How to Throw an Ugly Sweater Party

Get your f'ugly on.

Oh come all ye ugly!

Last weekend, I thew a f’ugly sweater Christmas party for my lady friends (no boys allowed, as my mini manse isn’t yet large enough to accommodate both sexes). This was one of the easiest themed parties I’ve ever put together, as everything can be gaudy (my MO), trashy and anything but classy.

So here are my rules for throwing a CBXB style fucking ugly sweater party.

Rule #1: Create a photo op.

Luckily for me, my friend Camo is pretty handy when it comes to hardware and he agreed to build a place where us gals could capture all of our ugliness.

World's best assistant.

World’s best assistant.

Testing out the goods.

Testing out the goods.

Time for some f'ugly overhaul.

F’ugly overhaul.

Mission accomplished.

Mission accomplished.

Rule #2: Have a hostess with the mostess outfit.

My mom and I morphed into Nashville’s version of Tina Knowles and Beyonce, as she handcrafted my outfit with bows, velcro and a helluva lot of spandex.

Just like Tina Knowles and Beyonce.

The white trash version of House of Dereon in my mini manse.

CBXBey

CBXBey outfit complete.

Rule #3: Put the finishing touches on your gaudy decor.

My mini manse is pretty sparkly even when it’s not the holidays but naturally I add more shit when it’s time to par-tay. And you should too.

Glamingo gussy up.

Glamingo got gussied up.

Skull gussy up.

Even my skull hearts Santa.

Door prizes wrapped and ready.

Door prizes wrapped, ready and under the tree.

Mismatched tablecloths

Mismatched tablecloths from Gma, Mama CBXB and Target add extra gaudiness.

Themed napkins thanks to my gal pal Podunk.

Themed napkins thanks to my gal pal Podunk.

Hobby

Hobby Lobby knew what kind of party I was hosting this year.

Truth.

Truth.

Rule #4: Prep the most important of the party – the bar.

Always offer a signature cocktail to guests.  This year I featured a grape martini accompanied by snazzy boxed wine, Jell-O shots (you know, keeping it classy) and beer.

Prep party drinks.

Grape martinis for everyone!

Wrap the wine

Fancy wine wrapped.

Jell-O shot prep

Whipping up the Jell-O shots.

Grab anything near to avoid messing up my jewels, not tools.

Open all bottles before guests arrive so you don’t find yourself grabbing the nearest kitchen tool with an audience watching you fail miserably.

Classy lady cans in a clean, class sink cooler.

Classy lady cans in a clean, classy sink cooler.

Rule #5: Force every guest to down a Jell-O shot (or five).

This will increase the fun that everyone thinks they’re already having.

You will do a shot and you WILL LOVE IT.

You will do a shot and you WILL LOVE IT.

Fun

Down the hatch ladies!

Jell-O to go!

Jell-O to go for a husband that wasn’t invited.

Rule #6: Put the photo op to good use.

Be the first to enter the finely decorated piece de resistance and then never leave so you’re sure to be in every single photo.

Photo op to good use.

Single shot requires jazz hands.

Doubling up...

The double up works nicely with moms and daughters.

Triple up...

Or have a threesome in a frame.

Rule #7: Invite a Mad Hatter for party entertainment.

Everyone knows a person who will up the ante of party fun and you need to be sure they’re available to come to your shindig.

Be sure to invite a Mad Hatter to keep the party interesting.

A Mad Hatter will manhandle the only dude allowed in the mini manse, Dada CBXB.

Mad dance in my bathrobe.

A Mad Hatter will go through your closet and appear in some of your finest threads.

Mad attire help.

A Mad Hatter will also help accessorize your outfit with a throw of an ugly vest.

Not amused.

Not amused.

Rule #8: Have a contest with prizes.

No costume party is complete without a contest. In this case there was a prize for Pretty F’ugly, Kinda F’ugly and SO F’ugly.

Prize time!

Prize time!

Too pretty

Pretty f’ugly.

Kinda f'ugly

Kinda f’ugly.

The grand champion of fucking ugly.

The grand champion of fucking ugly.

Not only did my gal pal wear a vest crafted from kitty cat material, she gussied up her face with the most gigantic glasses on the planet and did a throw back to late ’80s hair.

Details matter.

Details matter.

Rule #9: Take a wild photo with guests and the party will REALLY begin.

Jell-O shots consumed, three martinis in and women were ready to rock my mini manse.

Party on!

Party time!

Jazz hands out.

Drunk jazz hands showed up to ruin photos.

Half naked couch surfing began.

Half naked couch surfing began.

And the after party raged on to the wee hours of the night.

