Post Pandemic PANIC

Holy hell! Anyone else find yourself wondering what it was like in the Before Times?

Did I really love the the Before Times life as much as I thought I did while experiencing a global pandemic with the rest of the world? I mean FUCK. Talk about seeing the world through rose colored glasses pre-Rona.

I was fortunate to be able to work from home most of 2020, returning to an office in January of 2021 part-time that did not enforce masks. In fact, almost 90% of employees chose not to wear them (which was like living an episode of the The Twilight Zone since the rest of the world was still on high Rona alert). As soon as I knew I would be returning to a maskless office this March, I made every effort possible to get the vaccine. Fortunately, I received it with Prissy in tow, my partner-in-crime turned stage five clinger due to endless months of quarantine together.

Fauci Ouchie received with my support system in tow.

I still wore my mask at all times in public and while at work. And then one afternoon, President Biden came out and leisurely announced that those of us who chose to be tracked by Bill Gates (I kid, I kid but how do people seriously believe that shit?) could carry on with life like in the Before Times.

WHAT THE WHAT?

Did I hear that correctly?!

Like, for realsies though?

After 14 months of following the Centers for Disease Control and my boyfriend, Tony Fauci’s advice, this announcement seemed like a miracle of sorts. A beacon of hope after a year of uncertainty and fear. But then, my anxiety kicked in. Do I still wear a mask at work? Or in public (I live in a state where leadership flagrantly downplayed Rona, costing lives)? What about if I’m around an unvaccinated person? The questions swirled like a tsunami in my noggin. What about people who were lying about being vaxxed…was it OK for me to be around them maskless? As a person with already severe anxiety, this should be fucking fabulous announcement sent my brain into overload.

On top of that, I was used to being able to skip makeup and any sort of regular beauty routine, hiding behind a mask, greasy hair in an up do and sunglasses 24/7. Major pandemic glamour.

I thought maybe we’d be easing back into the Before Times but instead (for those of us that took this shit seriously, wearing masks and caring about our neighbors and community continuously for 14 months) mask mandates were being ripped off as harshly as a band aid stuck to arm hair with no countdown.

I’m having a hard time recollecting what was so fabulous about leaving the house at 7am only to return at 7pm (after a commute, eight hour day of employment at a desk in a cube and post work yoga sesh), every week day. And, after working from home nearly a year, I absofuckinglutely DO NOT MISS getting up hours before arriving to my job to shower, (washing my hair on a regular basis is STILL a pre-Rona trait coming back at a snail’s pace), feeding my zoo (of six indoor pussies, four outdoor pussies, one high maintenance Pomeranian), taking the dog out, scooping cat shit, taking said shower, blow drying hair, putting in contacts, trying to remember how to apply makeup, making coffee, chugging down my vitamins, meds and supplements, attempting a quick breakfast (still a microwaved egg, slice of cheese on a piece of toast – my first meal of the day since college), not forgetting a fast packed lunch on the counter to rot the day away, and sitting in traffic all before getting to the office at 8am.

I do not miss any of that one bit. My work from home lewk was a greasy, casual, wait to shower until after my lunchtime workout, roll out of bed and take my time making my way to the computer anywhere I wanted in the Mini Manse unappealing, not easy on the eyes but easy on my mind routine I’d come to adore.

I chose to wear sunglasses and fancy headpieces.

Of course this news was fabulous. But I had to get my shit together overnight (like the rest of folks like me) and start giving fucks about my appearance again (I mean, I guess I don’t have to) once I was going to be recognizable in public without the lower half of my face covered. I had to remind myself what it was like wearing lipstick again, paint my face with at least tinted moisturizer so I didn’t constantly get asked “are you sick?” at work (I got serious dark circles gang), and work on not letting my facial expressions get out of control since again, they’d been covered up for the better part of 14 months.

Time to get this Bitch back in action.

Once I had my mind straight on the ground rules, being out in public and seeing others at the grocery, liquor store, post office, etc. without a mask made me want to put mine back on or ask them to stop breathing unless they were across the room from me. Turns out after talking to friends and fam, I’m not alone in the post Rona panic. It’s a discussion that comes up with peeps in my ‘bubble’ (those I know who took Rona with the same seriousness and are vaxxed or on their way there). Adjusting to the new (but really old) norm is gonna take some time for most of us.

BUT this also means hugs, kisses, seeing loved ones again, drinks at Dalts, leisurely trips to my mothership Target just for shits and giggles, no more maskne (zits caused by the cloth covering), and almost most importantly back to the Hair House to see my Elf on a Shelf who works hair wonders on my mane.

He does the hair. I provide the accessories.

So, if I have yet to see you in our new post pandemic world, the only reason you’ll need to panic is if I haven’t yet seen you. Prepare yourself for a major mauling by moi. In the meantime, I’m taking baby steps back into the maskless universe with the first stop being my pool. Surprise.

Adjusting to the new (but really old) norm is gonna take some time for most of us.

Be kind.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

BUY ME A DRINK

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!

