Weekend Winks – Snoop Dogg, Fang Fingers and Flat Tires

When a gal pal wants to treat you to a night out for a belated birthday par-tay, why in the world would you say no? Of course we know I said yes, especially when the evening involved a Snoop Dogg concert. I was especially excited to escape from my reality after some particularly bad news came my way last week. A girl’s night out was just what this chick needed.

I over packed and lugged my beauty bag, taking over Funk 49’s kitchen counter to gussy up for a rainy night out in Nashville.

Yes, my bag of beauty tricks includes alcohol. Doesn’t yours?

Known for my booblegging skills at public events where liquor is priced like it’s solid gold, the glass below may or may not be Pepsi.

Sneaky sneaky.

The night was so full of fun that I forgot what a shit show my life has been for the past 24 months.

Problems? What problems?

After the concert, I didn’t want the night to end so I borrowed my Uber driver’s coffee on the way back to Funk 49’s house for a little perk me up.

Don’t worry. We gave him five stars – and I gave him back his coffee.

We kicked off our rainboots and did what ever girl party does after an evening out – ordered two pizzas for three ladies.

Hubba Hubba.

Upon stuffing my pie hole with at least 1.5 of the pizzas, I tried to coax Funk 49’s dog, Buddy, to lay with me in his bed…I don’t know why he seemed so annoyed.

My version of doggy style.

So I settled for a little downtime the following day with my own puppy Presh.

Prescription sunglasses are the only way to go when rehydrating on a Saturday morning.

While I was hunkered down in my Princess and the Pea bed, the Iowa twins were stuck inside for a third day in a row due to rain storms. So what did my genius sis do? She turned the garage into a bike bonanza for four-year-olds.

Rec room.

The Nashville Predators are in the NHL playoffs and my crew settled in for the third game of the series against the St. Louis Blues. Rocky, Princess Elsa Pants and Ted proved three times a charm, as the Preds skated their way to a 3-1 victory.

Fang Fingers.

I nestled into a Sunday full of job searching, #girlbossing, therapy homework, with a side of Glamour.

Sunday Funday.

No weekend would be complete without an evening full of leopard couch time with Ted – who now has his own personal shadow named Elsa Pants.

Forced Sunday snuggles – with extreme patience.

I found out that my first furry friend in Nashville crossed over to the Rainbow Bridge last night. Caesar was my constant companion when I worked as a personal assistant for a family when I first moved to Music City. He was my only “co-worker” and kept me company so many lonely nights in a new city. Love and miss you little guy.

Trying to keep the wheels from falling off my fragile state of mind, I hit the alarm early for a 7am yoga class today. But about .0005 seconds into the commute, I was t-boned in my parking lot, causing my chariot to come to an immediate halt for the time being.

No zen in sight on this Monday.

I decided it best to switch my morning coffee for something a tad stronger while on the phone with my insurance company.

A bloody mary to help ease spiked blood pressure.

So while I seem to be running into a tad of misfortunes lately, I can’t help but wonder…

I’m wide open for suggestions.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Sayonara 2016

Know anyone who had a ridiculously fabulous 2016?

Me either.

Not to say great things didn’t happen for folks in this dumpster fire of a year but seriously, although my Gma used to say, “don’t wish your life away,” I couldn’t think of anything more that I would wish for than the goddamn clock to strike midnight on December 31, 2016.

Yes. How we all feel about this past fucking year.

Yes. How we all feel about this past fucking year.

While I kicked my year of with bad shit happening to a good person (yours truly) last January, there have been highlights and honest-to-goodness reminders as to why I wished I was a mother fucking super hero (or ass kicking princess).

I tried taking a cue from Elsa early on…

Elsa's help.

But I’m not a sexy smoker (see below). Nor do I know how to inhale. And lastly, I hold grudges like my net worth (let’s be real…I’m elated when I have triple digits in my checking account, so not really saying much), therefore this wasn’t going to be my outlet to let 2016 the fuck go. Also, it was just February.

