Iowa Nice Way of Life

Man, I (mostly) love all things Iowa. I’m still (mostly) proud to be an Iowan.

It’s a gorgeous place and I feel really lucky to be a life long product of the state.

I grew up in a tiny ass town in southwestern Iowa, about one hour north of the Missouri border.

This weekend, the municipality is having a Sesquicentennial celebration. What the fuck is a Sesquicentennial party you ask (because I had to)?

Dictionary Definition:

“Relating to the one-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of a significant event. As the town’s sesquicentennial celebrations get under way”.

Um, why do we have to have a fancy word? Why can’t it just be “Happy 150th Birthday!” but I digress. There’s going to be a weekend long par-tay and I can’t help but reflect on the town of 1,200 peeps that helped fabricate the me I turned out to be (I’m also slightly pissed I wasn’t asked to be the Grand Marshal of the parade but I *might* get over it if I’m honored with the position for the Bicentennial (200th birthday) celebration. And yes, I fully expect to be alive and kickin’).

I mean, if anyone can be a parade Grand Marshal, it’s moi. I mean, look how I rocked the town’s many year round parades.

There was the annual Lenox Rodeo parade every summer we NEVER missed out being participants in thanks to Mama CBXB.

We also never missed the rodeo and as always, gussied up for the event.

Then there was the homecoming parade every fall. The first time I participated as an attendant, I was pretty fucking sure I was gonna marry my escort.

Then there was always a Halloween parade (back when we could still call it Halloween without fun haters insisting it be referred to as “Fall Festivals” at school). The entire town never failed to bring their lawn chairs and line them all the way up and down the five block Main Street.

Lenox is not only my hometown but the birthplace where my love of all things pussies began.

Being raised in a small town, I had independence from an early age. For example, at five years of age, Mama CBXB would let me ride my bike three whopping blocks to the community pool with instructions to come home for lunch when the town’s noon siren blared (does this still happen daily?).

I never missed a meal. Be right back after my beloved ketchup sandwich.

Growing up in a small community gifted me the “zero fucks to give” attitude that is still one of my most precious assets. Wanna play baseball in your backyard sporting a swimsuit? DO IT.

Think plaid might be for you but then realize you aren’t made for straight, confining lines? DO IT.

Wanna forever capture your love of busy patterns, colors and accessories? GO FOR IT.

Feel like proudly hanging out in a stellar swimsuit with a perm while contemplating slipping into the most heinous sweatshirt on the planet? WHY NOT?

Wanna rock a scrunchie while Sister CBXB nonchalantly sports a mullet? FUCK YES.

My young informative years solidified my allergies to situations I still don’t love.

Like camping at Lake of Three Fires.

Or the time I discovered my fingernails were “jewels, not tools” after assisting Dada CBXB with gardening for one day.

My softball career was long enough lived for me to get a card made. I was the catcher because I could the ball throw to second base at 10. I have a few of these left if you want an autographed copy.

Growing up in a small town means getting to see your dad rock turquoise shorts on a flatbed truck during a lip sync contest. In front of all of your friends. And he was a PE teacher for the entire school system and football coach.

Dada CBXB was also able to embrace small town culture by taking a baby and toddler on motorcycle sidewalk rides. No biggie.

My love of football started in the stands of Friday games.

You can get anywhere in under three minutes, so participation in every available activity is achievable.

Dance we did.

I was the number one peanut seller for Brownies TWO YEARS IN A ROW. Receiving my $5.00 prize in the Methodist church basement was obvies a real treat. Mama CBXB was never worn out from being our Troop leader, costume maker or party planner.

Ever.

Speaking of party planning, boy, did Mama CBXB and this town create a party-for-lifer. Oh, and the more the fucking merrier.

My love of mascots started at a young age. I mean, I couldn’t wait to get my paws on the Easter Bunny.

However, I am shocked that this piss poor rendition of Santa didn’t ruin Christmas for me forever.

We moved after I finished seventh grade and I don’t get back very often. When I do, it is fun to do a drive-by memory lane. Like the house we lived in since my sister was born.

Before that, it was this abode.

I never miss a chance to go to my fave place for fried cheeseballs – The Tiger Den. And now they have gluten-free buns. I die.

