Weekend Winks – Rapegate, Pool Parties and Fang Fingers

You guys really know how to help a gal when she’s down and out! The overflowing abundance of support from my Rapegate post restored any questionable faith in humanity I may have had prior to posting. Not only was writing about the trauma cathartic for me, as now the matter is out in the open and I can talk about it, but also I didn’t expect the feelings of relief – conflicted with a little bit of fear when I hit the ‘publish’ button on the post.

What’s a gal who likes to celebrate do with mixed emotions and feelings of waves as large of a tsunami? She cracks open a bottle of champs given to her by gal pal Saving Grace (I was saving it for a momentous occasion – and this felt like one) while bawling and laughing at the same time. Yes, I’m still a hot mess.

Cheers to the release of yesteryear! Oh, and of course, FUCK 2016.

The outpouring of your support – my army that each and every one of you reading right now is a part of – lifted me up so high, so fast I just can’t thank you enough for the kind words, comments, messages, cards, letters, sharing of your own traumas, calls, texts and visits. While I might be Captain Sparkly Pants, you all have been nothing short of soldiers supporting one of their own. For that, I thank the fuck out of you.

Every single portion of Rapegate has been riddled with road bumps. So it’s onward and upward as I move forward, navigating unknown terrain even to my Sex Crimes Detective. We’ll get that worked out, I’m sure.

The wrong woman was fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Warm fuzzies are creeping back into the cracks of my emotions. My heart swelled a little when my phone reminded me over the weekend of cherished moments my sister and Gma shared on the last days of our grandma’s life. Of course, I had a picture of my stank-eyed pussy Ted, too, from that day.

Three of my favorite peeps still today.

When I texted the photos to my sister, we talked about how fast it’s gone – feeling like maybe it should be the first year.

It’s true. In two years, our extended family has gone through two divorces, a birth (yay!), rape (that’d be mine), cancer (that’d be Aunt Crazy Pants), a cross-country move for a cousin….just to name a few.

While reminiscing over the last two years, Facebook had an amusing memory from five years ago of Dada CBXB and I having a patio party, after we’d done some planting (in pots, to which didn’t make of course).

Funny, we already had plans to ‘decorate’ my mini manse loggia (fancy word I learned from a previous, rich employer that means back porch as I kept saying back porch and she kept correcting me that it was a loggia). So we hit up the flower hot spot for ferns, all pink flowers and some sort of palm thing that is going to go great with my pink flamingo (of course a gal like me has plant accessories before the actual plant).

Green thumbs galore.

Because that thirty minutes was so exhausting, we spent the rest of the day playing at the pool.

Fun fun in the sun.

My favorite pussy also likes to relax in the rays but I just can’t help myself and have to take a picture. This is always the glare I get when I get caught mid snap.

Resting bitchy face with a case of the side eye.

Wanna know what those two Iowa twins are up to? Well, first off they have graduated from pre-school.

Get out the caps and gowns.

Naturally, this meant celebrating was in order and they didn’t hate one minute of it.

Starting with snow cones.

Celebration splash pad style.

Their parents even took them to see where it all began. At the bar in Iowa City, where my sister approached her future husband at the very booth below for a cigarette (obviously the trashtacular classiness runs in the family). He didn’t smoke (neither did she) but it all worked out and here we are today…

Taking it back to where all of the magic began.

Being that they’d visited a festival, Princess B had to get her face painted – and clearly thought it was poorly done as you can see from the photo below.

Hello gorgeous.

Graduating from pre-school also calls for dessert.

Sweets for the sweets.

Dessert that was good to the last drop.

Yep. Definitely takes after her aunt CBXB.

Something else seeping back in through the cracks of this gal is nail painting and t-shirt bedazzling. Nashville’s NHL team, the Nashville Predators have made it to the Stanley Cup finals (for those of you who don’t know hockey – it’s like the Superbowl. For those of you who don’t know what that is, just look at the nails and sparkly shirt below) for the first time ever in our franchise’s history. I joined in on the fanfare with Predator colored nails and blinged up a shirt to boot.