Not a Sexy Smoker

Trying to heed advice of my fave, fearless lighting designer, Hawaiian Housewife (I know you’re rolling your eyes to the back of your skull M), who seems to let any/everything roll down her back (except puke – in which case she likes to displace on moi) with her famous line of…

Good Advice

Well, I didn’t try a bag of dicks per se but instead used an Iowa ear of sweet corn.

Corn Bag

While delicious, this didn’t help in the hate that seethed out of my soul for the year of all shitacular years.

So what did I do? I sprinted, ran, happened to be at PetSmart on an adopt-a-pussy Saturday sponsored by Sweet Faces Cat and Kitten Rescue (yes, I am now officially the face of their rescue and I will give you an autograph) and I did what any sane person does. I picked out three cats to add to my brood because in the end, you really can buy love.

Three's a Crowd

And in the end, you now have four feline mouths to feed.

Mouths

Plus I gotta fill the tiny yapper of my Ewok resembling chug, Precious.

Chug Life

But in the end, I got my loving therapy through this….

2016 at its Finest

All of the extra feline lovin’ seemed to help my in heart failure main squeeze, Mr. Ted E. Bear rekindle his love for life. And that made me feel like one extremely lucky lady – even though I will forever be recognized as the crazy Nashville cat lady. I give zero fucks for that title if this little pussy can still be by my side daily.

Better Tedder!

Friends tried to help by burning some of my past hurts away, while I ignited flames with lighter fluid.

Fire Starter

The fire didn’t really cure anything BUT this shirt did reflect my outlook…

Win Win

So I’d call that a win-win, wouldn’t you?

Being involved in a traumatic, life changing event, I enlisted the help of a f.a.b.u.l.o.u.s. therapist that I regularly see on Thursdays (#therapythursdays anyone?). Upon completion of sessions, copious amounts of vino is required. And while I don’t mind drinking with my five (yes I said fucking FIVE fur balls), my sister and gusband (gay husband) are more than ready to join me in Iowa and Missouri, respectively, when I need the company.

Therapy Thursday

IOWA!

My kind of pour.

My kind of pour.

Over the course of this year, I’ve let my pride of self-worth sit on a back burner and simmer (due to uncontrollable reactions to aforementioned bad shit happening).  With the help of friends who aren’t afraid to tackle the CBXB monster and family who’ve dealt with me forever, I was forced to not only wash my hair but show face at my fancy salon (with my fabulous chug in tow, of course) to get my pink rejuvenated and remain blonde.

Gussy

Those same folks about keeled over seeing me in flats and also forced me into my pre-2016 daily shoes…stilettos. I mean, I’ve always been known for my practicality.

Heeled UP

Counting on those who know you best, I hung in like a champ for my Iowa Hawkeyes football tailgates – and kept the family tradition of moonshine touchdown shots alive with Dada CBXB.

Tailgating

Cheering it on with family as often as I could.

CHEER

Speaking of cheering, you all have sent nothing but positivity, well wishes, fab karma, and outrageous juju my Aunt Crazy Pants’s way after her cancer diagnosis this summer. While she’s my end-all-be-all-twin, she’s still kicking some fucking cancer ass. And that’s the way we prefer.

Holla!

Aside from my family and very, very close circle of now known friends (funny how tragedy, traumatic experiences, etc. leads you to your faithful peeps) these two twin monkeys have done nothing but keep my rails from coming fully off the track. I mean, look at their faces. How lucky am I? Even if it was the most dismal year in the history of histories in my lifetime?

For real.

Speaking of rails on the track, while my job is typically a full-on shit show, I have people surrounding me in the office that are full of life, love and overall kindness. Their humor, wit and ability to deal with crazy on a daily basis has made my 2016 a better place.