The Lenox park is where a fuck ton of memories were created. School picnics, the swimming pool, Sister CBXB accidentally entering a tractor pedal pull and won first place, and where we played hours on the equipment. Last time I was in Lenox, I broke my body trying to recreate memories.

I threw my back out jumping off of the goddamn merry-go-round. Aren’t those death traps now?

Take my advice from above and just reminisce about the equipment instead of playing on it. Because I tweaked my ankle jumping out of the archaic (but in stellar condition) swing set. But how could I resist when my ample derriere fit in the swing?!?

I love that I was able to spend my childhood in a town where I was granted independence practically at birth, conditioned to play by myself when needed, taught the importance of being empathetic and to show up for your family, friends and neighbors. It’s a treat not many peeps get these days.

Mama CBXB came across this ribbon from the Centennial (fucking 100th birthday) and I display it in my kitchen hutch.

Happy Sesquish birthday, Lenox!

I’m crossing my claws in hopes to be the Grand Marshal for the Bicentennial.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

Buy Me a Drink

Weekend Winks – The Fall Edition

So what the fuck has everyone been up to these days? You back at the office (I have been since March and boy, do I miss working from home)? Your kids in school? Or are you still virtual everything? Can you even go back to work if your kids are at home? Are you vaccinated? Do you wear a mask when you’re in large groups even if you are vaxxed? How you doing since the two week “flatten the curve” of 2020?

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!

I mean holy fucking hell. This year went from being a fresh start and then I blinked and it’s fucking October. After working from home nearly a year, I’ve found it rough “wasting” four hours of my day I didn’t realize I was missing out Before Rona. I would leave my house at 7am and get home at 7pm if I worked out, lugging my bags (usually forgetting my lunch on the counter) and sometimes even DOING SOMETHING after all of that in the evening. How did I have the energy?!?! Rona has made me lazier and like most of the world, my hair got washed about once a month during the deep throes of the pandemic.

Me. Trying to acclimate to sort of Post Rona Times but obvies not handling it well.

There hasn’t been much activity to report because my weekends were filled with the pool, Skinny Pirates, Netflix, snacks, wine, repeat. But now that college football is in full swing, you know what that means?! Dada CBXB and my Family Tradition Touchdown Shots are baaaaaaaack!

My Iowa Hawkeyes have been killing it so far this season. This team plays for a win but isn’t “showy or sexy” as one commentator put it last weekend. But ya know what? We are number three in the nation after schooling the Maryland Terps on Friday night 51-14.

It’s been years since we needed two hands for a photo op! Dada CBXB got the number six in our last pic, accompanied by the evening ending shot. Don’t worry, we had very fancy snacks for the game to help soak up the Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Fire.

A very fucking cool initiative college football is undertaking is creating awareness regarding mental health. An often taboo subject, (which of course it shouldn’t be because just like physical health, we all have mental health) this is helping change the narrative for young athletes and people. I’m so here for this shit.

Because the Hawks played on Friday night, I was able to hang with The Silent Indian on Saturday of whom I hadn’t seen since the night of the Nashville tornado in March of 2020. Hot dayum.

Of course I got to talking at him about the most important element of the football game. The outfits. Which most refer to as uniforms but not me. They’re outfits. And, I’m pretty sure that the Iowa Hawkeyes have the best outfits in all of college football. Of course TSI thinks his team’s blah hunter green and white outfits are better, so I took to the inaccurate IG story polls for reassurance.

WELP……..

Obvies that argument is settled.

After the outfit chit chat, I thought it would be fun to FaceTime everyone we knew because who doesn’t do that on a Saturday night?

All in all a successful round of drunk dial FaceTime.

While I was very busy sitting on my ass, watching football and drinking Skinny Pirates all weekend, my twins had their first soccer game! And yes, I know they look like actual kids instead of little kids. Time please slow down.

In recovery on Sunday, I enjoyed a gluten free chicken pot pie, in which I also add a bag of peas. Therefore, it is called Pea Pie.

By Sunday night I could hardly keep my eyes open due to all of the fucking social time spent with two men in my life that have known me forever and which I didn’t have to make small talk. But it’s the first time since….2019 (?) that I’ve done something two nights in a fucking row. Our night ended early like this….

Happy 3,820 week in Rona hell. Hope you are all keeping your sanity and if you ever think you’re on the brink, just remember I always have been and always will be a walking shit show. So know that you aren’t alone.

