How to Make an Ass of Yourself in NYC

For me, you know it wasn’t that difficult. I mean, I’ve made an ass of myself in Key West. I’ve also made an ass of myself on a Carnival cruise. So New York City was a piece of fucking cake.

I made asked Rasta to escort me as an unpaid Uber driver to the airport early one ass morning to spend a whopping 36 whirlwind hours in New York City, meeting up with my cousin R. Nasty to see The Late Show With Stephen Colbert. As I was doing this trip on an extremely tight budget (as I was saving the small amount of spending money for booze, naturally), I packed food I knew could last me for my less than two day stay.

Hard boiled eggs, popcorn and protein bars.

You shoulda seen the TSA lady’s face.

Sauntering to my gate, it was fate that my fave airport wine bar, Vino Volo started opening that morning before 7am to appease travelers that needed mimosas. And it was located straight across from my gate.

FATE.

How did I commemorate my first trip to NYC with a mimosa that cost the same as a bottle of the fancy champs I typically consume, Cook’s? Of course I asked the bar tender to take my photo – which was a big deal for me as I am a master selfie snapper.

No shame in my game.

For real though.

When I boarded the aircraft, I wanted to get a window seat so I could see the Big Apple as we flew in. Asking what looked like a non-judgemental lady if the seat in her row was available she practically did a cartwheel and said, “I’m so glad you aren’t a fat ass.”

Um, thanks?

Upon landing in LaGuardia, gathering my suitcase (yes, I checked a bag for a 36 hour trip because I could – and it was free, as I was flying Southwest) I waited about an hour for R. Nasty to land from the fabulous Hawkeye state.

I took the opportunity to capture my emotions.

My it’s cool, I travel all the time (to Iowa) face.

My HOLY FUCKING SHIT I AM FINALLY IN NEW YORK CITY face.

Once finding R. Nasty, we were off to the metropolis to live it up.

The most non-city slickers ever.

Being the budget friendly gal I am, I packed booze in my bag. (Free travel tip. I do this everywhere I go unless I’m flying to Iowa where Sister CBXB has a cocktail connoisseur for a husband and a wine closet. I have yet to have any bottle taken out of my suitcase or break – but I do carefully pack, wrapped in my jeans with a box of tampons thrown on top – no one wants to look through that mess. You’re welcome).

We celebrated our arrival with a bottle of fancy champs from Arrington Vineyards, a winery in Nashville that I received for my birthday recently. I knew I was gonna save it for a special occasion and my first time in NYC with my cousin to see Stephen Colbert in honor of his mama deemed most appropriate.

Then it was time to hit the town and acting like any local, I took photos of every bar napkin, drink and sign in sight.

Flash on in a dark bar.

When the bartender asked where the hell I was from, I turned on my non-Southern charm and he bought us shots for us being NYC virgins.

Cheers to cherry poppin’!

I forced myself up in the morning to take advantage of the scrumptious breakfast included in the cost of our hotel room.

I woke up like this. No really, I did.

An omelette like concoction, hydration station and some sort of semblance of meat.

Regardless, I ate it all and then some. I needed fuel for the day to walk around the streets of the city. R. Nasty needed a bit more beauty sleep, so we decided to meet up later. Until then, I was on my own, which is scary as I have zero sense of direction and could have walked all the way to Canada before realizing it (well, my feet would have started hurting first and I would have stopped because I’m a big fucking baby but you get the idea).

Where the fuck am I?

I swore to Christ I couldn’t find Time’s Square. Above is the image of what my eyes saw when I actually fucking Googled “where’s time’s square?”

I almost asked this guy but he seemed a little angry…plus, I couldn’t pay him but I could give him a “FUCK YOU” back.

Suri responded to my insanely stupid question with “Bitch Please, (someone entered that as my name on my iPhone and I don’t know how to change it), you are in Time’s Square.”

FUCKING DUH.

It was then I caught a glimpse of this contraption of stairs with a dude on top getting his picture taken. Uh, guess who also needed it done rightfuckingnow?

I went over to the guy as he came down the steps and asked him to take a picture of me. He laughed kindly and agreed.

Do you think ABC News noticed my jazz hands and will come calling?

