Weekend Whatever Week You’re On Winks

Oh the things being stationed from home 24/7 will make you do…like take in a kitten who just had her own litter. Therefore, making me not a grandma but a GLAMma.

Oops I did it again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

I have an outside brood of seven pussies that I’ve been feeding the last two years. I was able to trap and release (TNR) each one last spring. TNR is when you catch a cat in a trap, take it to the vet for a spay or neuter and then release it where you found it. I’m making this sound easy but it takes a goddamn act of the stars being aligned even if Mercury is in Retrograde to accomplish this because feral cats are basically wild animals.

I missed a female last spring and she had kittens. And now, I am a Glamma and have four sweet, teeny, tiny Glammies inside the Mini Manse quarantined in their own Rona hell to my bedroom. They are now known as The Glam Squad and I almost lost an arm and two eyes trying to get them into the Mini Manse but that’s a story for another day.

Girlie Girl feeding Maverick and Ruth.

The Glammies are almost fully weaned off of Mama. I’m on a waiting list at Value Vet and Nashville’s Pet Community Center (that has 600 felines afuckinghead of me) for spaying and neutering. These little nuggets won’t be going back outside, either. They’ve entered the Mini Manse and are now accustomed to a boxed wine luxury lifestyle with Glamma. It’s been a shit ton of work but definitely, a welcomed distraction from whatever this thing is we now call the world. All of the babies will be up for adoption. Don’t you think you need a new friend?

Girlie Girl, Fauci and Nelly enjoying their breakfast buffet.

All of this pussy momming has given me even more reason to dive right into my Crazy Cat Lady status that I have not one ounce of shame over.

Light Friday night reading compliments of M.Star.

So how do Prissy and The Pussy Posse feel about acquiring temporary residents?

WHAT. THE. FUUUUUUUUUUUCK?

Because The Pussy Posse, Prissy, and yours truly all sleep in my Princess and the Pea bed, I’ve had to do some distracting to avoid immediate punishment from the permanent feline residents in the Mini Manse. The weather has been quite fabulous, so I am able to leave the Pussy Patio wing of the Mini, Teddy’s Terrace open for their recreational habits of napping all day every day and night.

Fabio has no complaints.

Thundercunt would like to speak to the manager.

While I’ve been trying to keep my cat hoarding situation under control, Sister CBXB has been entertaining her duo with her fabulous versions of summer camp.

So far they’ve been to France, Japan, and space.

Day camps can be exhausting, so they get a little happy hour every day.

Summering so hard.

Princess B also got a visit from the tooth fairy twice last week.

I could run a summer camp on how to find shit in the garbage can. Remember when I found my dumpster wedding dress (that is still in my possession, I mean, just in case, you never know)? Well, when I was leaving the Mini Manse on Saturday, what to my wondering eyes did appear but a gigantic framed fancy photo of some golfer. And you know who loves her some golf?

First Mate.

One woman’s trash is First Mate’s treasure.

I snapped a pic of it and sent it to her as a joke. Turns out she really wanted it and I unshamefully backed my ass up and it’s now anchored at her beige palace.

You who else needs to back their asses up? Every single motherfucker in this photo from Kid Rock’s bar in downtown Nashville taken this weekend. What do you want to bet every single person in this photo has bitched and moaned about businesses reopening and how masks are an infringement on their personal fucking freedom?

Thanks for helping Nashville inch back to Phase 1.

EVERYONE I know wants to get out and about and have some sense of pre-Rona normalcy. But when a very large handful of peeps take the conveyed Tennessee message “proceed with common sense,” in establishments that completely ignore city set guidelines (6 feet apart, wear a mask), it’s inevitable to not feel like these folks aren’t being wise. Nashville is in a four-phase reopening plan. Currently, we are on Phase 2, with many businesses waiting for Phase 3 to reopen. Selfish folks, like Kid Rock’s establishment, accompanied by many other downtown Nashville bars are completely ruining it for other businesses waiting for their economic means to starting flowing again. Get your shit together you selfish fucks and maybe, just practice compassion for others.

In London over the weekend, great compassion was shown for a counter-protester to the Black Lives Matter march. Patrick Hutchinson saw a white counter-protester on the ground, about to be trampled. Hutchinson picked the man up, and with help from friends, got him out of the large crowd and to safety. Remarkable compassion and integrity.

Selflessness at its finest.

I think some people have become frustrated with what may seem like a lull after two weeks of full-on worldwide protesting (so yeah, the entire universe thinks black lives matter). It’s important to remember that Black Lives Matter is a movement, not a moment. It will take time, education, resources, protests, reform, and….compassion.

