Vegas Virgin

Yes, you read that right. I’m a Vegas virgin.

And yes, I know you’re ultra confused how a gal who loves any and all things gaudy, sequined, shiny, fuchsia, leopard, sparkly (you get the picture) could have lived a life thus far without visiting my potential mothership of a city. Well, wonder no more because I’ll be gracing Vegas with my prescence later this afternoon!

The hardest part about preparing to travel to Las Vegas was deciding which pieces of my always flamboyant wardrobe would be accompanying me.

How much gaudy is too much?

How much gaudy is too much?

Good thing I have my trusty sidekick, Ted, who helped me narrow down my sequins.

Good thing I have my trusty side kick to help me narrow down my sequins.

He leaned toward the pink. Surprised?

But Tedstar was beyond disgusted to see that I was packing my Aunt Nancy’s 1960s white mini dress – you know, just in case I meet Mr. Right Now and decide to get hitched after knowing someone all of one day in Vegas (I mean, it can happen, right?).

Disgusted to see I was packing a white dress "just in case" I meet Mr. Right Now and decide to get hitched Vegas style.

Mr. Bear was so disgusted, he refused to move off of the white garment.

Then the little love of my life laid down on my wedding mini, staking his claim by rubbing his scent and dark fur all over the place.

So he laid down on my wedding mini, staking his claim.

She’s MINE.

Of course after all of 14 minutes of helping me choose attire and throwing a tantrum over non-existent wedding bells, Teddy was exhausted.

And then surrendered to sleep, as he was exhausted after three minutes of helping me pack.

Surrendered to sleep.

Keep your fingers crossed that all of my bling makes it through airport security and that I don’t bring a Mr. CBXB back to Nashville with me.

Look out Vegas, here I come!

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Turn Your Dad Into Pamela Anderson

A few Halloweens ago I was dying to dress up as Kid Rock and needed a trashy Pamela Anderson to hang all over me. And because he is no stranger to the spotlight my dad jumped at the chance.

But how in the hell do you transform a 6’4″ man into a petite (OK, not happening), blonde, big busted bombshell?

You start feet first.

Heavy duty gloves for a heavy-duty job.  My dad has a green toenail (because he’s too cheap to buy the prescription to remedy) that I lovingly refer to as Foot Fungus (hence the gloves).  Aunt Nancy is watching over us (and secretly thinking she wouldn’t touch my dad’s foot with a ten foot pole).

Carefully apply polish to the gigantic toes.

Which are then topped off with an orange bow (to make those feet look a teeny tiny bit more feminine).

A base for the famous face must be applied as the transformation continues (the application of foundation “hurt his face,” according to my dad).

Stuffing Pamela into her costume proved the most difficult task of all.

But by God, she ended up looking like a fabulous Baywatch knock-off.

Pam’s famous rack was made by stuffing as much quilt batting as possible into nylons. I dyed a men’s tank top red (because I could not find a women’s XXXL) and applied masking tape on to create the Lifeguard logo.  The shorts I scored in the ladies section at Walmart (go figure).

Now all Pamela needed was her handsome rock star flavor at the time, Kid Rock.

With the complete transformation in place, Pam was (happily) the center of attention.  She tended to overshadow even the most glamorous celebrities at the party.

Where’s Marilyn?

And everyone was completely obsessed with Pam’s chest.

Just to give you an idea…

While this real life odd couple went on to hit the skids, Kid and Pam were able to let bygones be bygones on this particular Halloween.

Is my dad fun or what?

And while this may not be the Pamela Anderson of everyone’s dreams, she’s awfully pretty to me.

Pamela Anderson, the later years.

But then again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

CBXB