Weekend VAXXED Winks

So if you weren’t aware, Dr. Anthony Fauci is my off-season Lee Corso. In other words, I’m cheating on my 85-year- old main squeeze with a younger 80-year-old side piece.

What can I say? I have a thing for 80 year olds who love my Hawkeyes and science.

When I was able to get my Fauci Ouchie to say I was ecstatic is an understatement. I went to a slick drive thru vaccination station and from start to finish it took 20 minutes (including the 15 minutes I had to wait afterward to ensure I wouldn’t spontaneously combust from a side effect). Naturally, I brought support with me.

Pretty sure ya girl is gonna be on a progressive candidate’s commercial at midterm time, as I was filmed getting vaxxed and cursed the useless Tennessee governor and celebrated the shot going in my arm like I’d just won a billion dollars. You know, my usual timid self.

Getting the Fauci Ouchie was cause for celebration much like everything else in my life. But there was a shift in how I felt – a combination of relief and what is that I see?….a light at the end of the Rona tunnel?! Getting vaxxed gave me a renewed lease on an almost post Rona (fingers crossed) life!

Hanging with an also fully vaxxed Mama CBXB.
Prissy is able to socialize (aka lunge for nachos) again at her fave local spot, Alley Pub that allows canines on the patio.

I’ve been more active outside now that the weather has turned to a gorgeous Tennessee spring.

Percy Warner park in all of its green glory.
This little beast can walk three miles (so, 30,000 steps for her) like it’s no biggie. I’m referring to the dog.

Last week started off in a tense manor, as most of the country prepared for the verdict in Derek Chauvin trial. You know, the sociopath cop who murdered George Floyd casually kneeing his neck for nine minutes filmed by a minor child last May.

I wanted to throw the fuck up when I heard the verdict was in on Tuesday.
Thank FUCK the jury held a murderer accountable for George Floyd. Art by Nikkolas Smith.

I stayed late at work to watch the verdict read live and updated the fam, who was also waiting nervously.

While this was a fucking gigantic relief, there is so much more work to be done in this country regarding racism and the blasé attitude so many white people have toward it. But holy fuck was this a needed victory.

After a collective sigh of relief, the rest of the week flew by. I’m back at the office full time now and boy, it was a hard transition after being able to roll out of bed, take care of the fur kids, make coffee and roll up to my home office desk all in 15 minutes time. Now, having to actually give a fuck about my appearance, put on real pants AND wash my hair regularly takes almost every ounce of energy in my being.

It’s such a foreign feeling to be around coworkers and have semblance to the Before Times. I miss working out over lunch with my fave trainer who also happens to have the name of Meghan Trainor (how purrfect?!). I got addicted to her free daily Instagram workouts during quarantine. So I jump on when I’m at work to say hi because I have major FOMO.

The back at the office routine has me extra ready for that TGIF cocktail and I spent Friday on a phone-a-thon with two of my fave peeps.

First up was Slappy (you know, my former co-worker who drunkenly slapped me at a work party when I told her I’d wait on her to go to the bathroom. I knew I loved her from that moment on) and her adorable fur kid, Roscoe.

Next up was Sister CBXB and we had no fun talking as you can see. What the fuck did we do before this technology?!

Saturday was quite luxurious for the pussies of the Mini Manse.

Rocky spent most of the day in my tub, awaiting me to bring him a meowmosa. All of the other Pussy Posse members lounged on the patio, delighted it’s back open for them 24/7 now that the weather is fab.

My Iowa twins had a glow party in their basement. I’m hoping the sticks are still lit when I get to see them next month.

Prepare for your mind to be blown when you gander below at how the twins have turned into actual mini adults. Time needs to stop for a sec, OK?

Sunday was a gorge day to spend outside, so of course I opted to day drink with my friend Aha! inside instead.

Cheers to being out and about with two-for-ones!

Speaking of my love of 80-year-olds, I saw a fucking dude roar in on a bike that looked like it was custom built for me.

The hair. The vest. The bike. The colors. Naturally, I need a pic with my newfound soulmate.

Can we all be this fucking cool at 82?!? Is the octogenarian age group the new 40-year-olds? I’m thinking YES.

