Weekend Winks – Saucy Scaredy Cat and Civic Duty

There’s a fucking saying, “do one thing every day that scares you”… and I’ve always thought it was pretty silly.

Go on a bungee jump? Try chugging a gallon of milk? Jogging instead of walking?

Well folks, I abided by the often used “scare you” quote and ran with it over the weekend (because my friend M. Star made forced coerced asked me too nicely).

Toilet paper on my sparkly pink wedge scares me.

What also scares the fuck out of me is how fast my Iowa twins are sprouting.

Road trip!

Prince B and Princess B were fortunate enough to score tickets to Kids Bop through their parents, thus were escorted to Minneapolis for the big show. This being their first pop rock concert, they needed to fit the part.

Princes B channeled Auntie CBXB in the non-permament pink haired department.

All spray, no stay.

Pop star ready.

What concert goer is complete without signs to hold up while fawning and screaming over the Kid Bop performers?

Already concert going pros.

You know what else is scary? Voodoo got married and I want her wedding ring so badly that I may chop off her finger.

Scary

Voodoo is now a +2.

Cheers to your married years!

Class Acts – First Mate, Voodoo, Bird Lady, Boob and yours truly.

Behind the scenes assy.

It’s also so scary to not watch Hawkeye football games with Dada CBXB because, it’s what we do. Well, what Dada CBXB and I do. Sister CBXB lives roughly 25 miles from the stadium and still, we get texts on game day like…

Because Voodoo’s marital celebration of bliss was in the middle of the Iowa vs. Indiana game, I arrived armed and ready for our Family Tradition shots. This week, we made an exception to do a winning (in lieu of an every touchdown) shot together, which may have been a blessing in disguise because the Hawks won 42-17.

W-I-N shot. With help from Boob and First Mate.

Until next week.

While I was basking in Voodoo’s marital bliss and a Hawkeyes win, the twins were reveling in the first snowfall on Sunday.

The first taste of snow.

Second taste of snow.

While the twins were busy avoiding yellow snow, I was mustering up energy on Sunday morning, trying to remember why in the hell I told one of my besties, M.Star that I would go to my first ever spin class AND then go canvassing. Plus, it was a dreary, rainy day.

Any pussy care to join? Fuck off, we’re good.

M.Star picked me up in her carriage and off to spin class we went. I was mostly worried about having to ice down my crotch afterward.

Will I ever be able to walk again?

A few things happened during class:

  • I could not stop staring at myself in the dimly lit room’s mirrors because my cleavage is off the chains due to Rapegate weight gain.
  • My foot came out of my shoe that is locked into the bike when I tried to increase the resistance on the bike. Body was obviously saying DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.
  • I came in second to last in overall standings after 45 minutes. Bright side? I beat somebody!

Best part is, this was a mimosa ride.

No mimosa left behind.

M.Star then had asked me to go canvassing with her. I thought she meant to the local gay bar, Canvass and was all “hells yeah!” but what she really meant was “let’s go knock on stranger’s doors and tell them they should go vote.”

Plied with alcohol, anything is possible!

We stopped at the local office for a quick run down of what to and what not to say (i.e. I was forbidden to say “Marsha Blackburn is a cunt.” But I was allowed to say, “you should go vote – here’s where you can even vote early.”) It was deemed that M.Star would be our spokesperson and I would be her sidekick along with our mascot, Mabel.

Would you open your door for us?

I dug deep. Into a bottle of wine. And it worked. Civic duty here I am.

A very convincing duo, indeed. Now go get your ass to the polls. NOW.

Back at the mini manse, I was mobbed by the very non-scary Pussy Posse, easing my weekend fears away.

I think I’m gonna take a breather from doing something ever day that scares me. Unless I’m plied with alcohol. Then, I’m pretty fucking fearless.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Welcome to the Jungle

Life lately has felt as if I’ve been needing a machete to cut through the roughage of life growing up all around me. While it can more often than not feel all-consuming, it’s always a bonus when you got folks who have your back in blowing off some steam.