Work

What made this year – day after day – hour upon hour – minute upon minute – second upon second – all the more difficult was the constant issue of rape culture and the shaming of women, men and any human who has suffered this intolerable situation. From Brock Turner getting a fucking six month sentence after raping a woman in public on a campus, to the published accounts of victims reading letters to their accused in court, to a fucking presidential nominee with 12 – yes 12 women accusing him of inappropriate conduct…one being recorded on tape resulting in a TV anchor’s dismissal from a network by simply being in the situation and not stopping it.

But then, America voted that man president. Women I know voted for that man. Women I know that have daughters voted for that man. Men I know who have daughters voted for that man. Why? It’s beyond me.

Not only does he “grab pussy” because he’s a “star” but he’s totally going to “Make America Great Again.”

FUCK YOU TRUMP

TRUTH

I’m all for voting and standing by your decisions. And I’m also not saying I loved the other choice on the ballot but fuck. Nominating a male chauvinist pig (among many other indecencies as a human being) as POTUS made the end of the year almost unbearable as a person in my standing.

TRUTH TRUTH

This year has proven unbelievable in the most horrific ways. Unbelievable in the most humane ways. Unbelievable in the amount of support I have garnered at the hands of acquaintances, friends, social media buddies, family – the outpouring was (and still is) something that I can’t even still comprehend in the best way possible. To that, I am grateful. To that, I dedicate my first bottle (of tonight) champs to you.

CHAMPS!

I will put on my finest threads and ride out the rest of the hours 2016 has to offer.

MOTHERFUCKER

I will most likely headbang my way into 2017, giving zero fucks about the neckache I will endure.

Bangin'

Because if you are reading this, you have aided me through the darkest 365 day chapter of my life thus far. And I love you for being there digitally, emotionally, physically, snail mailingly, social medially, FaceTimingly, textingly, etc. You have no idea how much one message, like, encouraging word can carry me through days.

Together

The motto I have stuck to and lived by every moment of 2016…

MOTTO

And now, it’s time for a fresh start. Not to say I – or anyone else – is immune to bad shit. It happens. It’s life and makes up the DNA of our souls. But sometimes enough is enough.

I say enough.

FUCK YOU 2016

Sayonara 2016.

FUCK YEAH 2017!

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Wild Beer, Wild Times and Wild Pussies

Does anyone have a private jet so I can fulfill my niece’s request below? All she wants to do is play and paint her nails red with me. I promise that I will act like an ass because I’ve done so before while riding private.

Plus, just listen to her little voice. I’m considering driving through the night just to get a mani with her tomorrow. That’s not crazy is it?

Before trying to solicit my body for a plane ride to fulfill Princess B’s wishes, Dada CBXB and I stopped by Mr. Whisker’s Liquor in Nashville Friday for a tasting of Wild Ginger Alcoholic Beer and Wild Alcoholic Root Beer (both of which are gluten free).

Beer tasting with the Big Guy.

Big guy with a tiny cup.

Naturally, we almost cleaned out the supply before heading across the street to my beloved Dalts.

Greedy grab.

Greedy grab.

Dada lasted long enough to see Bird Lady and The Silent Indian.  We were asked to ‘keep it down’ before we were even inebriated –  I mean hell, I was still on my first Skinny Pirate!

A little too loud for the patrons with hearing aids. Surprise.

A little too loud for the patrons with hearing aids.
Surprise.

So to quiet ourselves down, we opted for tequila shots.

Tequila totally tones it down.

Tequila totally tones it down.

Speaking of surprise, I ran into one of my old bandmates and we reminisced about the days when we kicked some rock ass.

Bandmates reunite!

Reunited and it feels so good.

Sleeping off my Friday fun, someone could hardly contain their excitement for Saturday.

Jumping for Saturday joy!

I wish I had .0001% of this chick’s energy.

Mustering up the gumption to get out of my mini manse proved worthwhile as I got to see my cousin who was visiting from Atlanta on a weekend girls trip. While we had good intentions to make it a brunch, it also turned into lunch and almost supper.

