Weekend Winks- Tidbits

It’s been a minute since I have been able to post about my weekend shenanigans as I’ve had my head in the proverbial sand, trying to get my own shit together and love myself.

Loving myself fives hundred times over.

Thanks to my kick ass friends, family and followers, you’ve showered me with enough kindness and love to last a lifetime. And it’s meant the world.

Thank you from the bottom of my butt because it’s a helluva lot bigger than my heart.

Speaking of friends, an old pal from Iowa, Buffalo, blew in from Phoenix a few weeks ago and could not have come at a better time. The belly laughs, peeing of pants and long afternoon pass out naps were severely needed by this chick.

No straws left in Music City.

Dumpy, Buffalo and an Ass Clown.

You guess which one is which.

Honky tonkin’ in Nashvegas is literally like Vegas only you don’t win any money. There isn’t a chance. But you can sure blow your wad…just as Buffalo.

Cowboys and cowgirls out on the town.

What weekend of mine would be complete without jazz hands?

This man could be my soul mate.

After all of the shenanigans, this chick needed a low-key soak in a bubble bath. Since I lack a large lip around my tub, I resort to putting Precious on the shitter. She doesn’t seem to mind, since we’re still together.

Chug a dub dub while mom’s in the tub.

My other four fur babies can’t be bothered to join in any bathing fun because naturally, they sleep 22.6 hours per day.

Why did you have to use the flash, you bitch?!

Oh and those Iowa twins of mine? I’m waiting by the phone for a modeling agency to call me, as I’m dying to be their auntager. I will give Kris Jenner a run for all of her millions with these two natural beauties.

Yes, these are the two cutest kids on the fucking planet.

If the modeling doesn’t work out, there is always basketball. Especially if it’s a super girly league and Princess B is able to wear whatever the hell she wants and use a purple basketball.

Future Hall of Famers.

Speaking of kids, I’d be remiss not to speak to the horrendous mass shooting in Florida. The ongoing heartbreak of losing innocent lives, is beyond measure. And, I’ve had to question my own ideas, opinions and thoughts over the days since it’s happened.

Of course, I don’t know the answer. But I sure as shit don’t think that any kind of military grade rifle should be allowed in the hands of regular folks. Do you really need this sort of firearm to hunt? To protect your house? To shoot clay pigeons? I am no gun expert, believe me. I own a revolver and I have exactly five bullets in my mini manse and they are in my gun (for those of you who stay over at the mini, my gun gets unloaded and the bullets are housed in a separate drawer when guests arrive, so calm down). When I see people freaking the fuck out over the phrase “gun control” and being insulted by second amendment rights being taken away, I think that’s extreme. You want a gun to protect your house, fine. You want a rifle to hunt, fine. But do you need a military grade rifle to do so?

I have been reading all points of view – and yes, if someone is bananas enough, they will find away to kill people. Folks think the FBI could have done something, as they have admitted they missed two tips. I wonder though, what could they do? The kid had no record. His mother, when she was alive, notified the police of his behavior. He’d been expelled from school. He was having mental problems that were being treated. How many empty threats are made on a daily basis? Or, would this be like when you take a restraining order out to protect yourself but it does nothing?

Is this the answer? I don’t know what is – I wish I could look to those in politics who can enforce change but it’s beyond evident that I can’t. In my opinion, it’s not a Republican vs. Democrat problem. It’s an American problem that rings through every single state. I can’t imagine being a parent – let alone a fucking kid that has to practice gun shooting drills – today. It’s insane and it has to stop.

While the domination of news was focused on the Florida mass shooting (as it should be), the Olympics have also been underway and Dada CBXB and myself entered in our favorite sport. Drinking.

We trained all football season for this moment.

Speaking of moments, I still have my Christmas tree up (aka Celebration tree) and since it was pouring down on Saturday, I sat my ass on my leopard couch and got sucked into TV movies.

Redneck? White Trash? I don’t give a fuck.

Cuddled up butt to butt with my favorite snuggle pants.