 

Victoria Beckham Booted Out of Nashville!

Or, at least I would kick her non-existent ass out, anyway.

I recently read an article in an issue of Glamour magazine where Victoria Beckham said she loathed crocs (anyone who gives a rat’s ass about how they look would never be caught dead in a pair), boat shoes (maybe she has a point unless you yacht) and cowboy boots.  STOP. THE. PRESS.

That’s when I decided Victoria Beckham, style queen extraordinaire, didn’t know what the F she was talking about (and after a quick review, you know who Posh Spice is and don’t know me from Adam). I have long admired Mrs. Beckham’s hot husband, style, hot husband, chic clothing, hot husband and often wondered how much food (and more importantly, Captain) I would have to cut out of my life to attain her figure. But I digress.

Because I live in Nashville, you can see where I may have an issue with her derogatory footwear statement (I wonder how many people in Texas she pissed off?) and I do realize that cowboy boots aren’t for everyone.  I avoid tennis shoes like the plague (unless I’m working out) therefore, grant the western boot my casual shoe of choice.

Even as a kid in Iowa, I rocked cowboy boots and a snazzy hat alongside my sister (all dolled up for the annual rodeo).

Now today, I’m not dressing in the traditional country giddy up when I wear boots, but they can and do look fabulous with t-shirts, tanks, jeans and some ladies can even pull them off with a dress or skirt (mostly Taylor Swift, not regular people).

blah

These boots were made for walkin’… and I have almost walked the soles off of my beloved $25 shit kickers (they aren’t the same brand of boot and I was able to masterfully finagle a killer deal).

My boots come in oh-so-fashionably handy when I know I’ll be  running around all day at work, walking for miles to and from sporting events (since I lack a parking pass) and they are my kick ass cherry on top for concert outfits.

holla

If these boots could talk…

I’ll bet you a pair of cowboy boots that if Victoria Beckham had to walk to the third tier of a stadium to get to her seat, saunter three miles to the concert venue because it cost $25 to park across the street (but only $3 if you park next to the empty warehouse with bars on its windows) or ran errands for a living and didn’t get to sit and design gorgeous clothes all day, she’d be swapping her trademark five-inch heels for something a little more comfortable, like cowboy boots…

But then she wouldn’t be the fabulous Victoria Beckham and I wouldn’t be writing this bitchy post about her now, would I?

CBXB

CBXB!

Redneck Red Carpet

While I was all in a tizzy about what to wear to work the Country Music Association Awards last Thursday night, I should have been charging my phone because it unfortunately died due to me acting like I was a member of the paparazzi.

Walking up to the red carpet area, I was overly excited at the first classy thing I saw – a freaking hot dog cart.

Do you think they sell hot dogs at the Academy Awards red carpet or is it just a country staple?

I arrived at 3pm – the same time all of the D list stars were being dropped at the red carpet entrance.

The girl in the cream coat almost broke an arm trying to get an autograph from an American Idol 6th runner-up from 2006. Seriously.

Fans gathering on the red carpet four hours before the CMA Awards show began. If I had more balls, I would have snapped pictures of their snazzy outfits – some combining sequins and Crocs.

In case you stayed WAY past the start of the show (as most fanatics do), you’d need to leave your sunglasses on if you’re prone to migraines or seizures.

Moving my way around back to slide into the mover and shaker scene, I felt the same way about the rear of the red carpet as I do about my own backside…needs a bit of work.

Baby got back.

The ass of the red carpet is also where stars sneak out after they’ve had their photo taken by media and don’t want to walk down the long line of TV interviewers. I recognized as many ‘stars’ that came through the back entrance as they did me. Zero (apparently anyone can be a country singer these days. Just attach a cowboy hat to your head or wear mirrored sunglasses at night or really go out on a limb and do both).

The scene of a photog’s dream (and mine, since I was about 6 feet from all of the upcoming action. And I was extremely busy pretending this was no big deal, while having to bite my cheeks to keep from smiling too big from giddiness).

While I was busy acting like I didn’t give a rat’s ass about my surroundings, I was constantly ducking out-of-the-way for the CMT’s Katie Cook and Evan Farmer, preparing to interview all of the celebs.

After giving my thighs a squat work out from my continuous up-and-down-out-of-the-camera’s way calisthenics (and trying really hard to be nonchalant about the whole ordeal), the big stars were just about to appear in front of me.

Phone out. Camera app on. Flash off (God forbid anyone think I’m taking a picture. I may be a little white trashy but sometimes I do know when to save face).  Holding the phone out from my body just so (pretending like I can’t see the screen up close). Positioned just high enough (so it doesn’t look like I’m taking a picture).  Phone rings. Boss needs me now. Damn it!

As I disappointedly turn to walk out (I had a red carpet spot!), I hear the photographers shout, “Sugarland, over here!”

And being the classy lady that I am, whipped around and snapped a blurry picture, complete with flash on my way out. Score!

Oh, and I got a hot dog on my way to the show in case you were wondering.

CBXB

CBXB!