Weekend Winks – Emotional Banana Pants

Since my experience with bad shit that happens to good people, I have been a walking, talking shit show.

I’ve slept on my couch for the past four months, find it hard to be alone, don’t love my mini manse the way I used to, started a new job, adopted three cats, threw up in my car (soberly), shit in my car (while talking soberly to my drive thru pharmacist as if nothing was happening), developed adjustment issues, eat every single emotion that I experience, then don’t eat for three days in a row, was granted a girls trip of a lifetime to Mexico by two walking saints, have nerves that never go away, my feelings have been boiling for four months now and every.single.little.thing is a major issue, an ex-boyfriend and friend of over 11 years put me in my proverbial place, another man in my life has thrown major shade, the family dynamics I’m used to have shifted in ways that I can’t control, my bank account was hacked on Friday, meaning for three to five business days I’m broke and my usually positive self is more and more negative by the day and I want to fire me from myself.

All of that being said, I’m a swinging pendulum of highest highs and lowest lows. Listening to my therapist hero, Miss Sheila, I’m just trying to take one day at a time and find joy in the little things. Like, the Country Music Festival (that used to be called Fan Fair and really, still should be) that took place in Nashville over the weekend.

CMA Fest

Naturally, when work called for a White Trash Bash party in honor of the tens of thousands of tourists pouring their hard-earned money into my beloved Nashville, I was beyond happy to participate in something celebratory.

What's a CMA Fest without a redneck?

Tattoos not permanent.

And blow off some steam I did.

Seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time.

Seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time.

I enjoyed myself so much that I got on stage. In a very popular downtown honk tonk. In overall shorts. And sang. With braids in my hair. In overall shorts. And cowboy boots. And forgot the words to a song I’ve sung 1.578.987 times with my ’80s cover band. In overall shorts. And my new boss captured it all on film.

And yeah, this. Life.

Needing an S.O.S. from life. Immediately.

Thankfully I snagged a safe ride home but my grown ass needed a way to get to my vehicle the following day. What would we do without women who arrive in chariots with the best hangover food ever?

Breakfast of hungover champions.

My personal Uber, complete with snacks.

Once my body full of nerves returned back to the mini manse, I was once again in the throes of my emotions – and according to Miss Sheila – I loathe feeling feelings.

#sos

#iwokeuplikethis

Adulting has been so difficult lately that I’ve started to identify with a local Nashville Mexican joints social media postings….

Truth

Truth

But instead of being full of tacos I was left in bed with a bunch of fur balls.

This is how I want my life to be always.

Forensic Files Friday night.

Wallowing in self shame, embarrassment, pity I was invited last second to meet up with some old work colleagues (and friends) and decided it best for me to socialize.

Old friends. Good friends. Fun times.

Old friends. Good friends. Fun times.

I then decided to take up smoking – and surprisingly it took the edge off about 12 of my 3,794,579,000 nerves.

I asked for a puff and got the whole shebang.

I asked for a puff and got the whole shebang.

Other friends made me piss my pants by shopping the local racks of the store I hate more than anything in the world for tank tops to wear to Bonnaroo.

I hate Walmart but NEED that tank.

I loathe Walmart but NEED that tank.

Another reason to stay off the couch and keep moving was a pre-celebration opening at a buddy’s new bar. It’s dog friendly, so you know that Presh, Dada CBXB and yours truly were on hand to party.

Dada CBXB and Presh

Hot Saturday date night!

Bird Lady also made an appearance in my weekend, as did another inappropriate t-shirt that is now one of my faves.

Bird Lady and shirts with iniappropri mae me happy

Just wearing my emotions.

Much like my buddy at Dalts, who wouldn’t give me this t-shirt because his girlfriend gave it to him.

This is why I love Dalts.

Pure stud.

You show me your kitties, I show you mine.

mouths to feed.

Four feline mouths to feed keep me going.

Mini lions.

And my mini lion chug Precious, of course.

Naturally anything from my Iowa twins puts a grin on my gigantic mouth breather.

I mean, those faces!

I mean, those faces!

But most of all, I have to keep getting off of my leopard couch, braving emotions, feelings, checking account robbers and put one foot in front of the other for my favorite pussy, my best friend, my main squeeze, Mr. Ted E. Bear (who is costing almost as much as rent with his meds these days but you know (and he knows) he’s worth every goddamn cent).

Prince

Forever the king of my castle.

My new life mantra for my therapist prescribed “day-by-day” attack on life was passed onto me by one of my besties, Whitney Lover.

Mantra

I’ll drink to that…every damn day.

Motherfucking cheers.

Motherfucking cheers.

Thanks to you – readers, social media buddies, real life friends, co-workers, family, kind strangers – for sticking by your hot mess of a shit show. Here’s hoping you’re sucking a little less each and every day this week.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Songs of a Move

Moving is always a pain in the ass, as you have to touch every. single. thing. you own (or so it seems) before you decide what is actually making the cut for your new digs, what hits the trash and what you will give away.

Smoking wreck

Moving morphs me into a smoking wreck. And I don’t smoke. Ever.