Fang Fingers is what the crowd does here in Nashville when the opposing team has to go to the penalty box. They play the music from the shower scene in Psycho and fans seriously stand there and move two fingers from both hands in a clawing motion. We may look like ass clowns but we don’t care. Also, I was so pumped to get this shirt because aside from getting to see our mascot Gnash come down from the ceiling before every game, I can’t ever wait to do Fang Fingers.

All out sparkle for my fave Cinderella NHL team.

The Predators were on no one’s radar and have had the heart, fight and spirit of Nashville behind them. For real, the entire city could not be more proud. This is a photo of the main artery in Nashville on game day. It stemmed from the stadium with an overflow of people who couldn’t get in to the game (due to the insane ticket prices) down ten blocks to the river. Not to mention the packed bars and restaurants.

Game day in Smashville.

While the Preds are behind in the series 2-1, you can help cheer them on with me at 7pm CST on NBCSN.  They whooped some ass on Saturday with final score being 5-1. Badasses.

Speaking of badass, here’s how I pumped up my mental state closing out the weekend.

The inner badass is coming back…

You guys are my badasses. My army of badasses. I love each and every one of you.

Hooah!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Snoop Dogg, Fang Fingers and Flat Tires

When a gal pal wants to treat you to a night out for a belated birthday par-tay, why in the world would you say no? Of course we know I said yes, especially when the evening involved a Snoop Dogg concert. I was especially excited to escape from my reality after some particularly bad news came my way last week. A girl’s night out was just what this chick needed.

I over packed and lugged my beauty bag, taking over Funk 49’s kitchen counter to gussy up for a rainy night out in Nashville.

Yes, my bag of beauty tricks includes alcohol. Doesn’t yours?

Known for my booblegging skills at public events where liquor is priced like it’s solid gold, the glass below may or may not be Pepsi.

Sneaky sneaky.

The night was so full of fun that I forgot what a shit show my life has been for the past 24 months.

Problems? What problems?

After the concert, I didn’t want the night to end so I borrowed my Uber driver’s coffee on the way back to Funk 49’s house for a little perk me up.

Don’t worry. We gave him five stars – and I gave him back his coffee.

We kicked off our rainboots and did what ever girl party does after an evening out – ordered two pizzas for three ladies.

Hubba Hubba.

Upon stuffing my pie hole with at least 1.5 of the pizzas, I tried to coax Funk 49’s dog, Buddy, to lay with me in his bed…I don’t know why he seemed so annoyed.

My version of doggy style.

So I settled for a little downtime the following day with my own puppy Presh.

Prescription sunglasses are the only way to go when rehydrating on a Saturday morning.

While I was hunkered down in my Princess and the Pea bed, the Iowa twins were stuck inside for a third day in a row due to rain storms. So what did my genius sis do? She turned the garage into a bike bonanza for four-year-olds.

Rec room.

The Nashville Predators are in the NHL playoffs and my crew settled in for the third game of the series against the St. Louis Blues. Rocky, Princess Elsa Pants and Ted proved three times a charm, as the Preds skated their way to a 3-1 victory.

Fang Fingers.

I nestled into a Sunday full of job searching, #girlbossing, therapy homework, with a side of Glamour.

Sunday Funday.

No weekend would be complete without an evening full of leopard couch time with Ted – who now has his own personal shadow named Elsa Pants.

Forced Sunday snuggles – with extreme patience.

I found out that my first furry friend in Nashville crossed over to the Rainbow Bridge last night. Caesar was my constant companion when I worked as a personal assistant for a family when I first moved to Music City. He was my only “co-worker” and kept me company so many lonely nights in a new city. Love and miss you little guy.

Trying to keep the wheels from falling off my fragile state of mind, I hit the alarm early for a 7am yoga class today. But about .0005 seconds into the commute, I was t-boned in my parking lot, causing my chariot to come to an immediate halt for the time being.

No zen in sight on this Monday.

I decided it best to switch my morning coffee for something a tad stronger while on the phone with my insurance company.

A bloody mary to help ease spiked blood pressure.

So while I seem to be running into a tad of misfortunes lately, I can’t help but wonder…

I’m wide open for suggestions.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Perspective

My Thursday afternoons consist of sorting through bad shit that happens to good people. Which for me, means that I try to prep myself for the emotions that will inevitably bubble to the surface before, during, after and what feels like every single second of every day until I get to see my therapist Miss Sheila again the following Thursday.