Hussies!

Why thank you, we’ll have another.

Just there a teeny, tiny while.

Just there a teeny, tiny five hours.

In an attempt to detox, I slapped on a face mask and wanted to soak in the suds. But Ruby Sue had other ideas and ended up in the tub with me.

Jason and

A look-a-like Jason Voorhees and my stalker.

Wanting none of the water park action, Ted and his shadow Elsa Pants barely moved the entire evening.

Two peas on a purple pod.

Two peas on a purple pod.

We moved the party to the bedroom for a change of scenery. Mr. Bear made sure his spot was secure on my chest as he evil eyed the fuck out of Elsa and Rocky.

Triple show down.

Triple show down.

Ruby Sue, deeming herself princess of the mini manse declined the slumber party and sat in her color coordinating throne.

Princess bed for a princess.

Yes, her eyes are always that wide.

Judging from my Monday morning thus far, I’ll be drinking out of this coffee mug non-stop the next five days.

Looks like this is the kinda week I'll be having. At least I have the appropriate mug.

Truth.

Here’s hoping this is a week where you have your shit together.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Girls! Girls! Girls!

Sometimes a little tender lovin’ TLC is best and there’s no better way than to hang with your gal pals at an old (in our case) fashioned slumber party.

First time with a selfie stick fail.

First time with a selfie stick fail.

None of the ladies could believe that I had never before used a selfie stick and as it will be no surprise to anyone, I couldn’t figure the fucking thing out all night.

Bo better

Bird Lady, Bex and First Mate – faces of disappointment.

So I reverted back to the good old day arm selfie with much clearer (whatever that means) results.

Old fashioned

Old school selfies rule.

While our pajama photo shoot lasted until way passed the wee hours of three, a few faces from the gaggle of my zoo were pissed that they weren’t yet fast asleep in sleeping bags.

Just go the fuck to bed.

Just go the fuck to bed already.

So we took heed of their facial advice and landed wherever we dropped for our beauty sleep.  A silent Saturday was in store at the mini manse, as everyone was catching up on their ZZZZZZZs.

Tired twosome.

Elsa and Rocky – a tired twosome.

Teddy was so tired, he couldn’t even muster a glance at the camera – and we all know how he likes to be the star of the show.

No look for you.

No look for you.

Ruby Sue’s eyes remained open but she was also snoring. I know, I know, I have one talented pussy right here.

Wide-eyed sleeper.

Wide-eyed sleeper.

Even the always peppy Precious was down for the count on Saturday after a long night with the girls.

Down for the count.

Pooped chug.

But I’m pretty sure Presh was still groggy from getting her teeth cleaned the day before…I mean, look at those eyes.

Dazed and confused.

Dazed and confused.

I received a custom Bitmoji that is now my screen saver on my cell (DON’T tell the twins) from my gal pals who reside in the Windy City.

My

They were out shopping and found what will soon be part of my daily uniform.

Diamonds

Shirt reads: Cats diamonds are a girl’s best friend. TRUTH.

My Iowa twins were enjoying some unseasonable warm weather over the weekend, acting as adorable as ever.

Princess

Princess B – always a crowned jewel.

Check out the abs on Prince B below. I’m going to start taking workout pointers from my three year old nephew.

Long, tall Prince B.

I’m trying this technique tonight at the park but need to figure out how to also sip my Skinny Pirate.

Sunday I found myself surrounded by more fabulous friends as we met up for a drunk brunch.

Ladies who drunch.

Ladies who drunch.

As always, I ended the weekend in a bath full of relax.

Best bubbles on the block.

Best bubbles on the block.

Here’s hoping your week is full of the TLC you need.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Pussy Pandemonium

Apparently being traumatized by another human being in a life altering event makes one feel the need to buy love. For me, acquiring affection isn’t in the form of old-fashioned hookers or new-fashioned Bumble (seriously, what is that?) but through the purchase of pussies. Three too many of them.