Every relocation situation has emotions behind it – whether it’s excitement, anxiousness, fear, happiness – and as I found myself moving yet again this summer, I thought back on previous times when I transitioned to a new place. And each memory was accompanied by a specific song, which had really never dawned on me previously.

So here are anthems from a few of my life changing moves…

Relocating to Nashville with no job, an apartment waiting for me that I’d never laid eyes on and $900 bucks in my pocket, I packed up a U-Haul, put my cat on my lap and headed for a city where I didn’t know a single soul.  I visited Nashville a week prior and spontaneously decided to give it a whirl. I didn’t have a ‘real’ job in Iowa with standard amenities (a regular paycheck and health insurance being examples), I didn’t have a ball and chain persuading me to settle down and pop out love children yet and it just seemed like the right time to make a big move.

Packing is so fun if you leave it 'til the last minute!

Packing is so fun if you start the night before you leave.

While filled with exhilarating emotions, when the day came to actually leave the comforts of my family home and the wheels turned out of my driveway, I drove down I-80 with big, fat “what the F am I doing?!” tears rolling down my cheeks.

Bawl baby in three...two...cue the song.

Little does this picture convey that I’m a water balloon waiting to burst inside of my SUV in a mere matter of seconds.

And what song was blaring on the stereo, aiding my sudden emotional insecurity of moving so far away from every familiar person in my life?

Wide Open Spaces” by the Dixie Chicks.

Cliché? Hell yes. Did it make me feel better? Oh F yes.

Carrying on like a bawl baby, acting as if I would never see my home state of Iowa again, singing along with the song…

“Who doesn’t know what I’m talking about
Who’s (me sniffing) never left (I wipe my snotty nose) home (I begin bawling), who’s never struck out (now crying so hard can’t catch breath)
To find a dream (me wailing) and a life of their own
A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone”

I think every trucker I passed and glanced down at my car thought about running me off the road to put me out of my own misery. But at the end of that long weekend move, I was excited, scared and ready to take on Nashville with all of the gusto a young gal such as myself could muster.

First 'real' apartment!

First ‘real’ apartment and it’s mine. All mine.

As life happens, I found a job within the first week of my move, met friends, joined a band, found a boy I shacked up with and all seemed to be falling into place. Except when it didn’t several years in.  I lost my job, vacated the shared house with my boyfriend and ended up getting to move in with my parents (every adult child’s dream come true) all in the same week. To say that it was epic shit show is an understatement.

Shit show.

A year full of hot mess and mascara stained cheeks that forced me to laugh at my ridiculousness.

The world seemed to cave in, the sky fell down and the Earth under my feet was ripped from beneath me.  I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t catch a break. Not only was I reeling from a difficult break-up (I’d been with this man longer than some gal pals had their husbands) I couldn’t believe I had given my blind loyalty to friends only to have them vacate as soon as I needed them or even worse, take advantage of my trust when I was most vulnerable. Valuable life lessons learned and true friends left standing. Oh snap!

The song that played on constant repeat this time around?

Grenade” by Bruno Mars with a doozy of a chorus that goes like this…

“I’d catch a grenade for you
Throw my hand on a blade for you
I’d jump in front of a train for you
You know I’d do anything for you
Oh, I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won’t do the same”

I was able to get through the tough year with family, best friends, running my ass off and any liquor I could get my hands on (the always oh-so-healthy coping mechanism).

Car bomb shots seemed like such a good idea...

Car bomb shots with cousins seemed like such a good idea…

But not really...

Until they went down the hatch…

Of course when my liver dried out and I was able to eek out the funds to make the move into my mini manse after 10 months of parental living, the song blaring from every available speaker was “Fuck You,” by Cee Lo Green, which has pretty much become my life anthem (side note, please play at my funeral if I should die before you. Thanks).

And now for my recent humdinger of a move…

Feeling kind of like a card-carrying adult, I was thinking at this point in my life the next step for me would be to move into a bona-fide house (or at the very least a spanky condo) and I was very happy in the small duplex I was renting, which is where I planned to stay until the timing was right for me to leave. But instead, I got kicked out of my mini manse duplex two months ago when the land lord’s son knocked up his girlfriend and they needed to expand to my side. Rough news, as I lacked the funds moving requires and the last thing I wanted to spend what little savings I had on first and last month’s rent, pet deposits, utility transfer fees, endless tanks of gas, etc….

Thank God for t-shirts that say it all.

Oh you need me to move ASAP? Let me just get my trusty shirt, sunglasses to wear inside due to swollen, shit show eyes and get drunk first. Thanks.

The Rolling Stones helped me get through this past summer move with “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

“You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need”

The lyrics continue to remind me that while at a forced proverbial fork in the road, intoxicated by my life’s sudden and unexpected twists and plot changes, I just might find that in the end of this chapter I will get what I need (or at least I F’ing better!) – I just wish I knew what that was going to be…(patience is definitely not a virtue in which I’m familiar).

I’ll keep you posted.

Until my next moving anthem presents itself, I’ll be cranking up the Cee Lo and rockin’ out to my life’s theme song as I continue to unpack by touching every. single. thing. I own.

CBXB

CBXB!