Being out and about, I don’t even mind seeing what always annoys me to my core. One of these annoyances is when couples sit on the same fucking side of the table. I mean, can’t you just gaze at each other across the fucking table?

This has bothered me since Scooby and I saw a couple doing this at the Olive Garden my Junior homecoming.

Sunday is hair do day for Princess B and check out her new braids, compliments of Sister CBXB’s sure to be future arthritis’d hands.

I had every intention of heading home and popping some champs for Hollywood’s “golden” night watching The Oscars.

Stocking up on my new fave champs – Barefoot Brut Rosé Bubbles. Mask by Any Old Iron.

While I was gussying up, I poured myself a glass to primp before my own personal red carpet.

Then I made the mistake of sitting down on the couch and taking a two hour nap. So I skipped my own red carpet, and proceeded to watch the most boring Oscars of ALL TIME. Rocky couldn’t even cuddle to watch it was so lack luster.

So here we are at the start of another maybe closer-to-post-Rona-life week. Although I’m fully vaxxed, I continue to wear my mask in support of those who haven’t yet had a chance to get their shots and because I give fucks about other people. Wearing a piece of fabric over my face contributes to the mask culture and supports those around me. I hope you do the same for me and your neighbors.

Mask by Fringe and Co.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

BUY ME A DRINK!

Love Me, Mean It

Ever know one of those annoying people who won’t shut the fuck up their birthday? Well, now you do.

Cause I love me some me – especially when it’s my time to shine, celebrating the day I graced Earth with my presence. Candles, crowns and a crowd have always accompanied my birthday.

I think far too many folks don’t celebrate themselves to the fullest and that’s a goddamn shame. Shouldn’t we live every day like it’s our birthday? Show ourselves the same self love we celebrate on our day of birth because as my Gma Morris always said, “another birthday is better than the alternative.”

I’ve always loved my fucking birthday. Maybe it was because when I was growing up, parties felt epic because living in small Iowa town, all of the kids from class were invited.

Maybe it was because I share a birthday with my cousin B (LUCKY HIM) and we always got together to celebrate and that meant two parties for me – one with friends, one with fam. He’s the thrilled kid on the left of the pic below.

Either way, I lived to par-tay and last year, Rona really fucked that shit up.

But this year? Oh hell to THA NO. This year my birthday month was going to be honored and acknowledged by yours truly every.single.day of March. Of course, I had some help.

Why thank you, however did you know? Maybe me announcing it daily on IG stories?

The champs popped March 1, 2021.

Why wait for just one day to celebrate?

As a visual reminder, I wore a headpiece or birthday crown daily for all to see.

Cheers to meeeeeeee!

While talking about my second birthday in Rona non-stop, I preemptively took the day off of work in honor to appropriately concentrate on the very important task of celebrating me.

And in case I forgot, I got reminded. (My gawd I have fabulous friends).

When the actual day arrived, I made use of my made just for me booze holder that reads “Happy 2nd Covid Birthday” and filled that sucker up with a Skinny Pirate.

Then I hopped back in bed with Prissy and The Pussy Posse to do whatever the fuck I wanted. To start, I read every single text, social media posts about my birthday and direct messages. Please exit this post immediately if

A) You do not like me.

B) You do not like reading gushingly love filled messages to me that I am going to unabashedly share.

Consider yourself warned.

One woman we have to thank for my love of celebrating every.fucking.thing is Mama CBXB who chose the most appropriate photo to commence the day (and goes to show that I’ve been authentic since birth).

Cutest little faces with well wishes!

After feeling all of the love, I worked out with my fave trainer I found on Instagram last year during the pandemic. She runs the Body By Trainor Experience (@bodybytrainor) and posts workouts daily on her IG page for free. The heart pumping, along with the fact that we are long lost twins, accompanied by the virtual friendships culminated through this community has made me one motherfucking lucky gal.

I even had a workout named after me – HEYOH!

While I didn’t make the 6am live workout, I enjoyed doing it at my leisure along with Hot Mama and Bella in Chicago, and my fave Beast from Canada.