Ahhhh....Fridays are so refreshing

Like Dada CBXB always ready for a cold one.

IMG_3223

And suck I do.

And when I need it, suck down Skinny Pirates, I do!

With a little extra help from Camo and The Silent Indian, my spirits were flying higher in no time at my local haunt, Dalts.

You know what else exposes my pearly whites? Pics from the world’s cutest niece and nephew.

Party up north.

Two Iowa clowns.

I can't even.

I can’t even.

Not only should these two faces be in magazines, billboards and on TV (I beg their mother to let me be their auntager) but Princess B could rock the world of hair with her tresses.

Hair care

But then again, her awareness of self is already gigantic – I wonder if the world could handle her.

All 'tude. All the time.

All ‘tude. All the time.

Speaking of cuts, Precious got her summer chop going on and won’t stop strutting around the mini manse.

Chug-a-lug got a cute cut, too.

Chug-a-lug got a cute cut, too.

Ripping myself away from twin photos and my real life ewok proved difficult but somehow I managed when my buddy invited me along to see Guns N’ Roses – which from the hype was going to be the Nashville concert of the year.

I know. I'm so rock'n'roll.

Don’t even tell me. I’m so rock’n’roll.

You know when you don’t want to get your hopes up, keeping expectations low because aging rockers somehow, someway, typically disappoint?  Well, this wasn’t the case Saturday night.

I have always wanted to see Guns N’ Roses in all of their glory but when Axl Rose (who looked like he could be a Real Househusband of LA due to over botoxing but sang like a motherfucker), Duff McKagan and Slash (the ultimate shit of rock guitar shredders in my book) came out and took the stage in Music City my expectations were far exceeded.

I’ve seen the Stones. I’ve seen Paul McCartney. I’ve been backstage, side stage and on stage at numerous stadium shows for some of the greatest acts in the industry due to my work life. However, this show took the proverbial cake because I couldn’t stop smiling the entire show (or screaming, or air guitar playing or stopping myself from buying a new wardrobe so I have a GNR shirt for every goddamn day of the week).

I died.

Tri-Slashta.

That show put some much-needed kick ass pep back in my step. The concert also reminded me of the time years ago I made an ex-boyfriend dress as Axl to complement my Slash. Not hard to wonder when I want to dress as old rockers for Halloween why we’re not still together (well, aside from the fact that he’s dating a newer version of me who will probably go the route of a Hooters waitress for dress up holidays). Ya dig?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where did I go? Straight to the lovin’ teeny tiny T-rex arms of my fave chug, Presh.

Straight to bed.

Rocked out, lights out.

Sunday marked a milestone in the mini manse. The baby, Elsa Pants, ventured to Ted’s glass of kitty caviar – and lived to tell about it.

Fed the beast. Martini meows.

Martini meows.

Another fabulous pick-me-up over the weekend? One of my beloved gal pals, Bex, found the hardback (you know, because hardbacks are way more convenient than a paperback or Kindle) version of my all-time fave books, Stephen King’s The Stand. I have been looking for this nearly a decade and she stumbled upon it at a used bookstore – and remembered! Great friends kick ass.

HARDBACK!

Although I don’t have my hands on this masterpiece yet, I did settle down with Stephen King’s newest End of Watch and it was so fantastic, I read it all on Sunday. With company of course.

Wild Nashville nights.

Wild Nashville nights.

A little less wild in my jungle by weekend’s end.

Cheers!
CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Party Style

A killer country concert kicked off a jam-packed Nashville weekend on Friday and the shenanigans haven’t yet stopped.

Cheers Mr. Chesney!

Cheers Mr. Chesney!

Kenny Chesney performed two sold out shows last week at Bridgestone Arena and because of my job, I attended both nights with clients. Being that Kenny and I celebrate birthdays one day apart, I was pretty sure he’d single me out in the crowd to wish me tidings of good joy.