And the after party raged on to the wee hours of the night.

Rule #10: Beware of any party food topped with dark blue frosting.

Too much food coloring and your guests may wake up the next morning like this…

Blue Christmas indeed.

Blue Christmas indeed.

And that my friends is how you throw an ultra non-classy fucking ugly sweater party.

Now go get your f’ugly on!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Rock ‘n’ Roll All Night…

For CBXB, it’s rock ‘n’ roll all night….and pay for it the entire next day.

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

It was a girls’ night out in Nashville as Motley Crue brought their farewell tour to honky-tonk central.

GNO Crue

Me and my crue.

After six two rounds of pre-party cocktails we headed to the arena, where we stocked up on more libations before going in to see Alice Cooper, the opening act, pretend to be decapitated on stage.

Sobriety

Sobriety is no accident. It’s also no fun.

Naturally, after the besiege of concert cocktails we felt it necessary to hold a photo shoot at every location in which we graced our presence.

Photo shoot begins.

Pictures in the hallway.

My one and only move still going strong.

Photos at the bar with my one and only dance move.

Bathroom selfies!

Selfies in the bathroom….. like all the classy ladies do.

Show selfies

Seat selfies.

With all of our modeling, we almost forgot that there was an actual reason we’d come to the Bridgestone Arena. Luckily for us, we didn’t miss Tommy Lee’s impressive drum solo he performed while his kit moved up and down the lighted truss at .000000001 mph.

Oh yeah, there was also a show going on.

A trick as spectacular as a its geriatric pace.

After the concert it made perfect sense to do an additional whiskey shot in celebration of the kick ass farewell concert performance Motley Crue delivered. But something in my mind was doubting my capabilities to get up for work the next morning.

What the fuck is half of 2/3 cup? WHAT?

What the fuck do you think you are doing with that Fireball?! It’s a school night for Christ’s sake.

Naturally I downed that whiskey like it was Pepto Bismol, which is why I look so effortlessly chic and fabulous today.

Looking how I feel...

I wear my sunglasses inside ’cause I’m cool like that. And still burping up Fireball.

While my exterior appearance mimics exactly how I’m feeling on the inside, I need to get my shit together as I get to do the same thing all over again tonight when attending a Sir Paul McCartney concert.

For free. In a suite. With food. And booze. Free booze.

My liver is screaming “kill me now” with my feet expressing their disdain for my attempt to prance around in my high-heeled hooker boots for a second night in a row. But who cares what my feet think, I’m going to see a music legend, right?

And as Paul McCartney says….Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da life goes on bra.

Although I have a feeling my motto tomorrow will be more along the lines of “Live and Let Die.”

ROCK ON.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

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.

Photobomb!

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?

Thirsty?

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.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Getting together with my gal pals always starts off with classy intentions.

Sometimes, we start at a local Nashville winery where the owner is out and about rubbing elbows with visitors. And being that this winery dude used to be in one of country music’s biggest duos, Brooks and Dunn we have no shame in asking for a photo, naturally.

Does anyone else hear Neon Moon?

Patiently waiting for a neon moon with Kix Brooks while guzzling wine.

Typically on a ladies night, we begin with good intentions all dolled up with our lipstick still in tact.

Good intentions

Pretty in pink with lipstick, of course.

Then after about a cocktail and a half, photo shoots commence while our love for one another gushes throughout conversations.

Fun fun

I love you. No I love you! But I loooove you, Girl.

Once love is professed, it’s time for shots.

And then...

Cheers to classy times.

And then hell starts to break loose…like taking pictures of our party in the back of a mini van.

Photos!

Yep, that’s how we roll.

We feel free to ditch the shoes and any ounce of dignity as our killer heels hurt our feet.

Shoes off!

Who needs shoes when you have booze?!

Our magical powers of prowess surface as we will our significant others to call us.

Pleeeeeeeeease call!

Pleeeeeeeeease call!

We find other uses for feminine products while on cocktail number five.

Tampon Time

No Botox needed when you have a maxi pad.

The fun on girls night out never stops – not even for pangs of hunger.

STOP!

Won’t stop. Can’t stop.

Us trashtacular gals know when it’s time to stuff our faces like truck drivers in order to keep the party going.

Like this...

Eating cheeseburgers is hilarious business.

Once our bellies are full, we charge on divulging deep, dark secrets.

Secrets

Trust me, your secret is not safe with me.

Photo ops get a little trying as we start to lean like the Tower of Pisa.

Pic train

Wait, you leaning left or right?

Once we start feeling fat from cramming food in our bellies, yoga moves seem like a good idea.

