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

 

 

 

How to Throw a Shindig in a Mini Manse

I threw my first party in my Nashville mini-manse (I’ve always been worried about how many people I can comfortably fit into my apartment) over the weekend by hosting an engagement celebration.

I set a long, skinny card table up against my laundry wing, as everyone was bringing a treat to share (and I have about 15 inches of counter space and a small round kitchen table).Β  Thank God Teddy was around to check the table’s stability out.

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Pawsitively helpful.

To make the most of my kitchen floor space, I filled my side sink with ice, chilling the champagne and wine to alleviate a cooler under a table (way more leg room!).

A little classy and trashy?

A little classy and trashy all at the same time.

I froze diamond ice cubes to spruce up the Kir Royale martinis (Chambord and champagne) I was serving as the evening’s signature cocktail.

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Perfect for an engagement party. Also perfect for my daily use afterward.

I froze vodka soaked, sugar covered grapes to use as chillers for the Kir Royales and wine. Plus they seemed fancier than Jell-O shots (AND guests could pop one (or five) in their mouths when walking by the table).

Grapes Gone Wild

Grapes Gone Wild

Not wanting anyone to feel ignored, I set an appropriate party bell out by empty glasses waiting to be filled.

Ring My Bell

Ring My Bell

We always have one (or truthfully in our case two – one for light drinking and one for midnight when we suddenly become ravenous) tray of Chick-fil-A bites.Β  (I ‘store’ the second platter in my oven and thrill guests later in the evening – it’s one hell of a party trick making snacks appear out of ‘nowhere’ – and fun seeing tipsy faces glow with delight over chicken nuggets).

Forget diamonds!

Forget diamonds! Chicken is a girl’s best friend.

Keeping it classy, I bought and threw cheese balls into an over-sized wine glass (which yes, I drink out of) that are always overly consumed (making me feel like my skin will be orange when I wake up the next morning).

The ever elegant cheeseball...

The ever elegant cheese ball…

My blogfamous (and oh-so-popular) dip duo made appearances at the snack table, courtesy of their original recipe think tanks –

Eat Shit and Die Guac

Always fabulous Eat Shit and Die

Click here for the recipe that will make others green with envy.

Shit Dip

Shit dip

Click here for the easy recipe (and for the reminder to keep toilet paper handy).

Sweet treats were strawberry cupcakes with cream cheese icing atop my 1950s serving tray (and counter space saver) that I found in an Iowa antique store last year.

Vintage 50s tower with fresh strawberry cupcakes and cream cheese frosting

Treat Tower

While still able to write nicely, we signed an empty bottle of champagne as a gift to the bride-to-be with a Sharpie paint pen.

Fanciest champagne bottle of them all - Cook's signed by all party girl's for the engagement queen

Fanciest champagne bottle of them all – a Cook’s brand magnum.

And then, the shots began…

The first shot of the evening - a very tasty pomegranate mix.

A very tasty vodka pomegranate mix.

Leading to the next chapter of the evening….

Where all hell broke loose.

Creating a perfect post for tomorrow’s White Trash Wednesday.

Party on!

CBXB

CBXB!