A chug with a chugger.

Watching horrendously cheesy Hallmark movies (side note – it’s a dream of mine to star in one, no shit) full of you-already-know-what-the-character-is-going-to-say-before-they-say-it while falling in love and getting engaged within a week pulled at my cold, dead heart for once. I immediately called in all reinforcement.

Divorce court here I come. Crisis averted.

While I peruse Facebook as often as the next person, I have a serious love/hate relationship with the fucking memories that pop up from forever ago. Yesterday, my Aunt Crazy Pants and I celebrated nine years of social media friendship. Which was fitting because her birthday would have been this upcoming Friday, so she’s been on my mind constantly (not that she isn’t always).

Taking solace in my wine glass was quite easy because it was national drink wine day yesterday (which is every day for me but since it was a nationally recognized holiday, who am I not to overly partake?!).

OH. MY. GOD. BECKY. It’s an every day for us.

Good thing I have wine glasses that hold entire bottles of wine while I plot how to take over the universe.

Cheers to all of the tidbits in your life. Now go pour a heart healthy glass of vino.

Captain’s orders.

CBXB

Jacksonville Tour Tomfoolery

A 12 hour tour bus trip for work to the Florida Country Superfest meant only one thing this past weekend….endless shenanigans for this Nashville chick.

Me and my one adoring fan.

After prepping my ride for the weekend with an overabundance of booze, low-class snacks and booze, we were ready to roll.

My chariot.

Being that this bus was full of party animals, surprisingly there was only one rule to follow the entire trip…

The lone bus rule located in the bathroom.

As we pulled out of Nashville, I assumed my assigned position of tending bar.

One Skinny Pirate and glass of vodka coming right up!

After an hour (or three) of cocktailing, hoisting my ample ass up to the top bunk was no easy feat.

This is the face after a self-inflicted concussion.

No worries about the wound, as I did what you’re supposed to do after all head injuries. I slept it off.

After what felt like 32 minutes of sleep, we’d arrived in Jacksonville and I couldn’t get out of my own personal coffin fast enough.

Trying to bust a move off the bus gracefully.

I high-tailed it off of the bus and followed the signs to my fave place in any venue.

The stage.

Sprinting to the stage almost cost me two sprained ankles.

Florida was underwhelmed with all of my non-showered, greasy glory.

Naturally it’s not easy taking selfies while staying out of the crew’s way, busting their asses in preparation for the evening show, so I didn’t stay around long enough for them to ask me to help with sound check.

Check 1. Check 2. Check yourself off of the stage.

Escorting myself out of the high traffic staging area, I decided to take my talents back stage and offer assistance near the tour trucks.

Please. We all know I sat on my ass and watched others work as my nails are “jewels, not tools.”

In dire need of a shower, I settled for a semi-clean bathroom vanity to gussy my raggedy ass up.

Touring at its finest.

It was then time to head for concert where I was treated to a warm up show by a lady who gave me a run for my trashtacular money.

Who needs a pole when you have a chair?

Not wanting to be out classed by the chair dancer, I managed to spill an entire Skinny Pirate on my pal Rocky as I was prepping for a pic of us.

Swimming in a Skinny Pirate and he still smiles. Sign of a good friend!

Speaking of friends, what about me getting to hang with my Florida bestie, who I had no clue would be in attendance at the festival?

Surprise reunion!

Think she looks familiar?

Well, she does. Not only has she joined me in being a Holly Jolly Drunk girl this past Christmas, she also took part in one of my very best photo-bombing events.

Which one of these is not like the other?

But I digress.

Of course Holly Jolly Drunk Girl and I consumed cocktails while catching up.

She talked. I guzzled.

While us gals were gabbing, nature started to call upon my over flowing bladder, so I went to wait in a line that was roughly 5,312 ladies long. After 20 hellish minutes I realized that an emergency was about to take place, so I sought other means of relief.

Yep. I did.

I sprinted into the men’s room with my hands cupping my eyes while yelling, “I’m not looking! I can’t see you! I’m about to piss my pants!”

