Weekend VAXXED Winks

So if you weren’t aware, Dr. Anthony Fauci is my off-season Lee Corso. In other words, I’m cheating on my 85-year- old main squeeze with a younger 80-year-old side piece.

What can I say? I have a thing for 80 year olds who love my Hawkeyes and science.

When I was able to get my Fauci Ouchie to say I was ecstatic is an understatement. I went to a slick drive thru vaccination station and from start to finish it took 20 minutes (including the 15 minutes I had to wait afterward to ensure I wouldn’t spontaneously combust from a side effect). Naturally, I brought support with me.

Pretty sure ya girl is gonna be on a progressive candidate’s commercial at midterm time, as I was filmed getting vaxxed and cursed the useless Tennessee governor and celebrated the shot going in my arm like I’d just won a billion dollars. You know, my usual timid self.

Getting the Fauci Ouchie was cause for celebration much like everything else in my life. But there was a shift in how I felt – a combination of relief and what is that I see?….a light at the end of the Rona tunnel?! Getting vaxxed gave me a renewed lease on an almost post Rona (fingers crossed) life!

Hanging with an also fully vaxxed Mama CBXB.
Prissy is able to socialize (aka lunge for nachos) again at her fave local spot, Alley Pub that allows canines on the patio.

I’ve been more active outside now that the weather has turned to a gorgeous Tennessee spring.

Percy Warner park in all of its green glory.
This little beast can walk three miles (so, 30,000 steps for her) like it’s no biggie. I’m referring to the dog.

Last week started off in a tense manor, as most of the country prepared for the verdict in Derek Chauvin trial. You know, the sociopath cop who murdered George Floyd casually kneeing his neck for nine minutes filmed by a minor child last May.

I wanted to throw the fuck up when I heard the verdict was in on Tuesday.
Thank FUCK the jury held a murderer accountable for George Floyd. Art by Nikkolas Smith.

I stayed late at work to watch the verdict read live and updated the fam, who was also waiting nervously.

While this was a fucking gigantic relief, there is so much more work to be done in this country regarding racism and the blasé attitude so many white people have toward it. But holy fuck was this a needed victory.

After a collective sigh of relief, the rest of the week flew by. I’m back at the office full time now and boy, it was a hard transition after being able to roll out of bed, take care of the fur kids, make coffee and roll up to my home office desk all in 15 minutes time. Now, having to actually give a fuck about my appearance, put on real pants AND wash my hair regularly takes almost every ounce of energy in my being.

It’s such a foreign feeling to be around coworkers and have semblance to the Before Times. I miss working out over lunch with my fave trainer who also happens to have the name of Meghan Trainor (how purrfect?!). I got addicted to her free daily Instagram workouts during quarantine. So I jump on when I’m at work to say hi because I have major FOMO.

The back at the office routine has me extra ready for that TGIF cocktail and I spent Friday on a phone-a-thon with two of my fave peeps.

First up was Slappy (you know, my former co-worker who drunkenly slapped me at a work party when I told her I’d wait on her to go to the bathroom. I knew I loved her from that moment on) and her adorable fur kid, Roscoe.

Next up was Sister CBXB and we had no fun talking as you can see. What the fuck did we do before this technology?!

Saturday was quite luxurious for the pussies of the Mini Manse.

Rocky spent most of the day in my tub, awaiting me to bring him a meowmosa. All of the other Pussy Posse members lounged on the patio, delighted it’s back open for them 24/7 now that the weather is fab.

My Iowa twins had a glow party in their basement. I’m hoping the sticks are still lit when I get to see them next month.

Prepare for your mind to be blown when you gander below at how the twins have turned into actual mini adults. Time needs to stop for a sec, OK?

Sunday was a gorge day to spend outside, so of course I opted to day drink with my friend Aha! inside instead.

Cheers to being out and about with two-for-ones!

Speaking of my love of 80-year-olds, I saw a fucking dude roar in on a bike that looked like it was custom built for me.

