How to Thwart a Mugger

Stilettos, studs and screams

Stilettos, studs and screams make muggers scram.

This past weekend I was at a holiday work party spreading sparkly merriment on Music Row (you know, where all of the music-y magic happens) in Nashville.


Party cuddles.

Many of the businesses on Music Row are located in houses from yesteryear, which makes for some way cool atmosphere. In lieu of grassy backyards, black asphalt is laid for private parking lots.  And most folks who use these houses for business always enter through the back door, which is what all of the party goers did this particular evening.

After some manhandling and a few festive cocktails, I decided to continue my celebrating elsewhere and said my goodbyes before heading out to my car that was parked among the throngs of other carriages under bright street lamps.

Manhandled enough

What party would be complete without a grope?

It was fairly early (9:30pm) and the parking lot was well-lit, private and full of guest cars and catering trucks, I had zero qualms about walking the ten yards to my vehicle.  Because my typical key chain resembles that of a stadium janitor and I was flaunting my uber k-ute clutch, I only carried my car key that evening.

Instead of the usual

Yes, I do need the compass because I often don’t know my ass from my elbow.

Have studded purse. Will beat your ass with it.

For all things fabulous, such as this clutch, I downsize.

Key me

A key fit for small spaces.

Prancing to my SUV, I noticed that I had left my parking lights on and as I was unlocking the driver’s side door I muttered, “fuck me in the goat ass,” (assuming I was going to need a jump).

No sooner than I ended my statement I heard a deep voice say, “I’ll fuck you in the ass,” (which is probably the most appropriate pick up line ever, yes?).

As I whipped around to lay into what I thought was a drunk dude who’d just been at the same party as myself, I came nose to nose with a seedy looking stranger, adorned in a dark hoodie, one hand in his pocket, the other shoving what I assumed to be a gun into my belly.  If I paused a moment to take a deep breath and process what was actually happening, I could even have told you what he had for lunch, he was that close to my face.

“I’m gonna rob you,” he hissed pressing further into the depths of my belly.

The fuck you are I thought.

My immediate reaction was not to cry for help or shout for anyone to call 911. Instead I started screeching at the top of my lungs (which hold copious amounts of air resulting in the loudest screaming voice in the history of mankind) and repeated variations of “oh my god” over and over and over again for what seemed to be an hour (which was probably more like 45 seconds).

OHMYGOD! ohmygod! OHmyGOD! ohmygod! OMG! OH!MY!GAWD!

OHMYGOD! ohmygod! OHmyfuckingGOD! ohmygod! OMG! OH!MY!GAWD!

Backed up against my open driver’s side door, thoughts flooded my brain faster than Ted sprints to his food bowl every morning.

I realized in .00001 second (while still wailing “oh my gods”) that I was going to fight this sonofabitch and under no circumstances was this ass clown going to maul me, steal my piece of shit SUV or my fabulously studded bag that housed gallons of lip gloss.

The Mighty

Have studs, will beat you.

Luckily my purse was cradled in my dominant hand and in a panic, I hauled off and hit the motherfucker upside the head with it (still shrieking “oh my god” of course – and hoping none of the studs fell off. Priorities). Not missing a beat (and having no idea from where my survival instincts emerged) I stomped as hard as I could with the heel of my boot on the top of his foot (I would have squawked hiiiieeee-ya but I was too busy still wailing “oh my gods”).

Hiiiieeee-ya! Heeled him.

Heeled him.

And just like that, the would be mugger took off in an Olympic paced sprint down the driveway to the street, probably realizing I was waaaaaay too high maintenance (i.e. loud, obnoxious) of a lady to mug.  Watching his exit, I stood shocked (didthisjustreallyhappentome?) still hollering “oh my gods,” and then I got the fuck outta that parking lot.

After filling in the police (dude of same description successfully mugged a chick just before making an attempt at yours truly) and making other party goers aware of the situation, I settled down with ten a few shots of ice cold whatever the hell liquor was around.

Ten for me please.

Self medication for attempted muggings.

While my heartbeat has returned to normal days later, I realize how lucky I am nothing more serious happened to me in that parking lot.

I’m lucky I was gifted lungs that could house an ocean full of water.