Love ya, Mean it!

CBXB

Buy Me a Drink

Weekend Winks – Sun and Summer Fun!

Oh, hello there! Long time no talk. I’ve been dealing with a cyberstalker of sorts for 16 months and it requires me to be hyper vigilant about what I post on all social media accounts and especially this blog. But since there isn’t anything I can do about it (until I end up on Forensic Files, my fave true crime show), I’m gonna start blogging my brains out again. Fuck it.

You know I love the shit outta my pool and the Music City weather was gorgeous this weekend to make it a two day extravaganza! Sleepy joined in on the sun fun all weekend. So did the man behind my shoulder, casually photobombing our selfie.

Sleepy gifted me a new magnet but while you’re trying to read it, please also enjoy the view of my homegrown boobs. The one and only positive of gaining 50 lbs after Rapegate (I’ve since lost 20!) but I really, really, really, really don’t wanna lose my trauma tits because I’ve never had anything other than an A cup since fourth grade. And I didn’t have to buy them! Whoop.

NO SHAME IN MY GAME.

While I was sipping away in the sun, my Iowa twins were having a foam partay. I wanna get one of these and throw The Pussy Posse in it just to see what happens. The machine brand is FOAMO and you can find it here on Amazon if you wanna support billionaire Jeff Bezos’s next penis shaped rocket ship. (Full disclosure I have an Amazon Prime membership). You can also get it at Target but it’s a bit pricier.

Princess B was pretty pumped about her new back to school kicks and who can blame her? Oh the joy of loving the last of summer vacay days before school (if Rona lets it be in person, which might I remind you to WEAR A FUCKING MASK even if you’re vaccinated. Asymptomatic, vaccinated folks can still transmit the virus to others including KIDS).

I got to FaceTime with one of my goddogs, Maxie Saturday. His mama, Boston Barbie was also allowed to talk – some. I mean, does he love his Auntie Captain or what?!

Speaking of love, this little shithead has tried to escape the bounties of endless spoiling granted to her at the Mini Manse twice recently. I lost my big toenail in one of the instances. She thinks it’s all fun and fucking games to see me schlep behind her, while my sciatica screams at me to stop. She’s lucky she’s so goddamn k-ute.

Sunday was certainly a fun day! Dada CBXB came in for a fab day at a mostly quiet pool. We’re greasing up our livers for family tradition Hawkeye touchdown shots that are gonna be down our hatches in less than a month. YeeHAW!

He also loves when I fetch him drinks and when he switched from rot gut (lowest end vodka possible mixed with Coke) to beer, he said it was in a koozie already.

Save Big Money at Menards! He also sported his fave t-shirt gifted to him forever ago by Miss Mt. Ayr. Red, White and Brew, Baby.

Dada CBXB left before I was ready to head back to the Mini Manse, so I was again, called upon to fetch something for him. Can you tell whose shoes are whose?

Sleepy stayed to hang and keep the drinks endlessly flowing, so I never quite know what number of cocktail I’m on. She’s sneaky good like that and in the pic below, I think I’m still on libation number one even though we’d been at the pool for four hours already.

When we retired from the pool, my Big Three needed their own happy hour out of my bathroom sink. Even thought I have six water bowls and a goddamn cat fountain, they need to drink out of a faucet. Jesus fuck. My vet always says she wants to come back in another life as one of my Pussy Posse. Can we blame her?

While Rocky, Fabio and Ruby Sue were sipping away, Prissy wanted to remind me how sorry she was about scrambling out the door (I think she can collapse her rib cage like a mouse and squeeze through any opening). She is highly aware that wrapping herself around me like a scarf is a sure way to ease my hate/love her to like/love her again.

She’s also aware that today is a BIG day for us. It’s our two year anniversary and I honestly don’t know how either of us ever lived without the other before we met. Happy Gotcha Day bébé.

It’s always a pile on when the white noise machine hits play. The Big Three come in this order: Rocky, Fabio, Ruby Sue. And they all want to sit in the same spot by my head. It’s really fabulous for my neck. Prissy sleeps on the other side butt-to-butt with me. When the lights go out The Little Three make their way into my queen size bed for a fun snooze fest.