As I was hopping down the stairs, there was a small crowd around the man who’d taken my pic and I said it seemed like I was missing out on the joke. Come to find out….I’d interrupted a photo shoot for a Jamaican rapper. And it was the rapper whom I’d asked to take my picture. And the stairs were their prop for the photo shoot.

Uh…..*cue unashamed tourist moment*………

Curly Cash the Jamaican rapper couldn’t have been more nice and accommodating to this ass clown of a tourist.

I’d worked up quite an appetite unabashedly disrupting a photo shoot, so I stopped at Angelo’s Pizza on the way back to get R. Nasty. Who was I not to stop since happy hour started at noon?!

Selfie game on. At the bar. By myself. ‘Cause I’m cool like that.

Let’s not forget the food pic.

After our experience with Stephen Colbert, more selfies and food pics ensued in our NYC fun.

We hit up Ruumy’s Tavern which had a large array of sake cocktails.

I ordered the most naturally named for me booze concoction on the list…Because I Cannot Sleep.

Oh bro-in-law Dr. Cocktail, can you recreate?

Flash on again at the bar. I think this one finally got an eye roll from R. Nasty.

Not wanting our hours full of NYC fun to end, we picked up some booze at Duane Reed and had after hours in our hotel room. Which really was all fun and games…

… until I had to depart the hotel at 5am to catch my flight back to Nashville.

Upon returning to the mini manse, a hot, hot, hot soak was needed for my weary feet (and body…and liver).

The Pussy Posse couldn’t have been more lazy about their mother being back home. All five of them could barely lift their heads and open their eyes when I squealed at the highest decibel possible how happy I was to see their faces.

The Fab Four Pussies

Preshy rounding up The Posse

You can bet your ass I took my non-embarrased, touristy tired ass and nestled in between them for the remainder of the day.

So now I’m wondering if I can ever show my face again in NYC, acting like a cool, calm, collected, well traveled person.

I think we all know the answer to that question.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

 

 

The Deer Hunter, Sparkly Style

Being from Iowa, where deer might as well be counted in the state’s population and now residing in the gun happy, hunting hungry South, I felt the need to join my kinfolk (people seriously still use that word) to mount a deer head on my wall.

Now, I’m an avid animal lover (I feel badly when I see road kill and yell at people when they drive too fast through my neighborhood because we have chipmunks! Don’t run over a chipmunk for Christ’s sake! What would Alvin or Simon do without Theodore?). So there’s no way in hell I would ever hunt and shoot a deer (scarred from one terrifying incident as a 10 year old that involved me, my dad and a poor pheasant first with a head, then without), let alone eat Bambi, then stuff and mount, only to have its sad eyes follow me like a creepy, old, oil portrait painting in a haunted house.

My hunt was less painstaking as the real deal but just as time-consuming.  There was no camouflage to be worn, no tree stands to squeeze into and no 4am wake up time, however I couldn’t find my counterfeit piece anywhere. As deer season pressed on, I was left thinking I wouldn’t bag one (let alone three antlered bucks, which is the state limit in Tennessee) as I perused the flea market, scoured the shelves at local thrift shops and just knew someone’s grandkids donated a treasure of this magnitude to Goodwill upon their passing, only to end up with a lonely bit of wall space.

And then, I saw it.

Its pink sparkle catching my eye in the harsh fluorescent lighting.  I quietly crept toward the beautiful creature (so as not to alarm other shoppers of a fabulous find), inching my way up to the shelf, carefully moving the camouflage of a shiny picture frame, a bedazzled mug and glittery candles it hid behind.  And then BANG! My arm shot through the merchandise so fast, the deer didn’t know what had hit it before it landed at the bottom of my cart. Ladies and gentlemen, I had just bagged my first deer.

How much more fabulous is this than the real deal? Beyond in my book. And a lot less messy. Deer decor, $9.99. TJ Maxx.

I made my Iowa peers proud and staked my claim in the Southern soil, all with one hunting transaction. Plus, it’s one hell of a conversation piece, hanging above my toilet (I only wish I could hear the thoughts running through minds upon spotting it. I imagine they start something like “That crazy…”) as I display it like a trophy.

