Weekend Winks – Tight Ends and Taylor Swift

Oh Nashville.

You used to be my hidden gem of a city. I’d lure people to visit because if someone didn’t like country music, they weren’t interested in coming. Nashville was never just country music and cowboys but only true peeps who lived here knew that. Now, the secret’s out. It’s been out for quite some fucking time since the overly dramatic television show Nashville hit TV screens and the last few years, one hundred people have been moving here per day, taking up precious space on my interstates (yes, the interstates here are mine and mine only) and causing housing prices to sky rocket (seriously stop moving here or I’m going to be unable to afford to live in my Mini Manse that is a 42-year-old, popcorn ceilinged, ratchety carpeted, brass hardwared apartment that has gone up in rent almost $100 per year the last three years).

After this weekend, it’s suffice to say that Nashville is a legit city. Music City hosted the NFL Draft (downtown), the Country Music Marathon (downtown), Jimmy Buffett threw a parrot head party (downtown), and Taylor Swift decided to make a surprise appearance in the city with an impromptu meet and greet at the same time regular tourists and bachelor/bachelorette parties invaded the city while regular events went on per usual.

In 2017, Nashville’s population was 691,243.

This weekend, 600,000 more people invaded the city.

A projected 340,000 people for the weekend. That number nearly doubled for the three day shenanigans in Music City.

Most folks that live here took heed from the warning below…

The traffic lights literally spelled NFL. Photo credit: Pedro Esteban Tellez.

Just because my city was inundated with NFL fans didn’t mean I wasn’t in the mood for the draft. Two Iowa tight ends were projected to be selected Round One. So naturally, I gussied up at work in support.

Tight End University, Baby!

Lucky for me, First Mate is a sports head too and she hosted a draft partay at her castle.

Do gators eat hawks or do the birds peck gators to death?

Nothing says football party like a little two boxes of rosé.

True to the projections, my Iowa Hawkeyes tight ends, T.J. Hockenson and Noah Fant were selections eight and 20 overall in the first round. The University of Iowa is the first ever to have two tight ends drafted in the first round, which is why we’re now known as Tight End University.

I’m a size medium if anyone is at Raygun in the near future.

Detroit for Hockenson.
Broncos for Fant.

Might as well have been downtown.

Or maybe we were glad we were in air conditioning.

Either way, we had such a ball that we accidentally killed two boxes of rosé.

R.I.P. Bota Boxes.

Did I mention it was Thursday night? I woke up with such confusion at First Mate’s Friday morning (because I usually stay over on a weekend), I almost lollygagged too long to make it to work on time.

As if draft day one wasn’t enough, Taylor Swift decided to grace Nashville with her presence the day she dropped her first single off of the upcoming album. Hint after hint was dropped by Swift’s camp and Swifties from all over the planet somehow figured the fuck out where she was going to be at 11am on Friday morning.

If you want to stand where Taylor is standing, this mural is in the Gulch area of Nashville.

For those of  you Swifties out here, below is a video (it’s grainy but you’ll get the gist) captured by a dude who misses nothing in Nashville and is hip to every.single.thing happening in town. Taylor apparently stayed and signed autographs and graciously took selfies for hours.

One thing most Nashvillians can unite on is our disdain for the “woohoo” girls who come down for bachelorette parties. Now of course they pay good money and stay downtown but are, quite possibly, the most annoying of all tourists. So this was an especially funny site to see.

Speaking of bachelorette parties, check out the best sign from the marathon on Saturday.

A big congrats to the 30,000+ runners who completed the half and full marathon. I’ve done both and they are hard as fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Run for the tacos. @rosepepper

Even though neither First Mate nor myself did any kind of running, we still decided we needed tacos.

So we ran to eat Mexican.

While Nashville was abuzz with all kinds of shit happening, my Iowa twins were all primped up for a wedding. It’s too bad they don’t enjoy each other’s company.

Nothing but love.

J. Crew model in the making.

Hair model in the making.

I mean fucking COME ON.

When Sunday rolled around, I was ready for some mauling by The Pussy Posse.

Rocky and Fabio have snuggling down to a science.

The newest addition Scooch, is another story.

After watching everyone stand on their feet for three days downtown, my tootsies ached for them. Of course I remedied that the best way I know.

To all those that came in for a few days, thanks for coming!

But mostly, thanks for getting the fuck out of town.