As the numbers of Rona climb – AfuckingGAIN – please know that I will be using my Irish accent anytime I see Tennessee’s piss poor governor, Bill Lee, or my very unfavorite Senator Marsha Motherfucking Eat Shit and Die Blackburn. These two ding dongs are highly responsible for the lack of unvaccinated Tennesseans, Lee fired our state’s Dr. Fauci for trying to create better vaccine outreach last month and Nashville’s Rona numbers were up 400% in July. Nashville’s unofficial slogan is “love thy neighbor” so lets FUCKING DO BETTER.

If anyone else I know gets Rona and dies from what could have been EASILY prevented I may spontaneously combust. You are not a super hero. You are not immune. Wear a mask for others and just be a good human.

I really don’t prefer the way I look on fire anyhow.

Stay safe. Mask up.

Love ya, Mean it.

CBXB

BUY ME A DRINK

Birthday Cheers to My Legendary Girl Dad

Oh dads.

If you are lucky enough to have one or have had one in your life, then you win. A familiar fixture on this blog and in my life, my dad celebrates his day of birth (along with his twin!) today. Aunt Crazy Pants once doled out advice that I didn’t think much of at the time when I was younger. She said (during some stupid crazy boy drama, no doubt) “No man will ever love you the way your dad loves you.”

This didn’t really dawn on me until I was an “adult” (a term I use for myself extremely loosely these days) and a dude I was living with said to me, “I can’t treat you like your dad treats you.”

BOY BYE.

I guess I never had to think about it because of the jackpot I scored when my dad chose to be mine. A knight in shining (well, in his case probably rusty) armor. A frugal on the allowance guy whose driving abilities were always affected by how loudly the radio was playing in unknown territory (TURN DOWN Q.102 GIRLS WE’RE IN DES MOINES!). A dad who commuted four hours daily to work but rarely missed an extracurricular activity. A dude who could scare boyfriends shitless with his size but is actually a giant, goofy Teddy Bear.

A father who not only duct taped my glasses together in the third grade (hence the short-lived nickname “Ducky” by the oh-so-sweet fellow 4th graders) but also uses the same magic to keep my bumper adhered to my car as an “adult”.

A dad who tells you to “tough it up” when you’re sitting in the superintendent’s office, holding a bloody chin after being hit in the face with a baseball bat during P.E. but remains strong and silent decades later when he’s driving you to the hospital after being raped.

So yeah, Aunt Crazy Pants and her advice rings true – best of luck to a dude ever living up to The Man, The Myth, My Legend.

Celebrating the Big Fella today, please join me as I share some of the valuable…

LESSONS FROM MY LEGEND

You should always have your family’s back…

… even if they often attack.

Throw your hands up in the air…

…and wave them like I just don’t care.

Even if you’re a dork inside…

                                              

…it’s no matter if you’re cool on the outside.

The art of muscle blowing is unique.

                      

                                       

Passed down to generations for upkeep.

Pink isn’t just for girls…

…guys often put the color on for a whirl.

Sequins should be in my everyday attire…

     … as you gave me the first bedazzled top I ever acquired.

It’s OK to stand out in a crowd…

…just be sure to do it loud and proud.

Giving is better than receiving…

…except when you let your three year old open your gift to be appeasing. 

The importance of slathering on sunscreen daily…

   …just be sure to not get too crazy.

The significance of jazz hands…

…often help when making demands.

It’s not a road trip…

…unless you have rotgut vodka and your finger to mix.

Reminding me there’s more than one fish in the sea…

           …especially whenever a boy has been mean to me.

Being the life of the party…

                                    

…is like leading one big, fun army.

The duo that shoots shots together…

…stays together.

It’s important to share…

…even while pigging out at the Iowa State Fair.

It’s OK to relax…

…after a day has been crap.

You’ve carried me through physical hard times…

         

…even if sometimes it was from too much self-inflicted wine.

Tipping my Skinny Pirates when my nails are drying…

                         

…because you know there’s a silver lining.

Most importantly, not all heroes wear capes…

…just dads who pick us up no matter our proverbial scrapes. 

So let us all raise our glasses today…

…and cheers your birthday away!

Those are just a few of my lessons from…

 The Man. The Myth. The Legend.

Happy Birthday, Dada!

Join the twins in a sing-a-long to Coo Coo…

(of course, we do not have normal monikers such as Grandpa in my classy family)

We love you.

CBXB, Sister CBXB, and the rest of our crazy crew!