A very kind, extremely inebriated cowboy with his pants unbuttoned turned around from his urinal and tried to escort me toward the first open stall. While trying to avoid his germ filled grip, I slammed the door behind me and was greeted to this lovely sight.

Only the classiest will do for this fancy chick.

While I’d never shared a toiled with a Gatorade bottle, a beer can and someone’s regurgitated lunch it was well worth the sacrifice because I would have missed Florida Georgia Line waiting to use the ladies room.

I mean seriously. The sacrifices I make.

Singing along with the likes of Little Big Town, Eric Church and Jason Aldean for the rest of the evening didn’t suck either.

While bleary eyed and not at all bushy-tailed the next morning, I was greeted to a scantily clad Luke Bryan outside the bus window.

Our fingers were crossed his ball would break a bus window.

Collecting myself for yet another jammed packed day, I met my buddy Aha! who is on tour with Easton Corbin.

Buddies so old we used to be in a band together.

While perusing the other buses backstage, my eye caught a very sore sight. It was a plane with an advertisement that was obviously never double checked, as it read:

“$250 for AIDS and hearing test”

Only at a country music festival…

Popping back up on stage, I earned a new side gig acting as a guitar tech for Easton Corbin. My big moment came when I ushered a guitar out on stage and whispered in a semi-shout, “Turn this thing on!”

Aha! aiding me in my new career.

Being that I was embarking on a new profession called for a celebration with the crew.

Four cheers for my abilities to guitar tech volunteer!

Many celebratory cocktails later, we were crooning along to our fave country tunes with our closest 75,000 friends.

Luke Bryan looking good in the fabulously lit hood.

When it was all said and done, we headed back to our home on wheels that looked like it’d been through a 21 day excursion, instead of our 48 hour trip.

Anyone see the Captain?

Of course I was still enamoured with the mirrored ceiling that provided yours truly with endless entertainment.

Mirror mirror on the ceiling, I still find this overly appealing.

Returning home, the only thing I could do Monday night was sift through the weekend aftermath in my purse.

Remnants of a fun-filled two days.

In case you were wondering, this photo is a direct reflection of how my liver is still feeling.

Until the next tour…

CBXB

 

 

 

 

On Tour With CBXB

My job doesn’t suck.

Backstage pass perks that sometimes come along with my paycheck.

When my boss asked me if I could play host on a tour bus to a festival in Jacksonville, FL this weekend it took all of .02 seconds for me to respond with a yes.

Actually, I think I screamed, “OH HELLS YEAH!”

You know, me being oh so classy and all.

My chariot awaits.

While this weekend home on wheels rocks, it’s my job to stuff it with nothing but high quality snacks. I spent almost the entire morning trying to strong-arm my cart around the grocery store.

Who needs caviar when you can have Doritos?

But of course I lent my expertise the utmost important component of this trip…

Putting my liquor brilliance to good use.

It’s good to have a belly full of cocktails before you crawl into the crevice otherwise known as a bunk on the bus.

A non-restful night’s sleep awaits yours truly.

My graceful attempt to squeeze my ass in a bunk last year.

Although most of my time will be spent in the front lounge area talking, snacking, talking, cocktailing and looking at myself in the ceiling mirror.

Best. Ceiling. Ever.

So you can bet your ass folks will be wondering why the hostess is on the floor most of the weekend.

Mirror Mirror on the ceiling, does anyone else find this appealing?

As soon as my back hit the floor, I wondered which rock star used this area to put the mirrors to use…and then jumped up so fast, I almost gave myself whiplash.

But not before I captured a photo, of course.

Cheers to the weekend!

CBXB

Key West Clicks

Oh the perks of a beach vacation…

Being the lucky gal that I am, saying yes to a trip to Key West for a break in the dreary Tennessee weather was not a hard decision. What does one do while on the way to a beach destination?

Greet lunch with a fruity cocktail, naturally.

Vacations require cocktails at all times.