I’m lucky to have learned the lesson that no matter how nice the neighborhood, no matter how close you park to the door, no matter how well-lit the parking lot, no matter if you’re aware of surroundings, don’t walk alone when it isn’t necessary.

Stilettos, studs and screams

Stop. Or I’ll stiletto you.

I’m lucky as fuck I accessorized right that night.





Weekend Winks – Party On!

‘Tis the season to get shitfaced…

Holly Jolly Drunk Girls

Holly jolly drunk girls.

This weekend was filled with parties galore and while I am never one to say no to an invitation, I was lucky enough to be hosting both. On Friday, our company party was once again held at the Fontanel Mansion (where Barbara Mandrell and her family used to reside). Being that she was my idol, I always feel the need to pinch myself when I get to primp in what was once her actual bathroom.


OMG! CBXB mania in Babs’ bathroom.

While fooling around at the gun range in the basement (yes, this mansion has a gun range that happens to house the four-wheeler Gretchen Wilson used in her “Redneck Woman” video), I had to photo bomb a perfectly precious picture, naturally.

Photo bomb

Mama CBXB telling me Santa is watching and I’ll be naughty listed. Whatevs.

Although I refrained from trying any of Barbara’s dresses on this year (I shoved my ass in one last year of course) I did try to swim on top of the pool that was covered in plastic.

Pool party anyone?

Pool party anyone?

While I was extremely busy being a hostess with the mostess, my twins in Iowa were taking in their first parade.

Taking their first parade extremely serious.

Taking this parading shit seriously.

And Auntie CBXB was in recovery Saturday morning as Princess B ate all of the frosting that was supposed to go on her Christmas cookie.

Cookie Monster.

A gal after my own heart.

Party prep was underway all Saturday at my mini manse as I was hosting a ladies ugly sweater party. My outfit was complete thanks to velcro and bows minutes before the start.

Side One.

Side One.

Rear view.

Rear view.

Mismatched tablecloths helped set the ugly tone.

F'ugly decor

Decor gone wild.

Thankfully my pink tinsel tree is so gaudy it can be inserted with any party theme and fit right in.

Gifts wrapped and under the pink fabulous

Ugly or fabulous? You be the judge.

The photo-op was set and ready to be manhandled by girls galore.

All dressed up with no one at home.

All dressed up with no one at home.

I forced welcomed mama CBXB to stay and party the weekend away with me.


Hostess #1 and #2.

As the shindig started, grand entrances were made by every guest.

Grand entrances were made.

The Grand Marshall of grand entrances.

Usual suspects arrived one by one to my mini manse door.

Usual suspects arrived one by one.

Loving on some First Mate.

The Queen of Jell-O shots was sure everyone had a chance to consume one (or 12) of the gelatinous goodness.

Jell-O shots at the ready.

Don’t let her sweet smile fool you – you WILL be taking a Jell-O shot whether you like it or not.

My favorite male made an appearance to snoop be our designated photographer.

Dada CBXB made an appearance to be our photographer.

Dad never fails to make a party more fun.

Pretty sure he also came so that I could serve him Easy Cheese straight from the can.

Easy does it.

Easy does it.

You know at a party full of women a few selfies were snapped.

Selfie 1,892,391

Selfie 1,892,391 of the evening.

And photos of selfies were also captured.

Selfie x 2.

We can’t get enough of ourselves.

A party of mine isn’t complete without a contest and the winner of the ugliest outfit showed up in a cat vest accompanied by a Teddy Bear pin. So this outfit winning was a no brainer. Well that and she looked truly heinous thanks to her threads.

Ugliest outfit contest winner. Fellow sizzle reel.

My sizzle reel gal pal takes home the top prize.

All in all one fabulously festive evening with some of the best gals on the planet.

All in all a fabulously ugly night with the ladies!

I wish we knew how to have fun.

I do have a feeling that my grape martinis ended up making some of my friends feel stupendous on Sunday morning…

Hello Sunday. I hate you.

Hello Sunday. I hate you.

But luckily for me, I recovered with the best breakfast a hungover gal could ask for…Easy Cheese.

Brunch 'n' munch.

Brunch ‘n’ munch.

Here’s hoping you have a party or two to attend this holiday season. If not, I’ll be giving you tips on how to throw your own ugly sweater soiree tomorrow.