And that my friends, is how you bag a deer. Sparkly style.

CBXB

Leopard Lovin’ Pot

**Update: It is now 2018 and I still have this decorative flower pot. AND I keep it outside year round in Tennessee.**

I don’t really care for the plain and usual if it can be funky and fabulous.

And after my couch mending (see My Cat is Bitchier Than Your Cat), I thought of another way to use the leopard duct tape (it’s not just for couch corners and eye glasses anymore, folks!) for sprucing up my flowerpots.  I always want the pretty, colored planters but hate parting with the loot (happy hours aren’t always cheap when you drink a fine liquor like Captain Morgan – well specials just won’t cut it), so I usually stick with the boring old plastic containers. And then, a stroke of genius appeared with the little miracle of duct tape (once again, Dad’s right. It really can be used for everything).

Here’s what you’ll need:

Get your favorite duct tape (I’d do anything but the silver. Then it really looks like you’ve broken the pot and are taping it back together. You’re classier than that!), scissors and packing tape.

Cut the duct tape into strips – I did about 4″-5″ per piece. If you do anything longer, the tape will start to bend up and the lines won’t be as straight (I’m a picky perfectionist – if it doesn’t bother you, don’t worry about it).

Once you have covered the entire pot with the decorative duct tape, use the clear packing tape over the entire area (same size of strips). This will help the duct tape from peeling and acts as a water barrier if you keep your plant outside (it’s rained for days since my pot received its makeover and all tape is still in tact).

I’ve never seen a fern quite so happy to be confined to a flowerpot, have you?

And that my fabulous friends is how to turn a boring old brown flowerpot into some fine lookin’ flower power. Get to it!

CBXB

 

The One Year Patio Project

It’s true. My patio took one year to complete.

Not because I live on sprawling acres with a mansion’s worth of outdoor space to spruce up. But because I was waiting on a man (when will I learn my lesson?) to help me complete it.

When I first moved into my place, the landlord had set trash cans on a perfectly fabulous stone nook by my entryway.  I really didn’t want garbage to be the first impression left upon folks when pulling into my mini-manse.  I moved the trash to the side of my house and a small patio set took its place. Being greedy, I wanted to expand my patio real estate to give a very impressive impression to my friends who always come over (so what if they are usually the mail carrier, UPS or the water meter reader?! Don’t judge me. My friends are very busy procreating).

Upon hearing me whine for more patio space, my dad suggested purchasing square stone and if I did, he would level and install (and some other fancy handy man vocab) them for me. My mom bought the additional stone for me as a house warming gift and we unloaded them and there they sat…and sat…and sat. Because it was too hot outside, the ground was too wet, the ground was frozen, or it was too cold to tolerate to work on the patio, etc…the stones sat all by their lonesome. Until this past summer when the stars were aligned perfectly in the sky and my dad came in to finish the hard work he suggested starting.

The stones getting settled into their new home. Red, brickface patio stone, $4.07. Lowe’s.

But with all of the digging and leveling, the area looked like a place Joe Dirt would be proud to call his own.  Anticipating the whine calf I was about to become, my dad (who is apparently psychic) suggested we invest in some decorative rock.

We found this rock on sale the Home Depot for $1.00 a bag. And promptly bought all of the bags because now, I could have a rock empire since it was something I could afford to purchase.

Upon saving so much loot in the clearance rock, Dad thought he should plant some hostas to add as the cherries on top of my sprawling patio kingdom.

And of course a few hostas were not going to do the trick for this Queen of the Rock Pile, so I commissioned the planting of more! more! more! crowned jewels.

With the addition of six more hostas, my perfect patio plans were executed (by my dad, as I directed placement and kept cool with a cocktail).

The Patio Palace in all of its glory!

And when I think about the nearly 365 day construction phase of this patio, I must thank the project manager, Dad, for making me realize that good things do come to those who wait. And wait. And wait. And wait (sometimes not so patiently). Now I have a patio, complete with a side wing for a fire pit, hostas for atmosphere and plenty of room to rub elbows. All for under $60.

The beauty and the brains (you can decide who’s who) of patio perfecting.

CBXB