The hair. The vest. The bike. The colors. Naturally, I need a pic with my newfound soulmate.

Can we all be this fucking cool at 82?!? Is the octogenarian age group the new 40-year-olds? I’m thinking YES.

Being out and about, I don’t even mind seeing what always annoys me to my core. One of these annoyances is when couples sit on the same fucking side of the table. I mean, can’t you just gaze at each other across the fucking table?

This has bothered me since Scooby and I saw a couple doing this at the Olive Garden my Junior homecoming.

Sunday is hair do day for Princess B and check out her new braids, compliments of Sister CBXB’s sure to be future arthritis’d hands.

I had every intention of heading home and popping some champs for Hollywood’s “golden” night watching The Oscars.

Stocking up on my new fave champs – Barefoot Brut Rosé Bubbles. Mask by Any Old Iron.

While I was gussying up, I poured myself a glass to primp before my own personal red carpet.

Then I made the mistake of sitting down on the couch and taking a two hour nap. So I skipped my own red carpet, and proceeded to watch the most boring Oscars of ALL TIME. Rocky couldn’t even cuddle to watch it was so lack luster.

So here we are at the start of another maybe closer-to-post-Rona-life week. Although I’m fully vaxxed, I continue to wear my mask in support of those who haven’t yet had a chance to get their shots and because I give fucks about other people. Wearing a piece of fabric over my face contributes to the mask culture and supports those around me. I hope you do the same for me and your neighbors.

Mask by Fringe and Co.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

BUY ME A DRINK!

Weekend Winks IS BACK

Well, well, well life seems to be falling into a sort of ‘normal’ now that the Rona vaccines are out and available. It seems like f-o-r-e-v-e-r but yet justlikeyesterday all of the shit hit the proverbial fan. Who could have foreseen the division created by political so-called leaders in fighting what could have saved hundreds of thousands of American lives by refusing to wear a fucking cloth over one’s face.

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Anyhoo, I hope you and yours are well and on the hunt for the vaccine if you haven’t already been shot with the Fauci Ouchie. I’m pumped to say both of my folks are vaccinated and hugs will soon be shared by all of the CBXB clan! WHOOP!

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My weekend kicked off with birthday festivities for the second time during Rona. There was nothing that was gonna stand in my way of celebrating this year. I have a full bday recap coming because I’m literally celebrating every.single.day. in March.

Bday Rona Round 2

Oh hi Rona round two.

I rang in my birthday Wednesday night talking with two of my girls – Miss Bella outta Chicago and A3 outta Duluth.

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I’d stopped to get myself some bubbly on my birthday and splurged on a fancy (for me because it was above my typical $6.99 budget) frugal bottle.

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I was beyond spoiled to say the very least upon my arrival back to the Mini Manse. This doesn’t include all of the loving I got before, during and still after my day (don’t forget we’re celebrating ALL month and there are three days left in March).

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Wondering what was in the tall box, I contemplated if it could possibly be a tent delivered to the wrong address.

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Turns out it was delivered to the correct Mini Manse AND was filled with the best treats a girl with Celiac Disease could wish for – a case of GLUTEN FREE DOUBLE STUFFED OREOS that just hit the market and have been impossible to find!

Double Stuffed Delight

Double Stuffed DELIGHT.

I laid in bed all birthday morning eating Oreos and read all of my messages over and over and over and over. To the point my pussies were trying to claw the device from my hands for some attention.

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But Mama’s got some claws of her own. My gal Lash Goddess has been in my Rona bubble and started practicing her talon magic on me much to my delight.

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I won the claw fight over the phone, masked up and headed to my fave watering hole on the planet in almost a year…Dalts. Annual birthday Skinny Pirates galore (not unlike a preRona Friday night) for me.

Skinny Pirate

Due to the INSANE amount of rain, it was the purrfect Saturday to stay in bed and binge watch Schitt’s Creek (the show the rest of the world watched at the beginning of the pandemic).

