was supposed to use his super power abilities to make it through the obstacle course.

Nailed it.

You know what else this handsome devil can do? Model. His love of books rivals my own and Sister CBXB has taken the twins to the library since forever. Proof is in the banner below.

Literature stud since birth. Yes, I can get you an autograph.

Speaking of autographs, I can also secure you one of Princess B when she becomes a hair model.

Curls on point.

I mean…can you even?

After my mini marathon of a nap Friday, I moved my ass to the bathtub and read to relax. I went to bed around midnight and woke up at 11:30am on Saturday looking nothing like the storybook princesses do. But damn was I rested.

A not so Sleeping Beauty.

As soon as I saw the sun was out, I met Rasta up at the pool where we had on matching swimsuits that were filled out a skosh differently.

Twinning.

My other gal pal, Voodoo found the.perfect.float at my mothership, Target. I will be purchasing this on my next payday because, how could I live without it?

MINE.

Saturday night called for a birthday party for my gal pal G (you know, the one who defended my honor and almost fought an 80-year-old man). It was a real treat to see these ladies.

Fab four.

I don’t get to see them as much lately due to the fact that they have procreated. And while I am extremely busy raising four lazy pussies, I can’t get them to play games with me. So I borrow everyone else’s spawn.

Don’t worry. There was a babysitter babysitting me, too.

Sunday was so dreary I could only think of one thing that might make it better.

The perfect Iowa trifecta of goods. Fresh sweet corn, Anderson Erickson Old Fashioned Cottage Cheese and their fucking bomb ass French Onion dip (which I always call french vanilla – sooooooo hard being blonde). Please, for the love of GAWD can a grocery store start carrying these products below the Mason Dixon Line?!

Throw in a steak and this could be my last meal.

Still feeling tired as all get out, I went back to bed to read only to be pounced on (a very, slow, lethargic pounce) by Rocky.

14 lbs of pussy.

My fucking arm and hand went numb because how could I move this face? HOW?

Dead weight.

While trying to do things with my non-dominant left hand, I happened to scroll passed a very accurate meme on Instagram.

Further fucking proof of a snoozing Pussy Posse.

Obviously Rocco moved and I was able to resume finishing my book. Then I was down a pussy in the bed and went on the hunt for Fabio who typically is demanding a head rub on my chest. I found him on the kitty condo enjoying some solitude.

He just needed a minute.

While I was getting ready to pour myself a cup of Sleepytime tea, these two clowns were still up at 8:30pm when their usual bedtime routine starts around 7pm.

Night caps of milk.

Monday started out in the loveliest way possible. As my alarm did its duty, the pussies that were sleeping in each arm pit and on my chest scattered, knowing it was feeding time. I rolled over and saw cat ass. Awe.

Best view in bed.

Here’s hoping you don’t already feel like this today, too.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – World Traveler

OK, so maybe I’m not so much of a world traveler as a back and forth to Iowa traveler.

The past two weekends I’ve found myself in opposite ends of Iowa, partying it up with some of my fave family members starting with Prince and Princess B.

Twins are so easy.

Twins are so easy.

I hadn’t seen my hell on wheels duo since January and being that they’re now two and a half no moment spent with them is dull.

Princess B

This laugh is as funny as it appears.

Prince B

Nephew nuzzles are the best kind of love.

My sister typically stocks up on my beloved Anderson Erickson chip dip (seriously the best dip on the planet and my ample ass can prove it!) for me but Princess B had other plans.

Love us some dairy.

Who needs a spoon?

We also ganged up and loved on our favorite Hawkeye, Dada CBXB.

Three

As you can see, he hates the attention.

After a two night layover back in my own Nashville bed, I headed up to see my spunky Gma (you know, the one who pretends to hate Jell-O shots and wheels around the town square in style) as she’s not been feeling fabulous recently.

Gma

Happy to be hanging together.

I also found myself willingly stuffed in a trunk for the sake of a birthday surprise for my fabulous friend Mr. Scooby.

Got thrown in a trunk

Not much I won’t do for a laugh.

Mr. Scooby was surprised to say the least.

Surprise success!

My bestie Scooby flew me into Des Moines to surprise his hubs, Mr. Scooby for his birthday. This trip also served as a way for Scooby and myself to get shit faced at the finish line while his hot husband and equally good looking running mate, Royal, sprinted 13.2 miles at the annual Dam to Dam.