Work it.

A plank pose. Who’s with me?

And then we get to feeling crafty. Who doesn’t want a marker creation on their forehead?

Get crafty.

Trust me. This is the best smiley face ever.

No gals evening is ever complete without the appearance of jazz hands.

Jazz hands, anyone?

Treating ten digits like extra accessories.

An evening with my sophisticated crowd wouldn’t be the same without helping a lady to a chair.

Hey-oh! It's not a GNO until someone is groped.

Hey-oh! It’s not a GNO until someone is groped.

But all good things must come to an end.

NOOOOOOOOO I never want the party to end!

NOOOOOOOOO I never want the party to stop!

Some of the bigger bawl babies have to be coddled – soothed into knowing there will be another night to galavant around with the girls.

Tell me I'm going to be OK...

Tell me I’m going to be OK…

Coming home in the morning light isn’t as glamorous as Cyndi Lauper makes it out to be but at least my mother isn’t yelling at me to get my life right.

To this. Sushi can suck it.

Dreams of next GNO dancing in my head.

While it may take us a little time to get back into our daily saddles again, we always have fun in the back of our minds as we work the week away.

Is it? Well, is it?!

Is it? Well, is it?!

Who’s in for the next night out?

CBXB

CBXB!

Bibbysiter Avaleable

Know anyone searching for a childcare provider? I ran across this posting on Craigslist … this man may be for you.

Bibbysiter Avaeleable (cuntry area of Nashvul)

Lookin for a sumbuddy to kinda watch yur cids while you have a gud time? Plese considr me.

Look kids, no hands.

Look, no hands.

Need a gurl’s nite out?

Time to partay.

Kitty, Muffy and Ellie Mae on the prowl.

Or do you want to sneek to the lake and shotgun som buhr?

Who cares about the kids? They're in good overalls.

Who cares about the kids?

Faster!

They’re in good overalls.

Possubley a nite out on maine strete with yur boyfrund of the weke?

Flavor of Week

Fun with mason jars.

My name is Daryhul and I am very gud at watchin babees. I cud rock them on my bales of hae.

bibbysitter

Expert at rocking babies on straw.

I wud evun let ya bring yer cids to my hous.

Playground.

Every child’s dream playground.

I wul evun let them swam in the puhl.

Swimming

Baby pool.

Plese cal me or send me a leter. Im avaleable most daes and nites.

Daryhul

I wonder if this dude also pet sits? It really doesn’t matter, Ted would hate his overalls.

CBXB

CBXB!

How Many Bitches Does It Take to Open a Bottle of Wine?

At a recent bachelorette party, we wanted a little swig of wine before leaving (and to be honest, carry in our plastic cups during our walk) to the bar.  Being the oh-so-smart ladies we are, no one brought a wine opener for the bottles so we called down to the front desk. And after about 30 minutes (they apparently don’t keep them on hand…at a downtown Nashville hotel…WTF?), one arrived.  I thought my years of deep expertise uncorking bottle after bottle of vino would suffice and I offered to open the damn thing that we could hardly wait to get our tongues on.  But I was wrong. Way wrong.

Not a job for one...but two...

Not a job for one…but two…

This cork would.not.budge. It seemed really crusty (if that is even possible for a cork) and we had the shittiest wine opener on the planet (the kind that makes a T at the top with a tiny spiral attached).

If I had on a skirt, I'd have rug burns on my knees

Coco’s leg power and my spaghetti arms were no match for this bitch.

Not if G can help it!

If I had been wearing a skirt, I’d still have rug burns on my knees.

With all of the difficulties the two of us ladies were having, my gal pal G (you know, the one who yelled at the 80-year-old man) decided to bring her pull into this uncooperative wine bottle.

Tug-o-wine war

Tug-o-wine war.

This was one serious cork

Three ladies, no luck.

Realizing Coco was outnumbered by G and yours truly, LK entered the corking contest, pulling and tugging on the biceps of our resident redhead.

And the fourth gal got involved, trying to help Coco

Eight arms outsmarted by one defiant jug of vino.

When it was all said and done (and I was thankfully not pulled apart into two pieces) this fucking cork refused to budge.

No such luck but a great arm work out.

No luck but a great arm work out.

We then decided it would behoove us to push the cork down into the wine. And then it started disintegrating before our eyes, breaking in half and making me want to start bawling while kicking my arms and legs on the floor in true tantrum style. I WANT WINE DAMMIT!

All of that for half a cork still in the f'ing bottle

All of that for half a cork still in the f’ing bottle.

Then Coco used what strength she had left in her arms to push the stupid piece of shit into the liquid we all needed so badly. SCORE!