Netflix and Chill

I Netflixed and chilled. Prissy whimpered and whined for a bite.

Nashville has been hit so hard the last 365 days, it’s almost impossible to comprehend everything that has happened. Starting last March with a tornado that ripped through all of Middle Tennessee, a bombing downtown on Christmas morning and ass clown tourists passing Rona around to our citizens because…bachelorette parties are more important than grandma’s life.

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GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY. @musicshitty

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Insanity poured down on Music City once again. South Nashville was hit especially hard and its demographic of citizens heartbreakingly aren’t typically the type to keep the news in cycle.

Bridge of Debris

Bridge of debris in South Nashville. @musicshitty

Another fun reason I lollygagged in bed was due to being triggered by a rape case in Minnesota. The state Supreme Court of the Land of 10,000 Lakes really knocked the wind outta this survivor’s sails.  A woman was raped while she was drunk in 2017. The rapist was convicted and sentenced in 2019 BUT his smarmy (like for real, who defends rapists?) lawyers appealed to the Minnesota Supreme Court with absolute credibility because IT IS LAW.

Minnesota Rape ShitThis is victim blaming at its fucking highest level. It made me physically ill. Not only because of the similarities to my case but holy fucking shit. A rapist never rapes just once and he’s being given a new trial.Minnesota Rape Shit

This is absolutely infuriating. ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. It tore me to pieces and I cannot imagine what the victim must be feeling – reeling from – after having come forward, her case making it to court, her rapist found guilty and sentenced, only to be given a new trial UNANIMOUSLY by the state Supreme Court because SHE was drunk. Folks, this is rape culture.

Minnesota Rape Shit

This is why who you vote for matters. It matters a FUCK ton because judicial positions such as these are appointed by politicians in which citizens vote. You know, like how former president Covita stacked federal courts and the Supreme Court with lifetime nominees. THIS. SHIT. MATTERS.

Minnesota Rape SHIT

Needless to say, I spent much more of the weekend holding space for myself, while Prissy and The Pussy Posse wallowed in bed with me.

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After being fired up for two days straight, it was fitting to start my Monday with the gang who quite literally carried me virtually through the pandemic on Instagram. A workout crew, the Clams, started by Body By Trainor is almost always my saving grace.

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Is there any better way usher in a week than with a swift one-two to the face?

I think not.

Love ya, mean it.

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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

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You should always have your family’s back…

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… even if they often attack.

Throw your hands up in the air…

wave

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

Even if you’re a dork inside…

...without my shades.
                                              

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

The art of muscle blowing is unique.

blow
                      
and
                                       
still

Passed down to generations for upkeep.

Pink isn’t just for girls…

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…guys often put the color on for a whirl.

Sequins should be in my everyday attire…

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

It’s OK to stand out in a crowd…

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…just be sure to do it loud and proud.

Giving is better than receiving…

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

The importance of slathering on sunscreen daily…

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   …just be sure to not get too crazy.

The significance of jazz hands…

was

…often help when making demands.

It’s not a road trip…

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

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

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           …especially whenever a boy has been mean to me.

Being the life of the party…

never
                                    

…is like leading one big, fun army.

The duo that shoots shots together…

Wild Turkey
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Stays together.

…stays together.

It’s important to share…

at the

…even while pigging out at the Iowa State Fair.

It’s OK to relax…

after

…after a day has been crap.

You’ve carried me through physical hard times…

broken foot
         
broken ankle

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

Tipping my Skinny Pirates when my nails are drying…

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…because you know there’s a silver lining.

Most importantly, not all heroes wear capes…

Not all

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

So let us all raise our glasses today…

cheers!

…and cheers your birthday away!

Those are just a few of my lessons from…

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 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!

CBXB!

Spooktacular Sidekicks

Oh Halloween, how I’ve always loved thee. The 31st day of October was – and still remains – the kick-off to a long-awaited holiday season for me.