If you had told me a year ago that I would have an assortment of weights that I used almost daily, I would have laughed masklessly in your face. This year, I am clean pressing 20lbs! What? What?

These weights were gifted to me throughout the year by fellow group members. I was using wine bottles and cat litter prior to graduating to real weights.

One friend sent quite a fabulous workout outfit but in lieu of sweating in it, I decided to celebrate in it.

I’m not at a point where I’m ready to go midriff baring however, one’s birthday in isolation is a different story and after I put “It’s My Fucking Birthday” sash on, I threw caution to the wind.

One thing I did not count on was a delivery needing signature. I was back brushing my pearly whites when the knocking didn’t cease on the Mini Manse door.

Pretty sure no one was going to be able to look past my homegrown Rapegate boobs.

Oh hello Dizly delivery from my bestie M.Star. I put this to use the moment the ogling delivery dude left (I hated no moments of it).

Now an annual celebratory must.

Spoke to friends who I’ve only “met” virtually in Canada, North Caroline and Chicago!

Got to talk to my great aunt Marge who puts us all to shame in the game of celebrating. I remember my first time drinking with her, she brought a bottle of champs to Christmas and said soon after, “Did I drink all of that? Who can we prank call?”

Soon after, I enjoyed the rest of my evening on the phone chatting with friends and family while mauling Prissy and the Pussy Posse.

The following day was Friday and it was gonna be my first time back at the watering hole that holds half of my heart.

Birthday gift cards are the best!

Last year was the first birthday I didn’t spend at Dalts since moving to Nashville due to that cunt Rona. So while this year was still tame due to restrictions, I got to go to the bar, see my fave libations pourer, Marja and par-tay with my closest regulars I hadn’t seen in a year.

Skinny Pirate #1.

My lovely Strawberry Blonde met me and stayed sober while I accepted gifted drinks from other patrons at the bar.

A forced photoshoot is never a surprise when you’re with me, either.

1,765,812 more candid photos follow this one, naturally.

I mean, who doesn’t wear a full length pink and gold sequin cape casually?

As you can imagine, my quiet, quiet voice, my very subtle outfit and me shouting every time someone walked by “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!” drew a teeny tiny bit of attention. Unbeknownst to Strawberry Blonde and myself, a fellow customer quietly paid my our tab. We didn’t know it until the end of our eight hour stay but she’d said “I love seeing women celebrating themselves.”

My Sugar Mama requested a photo before she left and prior to my knowledge of her picking up what wasn’t a cheap tab. It was so fucking nice. Like, beyond.

Strawberry Blonde awarded me with a trophy that said “Congrats on Adulting” and I tell you what, we all deserve goddamn prizes for trudging through the last fucking year however we saw fit. This will be the one and only time I throw my weight behind “participation” trophies for all.

The rest of my birthday weekend was spent in bed with The Pussy Posse, Prissy and pizza.

I can’t muster one complaint about celebrating my face off for 31 days. The accessories. The brazen daily announcements regarding me. me. me. all month long on Instagram. The outfit that dared me to bare my belly that’s not quite ready for bikini season yet. The reminder that I excel in the art of not giving a fuck.

So here’s to celebrating you, me and our ability to *almost* emerge shitshow after shitshow of 2020 to a newish norm. Just beware you may wake up looking like this the 32nd morning of your birthday shenanigans.

And it was worth every fucking second.

Cheers to us.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

BUY ME A DRINK!

Weekend Winks IS BACK

Well, well, well life seems to be falling into a sort of ‘normal’ now that the Rona vaccines are out and available. It seems like f-o-r-e-v-e-r but yet justlikeyesterday all of the shit hit the proverbial fan. Who could have foreseen the division created by political so-called leaders in fighting what could have saved hundreds of thousands of American lives by refusing to wear a fucking cloth over one’s face.

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Anyhoo, I hope you and yours are well and on the hunt for the vaccine if you haven’t already been shot with the Fauci Ouchie. I’m pumped to say both of my folks are vaccinated and hugs will soon be shared by all of the CBXB clan! WHOOP!