Love ya, mean it!

CBXB!

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Hawkstar Style

Is there anything better than a weekend filled with football, booze and sun?

Friday night called for some leopard kicks and a lot (accidentally) of cocktailing.

Party Patio

A bit of teetering and tottering in these bad boys lead to a leisurely Saturday.

What kind of fan would I be without sporting my team’s attire? I threw on one of my fave Iowa Hawkeye t-shirts from Victoria’s Secret PINK line on Saturday as I prepared for a tailgate (well, really an ‘ingate’ as we don’t really go outside).

Hawkstar

That’s right. I party like a Hawkstar.

Ted could have cared less about all of the pre-game prep Saturday afternoon.

Can't be bothered

Why do I spend money on cute beds for Ted when he prefers a plastic Target bag?

Being that I was in deep recovery from Friday night, I wore my prescription sunglasses all day, forgetting they were on as I went on a football food run.

Yep. I'm somebody in the spaghetti aisle.

Yep. I’m somebody in the spaghetti aisle. An asshole wearing sunglasses inside as a matter of fact.

The trashy touchdown tradition ingredients sat on the counter calling our name, waiting for points to be thrown up on the Hawk’s scoreboard.

Moonshine primed and ready to go for TDs.

C’mon touchdowns!

Tedstar, still underwhelmed at the pre-party, stayed snuggled down with his plastic.

Yay

He loves football. No, seriously.

Not even the sight and smell of the tailgating treats could muster The Bear up from his slumber.

Tailgating spread.

The spread…including the my blogfamous Shit Dip (click here for recipe).

But my little kit cat could not get enough of his Grammie’s new hair product as he sniffed and sniffed and sniffed his way up one side of her head and down the other as we watched the game.

You smell so...well, let me smell you again. And again.

You smell so…well, let me smell you again. And again.

With a Hawkeye win of 27-21, we were feeling pretty foxy with all that moonshine pumping through our veins. That evening while asleep, I had visions of the 3.1 Phillip Lim for Target (the store is my mothership) collection dancing in my head (did anyone score anything yesterday before it sold out?).

As I sauntered to my mothership Sunday morning, I was happy to know that the love of the store has been instilled in my niece and nephew up in Iowa.

Instilling the love in my niece and nephew.

First trip to Target! Starting the red bullseye love early for B & B.

After all of the lost brain cells over the weekend, the only thing I could do was sit my ass by the pool one more time this season and watch the sun go down.

Sunday sundown.

Sunday sundown.

Here’s hoping you have a fabulous week!

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Conduct a Trashtacular Moonshine Toast

Keepin' the family tradition alive...

Keepin’ the family tradition alive…

Being from such a classy clan, we started a tradition a few years ago to celebrate every touchdown or field goal that our favorite college football team, the Iowa Hawkeyes, score with a shot of one’s choice (this way no matter what the outcome of the game, you can have fun – even if your team sucks (which is how this lovely tradition began). Unless they score nothing of course, and if that’s the case, get a new team).

This past weekend, my dad really upped ante (and kept it Southern) by blowing the dust off of a jar of moonshine for our required celebratory shots.

Popcorn Sutton White Whiskey (it's called whiskey instead of moonshine because they pay taxes).

Popcorn Sutton White Whiskey (it’s called white whiskey instead of moonshine because they pay taxes).

In order to prep for a trashtacular toast (and be sure you’re ready for a photo-op), you must first be sure your three free fingers that aren’t holding the shot glass are available for a partial jazz hand.

Digits

Digits prepped and ready.

Second, make sure your ‘do is did. Right before this pic was snapped, my dad said, “I hope I combed my hair.”

Either way, it was too late as the toast was already in motion.

Hair

What hair? The one strand on top of your head?

Next, be sure you prolong the inevitable by clinking your glasses several times.

Don't forget the fingers.

Again, don’t forget the fingers.

Then before you take the shot, say something really clever like my dad, who said, “You know, once you go moonshine you never……….”

*Silence*

*Crickets*

Feel free to borrow this toast whenever you shoot moonshine next.

Down the hatch slowly...

Trepidatious cheers.

Boom!

Down the hatch…

Smooth?

Smooth. But hopefully the Hawks don’t score again until the second half.

Never one to be at a loss for words (unless he’s conducting a toast), my dad concluded our initial shot by saying, “Best shine I ever had.”