I'll cut a bitch
I’d still cut a bitch.
With an assist from my dad.
Letting Dada CBXB (you know, the guy who dresses up like Pam Anderson) do all of the carving work because even way back my nails were “jewels, not tools”.

In a small Iowa town where I was raised, we had costume parties at school and church (when you used to be able to call it a Halloween party complete with witches and bats, instead of a fucking bland Fall Festival with scarecrows and hay bales – why are there fun haters? Why?), parades to prance proudly down our eight block Main Street (where every single one of the 1,200 citizens showed up) and so much trick-or-treating mania, I’d have to come home halfway through the evening just to dump my candy (hiding it all from my dad in the dryer or it’d be gone by morning) because my pumpkin got so overloaded, it was too heavy for me to carry.

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Forget my adorableness for one second – what about the clown behind #165?
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A spectator sport for the entire town where I could show off my killer cookie wheels.

In my younger years, I carried the burden of celebrating Halloween by myself and being a lone Cookie Monster got frustrating.

Ho Hum
One is the loneliest number.

Begging my parents to procreate, I was presented with Sister CBXB (you know, the one who called my dad a goddamn son of a bitch at the age of four) who was immediately awarded with side kickin’ it as my lifetime partner-in-crime (lucky her). If I was going to be dressing up (oftentimes making an ass out of myself in later years) she was going to be doing it too, by god (town parades included).

In the beginning of our twosome, we were all about cutesy costumes.

Sugar'n' Spice
The rock star and Raggedy Ann. A little sugar for my spice.

The ‘cute’ theme seemed to carry on in our early years.  Except for the tilt in our heads…and the fog in the background…and the overall sinisterness of this photo.

Creepy Hollow
Cute masked crusaders in Creepy Hollow.

As we grew older, I wanted a little edge (well as much edge as an elementary kid and toddler could muster) to our giddy ups. I let my young inner badass out, as my sister scared the pants off no one as a two-headed monster, um, farmer?

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That’s right. I was hardcore even in elementary school.

We slid slightly into the ghoulish department as my sidekick joined me in grade school.

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Scaredy crow and premature mini old man. Almost spine-chilling. Almost.

Then I graduated to truly frightening and fearful territory as I crept toward junior high.  Pebbles was not impressed.

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I’m also starting to wonder if there was any other color of hair paint than green, since that tends to be a trend here.

When we thought we were oh so grown up, our costumes reflected our mature attitudes.

Lady and the Tramp.
Lady and the Tramp. Or Princess and Sock Hop Girl…however you want to see it.

We were reminded in following years just how far from adults we were…especially yours truly. A recycled mask and costume from a previous Halloween hid my “I’m way too old for this shit” attitude toward trick-or-treating when I was forced to go with my younger sister in the eighth grade.

Barley a Boo
I can’t tell who’s more excited – the monster or the witch.

And being older we’re not so much cute, cuddly or even scary creatures…we’re just mostly cocktailed.

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The odd couple. Pocahontas and Kid Rock.

Now that we’re miles apart during the costuming time of year, it’s fun to look back at our sisterly ghosts of Halloweens past. But what’s even more fun is seeing her twin goblins growing to love the holidays as much as she and I did as kids.

Scary season #1.

As
Permanent partners-in-crime.

Scary season #2.

I know, I know. The cutest fucking dog and cat you've ever seen.
I know, I know.
The cutest fucking cat and dog you’ve ever seen.

Scary season #3.

Princess Leah and Yoda
Star Wars at its silliest.

Scary season #4.

A mermaid with her super hero.

Scary season #5.

Captain America and a Princess Peacock.

Scary Season #6.

Lloyd the LEGO ninja and a bitchin’ witch.

Scary Season #7.

No matter how you choose to spend Halloween, here’s to having a side kickin’ ghoul for your spooky festivities.

Happy Haunting!

CBXB

CBXB!