Speaking of viruses, my vehicle has been nothing but bad juju and decided to finally piss out on me two weeks ago. It’s just been sitting in the parking lot (silver lining of remote working compliments of Rona) at the Mini Manse until yesterday. And when I started to drive it to CarMax, seeing if I could muster any kind of moola out of them for it, the old rust bucket came up with the soundtrack to 2020.

The brakes completely went out about 15 seconds in the car. I was able to emergency brake it the entire way to the dealer. When the mechanic took it out for a test spin, before giving me my appraisal, I warned him that if he valued his life, he may want to stay in the parking lot.

The rust bucket in better days, when I wished it was a Range Rover.

Turns out, the make and model of my car holds value. WHAT? WHAT? Exsqueeze me? 

GOOD NEWS?

How awful is it that I’m accustomed to the very worst scenario always panning out? I’m not a pessimist but I am just always prepared for the defeat of a situation these days. Instead, I got so much for my rust bucket, I was able to get a better vehicle in my price range that I love.

Car salesman Harry and I are now best friends.

My new beaut is being transferred from Maryland and is the exact same make, model and color as my old one. Just newer and minus the rust, the duct tape, the myriad of dashboard lights on 24/7, and no power steering fluid leak. HOW LUCKY AM I?!

For those of us who didn’t have my luck yesterday, (which applies to every other area of my non-vehicular life) might I suggest some sage to last us the next six months as we patiently await 2021?

Let me know when you want me to come sage your place. I have a new ride, you know.

Stay safe.

CBXB

 

 

 

 

Buy Me a Drink

First Round Draft Pick

The NFL Draft has arrived in Nashville and everyone is losing their goddamn minds.

Now, not everyone is losing their minds because they love the sport of America football or the NFL or just the hype of a fucking gigantic event being hosted in downtown Music City. Nashvillians are losing their goddamn minds over the influx of traffic, the take over of production companies downtown (causing you to watch every step you take due to massive cords), road closures everywhere, the cutting down of trees for draft stages, tourists in general, NFL draft tourists – need I say more?

I lose my fucking mind over this guy, T-Rac, every time.

On top of the NFL Draft commencing today, the Country Music Marathon is this weekend which in and of itself always draws tens of thousands more to the downtown area. All said, it’s projected that 300,000+ peeps will be overtaking my city. The past few weeks I declared no one could beg me to go near the downtown radius the entire week all of these shenanigans are taking place (unless, of course they had a front row seat to the first round of the draft).

Oh, hi! Who me? Miss out on fun? Never.

The preparation for this major event has included Nashville’s Hard Rock Cafe taking their iconic guitar sign down (you know, gets in the way of a good TV shot), entire bars are being rented by the NFL organization, and temporary rooftop viewing areas are being put on top of restaurants – it’s fucking bananas.

Missing: One massive neon guitar sign.

Years, months, weeks, days and now the final hours until the culmination of the NFL Draft 2019 begin to unfold.

Staging of the stage.

Side stage complete.

Naturally being the football fan I am, I certainly thought I was going to attend the draft when I heard it was going to be in Nashville and –  key word – free. Also, two Hawkeye tight ends are slated to be picked during the first round, Noah Fant and T.J. Hockensen. They will attempt to make 2019 the third Iowa draft class to ever feature more than one first-rounder, after the classes of 1997 and 1986. Would I Iove to take Dada CBXB (he was drafted by the Colts when they were in Baltimore after his college career, FYI) and see that happen in person? You bet your ass I would.

From a Red Raider to a Colt.

However, there is a lottery to get into the viewing area of the draft stage. Yes, there are mega huge TVs all over the city streets but in lieu of standing with other fans asses to elbows, I can sit ass to elbow with any and all members of The Pussy Posse. And, I don’t have to worry about standing en masse to get into one of these germy portable toilets that will surely run out of toilet paper within the first minutes of the event commencing.

Talk about crazy town.

When my gal pal Energizer Bunny asked if I wanted to go with her bestie Dance Pants for a last minute trip downtown, I had to think about it for .0000000000002 seconds (hypocrite at my finest).

EB: “Want to go-“
Me: “–YAS!”

Entrance to the NFL Draft experience on Broadway.

The aforementioned bars being converted into additional TV spots was equally impressive. Tootsies World Famous Orchid Lounge grew about 50 extra feet, which will be a secondary broadcast location for the event.

Finishing touches.

Stages here.

Stages there.

Stages everywhere.

Typically the downtown Nashville shopping scene is full of nothing but honky tonk trinkets. But every single store we passed had NFL team merchandise displays and every bar we passed had an NFL Draft 2019 neon light in its window.

No team left out.

Let’s not forget the people watching….

Bang This x 2.