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My weekend kicked off with birthday festivities for the second time during Rona. There was nothing that was gonna stand in my way of celebrating this year. I have a full bday recap coming because I’m literally celebrating every.single.day. in March.

Bday Rona Round 2

Oh hi Rona round two.

I rang in my birthday Wednesday night talking with two of my girls – Miss Bella outta Chicago and A3 outta Duluth.

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I’d stopped to get myself some bubbly on my birthday and splurged on a fancy (for me because it was above my typical $6.99 budget) frugal bottle.

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I was beyond spoiled to say the very least upon my arrival back to the Mini Manse. This doesn’t include all of the loving I got before, during and still after my day (don’t forget we’re celebrating ALL month and there are three days left in March).

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Wondering what was in the tall box, I contemplated if it could possibly be a tent delivered to the wrong address.

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Turns out it was delivered to the correct Mini Manse AND was filled with the best treats a girl with Celiac Disease could wish for – a case of GLUTEN FREE DOUBLE STUFFED OREOS that just hit the market and have been impossible to find!

Double Stuffed Delight

Double Stuffed DELIGHT.

I laid in bed all birthday morning eating Oreos and read all of my messages over and over and over and over. To the point my pussies were trying to claw the device from my hands for some attention.

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But Mama’s got some claws of her own. My gal Lash Goddess has been in my Rona bubble and started practicing her talon magic on me much to my delight.

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I won the claw fight over the phone, masked up and headed to my fave watering hole on the planet in almost a year…Dalts. Annual birthday Skinny Pirates galore (not unlike a preRona Friday night) for me.

Skinny Pirate

Due to the INSANE amount of rain, it was the purrfect Saturday to stay in bed and binge watch Schitt’s Creek (the show the rest of the world watched at the beginning of the pandemic).

Netflix and Chill

I Netflixed and chilled. Prissy whimpered and whined for a bite.

Nashville has been hit so hard the last 365 days, it’s almost impossible to comprehend everything that has happened. Starting last March with a tornado that ripped through all of Middle Tennessee, a bombing downtown on Christmas morning and ass clown tourists passing Rona around to our citizens because…bachelorette parties are more important than grandma’s life.

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GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY. @musicshitty

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Insanity poured down on Music City once again. South Nashville was hit especially hard and its demographic of citizens heartbreakingly aren’t typically the type to keep the news in cycle.

Bridge of Debris

Bridge of debris in South Nashville. @musicshitty

Another fun reason I lollygagged in bed was due to being triggered by a rape case in Minnesota. The state Supreme Court of the Land of 10,000 Lakes really knocked the wind outta this survivor’s sails.  A woman was raped while she was drunk in 2017. The rapist was convicted and sentenced in 2019 BUT his smarmy (like for real, who defends rapists?) lawyers appealed to the Minnesota Supreme Court with absolute credibility because IT IS LAW.

Minnesota Rape ShitThis is victim blaming at its fucking highest level. It made me physically ill. Not only because of the similarities to my case but holy fucking shit. A rapist never rapes just once and he’s being given a new trial.Minnesota Rape Shit

This is absolutely infuriating. ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. It tore me to pieces and I cannot imagine what the victim must be feeling – reeling from – after having come forward, her case making it to court, her rapist found guilty and sentenced, only to be given a new trial UNANIMOUSLY by the state Supreme Court because SHE was drunk. Folks, this is rape culture.

Minnesota Rape Shit

This is why who you vote for matters. It matters a FUCK ton because judicial positions such as these are appointed by politicians in which citizens vote. You know, like how former president Covita stacked federal courts and the Supreme Court with lifetime nominees. THIS. SHIT. MATTERS.

Minnesota Rape SHIT

Needless to say, I spent much more of the weekend holding space for myself, while Prissy and The Pussy Posse wallowed in bed with me.

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After being fired up for two days straight, it was fitting to start my Monday with the gang who quite literally carried me virtually through the pandemic on Instagram. A workout crew, the Clams, started by Body By Trainor is almost always my saving grace.

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Is there any better way usher in a week than with a swift one-two to the face?

I think not.

Love ya, mean it.

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BUY ME A DRINK!

How to Have a Pandemic Party Round Two

Holy fucking shit.