Lights Will Guide You Home

It’s fucking insane that my kick ass Aunt Crazy Pants has been partying up above for over 1,000 days now. Today, it is three years since she went to bicker with her mother up above (They seriously used to keep track of who called who last – and reported it to me every time I spoke to either one of them. Thinking about it now, I should have just conducted a three-way call and then they would have been even.)

Oh, no shit? Did you know the phone works both ways?!

I still forget and go to pick up my cell to text or call and then remember I can only communicate via the red bird, a cardinal.  I think about ACP every day (I mean, I do have her signature tattooed on my wrist) but I especially think about her during my beloved Iowa State Fair, which typically takes place for ten days every August (but thanks to that bitch Rona, it was canceled this year).

Giant tenderloin time.

After my folks moved to Nashville, ACP would always be my state fair side kick unabashedly wearing fucking Crocs (so-called “shoes” that I hate with a passion) on her feet while she humored me on my yearly 12 hour day of fair festivities (present when the cannon goes off at 8am until the fireworks boom after the nightly concert at the Grandstand).

She also poured water over her head when she was hot. I think she wore a white top on purpose.

I haven’t been back to the Iowa State Fair since ACP passed and it will be bittersweet when I get to go again.

Corn dog round four, waiting on the fireworks.

But she relayed the torch to R. Nasty who was keen to accompany ACP and me to the fair in past years even though it was most likely the worst days of his life. Now, he gets me all to himself as I force him to eat everything in sight, ride the death traps carnies assemble (although they took the double Ferris wheel away and I AM NOT OK WITH IT), and visit every.single.livestock barn.

Two peas in a forced fair pod.

I’ve really been missing her beyond lately. She was my second mom.

Obvies.

It’s comforting to a degree knowing that she’s with her folks, other family members, and all of my furballs (who are most likely mauling her) that passed before ACP. While our family celebrates her life while we’re still living, it doesn’t make the void any less painful.

Five Hussies. One photo booth. What could go wrong?

I miss the cards she used to mail me. I miss her texts that made no fucking sense (so I’d end up having to call her anyway to find out what the fuck she was talking about which may have been her plan all along). I miss her not giving one fucking thought to what came out of her mouth before she said it aloud.

Oh my fucking Gawd. Did you really say that?!

I miss cheering her up on what she called her ‘blue’ days. I miss having her to call when I’m having ‘blue’ days. I miss making her laugh until she pissed her pants (super easy). I miss her Christmas Village she set up every year that was literally the size of a small town. I miss laughing my ass off with and at her.

Whenever I hear the song “Fix You” by Coldplay from their X&Y album, I think of ACP and the fucking cancer that stole her life waaaaaaaaay too soon (the chicks on her side of the family easily live to at least 90 years young. This means I’m going to need a helluva lotta Botox). If you haven’t heard the song or need a refresher, stop what you’re doing and go listen to it or click on the highlighted Fix You words above for a link to the video. I’ve always loved the song but it’s taken on a new meaning for me since ACP passed.

We miss you.

When she received her unfuckingfair diagnosis, her peeps rallied and while we couldn’t fix or take the pain away from her, we could provide happy experiences for her remaining time and memories for her to leave with us. She tried her best to stay as long as she could here because she was insanely in love with her kids, grandkids, family, friends and was at a point in life where she was positively starting over.

Positive pants.

In honor of Aunt Crazy Pants, turn your radio (or really these days, your iPhone) up, raise those gin rickeys high in the air, as we celebrate how much we miss her and hate the fuck out of cancer in my mixed lyric rendition of the song.

Fix You

When you try your best

But you don’t succeed

When you get what you want

But not what you need

When you feel so tired

But you can’t sleep

Stuck in reverse

And high up above

Or down below

When you’re too in love

To let it go

But if you never try

You’ll never know

Just what you’re worth

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And we did try to fix you

Tears stream

Down your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

Tears stream

Down your face

When you lose something you can’t replace

Tears stream

 Down your face

When you lose something you cannot replace

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And we don’t have to fix you

Love you Aunt Nancy.