People watch we did.

At one point as women who were wearing shorts shorter than bikini bottoms galloped by our bar window, Dance Pants said, “those gals are going to get a bad infection.” I immediately vowed to never sit on a bar stool without first wiping it down with an antibiotic wipe.

Regardless of whether you are watching the NFL Draft 2019 near, far or not at all, Nashville is definitely where it’s at this weekend.

The Bat Building is always a beaut.

Happy to have the projected 342,700 of you visit Music City this weekend. Just don’t forget to be one of the 30,000 departing people from the airport on Sunday or Monday.

Also, for those of you in motor vehicles, please kindly leave early (or late) enough so I can make it to work on time this upcoming Monday.

Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Because if you decide to stay, I will punt your ass out.

Cheers!
CBXB

 

Weekend Winks – Surprises, Six Degrees and Slaying

This shade of black really brings out the color of my soul.

God I love a t-shirt that speaks for me.

Open for fun.

My aunt flew in to surprise my dad for a mini retirement celebration. It was pretty fucking fabulous.

The par-tay train headed downtown to honky tonk on Broadway.

The Bat Building never gets old.

Robert’s Western World never gets old.

Arriving late after gussying up, as soon as my ass hit the bar stool in Robert’s, I got a message from an old school friend asking if I happened to be around. Seeing as Music City has 100 fucking people moving to the city every.single.day (please for the love of god, STOP MOVING HERE. Come visit, spend some cash and get the fuck out) Nashvillians going downtown is about as rare as a man being falsely accused of rape. So like, 99.9% never.

Downtown used to be a fun hang every so often but now, it’s asses to elbows everywhere. So it was Kismet that I happened to be in a bar right across the street from my old buddy, who still resides in Iowa. He was visiting for work and just thought he’d reach out. As kids, our families would camp (yes, I actually camped (ew) before I knew glamping was a thing) and one of our fave activities was going around Wilson’s Lake and collecting pop cans that we’d turn in for a refund at Cheese’s grocery store. Redeeming five cents per can, I thought we were going to be thousandaires as we packed garbage after garbage bag full of aluminum. I think we each ended up with about $50. Still not bad for 10 year olds.

Six degrees of CBXB.

When I went to meet up with his crew, I didn’t know anyone else at the table. But within the 30 minutes I chit chatted, I somehow had a connection to or through or knew someone they knew at the table. My friend came across the street to say hey to Dada CBXB who, prior to his move to Nashville (and retirement), was a teacher and coach of some sort for over 30 years.

Old school.

Naturally we did what all teachers and coaches do when they reunite with former students.

Shots.

I mean, you know I have an ever classy fam.

Blurred lines.

Saturday came early for my Iowa twins, who were frying up a donut storm.

Then they decided to create costumes since the weather was kinda shitty.

If you guessed bats, you’d be right.

Inspired by my mini bakers, my lazy ass decided to get out a new pancake mix I picked up. Mostly because it was gluten free but really because all it takes is 2/3 cup of the mix and 3/4 cup of water.

Betty.Fucking.Crocker.

My Iowa Hawkeyes had a 2:30 kick off, so I sauntered out to Dada CBXB’s and watched my dudes school the Minnesota Golden Gophers. The Hawks won 48-31. You know what that meant….six rounds of our classy Family Tradition.

I’m not good at math but I couldn’t fit six pics into my cute photo collage.

It also meant that the Floyd of Rosedale rivalry trophy will reside another year with my favorite birds.

The pig stays in the Hawkeye State.

After the welcomed distraction of a win, it remained consistently hard to escape the painful thoughts that have been swirling around my noggin for the last three weeks, as America’s attitude toward rape culture continues to shock the ever living hell out of me.

It’s sad. It’s so sad. So much so that I’ve turned to eating my pain away. Which isn’t working for my brain as much as it is my already ample ass.

I’ll have five pounds of wings, please. No, really, we had five pounds of wings. And Shit Dip that was already inhaled when this photo was snapped. And like one celery stick.

We welcomed Sunday by washing Saturday away with margaritas at our fave Mexican joint.

Tasty treats.

Accompanied by what felt like 482 lbs of food after I scarfed my feelings food down.

Another side of salsa, please.

Of course no self care Sunday would be complete without my personal bible, People magazine, and a dip in bubbles.

To those of you weary to the motherfucking bone after the past few weeks, know that it’s OK to feel that way. To those of you who are confused after the past few weeks, know that it’s OK to feel that way. To those of you who feel hopeless after the past few weeks, that’s not OK.

You matter.

The next generation matters.

K. Thanks. Bye.

CBXB

Weekend Winks – I’m Baaaaaack!