Drunk Mascot

Race runners with their soon to be drunk mascot.

A little too much excitement in the collecting of champagne bottles resulted in a bubble catastrophe in the grocery store. I swear my two bottles of wine at supper had nothing to do with it.

Clean up on aisle nine...

Clean up on aisle nine…

But the spill was definitely worth the trouble as Scoobs and I tailgated at the finish line at the ass crack of dawn the following morning.

Force fed champs well before noon

Force fed champs well before noon.

We also mustered enough energy to engage in a photo shoot while waiting for our runners.

Holla!

Holla!

They did it!

They did it!

After drinking the day away, we kept it up by cocktailing with a fellow classmate, Rolo.

Old friends.

Old friends are the funnest!

After our 118th cocktail of the day, we decided that Scooby looks like the dad from the ’80s TV show “Alf”.

Don’t you agree?

Alf Dad = Scooby

Well, we don’t think the hair looks the same…

Although a whirlwind of a time, it was a spectacular weekend seeing my gays who make me belly laugh so hard I count it as an ab workout.

Foursome

Best bikini workout ever.

There was one teeny, tiny kink in my flight back to Nashville.

It took off at 6am.

I woke up at 5:15am.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

This wouldn’t be such an issue in any other booming metropolis but the thing is this was the one and only flight out of Nashville via Southwest on Sunday. My hungover ass had to make the plane.

At 5:39am I announced my arrival at the airport running in, screaming like a crazy lady at the Southwest ticketing agents:

“WILL I MAKE A SIX AM FLIGHT?”

“You have a slight chance but your bag will never make it.”

Throwing my suitcase at the agent (while thanking her at the same time), I turned into an Olympic runner barreling through security (thank god for salt of the earth, nice, understanding Iowa people who suggested I budge when they saw dust at my feet due to my sudden athletic abilities) and sprinting to my gate in just enough time to dry heave (my body is only used to me doing arm curls in order to get a cocktail to my watering hole) when I sat in my seat as the airplane door slammed shut 30 seconds after my entrance.

Um, oops.

Aging five years in fifty minutes.

And you know what? Even with my beyond late check-in, the suitcase made the airplane.

Made it!

God I love Iowa airport workers.

As this post comes to a close, I’ve received word that things aren’t looking so hot for my Gma and your good karma sent her way would be much appreciated as my family and I hope she’s resting comfortably.

Gma

Ladies out on the town.

And as I am giving my liver a rest, here’s hoping your week is off to a fabulous start!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Trashtacular 90th Birthday Shenanigans

Can you imagine turning the big nine-oh? I can’t either (really, I can’t imagine my liver lasting that long). But my family certainly turned up the class when we were celebrating behind the scenes at my Grandma’s 90th birthday shindig, starting off with her heart bursting in pride at my inability to wash off rub on tattoos I’d received at the Iowa State Fair the day prior.

Tough enough to celebrate 90?

Tough enough to celebrate 90?

Of course we threw Gma an appropriate celebration complete with cake, cookies, punch, old friends and best (depends on how you look at it) of all  – family.

Nonagenarian

Nonagenarian in her birthday glory!

All five sisters are still alive and kickin' it into their 90s.

Party girls! All five sisters are still alive and kickin’ it into their 90s.

Whenever the seven of us are now in the same state, my immediate fam always feels the needs to take a photo just in case we use it at holiday time.

Might be another Christmas card!

Smile! Might be the Christmas card this year…but it for sure won’t be because the babies aren’t looking into the camera. Plus, why do I have two dark holes as eyes?

During the four-hour throw down, a few of us cousins snuck off to Aunt Crispy’s house for a quick cocktail.

You pose

None of the 90-year-olds even noticed we went missing.

The celebrating really started when we spiked the punch and got out the elaborate appetizers at the after party.

Party food!

Nothing says fancy like Anderson Erickson French Onion Dip and party sized Ruffles!

We took turns primping in the new hand mirror my sister gifted me…

Fairest in the land?

Definitely not the fairest in the land.

I cheated on Captain for the first time ever (hurt so good) and used Lady Bligh for Skinny Pirates.

Cheater!

You can catch me on the next episode of Cheaters.

Friendly, loving sign language was exchanged as I “made” family members sign Gma’s guest book, accompanied by a favorite memory with her.

All smiles forcibly signing the guest book (even though it's her own son).

Tough times signing the book (even though it’s her own son).