You see Mama CBXB thought it’d be a good idea to get my thoughts on something other than an ongoing police case, the fact I have no employment, the furball love of my life Ted developed a serious heart condition within two weeks and wanted to provide me some light life focus.

So she decided to buy me a kitten.

Princess Elsa Pants Crossbones

How can you say no to this face?         You don’t.

First, I was leery. I mean Teddy is used to being the main attraction of all things CBXB (even though he shared the spotlight with our dearly departed, highly annoying but oh-so-loved New Cat for a bit). With that in mind, it was still end of story when we entered Pet Smart on what just happened to be National Adoption Weekend.

How much is that pussy in the window?

How much is that pussy in the window?

I don't hate this idea.

It didn’t take long for me to warm up to the idea.

Upon putting my hand in a pile of young pussies, I pulled out a sweet faced baby who was already dubbed Elsa. Being that the Iowa twins favor that princess most, I fell in love and this kitten hit the jackpot. All I needed to do was check the fuck out with my newest family member.

No name change for the Princess.

No name change for the Princess.

But then I stood up and was met with piercing green eyes peering out of a cage, staring so hard through my soul I could almost feel the two holes burned into my forehead.

You know you want me too.

You know you want me too.

I just had to get into the cage to see what was going on with this emerald eyed monster who immediately head butted my face, accompanied by a swift lick when I tried to crawl into the metal house with her.

Hi there. Care if I join?

Hi there. Care if I join?

Turns out this black beauty had an extremely shy brother sleeping in the back of the cage who wasn’t adapting well to being in a rescue. These four-year-old siblings were surrendered by some asswipe who decided they couldn’t care for them anymore.

Who am I to break up a sibling bond?

Who am I to break up a sibling bond?

I then decided to check all three of them out at once, testing the waters.

Totally under control.

Totally under control.

My arms of steel were able to squeeze all of the felines tight enough to keep them in my crazy cat lady grip just long enough to not triple second guess my decision to take them all.

Mulling it over for .00000001 second.

Mulling it over for .00000001 second.

And just like that, the operator of Sweet Faces Cat & Kitten Rescue agreed to let me take the ‘triplets’ home to the mini manse, where Ted and Precious the chug unknowingly awaited the new arrivals.

Penny and her #1 customer.

Penny and her #1 customer.

 

MVP of the weekend.

MVP of the weekend.

 

What is about to happen?

What is about to happen?

In keeping with my love of all things Griswold family, I decided to name my newly obtained family members after Cousin Eddie’s kids.

Rocky - the strong, silent type.

Rocky – the strong, silent type.

Ruby Sue - possibly missing a brain cell or two.

Ruby Sue – possibly missing a brain cell or ten.

And as I said before, the baby remains Princess Elsa in honor of my Iowa twins.

P

They love animated Elsa. I love the fur ball version.

Princess Elsa Pants Crossbones

Princess Elsa Pants Crossbones.

The ride home from Pet Smart was eerily quiet with each cat in a newly purchased cardboard box (as I didn’t intend on coming home with any furry addition). Not a peep, meow, hiss, growl or howl was uttered.  And nothing was said as I introduced each new family member to Mr. Bear and Presh one by one. The transition from being a cray cray cat lady to borderline animal hoarder was smooth sailing for everyone.

Cautious cats.

Princess and King, cautious friends at first.

Warm

Warm and fuzzies after about four minutes.

Turns out, Tedstar likes being the big man in the mini manse – but refuses to acknowledge his contentment.

Butt buddies.

Butt buddies.

Nightly ritual.

Nightly ritual.

Brotherly love.

Brotherly love.

Mauling mania.

Mauling mania.

I know, I know, I’m thisclose to being a stereotypical cliché given the fact that I’m an unmarried, candle loving, drinks wine alone while watching sappy Lifetime movies and I live in a literal animal house. But guess what? I don’t give a fuck.