How to Create a Pissy Portrait

You know those fancy paintings rich (and/or famous) people have hanging of themselves in their homes?

Well, I took it upon myself to recreate one. At least in photo form.

My mom recently accompanied me to my holiday work party at Fontanel Mansion, the former home of country superstar Barbara Mandrell   (I cried when I saw her at the grocery store like a teenage girl seeing Justin Bieber – no shit). Not only is my mom fun, she is quite the elf and party assistant, helping me look good in front of my boss man.

That, and she indulges my need for making a complete asshole out of myself in front of others (co-workers in this case).

This gorgeous mother-daughter painting by Dick Zimmerman hangs in the Fontanel Mansion dining room for visitors to ogle when touring the manse.

This painting hangs in the Fontanel formal dining room.

Barbara and her daughter, Jaime captured in a classy piece of art.

Since my company had the entire mansion for our party, I seized the opportunity to recreate my version of this painting. It only made sense (perfectly to me).

Before you view our rendition I must tell you that the serious picture expression (insert image of any model/actress/dignitary/politician) is not something the ladies in my family do well.  When I try to look ‘sexy’ in a photo, I just look plain pissed.

But regardless, here’s how our impromptu photo shoot turned out…


It was nothing but laughs as we were assisted in posing.

And then Mom started to take her role a little more seriously than I did.

Take Two

I just couldn’t help myself.

And once I started laughing, I just couldn’t stop (like when you’re supposed to be quiet in yoga but somebody audibly farts and you turn into an 8-year-old and giggle ’til you cry).

Mom is trying harder than I

This is just so f’ing funny.

But seriously.  There’s a reason my family is predispositioned to smile because when we don’t, we look like this…

In all seriousness

Yeah. That’s right. We’re pissed at you.

Which is why I prefer my mother-daughter rendition to be remembered as this…

Taken with a sparkle lens. Yes, I said a sparkle lens!

All smiles by a sparkly tree.

Duplicate fancy, rich people portraits at your own risk – I speak from experience.


Weekend Winks

It’s been a whirlwind of holiday parties here in Nashville and I’ve been happy to partake!

Teddy never recovered from last weekend’s events, therefore he was bound and determined to get me to stay home by laying on my blazer as I party primped Friday night.

Bound and determined to get me to stay home all weekend.

You’re leaving? Over my furry body.

And of course I was able to coax Ted off with a little help from my sparkling accessories with which he’s enamored.

Ho! Ho! Holiday party arm candy. Is there ever enough?

Ho! Ho! Holiday party arm candy. Is there ever enough?

Being in charge of my company’s party, I was on hand early to help set up.


The Great Room at Fontanel Mansion.  One of about 40 rooms in Barbara Mandrell’s previous home.

Of course I took about 4,256 photos (which I will be sharing later!) but one of our party goers had a sparkle lens. YES I SAID A SPARKLE LENS!

Taken with a sparkle lens. Yes, I said a sparkle lens!

My mom and I in all of our sparkle glory.  I need a fancy camera just so I can obtain this fabulous lens.

Working at a production company, I’m surrounded by overloads of testosterone daily. Here’s a small dose of my workplace ‘brothers.’

Just one of the guys.

Just one of the guys.

And with an open bar, bruises like this are bound to be acquired.  I think the purple, green and yellow bruising just add to all of my holiday fun (just makes Christmas shopping a little more painful).

It takes talent to bruise your ankle

I may have stumbled down a few stairs but didn’t spill one drop of my cocktail. Talent.

Upon recovering from my Friday night shenanigans, I was off to a birthday party Saturday afternoon.

Partying with my smaller side kick, Bella Bob.

Partying with my smaller side kick, Bella Bob for her dad’s birthday.

And then a date with my 30 ounce glass of merriment. A favorite holiday glass – not only because it holds almost an entire bottle of wine but it also has quite the clever take on a Christmas song.

Oh Come Let Us Adore Me! 30 oz of goodness.

Oh Come Let Us Adore Me!

All Teddy could do was cat nap on Sunday and I can’t say that I blame him.

You know Ted's tired when he puts his leg up for a belly rub.

You know Ted’s tired when he puts his leg up for a belly rub.

Teddy looks how I still feel on Monday morning, sitting at work wishing it Friday at five.

Thank God the holidays only come once a year!