The fashionable 2020 March look is the fucking same in 2021.

If you had told me 365 days ago that I’d be having a second birthday during a worldwide pandemic tomorrow, I would have cock/cunt punched you.

@effinbirds

But here we are STILL in the throes of a global pandemic due to many “you can’t tell me what to do with my body” mask refusing ass hats, accompanied with politicians who act like they know more than the Center for Disease Control (go fucking figure) closely accompanied by the folks that follow said non-doctors blindly. I digress. My VIP Rona ticket happened to include my first ever birthday in quarantine. And now my second.

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

Little naive me thought I’d be hosting a half birthday party on September 25, 2020. Joke was on me! Well, really all of us. These were thoughts on my day of birth last year…

Poor, poor late March babies.

My birthday took place the first full week of lockdown in Nashville (when every business finally complied – lockdown actually started earlier). But still, I think everyone was hopeful/under the impression/couldn’t comprehend how this could last longer than a month, tops. 

Due to Rapegate, I would have been down to par-tay in isolation on any of my past five birthdays. But in 2020, I was ready for shenanigans and celebrations all about me, as I would have typically been pre-Rapegate. CELEBRATE EVERYTHING!

But not 2020. Oh no. This was the first year where this badass bitch was baaaack to finding all things joyful and ready to celebrate the entire month. So I did just that in spite of a fucking global pandemic.

I still celebrated my face off.

I 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 canceled a trip she had planned to Nashville to celebrate with me in person due to the germy Rona shit. So she did the next best thing – had a bottle of champs with me via FaceTime and sent a pizza for supper.

Presents and hot toddy’s were delivered to the Mini Manse door.

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.  Rona shit was still so new, masks weren’t a required accessory yet (ATTENTION NASHVILLE RESIDENTS AND THOSE COWBOY BOOT PUKING TOURISTS – AS OF THIS DAY IN 2021 MASKS ARE STILL MANDATED IN DAVIDSON COUNTY).

Text messages dinging my phone all day kept me smiling from ear to ear. 

The world literally stopped turning on March 25, 2020. Yes. I am that.fucking.special.

Even my boyfriend T-Rac wished me a happy birthday and I pretty much died and went to Rona heaven (which would be the Mini Manse bed).

I almost burnt down the Mini Manse drunk baking my own gluten-free birthday cake.

Booze, boobs and baking.

While it was not on the top ten (or top 100) sweets I’ve ever tasted, it went down the hatch like a dry, dry, dry, dry, dry, dry charm (I think it was because of all the sprinkles). Yes, I still ate the damn thing.

Look the fuck out Martha Stewart.

This year’s pandemic birthday cake is gonna look different and be waaaaaay easier since I’m not gonna do fuck all with an oven.

Just need a candle.

Last year I wrote – and I quote, “What I want for my birthday wish 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.”

So naive. So innocent.

This year my still-in-a-worldwide-pandemic-but-there-is-a-light-at-the-end-of-the tunnel plans are as follows:

An evening at the Mini Manse theater with a birthday themed film, accompanied with pizza and copious amounts of champs. And a side of extremely cold Diet Coke.

Hello Lovah.

Should I just get a case?

And because dreams do sometimes come true, I’m still alive and kicking after last year (and Rona free!). Typically, I’d head to my treasured watering hole, Dalts (they survived Rona too, woohoo!) to see my fave bartender ever to have eight a Skinny Pirate(s).

Marja + Skinny Pirates = Purrfection

Last year was the first time since I’ve lived in Nashville I didn’t celebrate my arrival into the world with Skinny Pirates and loved ons at Dalts.

2020 loner.

Maybe a more crowded party in 2022?!

It may not be post Rona normal yet but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna commemorate my day of birth all weekend and then some. Remember, there are six more days in my birthday month and I intend to celebrate the fuck outta each and every one. Shocker.

See ya in 2022!

Last year celebrating my birthday couldn’t help but feel full of doom and gloom. This year’s vibe is a MOOD called gratitude. Now every one of you start saving your pennies to come par-tay at Dalts with me in 2022.

Cheers to seeing you next year!

Love ya, mean it.

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!