Weekend Winks – The Badass is Back

Saying last week was hard is and will always be an understatement when it’s Rapegateversary time. The days moved so slowly, it feels like it should be October by now instead of February 3rd. Sharing my experience helps me in what I still grapple with from being raped and also, offers my support to whomever may need it. Speaking of support, you showed up for me in droves and that means everything.

Just a small sample of you making it easier for me…

Just so you know, showing up for someone who needs it is beyond explicable. A kind comment on social media. A text. A check-in. A fucking hilariously inappropriate gif. I think sometimes people don’t reach out to others when they know it’s a hard time because they don’t know what to say and I just want to remind you that you don’t really have to say anything. A heart emoji does the trick.

Thanks for keeping me badass.

While I was busy with my International Day of the Badass, my two kick ass twins were celebrating their 100th day of school.

Princess B treated it like a party day.

Prince B couldn’t be bothered to look away from his Bad Guy book.

In this family, we may have our Touchdown Shot tradition but there are a few others that have remained alive and kickin’ – one of those being homemade donuts. When I saw what Princess B was baking I almost got in my rust bucket of a vehicle for the nine hour trip to indulge.

Donut delight.

There’s never, ever, ever, ever a dull moment regarding the twins. In between bike rides and hot tub splashing this weekend, they started their Valentine day celebrations as soon as February commenced.

Spreading the love.

Speaking of celebrating, I could not, for the life of me, decide whether or not to keep my pink tree up all year long again. Being that my pussies can’t answer with words, I turned to the ever scientific Instagram poll for assistance in decision making.

Enticing the decision, I displayed my prior celebration trees.

Digging around my phone for those pics basically translated to me wanting to keep the goddamn tree up in the first place. And my Instagram peeps agreed.

Landslide celebration.

Instead of immediately throwing Valentine’s decor on the pink corner of merriment, I went to celebrate the outcome with First Mate.

We sea more wine in our future.

Always stocked full of wine, First Mate has been collecting bottles and boxes from Trader Joe’s, where the price points make it beyond easy to try different vinos. I think the total of the featured wines below is a whopping $35.

So many options (and we’re cheating on Bota Box).

The thing with fancy gals like us typically drinking wine from a box is that we sometimes forget what tools properly open a bottle of wine. I can tell you this – it’s not a can opener.

Blonde is hard.

After First Mate’s failed attempt with uncorking a bottle with a can opener, we decided to fill our pie holes with pizza. Because she lives in a newer area, deliveries are sometimes difficult. Thankfully, not only can First Mate dismantle a bomb from her time in the military, fly a plane and be a boss bitch at work, she can also traffic direct (even though she can’t open a bottle of wine with a can opener).

Very important delivery instructions.

I knew better than to leave my pristine white sweatshirt on while stuffing my face dining like a classy lady and managed to get pizza sauce on the bottom of my arm. I have many talents. Sloppy eating is one of them.

With a full belly and a good night’s sleep, Saturday started with an overhaul of the Mini Manse living room. Rocky and Scooch were primed and ready to assist.

Before Rapegate, the pride I had in my own personal appearance, along with my Mini Manse was skyscraper high on my list. However, PTSD and depression have a way of sucking every last motherfucking bit of energy out of you and everything once prideful to me was thrown to the wayside. In finding a new rug for the living room, a spark was ignited that isn’t going to be extinguished anytime soon. I spent 14 hours touching all items scattered about, dusting, Windexing, vaccuming, moving furniture, building a cat scratch tree (OK, I just had to screw some things in but still), getting all photos and sparkles in just the right places.

Pussy approved.

This is a significant sign in my recovery process because it’s me acting like me again. I’m super fucking pumped that this bitch is back to being badass in almost all areas of my life again.

Also badass? My Iowa Hawkeye football players who now play in the NFL making appearances at this year’s Super Bowl. George Kittle and CJ Beathard on the 49ers and Ben Niemann and Anthony Hitchens on the Chiefs team. Either way the game went for me, it was a win.

The pussies could have given two shits.

Super no thanks on that bowl.

But Dada CBXB and I were sure to have one last tailgate of this football season.

Cheers to our final football watch until fall.

With my badass outlook back, I’m starting to see life through my fuschia colored glasses again.

Forever thankful to you for the assist.

Cheers!

CBXB