Weekend Winks – Single in the Sizzlin’ City

Girls just want to have fun is a severely underused statement, as was proven by the party I hosted for gal pals this past weekend.

Cheers to the ladies!

Cheers to the ladies!

Instead of a red carpet roll out, I had a piece of khaki carpet all dazzled up for everyone’s arrival.

Rolled out the khaki carpet

White trash version of the real deal.

Truth: my neighbors upstairs just moved in and left this on the sidewalk. Everyone loves a soaking wet, nasty piece of used carpet sloshing under their heels. Am I right, ladies?

An ode to our beloved show “Sex and the City,” we gussied up as our fave characters from the show.

Triple threat.

We know. We know. Dead ringers for Samantha, Miranda and Carrie.

What party would be complete without favors?

Party favors

Cocktails for everyone!

When you live in a mini manse with no storage, you don’t keep things like an ice cooler on hand. So you substitute a sink in its place.

Ice ice baby.

Ice ice baby.

My group of girls are serious about their party food. God forbid we go three minutes without the ability of shoving something in our not-so-quite mouths.

Chicken coming out of our ears.

Chicken nuggets galore.

Food galore

The added veggie tray among dips, chips and sausage wrapped cheese made us feel ‘healthy’.

Instead of gathering around and watching an episode of our favorite TV show of yesteryear, I decided to force gather the gals around and get their feedback on my sizzle reel.

Sizzlin' it. Just a little bit.

I fed them plenty of alcohol before this preview, so naturally they loved it.

While I was showing off skull rings, I incorporated a ring pop into the mix.

Ring Pop, anyone?

The gaudier the better.

When my pal, Bird Lady (we felt each other’s pain a few years ago working for the same über rich, wannabe country singer) said she’d never heard of a ring pop, I nearly forced my naughty finger clad with a sucker down her throat.

What's a ring pop?

Ring pop for one, please.

Of course no party is complete without a photobombing attack from yours truly.


Not the first nor last time First Mate’s photo will be ruined by my photobombing expertise.

As the evening crept into the wee hours of the morning, we started making silly decisions. Like my Georgia friend Podunk, who swore to her husband that she’d stick to beer.

No shots for Podunk. Hubby's orders!

Yes, I’ll take a whiskey shot please.

Down the hatch

32 shots later….

Fully loaded with liquor we turned into a think tank around 2am, brainstorming ideas and writing them on our makeshift white board…paper towels hung from my busted up blinds.

Think tank.

We become geniuses after midnight. And 46 combined cocktails.

When the clock struck 3:30 am, we didn’t turn into pumpkins. Nope, not us. We turned into supermodels.

"Look sexy"

We know. We know. Dead ringers for Claudia Schiffer, Cindy Crawford and Elle Macpherson.

When heads finally hit pillows at 4:30am (after a rousing 3am rendition on my piano of chopsticks – you’re welcome neighbors) six minutes seemed to pass before the sun came up. Upon opening the freezer door to retrieve ice for much needed water later that morning, I was greeted with a leftover cocktail next to my Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Fire (have you tried this yet? It’s better than Fireball, FYI).

Good morning. Freezer finds.

Freezer finds.

Leftovers, anyone?

Leftovers, anyone?


Apparently we were extremely thirsty.

How does one recover from an all night estrogen party? Lay by your private pool. (Which is typically full of screaming kids and chatty parents – somehow the universe just knew I needed quiet time).

Enjoying private pool

Pool for one.

New Cat recovered from the festivities by laying on top of every single piece of literature I tried to read the rest of the weekend.

Reading the newspaper blocker. Cat blocker

Cat blocker.

While Prince Charming could do nothing but scowl about loud ladies keeping him up past his precious bedtime.

If looks could kill...

Read my face, I hate you.

If looks could kill…

Here’s hoping you have a fabulous week.




Holly Jolly Drunk Girls

Holly and oh-so-jolly.

Holly and oh-so-jolly.

What would a Christmas season be without a ladies cocktail party?


While I’ve been in my new mini manse for a few months now, it’s not big enough to host the regular blow out I typically do every December. So this year, I limited it to females so we could get down with our sparkly selves.  The party prepping took place all day and kind of took over my living room.

Party prep

Watch your step.

Hosting a party will immediately give you an eagle eye on all things not perfect, like nicks in your black wall that you cover up with a Sharpie marker.

Sharpie finishing touches

No one will know the difference….

While I was busy coloring my wall, Teddy had his paws full pretending he was the Abominable Snowman atop my piano. He delicately tried to whip every single one of my sparkly deer with his tail.


Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, I’ll knock you down ’til kingdom come.

Sorry. Not sorry.

Sorry. Not sorry.

After rescuing my deer from the grey lion, I set up the all important party piece.  The bar.

The most important element of any party.

Oh come all ye thirsty!

Fancy barware

No party is complete without fancy, plastic barware.

I feel like this could be me.

I feel like this could be me.

Ready and willing...

Ready, willing and able to party all night!

As soon as the guests arrived, we whipped out the all important Jell-O shots.

Jell-O time!

Christmas angels. Well, two of them are anyway.

While we were standing there, minding our own Jell-O shotting business, someone jumped in to photo bomb (this must be a hereditary trait, since I like to invite myself into everyone else’s pics all the time).

Bombed by my mom.

Bombed by my mom.

While it’s hard to believe I could be associated with anyone who has not slurped down a Jell-O shot (I mean for Christ’s sake, my 90-year-old Gma even partakes), I found myself in that very situation.  Of course we devirginized her quickly – so quickly in fact that she requested a second cup of the gelatin goodness before the first was down her hatch.


Yes, you’ll have another.

You’d think that pregnant gals would feel left out during all of the drinking shenanigans but not in my mini manse. Simply shove whipped cream down their throat, so they can be inebriated on sweetness.

Party for a preggo

Partying for three (she’s having twins!).

Pregnant ladies also know how to keep the ambiance of a gathering going strong by providing entertainment. Have you ever seen a belly play Chopsticks on a piano?

Entertainer of the year.

Entertainer(s) of the year.

When it’s time for guests to leave, I classily beg to keep some of the party snacks they brought (you know, so us party animals have something to snack on at 2am…or so I have lunch for the next week. Whatever).

No spoon zone.

No spoon zone.

As the wee hours of the morning greeted us, those of us awake held a photo shoot before getting the leftover snacks out (how all models at photo shoots roll).

Christmas cocktails call for fabulous friends!

I never want the fun to end.

But someone had to put their foot down and demand we all go to bed.

Host with the most.

Host with the most.

He can be such a party pooper!