With the addition of B and B, we were sure to keep the after-party baby friendly.

This twosome

Party animals taking notes from Auntie CBXB.

As we turned their binkies into new wine glass decor.

Binki wine charm

Binky booze charms will be all the rage. Mark my words.

We then felt the need to forgo glasses and just pass the bottle, in old-fashioned, celebratory, heathen-style family fun.

Who needs a glass?

Who needs a glass?

Once we threw the stemware out, we felt it appropriate to just use our hands to eat left over cake.

Stuff the cake

Don’t forget to lick under your fingernails.

And what family birthday party is complete without someone taking their shirt off and using it as a turban?

Turban Times

Uncle T’s head was cold. Really cold.

Taking one’s shirt off also means you can just let it all hang out…all over the kitchen table.

Gut Strut

Bonding time over the gut strut.

You may think that all of this white trash birthday behavior would be enough to make one go mad…

Cry!

I don’t care about your gut Uncle T! This mirror won’t answer my question. AM I PRETTIER THAN SNOW F’ING WHITE?!

But I was still concerned with not being the fairest in all of the land.

I’m sure you’re wondering if my clan is available to attend your next family gathering. The answer is yes. But we do require chips, dip and booze. Lots of booze. Oh, and a piece of your square footage to lay our weary party heads when it’s all over.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Car Party!

A lazy Nashville Friday night consisted of Skinny Pirates and laundry with assistance from Mr. Bear, of course.

Clean as a whistle

Wanting to be the center of my laundry attention.

Fluff cycle

Fluff cycle.

A tad on the overly excited side, I accidentally ate an entire bag of Lay’s potato chips due to the fact that my bootlegged AE chip dip (brought back from last week’s trip to Iowa) called my name every three seconds from the fridge. Along with the equally delicious AE cottage cheese.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner for the weekend.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner for the weekend.

An unexpected girl’s Saturday night out called for pre-party cocktails and a fancy Instagram-ish photo shoot, showing off my leopard heels (purchased on sale at Dillards – $19.98. Hello!).

Snazzy with Instagram

Cocktails and high heels on a Saturday night.

Upon arriving to our bar of choice, we commenced the rare evening out (some of these ladies have little ones, therefore not out-on-the town as much as yours truly) with a big, fat toast.

Cheers to Saturday!

Cheers to Saturday!

Moms on the loose.

Moms on the loose.

People watching is one of my fave things to do and I was trying to snap a pic of a gal’s rain boots all incognito with no success. So we sat up a mock photo shoot in the booth.

The cover up

The cover up.

The victory shot of the camo rain boots with no precipitation in sight. But a much-needed documentation of Southern-style rubber mud kickers, agree?

to get the boots

Mission accomplished.

Once our camo clad photo shoot was busted (I think my loud laugh gave our shenanigans away), we kept up the charade of a photo shoot up much to our fellow bar-goers delight.

Camera!

Can you believe the Ford Modeling Agency passed on this? Complete with a carrot shred in my lap?

Oh you have camo boots? We have carrot moustaches.

Matching moustache

Yes. We know we’re very cool.

Upon completion of our own personal media event in the bar booth, we celebrated with bubbly in our parked car (since we couldn’t crack the champs open in the restaurant – I brought the bottle in celebration of a baby girl born to one of our fellow ladies eight weeks earlier – so I was a little late…).

took the party to the car

Have you done this since you were 16? We’re just keeping it classy!

Backseat beauties

Backseat beauties.

Our car party was busted by the valet dude who acted like a cop on patrol.

Excuse me

Oh, what’s that you say? We can’t party in the parking lot of this fabulous establishment?

We kissed the stuffy bar good-bye (and I literally left my red lipstick and greasy nose print in my gal pal’s backseat) and hoofed it downtown to carry on the evening.

CBXB reminder for the week

CBXB reminder for the week…I think that’s 24 hour stay put lipstick.

Disapproving of the late hour of my return, Ted could only look down his nose at me in disgust.

PAST CURFEW!

PAST CURFEW!

But he quickly got over it as I belly rubbed him to sleep.

lazy leopard

Lazy leopard.

Sunday was spent giggling at photos of my god-daughter…what better past time?

Giggle!

Life is good!

Here’s to a happy week for you!

Cheers –

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Throw Down at a Christening

Prior to witnessing the baptism of your twin niece and nephew, it’s important that they start the day happy.

Rise and Shine!