My response followed, “Oh no shit, Dad. It’s the first time you’ve ever had moonshine,” (although Popcorn Sutton is awfully tasty – it also mixes well with lemonade or Diet Coke for you white whiskey connoisseurs that aren’t down with our family tradition of straight shooting).

While we were hemming and hawing over the “best shine ever,” the Hawkeyes scored again.

Again?!

For F’s sake. Again?! And again. And again.

So even if your team loses (like ours did in the last ten seconds), you can have some bright, shiny fun watching the game anyway with a little bit of Southern likker.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Laborious Loungin’

A long Nashville weekend with no definite plans AND college football season kicking off? Hello Heaven.

Herky Rules, you drool.

Herky rules, you drool.

Oh yes, that’s right. Herky the Hawk is my boy toy of the football season.  I cheer on the Iowa Hawkeyes (unfortunately for me, I’m sure you’re thinking) which is going to be pretty brutal this season after viewing Saturday’s game. But I had to proudly wear my college colors on Friday, as it was “Celebrate College Colors Day,” and I pretty much look for any reason to jump on a celebration band wagon.

Catch up

Friday fun night.

A gang of happy hour folks welcomed the long weekend with open arms (and Fireball, Skinny Pirates, beer, vodka and gin) as we waved goodbye to summer. I kept having to tell inquiring bar minds reading my shirt that yes, the Iowa Hawkeyes are a college football team (there really are other conferences outside of the SEC) and yes, my boyfriend is a bird. Jesus. What is it with people?!

Ted was SO over me not coming straight home from work and fawning all over him that he pretended to be going to bed as I arrived home around 7pm.

You don't see me...

I’m just going to turn in five hours early, since I now hate you for hanging out with your friends for a whole two hours.

I coaxed the Bear out of his bed and let him watch me try on outfits for game day – and he could barely glance my way without the look of pure, utter annoyance all over his furry face (that or he thought my skirt was hideous).

Game day

Would you acknowledge me in public?

The start of football season also means tailgating food. Holla! To say my mom’s taco dip was devoured on Saturday would be an understatement.

Taco dip

Tasty tailgating treat time!

We kept up with our tradition of doing a shot every time our team scored…

Touchdown!

Touchdown!

…which we kinda worried about when our Hawks hit 24 points.

Smooth?

Smooth?

But then we quit scoring after the third quarter and we were stone cold sober by the time we lost in the last ten seconds of the game. Boo. Hiss.

You wanna know who else was being a hissy face? His Royal Highness Teddy Bear was beyond irritated that I was going out on Sunday evening, as he sat perched on my hamper (yes, it’s pink AND sparkly) while watching me get all gussied up for the honky tonks.

Seriously?!

Seriously?! You’re going out for the third day in a row?

What’s a holiday weekend without a PBR and Miller High Life at Robert’s Western World?

Honky Tonk Time!

Honky Tonk Time!

You’d think that going to the bar with your folks would be the best man repellent ever. But somehow, I still managed to get a marriage proposal and had the inability to shake a “will not get the hint” dude who kept wanting to dance. I should have just had my not-so-tiny 6’4″ dad stand up to shoo them away.

Yeehaw!

Do you have their blessing, Mr. Marriage Proposal?

Next time, I’m bringing Mr. Bear to fend off sweaty cowboys.

Saved you a seat...

I saved you a seat…why were you a no-show?

Arriving home, the feline in my life was once again pretending to be in bed.

Can't get situated...

I swear I’ve been here all night.

I coaxed the little monster out of his ‘slumber’ for some late night snacking and catching up on Dexter (Holy shit – so good. I can’t believe there are only three more episodes!).

Snack attack

Snack attack.

I enjoyed an entire pool (I have no clue why my neighbors don’t want to roast in the sun – it’s like they care about their skin or something) to myself on Labor Day (while trying to capture the photo, I almost dropped my phone in the water. The things I do for a post! I mean, how could you ever have imagined an empty pool without a photo with half of my face in it?) before the rain came to ruin my lazy, lounging fun.

Pool time

Pool photo fail.

And as I left for work today, someone had not moved a muscle through the alarm, shower, hair dryer, TV and breakfast shenanigans.

Tired Ted

Too much together time makes for one tired Ted.

It’s like he wanted me to leave already. What an ass.

CBXB

CBXB!