Did you miss me while I was on a CBXB extended blogging vacay? Well, I sure as shit missed you!

Plunging right back into the classy party style life I lead was beyond easy this weekend with a visit from my bestie Scooby and his husband, Mr. Scooby.

Keeping it real. Real classy in Nashville.

See, Mr. Scooby and his friend Royal came to run the Country Music Half Marathon over the weekend.

Half of our group ran.

Half of our group got drunk in the car while waiting for the runners.

When Scooby and I decided to take our party to the finish line, we were so busy taking selfies we failed to see either of our runners cross the finish line.

But damn we looked good!

Once we found our competitors, I immediately forced Mr. Scooby to take off his shirt. You know, to help him cool off.

I hated walking around with him.

Although my two gorgeous gays ran their asses off, I was able to sneak into their spotlight.

And they thought this day was about them.

While I was very busy trying to photo bomb every single picture the rest of the afternoon, my Iowa twins were accomplishing amazing feats of their own.

Who doesn’t sit on the toilet in the kitchen?

Best place to read, obviously.

There was a handsome potty training reward of Princess B’s all time favorite food/snack/meal/nourishment.

Salsa.

Will potty for salsa.

A half marathon completion calls for drinking. Especially for those of us who had to stand and cheer in between gulps of champagne.

Celebratory cocktails!

And what kind of party would this be if we didn’t keep on drinking right until brunch the following day?

Still going strong.

A Royal, a Reba and rare sober moment for CBXB.

My sobriety didn’t last long, as it was two for one mimosas and this is was the last round looked like at brunch…

We were really thirsty.

Upon finding ourselves out of libations, I forced Scooby to drink something that we hadn’t touched all weekend.

Water is so disgusting.

Who wants to go home after a morning full of cocktailing?

Not this crew. So we headed to my fave honky tonk to carry on the celebratory shenanigans.

We don’t want the party to end.

Day drinking that turns into night drinking makes everyone feel sexy.

Especially when putting sunglasses on.

In a bar.

When it’s dark outside.

Sunglasses at night are so sexy. If it was 1981.

400 drinks in, we started with the photo shoots.

Perfect tipsy models.

And made strangers with wild hair become a part of our party.

Still sexy and we know it.

432 cocktails in, I became we became expert two steppers.

Royal was forced to dance with someone who thinks she’s a star.

Upon giving him two very bruised feet, Royal took longer to recover from dancing with my graceless ass than he did his half marathon.

Straight women are exhausting.

And after the heartbreaking goodbye to my fave gays, this happened the rest of the weekend…

Couch? Check.

Pussy on shoulder? Check.

Sunglasses on until 11pm? Check.

Just keepin’ it real.

Here’s hoping your week is off to a semi-sober start.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

Weekend Winks – WTF Happened?!

It was a long Nashville weekend full of celebrating Halloween and football victories, which lead to my demise.

Seriously. How a weekend full of fun feels come Sunday.

It all started out on Halloween with a some gussied up gals at work.

The sweetest slice of pizza ever, an ass clown of a ghoul and Bat Girl.

My Iowa twins were happily acting like their favorite animals on the planet.

Princess Kit Kat and Prince Bow Wow.

Instead of roaming the streets in packed bars downtown, I bellied up at my fave watering hole, Dalts for my All Hallows’ Eve treats.

Skinny Pirates instead of tricks for me.

Turns out I needed a nose job in order to properly guzzle my glass of rum.

Cocktail fail.

After I performed emergency surgery on my schnoz, everything was right in the world.

Nose job completed.

I avoided over consumption of my beloved rum, as there was some tailgating to tackle Saturday morning.

Typical treats.

Thing is, this Saturday our Iowa Hawkeyes decided to show up and play ball. In a major way. And we bravely carried on our family tradition of a moonshine shot for every touchdown the Hawks scored.

Problem was, we were victorious with a score of 48-7.

Shot one…

Shots two, three and four and five…

Happy with the sixth…

And doing toe touches Golden Girls style for a victory “dance”.

Happy with warm bellies and less brain cells, Mom and I thought it’d be a good idea to go honky tonkin’ downtown to cap off our Saturday.

Never wanting the party to end. Ever.

But the fun came to a screeching halt the following morning.

Seriously. What the fuck?

Combining moonshine shots, toe touches, vodka and spinning around a dance floor like a contestant on Dancing With the Stars made it impossible to feel human before noon.

Not even enough energy to thwart suicide attempts by New Cat. (He lived)

But I had the best couch date ever who snoozed by my side from dawn ’til dusk.

Party pooped pussy.

Even though my self-inflicted pain, all of the shenanigans were worth it…

I think.

CBXB