Rise and Shine!

It’s also equally important to fill up on bottles of adult beverages in preparation for a Christening celebration (that, and the fact that you didn’t start on fire upon entering a church).

blah

Baptism of twins equals twice the party fun!

Be sure to add personal touches in decorating by displaying pics of those near and dear holding the babies.

blah

Can you spot CBXB sticking out like a sore thumb?

blah

My sister, the mother of infant twins, also finds time to create art with all of her spare time.

Food is essential when celebrating babies being dunked in holy water, so have a nice spread.

blah

Sweets, sandwiches and salads…oh my!

Play kissy face with one of the guests-of-honor when she refuses to go down for a nap (not wanting to miss out on any of the fun…taking after Auntie CBXB!).

blah

Future social butterfly.

Keep the cocktails flowing with an open bar, new mom and tasty beverages.

Keep the cocktails flowing

Pour me another, please!

Have a camera in hand at all times to catch each and every second of the day drinking celebration (you’re doing it for the babies, of course).

Turn into a tourist

Turn into a tourist in your sister’s home.

All of the photo snapping will make you very thirsty, leading to a case of the double fists.

Double fist in honor of twins...you know a drink for each.

I did this in honor of twins…you know a drink for each.

Force your dad to try drinks unknown to him (which would be anything other than Natty Light and Taaka (rot gut) vodka).

Force feed martinis

Force feed martinis.

Once the party is fully underway, keep the chips and dip within an arm’s reach so as not to starve due to over consumption of wine. Or beer. Or vodka. Or Captain.

Be sure to have the chips and dip CLOSE

Rehydrating with sodium filled potato chips and the best dip ever Anderson Erickson French Onion (one of the best things in Iowa!).

To further the celebration, break out the cigars!

Get out the cigars

Don’t usually smoke? Have a cigar anyhow.

Partaking in cigars when one usually doesn’t smoke leads to the party clock striking midnight and lights out…almost immediately.

Snooze your brains out.

My bed buddy. Not affected by the cigar smoke but clearly happy the party is over.

One can try to sleep the Christening party off the next morning but sometimes you forget that babies get up at the ass crack of dawn. No. Matter. What.

Party pooped out .... well at least I am.

Party pooped out …. well at least I am.

And excitedly remember that babies also tend to only sleep, eat and shit the rest of the day. Score!

Just like her Auntie CBXB

Trying to be just like her Auntie CBXB with a sleep mask. Love!

And that folks is how you thrown down at a Christening.

Bless your heart.

CBXB

CBXB!

The Seven Month Itch

March marks my seventh month in the blogosphere, which I suppose means I’m still relatively new at this. When I started posting, I not only wondered what in the hell I was going to talk about daily (like I ever shut up) I also wondered who in the world would be interested enough (aside from my mother and the required family member readership) to come hang and take a peek into my life.

In celebration, I’ve decided to share seven random facts about myself. Sit back, relax and grab a cocktail (or three)…

#1. I have a really fun family that I love hanging around.

up up and away

Trying to get a lift onto my dad’s back after honky tonkin’ for my sister’s bachelorette party.

#2. I often make an asshole out of myself on accident.  Labeling them as blonde moments makes me feel better.

Scary...

It’s JAWS! Scary shark! Wait, where’d the shark go?

#3. Rarely do I drink ’til I puke. But when I was younger and didn’t know any better, thank god someone was there to capture the Kodak moment.

My bestie, Scooby holding my hair back. While laughing. Loudly.

My bestie, Scooby holding my hair back. While laughing. Loudly.

#4. I’ve been crazy about cats my entire life.

Cray cray in training.

Cray cray in training with Ernie.

#5. Richie Sambora (yeah, the one from Bon Jovi) once put a guitar pick he used during a show into my hand. I said into my hand! He didn’t throw it into the crowd and I happened to catch it, he walked over and handed it to me.  This was in the Heather Locklear vs. Denise Richards days. I was pretty sure I hated Richie for cheating on his gorgeous wife, Heather (I mean if she gets cheated on, where’s that leave the rest of us gals?) and knew I hated him for dating his ex-wife’s friend during the divorce. Then Richie’s hand touched mine and well….

I. DIED.

I. DIED.

I fell so much in love with the stupid pick, I had it made into a necklace. It’s my personal heirloom to pass down to my cat children. Teddy refuses to wear it around his neck because he thinks it’s too “heavy.” CATS.