No such luck.

HBD to me.

Happy Birthday to me.

After the enthralling concert experience, I was greeted with some love from my Iowa twins.

Dying.

Is there anything cuter to get for a birthday?

Turns out my niece and nephew are modern-day Picassos, as featured in the photo below.

New Cat had to check out my modern day Picasos

New Cat had to check out the masterpiece I received.

While I was oohing and ahhing over my presents, Prince and Princess B were painting Easter eggs.

Egg paint

Serious about their artwork.

However, Princess B took it upon herself to mimic her Auntie CBXB and paint her nails instead of the boring old eggs.

So my mini me.

My mini me making my heart burst with pride.

Decorating eggs and fingernails creates quite an appetite and there’s hardly anything Princess B loves to gulp down more than salsa.

Salsa tastes so good. Who needs chips?

Who needs chips?

While my mini me was two fisting bowls of salsa, I was busy using two hands to double fist cocktails at one of my birthday celebrations.

Stop. Guzzle time.

Stop. Guzzle time.

Flattered that friends gathered to celebrate my presence on this planet, we yucked it up at one of Nashville’s cool eateries, Suzy Wong’s House of Yum.

Ladies out on the town.

Girls just wanna have fun. And cocktails. Lots of cocktails.

Mama CBXB trudged

Mingling with Mama CBXB.

I was gifted all kinds of goodies, including a beautiful bouquet of roses.

Showered with flowers.

Showered with flowers.

Tears of joy almost streaked my cheeks upon receiving a bell that says ‘Drink Please’. It didn’t stop ringing until about 2am on Saturday night.

Ring my bell.

Ring my bell.

The real humdinger came compliments of my galpal Jdub who not only made cupcakes with sparkles in the frosting but also bedazzled individual boxes for each guest with rhinestones and glitter.

I don't hate it.

Clearly the worst thing I’ve ever seen.

I mean, hello. I wish my friends knew me better.

I mean, hello. I wish my friends knew me better.

Decorator extraordinaire

Decorator extraordinaire is hired for the rest of my birthdays.

Slightly buzzed and on a sugar high, we pranced over to the club adjoining the restaurant and had zero fun.

Fascinator

Party hat pass around.

There, I met my gay soul mate (that’s for you Scooby…just seeing how often you read the blog! And Mr. Scooby you can’t tell him), as he was in the shiniest silver suit ever accompanied by a glitter vest. This is the exact outfit I would want my groom to wear – oh hell, it’s what I want to wear if I ever get hitched.

Lovebirds

You know you’re in a gay club when a man tells you he adores your fascinator.

After all of the whirling, twirling, cupcakes, cocktails and shots there was just one gal standing at the end of the evening.

Um...hello?

Um…hello?

I’m sure you’re not shocked I drank everyone under the table.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Take Me to Church

Or…maybe you shouldn’t because I might burst into flames.

This Church. Not the one with a steeple.

This Church. Not the one with a steeple.

Being that I’m a lucky lady, I scored a ticket to the Eric Church concert in Nashville this weekend.  Naturally the most important element of concert prep is putting together my concert attire. And I tend to always go understated.

What to Wear?

Being subtle is my favorite thing in life.

Once the giddy up was on, I trotted down to a local honky tonk where I ran into an Arizona buddy that I haven’t seen in years. Once we started talking, it seemed like we were in the high school hallway yesterday.

Photo Bomb!

The Photo Bomber gets bombed!

My choice in outerwear proved to be a wise one as it easily turned into a bar pillow.

Bar Pillow

Heads get heavy after too much Grey Goose.

It also upped T Man’s bland outfit at one point in the evening.

Giddy Up

Animal print is so complimentary.

Leopard went straight to T Man’s head because he ever so graciously took photos of himself while using my phone.

Camera Man

It’s all fun and games until a blogger posts your picture.