I inspired this action figure.

I inspired this action figure.

Nashvillians know me by name.

Famous among Nashvillians, obviously.

IMG_0776

Let’s be honest – no one snickers behind my back because I have the type of family and friends who will ridicule me to my face with the hopes that I do not in any way shape or form turn into this woman…

Please intervene if it my situation gets this dire.

Please intervene if my situation gets this dire.

But you know, while I feel good about saving three more sweet souls in the end, I wonder who is really saving whom?

Saved.

Can’t help but love the crazy, pussy pandemonium can you?

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Shots, a Chug and Bachelorette Fun

Just your typical Saturday night.

Just a typical Saturday night at my mini manse.

Ending the week right, the chug Precious and I were able to go and get gussied up at my fave Nashville salon Trumps.

Primping up with puppy.

Primping with puppy.

Precious

One of the two of us really is precious and I’ll let you guess who.

Knowing that I like to take a fur baby everywhere and following in her Auntie CBXB’s footsteps, Princess B went to Build-a-Bear and created a cat (naturally).  When it came time to give her new feline a moniker, apparently Princess B inherited my creative juices and went with the highly innovative choice of “Pet” (almost as clever as my beloved pussy’s name New Cat).

Princess B and her cleverly named kitty, Pet.

A princess and her pet.

Ditching the dog, I headed to a lunch in celebration of a fine young lady and her upcoming nuptials.

Ladies who lunch.

Ladies who lunch.

No celebration is complete without jazz hands, ya dig?

A bride-to-be with class and a lady that’s white trash.

Did you guys know that Elsa from Frozen has a twin who is also named Elsa? Well, it’s true. And they live in Iowa and are related to me.

Elsa loves to read.

Elsas loves to read.

Prince of Star Wars

I imagine Prince Elsa will one day want to kill me for posting this photo.

If it’s a football Saturday in September, you can bet your ass it’s Iowa Hawkeye tailgate time!

Iowa girls can't help it.

Iowa girls can’t help it.

With the kitchen pretty much prepped and ready to go, the only thing left to do was flip the TV to the right channel.

Booze

Booze, booze and more booze.

Cruising to the channel, the guide listed an either/or scenario. My game, Iowa vs. PITT or Penn State vs. Maryland. Now, I pay extra money to get the Big Ten Network through Comcast, (my stupid fucking cable provider that I’m dying to leave – hurry up Google Fiber!) and you’d think they’d provide an alternative network when two games in the same division are to be played at the same time to please viewers.

No such luck.

FUCK Comcast.

FUCK Comcast.

After precisely 92 minutes on the phone, asking the customer service rep which game they’ll be showing (reps don’t have that information (WTF?), so we had to wait until kick-off), I was told I could view on my laptop and if I could wait, they’d give me a password.

So we waited….

…and waited….

…and did a shot while we waited….

Stress shot.

We hate drinking.

And FINALLY! We got the small screen up and going with our Hawkeye game in the second quarter.

Might as well be Buffalo Wild Wings.

Might as well be Buffalo Wild Wings with this set up.

Once the game was on, we had some catching up to do and got to our trashy tradition of moonshine shots after every touchdown.

Touchdown!

Shot #1

Shot #3

Shot #2

Shot #3

Shot #3

In the final two seconds of the game, the score was tied and our field goal kicker (my new hero) hit a 57 yard field gold for the win. I’m pretty sure my entire apartment complex thought there was a party of 60 in the mini manse as we carried on like we’d just won a million dollar lottery.

Shot #4 for the W!

Celebration shot #4 for the W!

The rest of the evening went as follows…

Whoops.

Whoops.

So you can imagine that Sunday went a little something like this with my main squeeze, Ted.

Sunday started like this.

Start.

Sunday ended like this.

Finish.

Here’s hoping your week is off to one fabulous start!

Fuck Comcast.

CBXB

CBXB!