Not too heavy for this neck.

Not too heavy for this neck.

#6. I have a trashy habit (does this surprise anyone? Anyone?!) of cutting down bags of chips as I stuff them into my mouth.  This not only alleviates your wrist from getting greasy, this tactic is much more time efficient when trying to inhale the crumbs at the bottom of the bag. Trust me.

I know, I know...why didn't you think about this before?!

I know, I know…why didn’t you think about this before?!

Breakfast of Champions

#7. I couldn’t love my cat Teddy more than if I’d birthed him myself. Yeah, yeah, I know. C.R.A.Z.Y.

Couldn't love this cat more...

Crazy in love.

Here’s to seven more months of fun!

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

How to be a Trashy Tailgater

It’s always a little sad to see college football season slowly winding down after the great anticipation I have for it every August.

I’ve chronicled many of my mini-tailgates I host in Nashville every Saturday – 1,000 miles away from my beloved Iowa Hawkeyes (who are horrible this year, although I still love them – especially Coach Kirk Ferentz) and Kinnick stadium.  So you can imagine my delight when I was able to attend a game this season, complete with the true tailgating experience.

Here’s how you can be a trashy, while classy (?) tailgater…

Miles of walking to a tailgate (which is why I must have been 10 lbs lighter in college) can make coolers icing your tasty beverages beyond heavy.  Do as my friend Eric did and pack your sturdy GAP bag with beer!

Talk about traveling light – your shoulder won’t hurt from lugging around, you can throw it away and no one will guess what’s inside. Genius.

Of course I had to get in on all of the cooler action by posing with it, as I was in such awe.

I will be stealing this idea and substituting beer cans for Captain bottles at future tailgates.

Upon reaching your destination, it’s important to set up shop.

See that sweet bus and tent in the back? Yeah, that’s not ours…check out the blue cooler and umbrellas in front. That’s how we roll. Nice ‘n’ easy.

There’s no need to bring a mirror to a tailgate – one can just look into sunglasses to check out the ‘do.

Lookin’ good.

After primping is complete, when a dude with a fancy camera says he’s documenting tailgaters for HawkeyeReport.com (we’re the third picture) say yes.

Of course we stopped what we were doing to say cheese (my dad and I hate attention).  Just as the photo was snapped some ass in the background said, “she’d take her pants off if you asked her too.” Yes, that’s the kind of classy folks I keep company with – and for the record, my pants stay on – unless Hugh Hefner calls.

So you’re saying we’re famous on the internet then, right?

With my star status on the Web established, I thought my day could not possibly get any better. Then, as I turned around, my eyes hit the glossiest beak in all of college sports. HERKY THE HAWK was driving through the tailgate! This was my one shot to get a photo with my favorite famous bird.

It will make your tailgating experience much more fun if you get a picture with the mascot.

It’s him! In the flesh. Ohmygod!

Skinny pirates pumping through my veins, I felt it suffice to run along the cart and beg Herky to either let me on or jump off into my arms and take a mother f’n photo.

Stop! Wait! I love you! I just want to get my…Jesus I’m out of shape.

Needless to say, I acted like a gigantic asshole but yes, you guessed it, I didn’t care. I got my picture made (kind of) with Herky!

As the tailgaters were heading into the game, we felt it necessary (and easier now that the parking lots were cleared out) to take pictures with their vehicles.  This way, there’s no need to invest in a $80,000 party prop.

Ain’t she a beaut? Now don’t go falling in love with it because…it’s not yours.

I was way too cool (duh) to pose in front of someone else’s tailgating property (eye roll) but not too classy to keep from snapping a shot of my dream bus while crossing the street.  It’s even appropriately called Team Alcohawk for our tailgating crew. Oh boy.

I’m immediately saving all of my pennies up for this bus.

As we strolled into the stadium (with Captain hid in appropriate places), I knew my real, live tailgating experience was coming to an end this year.  If only Herky had stopped to pose…

And wouldn’t you know, fate stepped in and stopped Herky for me (not in the flesh…more in a cardboard cutout kind of way) while I was stock piling up on AE dip for our red neck road trip back to Nashville (you’re white trash in the North, red neck below the Mason Dixon Line – keep up with me, people!).

The morning after the day long drinking celebration (looking oh-so-pretty, I know), I about knocked over two grocery clerks trying to make my way to Herky.

Some things are just meant to be.

CBXB