What would a concert be like without a cocktail?

Showtime

No fun. A concert would be no fun without a cocktail.

But having seven a couple of Skinny Pirates might not have been so smart, as a life sized devil appeared during one of Mr. Church’s songs, making me want to sprint to the nearest House of Worship.

Devil

I still see this every time I close my eyes. Thanks Eric.

I awoke Sunday to a very pissed off pussy (who might as well have been the life size devil at the show) because he lost a wee bit of beauty sleep due to my Saturday night shenanigans.

SLEEP

Where the fuck were you last night?

I was relieved to find my phone in check, as I had lost my Louis Vuitton clutch twice during the previous evening – once in the arena and I then left it in the Uber cab (I don’t know how in the world this happened as I had a cross body bag on to prevent me losing anything. Major fail). But faith has been restored in humanity as not only was my clutch waiting for me at guest relations but the Uber driver came back by to see that my clutch found its way back to my mini manse.  Phew.

Upon charging my very dead phone, this is the face that greeted me as it powered back on.

Screen Saver

You might want to think twice if you are putting your mug on a blogger’s screen saver. Just sayin’.

Not only was I excited for the Golden Globes yesterday, I about pissed my pants in delight when I used my local grocery store’s points at the pump, making each gallon less than a dollar.

What?

Twenty gallons for less than $20.

While under lock down in Iowa due to bone chilling temps, my twins are approaching a small milestone.

T

Just the cutest duo on the planet.

Prince and Princess B will soon be entering a horrific phase (for their parents)…

Terrible Twos?

Terrible twos on the horizon this week.

In anticipation for my fave awards show, I thought I’d try to mimic the little golden statue by using a similar colored face mask while soaking in the tub but it did nothing but make me still look like me.

Golden Glow

Golden glow fail.

It was then time to decide which healthy treats I should grant myself  while watching the red carpet after eating my way through the holidays.

Dip Baby Dip

Pigging out while watching impossibly skinny stars prance around in their elegant gowns does wonders for self confidence.

And then the fabulous trio that resides in my mini manse gathered on the couch for the Golden Globes.

My Two Pussies

Golden globed PJs, one happy cat and one pissed off pussy.

Some things never change.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Bird Shit and Losing Bets

The Nashville weekend started early with a chance to go see a Beatle in all of his glory – for free!

This didn't suck.

This didn’t suck.

Taking full advantage of what our suite had to offer, waiting for Sir Paul to take the stage wasn’t difficult.

Suite life

Stalking up in the suite.

Gals on a budget know what to do when presented with free food.

Double fist.

Taking full advantage of the free. Gals on a budget know what to do when presented with free food. Double fist.

Cramming it in with class.

The concert was beyond fantastic, with Sir Paul playing for nearly three hours.

American, England and Tennessee flags flying high. See that small black one in the background? It was a pirate flag, which I assumed was for me.

American, England and Tennessee flags flying high. See that small black one in the background? It was a pirate flag, which I assumed was for me.

Naturally I had to snap my photo with the rock star and I’m pretty sure it turned out good enough to be my Christmas card this year.

Me

You can totally tell where I am, right?

Seems that flying on a kick ass concert high can be sucked right out of you the following afternoon when involved in a minor parking lot accident.

With someone who doesn’t speak English.

BOom

Fun times on Friday.

It did seem as if there was a small rain cloud over my head because while walking to a concert (yes, my third night in a row and yes, I’m still exhausted) I managed to get shit on by a bird. Without noticing it in my hair or my hand until I looked down to take a long guzzle of wine at the bar pre-show and then rushed to the bathroom.

Classy lady in the bar alert!

Bird shit. No shit.

Not bullshitting about the bird shit.

When the concert finally ended (Bluegrass shows promise two acts on the ticket, then invite everyone they know to come and play a song, which can make a concert last four hours), I mosied my way back to the mini manse to find this prize waiting for me by the door…

Left me this sweet surprise as he alwyas finagled his way out.