Cork pieces taste so good

Pieces of cork really add something special to a glass of pinot noir.

And that folks is how it takes four bitches to “open” a bottle of red wine.

I know, so classy. Expect anything else from this chick?

I didn’t think so.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Get a Kiss From a New Kid on the Block

I kissed a New Kid and I liked it…

New Kids on the Block made the Earth go ’round when I was a kid in the early ’90s.  So finding out a tour would be stopping in Nashville, how could I say no to a concert with Boyz II Men (who were utterly fantastic), 98 Degrees (eh, mid-tempo sucky songs but featured a very hot Nick Lachey) and NKOTB?

OMG! OMG! OMG! I think I see JOey!

OMG! OMG! OMG! I think I see Joey!

In order to stand out (or in my case, make a complete asshole of myself), dig your old concert t-shirt out and wear it proudly to the show (I can only wear t-shirts I did as a kid because I was a fat kid – that and my chest size has remained the same…lucky me!).

Bringing it back with vintage, baby.

Bringing it back with vintage, baby.

Once arriving to the arena, just scream your brains out while waiting for the dream boats to take the stage.

I couldn't stop singing to pose for a pic.

I couldn’t stop shrieking to pose for a pic.

Then the lights go down, the moment arrives and you act like you’re seeing The Beatles’ American debut.

Fab Five! OMG!

Fab Five! OMG!

Holy shit! They're here! we acted like we were seeing the Beatles American debut.

Holy shit! They’re here!

Because I have sharp joints, I was able to elbow my way up to the walkway and oogle over my new favorite New Kid (Joey – now with a grown up name of Joe has always been my favorite, as we were going to get married, live in Boston, have three kids and five dogs but for some reason, I’m falling a little short of that dream as I’m currently not married to him and the love of my life is a cat…hmm…) Donnie Wahlberg.

Donnie and his sparkly skull belt = my match made in heaven.

Donnie and his sparkly skull belt = my match made in heaven.

And then, it was further confirmed that we were destined to be together once I saw his abs.

And then, it was further confirmed that we were destined to be together once I saw his abs.

So as I jostled my way up to the barrier where NKOTB walked from the main stage to a stage in the middle of the crowd, I immediately hatched a plan to be a stand-out in a sea of 14,994 ladies (there were about 6 dudes in attendance that I could see).

What NKOTB member wouldn't appreciate a fuchsia lip? I had to stand out in the crowd of 14, 994 women.

What NKOTB member wouldn’t appreciate a fuchsia lip?

After you gussy yourself up, put on your nonchalant, I am not a super huge fan (although I’m currently wearing your face at 18 years of age on my t-shirt) face and wait for your selected NKOTB member to fall in love with you in one fateful glance.

Primped and ready to go! Oh Donnie!!!

Primped and ready to go! Oh Donnie!!!

And then, something truly amazing happened. As the New Kids were running through and slapping hands at the end of the show, I was patiently waiting for Donnie to look my way when, out of nowhere Jonathan Knight stopped right in front of me, put his hand behind my head, pulled me in and kissed me on the lips. Like kiss kissed (that is until my two girlfriends (Bitches! Stealing my moment!) cock blocked me and yanked him their way, which forced a security guard to pull my new love away from me).

This is what happened when gay lips hit mine. Isn't that just like a gay man to be considerate, thoughtful and bake sure confetti drops from the sky while kissing a needy fan?!

This is what happened when his lips hit mine. Wasn’t it sweet he arranged confetti to drop at the exact moment we were having our ‘moment’?

As I watched my new-found love being whisked away, I demanded to stay until he came back out and asked me to join him on the tour bus. But security got to my group first and pushed us out of the arena. F’ing guards doing their jobs. Ugh.

Being that I was on cloud nine (and still am calling and texting my friends daily to remind them of my encounter) all I could do while walking to the car was celebrate.

I KISSED JONATHAN!

I KISSED JONATHAN!

Then it dawned on me…I was just open mouth kissed by a man I can never have. No, not because I’m a bad kisser – because Jonathan is the gay man of the group. F! But wait, what woman doesn’t want a gorgeous gay man by her side, telling her how pretty she looks, what shoes go best with skinny jeans and a constant guide in the area of whether I need the push up bra or not.  I’m going to ask this man to marry me.

I think I went wrong in using the fuchsia lipstick to attract Donnie, as only a gay man can truly, truly appreciate the color. But it was fate.

Hey, did I tell you that I kissed Jonathan Knight from New Kids on the Block?

I’ll be sure to remind you of it again tomorrow.

CBXB

CBXB!