What better way to prepare your bod to slip into a bikini than to stuff your face with fresh crab claws and french fries?

Thank God swimsuits contain elastic.

Instead of racing into lycra, I thought about being tied up and roasted for someone else’s dinner after all of the noontime sodium collected in my gut.

CBXB hog roast.

Checking into the hotel, I could hardly wait to see where I’d be sipping my morning Bloody Mary’s…

Balcony fail.

But the view from my vacation porch didn’t really matter much because I immediately planted my crab claw happy ass here…

Successful view.

After a hard day soaking up the sun, it was time to research the Key West nightlife. I had a difficult time deciding if this particular bar would be a good choice or not…

Should I stay or should I go now?

After an evening filled with Skinny Pirates, a sunset and me remaining fully clothed I decided to detox with yoga on the beach the next morning.

Namaste.

Practicing yoga under palm trees with the sound of ocean waves in the distance sounded to good to be true.

Little slice of paradise.

And anything that sounds too good to be true usually is, right?

TRUTH.

Because just as the few folks who were ferocious enough to put their vacay hangovers aside and partake in yoga we were greeted with this unsightly horror…

Fucking seriously.

And while you may be thinking what’s wrong with a baby at beachside yoga (aside from everything), there’s something even more wrong with the fact that there were two (yes TWO) Pomeranian puppies in that stupid stroller (I say this as an animal lover) that did nothing but whine, whine, whimper, bark and whine every other second for the full hour.

The pups resembled Ted’s adorable buddy Nigel above but quickly turned into the most heinous dogs ever with their incessant noise.

There’s nothing more relaxing than concentrating (bark) on perfecting (whine) a plank (bark bark) with two (whimper whimper whimper) upset dogs. What made these little fur balls even more annoying?  The fact that both their humans completely ignored their yammering while they were doing downward dogs. Yes, parents can make even the most adorable kids ugly to others. Congratulations to the vacationing idiots.

After the most non-relaxing hour of yoga in history, I started in on the day’s real matter of business.

Driven to drink by dogs and stupid humans.

So I parked it on my favorite lounge chair to begin the day’s vacation festivities.

Why can’t reading by the pool while sipping cocktails be a real job?

I would be a star employee.

Although I could never keep the fruit attached to the rim of my glass.

Lime fail #27.

I would probably be the first employee ever to be fired from beachside lounging with cocktails…

No moonshine on the beach? Oops.

One of the best features of Key West is being able to stroll along the street, stop into bars and carry cocktails down to the Sunset Pier.

See ya tomorrow.

I thought the next best thing to the sunset was a band (that didn’t play anything other than Phish songs – a fail in my book) that had a dog on stage. Seeing this chillaxin’ canine melted any animosity I held against the entire species due to those yapping yoga puppies.

Can I have your dog? Please?

Watching sunsets and admiring dogs can leave one famished, so naturally you must cram your face full of swimsuit busting food.

Working on my bikini body.

Then have a nightcap (or three) at the World’s Smallest Bar.

Seriously. That tiny.

And because even in flip-flops my feet ache after walking 10 too many steps, I jumped at the first chance I could to cruise in the most gorgeous cab I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Can you drive me back to Nashville?

You know you’ve had a fabulous trip when this is how you feel about returning to ‘real’ life…

Why do vacations have to end?

If anyone is looking for a sidekick for their next beach getaway, holla at me!  I’m an expert at drinking in the sun…

CBXB

 

 

 

 

We’re Baaaaaaack!

My welcome home from Florida included almost losing an eye to a claw from my ultra sweet, patient and loving cat. Perhaps Teddy was trying to teach me a lesson in lovin’ and leavin’?

I’ll claw your eye out if you ever leave me again.

While this cold shoulder treatment came as no surprise (click here to read about the typical Teddy treatment I receive upon returning from a vacation), I always secretly hope he’ll greet me with open paws. No such luck.

I hope you missed me more than my bitchy little fur ball (whom I love more than life itself) because I missed you!

Florida shenanigan updates next week.

Cheers!

CBXB