Ted’s way of showing me he’s done being a cone head.

Ted had a bum ear last week that he wouldn’t leave alone, therefore was forced into being in an uncomfortable state (you know, because he acted like the cone weighed 500 fucking pounds).

Ear infection?

Just trying to heal this little biatch.

It seemed like a small miracle the ear healed because every time I turned around Mr. Bear had weaseled himself out of the embarrassing accessory.

And then puked his way out of it.

All the shit I do and this is the thanks I get?

Cone head no more.

Good news arrived via text on Saturday morning proving that my niece, Princess B is going to grow up and be a rock star.

Rock star in the making.

Don’t worry, I’ll work on getting her a sparklier wardrobe.

It was also a big game day, as my blogging buddy Mark Bialczak’s alma mater was playing mine this weekend in college football. We had a virtual pinky bet that the loser had to post a big, smiling photo of the winner enjoying the game.

Food prepped

Our food was prepped.

Moonshine

The moonshine flowed for 31 points.

But in the end my team, the Iowa Hawkeyes were out played by the Maryland Terps and lost 31-38.

We took it pretty hard.

Losers

Loser face.

Drowning in my sorrows.

Loser post game activity.

But after we drowned in our sorrows for 30 seconds, we realized there was more football to watch, more snacks to eat and more cocktails to cuddle.

All peppy after taht.

Congrats Mark!

Who says sore losers can’t be smiling? Mark’s victorious photo will be posted on the blog soon.

Enjoy your week and be careful in parking lots…

CBXB

CBXB!

Rock ‘n’ Roll All Night…

For CBXB, it’s rock ‘n’ roll all night….and pay for it the entire next day.

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

It was a girls’ night out in Nashville as Motley Crue brought their farewell tour to honky-tonk central.

GNO Crue

Me and my crue.

After six two rounds of pre-party cocktails we headed to the arena, where we stocked up on more libations before going in to see Alice Cooper, the opening act, pretend to be decapitated on stage.

Sobriety

Sobriety is no accident. It’s also no fun.

Naturally, after the besiege of concert cocktails we felt it necessary to hold a photo shoot at every location in which we graced our presence.

Photo shoot begins.

Pictures in the hallway.

My one and only move still going strong.

Photos at the bar with my one and only dance move.

Bathroom selfies!

Selfies in the bathroom….. like all the classy ladies do.

Show selfies

Seat selfies.

With all of our modeling, we almost forgot that there was an actual reason we’d come to the Bridgestone Arena. Luckily for us, we didn’t miss Tommy Lee’s impressive drum solo he performed while his kit moved up and down the lighted truss at .000000001 mph.

Oh yeah, there was also a show going on.

A trick as spectacular as a its geriatric pace.

After the concert it made perfect sense to do an additional whiskey shot in celebration of the kick ass farewell concert performance Motley Crue delivered. But something in my mind was doubting my capabilities to get up for work the next morning.

What the fuck is half of 2/3 cup? WHAT?

What the fuck do you think you are doing with that Fireball?! It’s a school night for Christ’s sake.

Naturally I downed that whiskey like it was Pepto Bismol, which is why I look so effortlessly chic and fabulous today.

Looking how I feel...

I wear my sunglasses inside ’cause I’m cool like that. And still burping up Fireball.

While my exterior appearance mimics exactly how I’m feeling on the inside, I need to get my shit together as I get to do the same thing all over again tonight when attending a Sir Paul McCartney concert.

For free. In a suite. With food. And booze. Free booze.

My liver is screaming “kill me now” with my feet expressing their disdain for my attempt to prance around in my high-heeled hooker boots for a second night in a row. But who cares what my feet think, I’m going to see a music legend, right?

And as Paul McCartney says….Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da life goes on bra.

Although I have a feeling my motto tomorrow will be more along the lines of “Live and Let Die.”

ROCK ON.

CBXB

CBXB!