Thursdays got me like…

I was already an emotional wreck because lately my pendulum of feelings swing from the highest of high (hello again inner badass!) to the lowest of low (where in the fuck is my self-esteem?) in about .0005 seconds. No notice. So I packed my squatty bodied mascot in my Louis for some comforting support this week.

Therapy session saver.

Although I had Precious the chug by my side, yesterday proved no different as I contemplated the subject matter of my session on the drive back to my mini manse, tears starting to slowly turn into an ugly cry, as I hid behind sunglasses on a rainy day.

The face that can typically turn feelings around.

Crawling into the bed with my well-worn hanky is my go-to Thursday “happy hour” of sorts after my sessions.

Wallowing with a wet hanky.

Typically, I watch endless videos of my two yayhonks from Iowa, who turn my mood around with their silly antics in a matter of minutes.

How could they not?

In between twin videos, scrolling through my social media, I saw Whitney Lover’s post about an impending trip from her husband’s 93-year-old grandfather that stopped me in my self-absorbed tracks.

Whitney Lover with a CBXB sidekick.

Her post read:

“I’m so excited to have my husband’s grandfather coming to visit Iowa over this next week. He is a Holocaust survivor and will be speaking at several events around eastern Iowa to share his story and to help strive for a better tomorrow for all. He is truly an amazing and loving man who has never lost faith in humanity.”

Love for Gpa all around.

To read the entire article from The Gazette, please click here. It’s an incredible story of survival under the most unfathomable circumstances, loss, hope, perseverance and empowerment. That this gem of a human has seen horrors beyond imagine, the fact that he still has his faith in humans and believes in the good of people is awe-inspiring. He said, “I’m planning to be around for much longer, with my mission to prevent genocide and to do what I can to counteract anti-Semitism, which all good people of the world realize is a crime against humanity.”

If you’re in the eastern Iowa area this upcoming week, here’s where you can see this gentleman in person:

Please join me in cheersing this fellow who, by sharing his story, his time and his energy with others is helping educate, empower and touch lives in far reaching places.

Cheers to Gpa!

Thanks for the perspective Grandpa E.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Bunny Booze Bonanza

Bunny shenanigans were underway all weekend – especially after Mama CBXB shared the genius idea of using a chocolate hollow bunny as a glass for guzzling champs. A+ start to the weekend.

If you know me, you are well aware of my inabilities in the kitchen. However, there is one art I have perfected over the years and it’s a bunny cake. Yeah, you read that right. So when my baking Betty Crocker of a sister asked yours truly for my special recipe, here’s what she received via text:

My exquisite bunny cake directions.

Easy to follow, right?

Right!

Pretty sure I should make a baking book solely on bunny cakes and Jell-O shots. I’m thinking it would be a best seller.

In other Easter prep, Princess B made sure the rabbit sneaking into her castle wouldn’t leave empty handed.

Masterpiece Easter.

While the twins were busy prepping for their furry visitor, I was also anticipating the arrival of Peter Rabbit. I had planned on leaving the libation for him by the door but accidentally drank all of the champagne in advance…

Easter cheers!

While I guzzled on the leopard throne, my youngest three patiently awaited the bunny’s arrival in the front window.

Triple watch.

My older two…well, could give two shits what was on the way.

We get what we want, when we want it.

You know you’re truly sisters when your attire matches on the same day. Princess Rah picked out her mom’s attire for the holy day. I did my own closet perusing.

Nasty Woman “preppy” style in Iowa.

Nasty Woman “trashy” style in Nashville.

Prince B put his mohawk helmet to good use when he trekked out on a spring bike ride around the driveway.

Hell on training wheels.

What beats some good, clean Easter fun once the bunny has departed?

Nothing. Nothing beats double the fun in mud.

Except maybe a jet tub full of bubbles and balls.

You know my gaggle of fur balls mean the world to me, so we were sad to hear that our cousin, Foxi Brown traveled to the rainbow bridge earlier today.

Foxy lady.

While she had a fabulously long and fun life, it’s never easy on the humans who love their fur babies. So tonight, join me in cheersing to the snorting, snotting, grunting ball of love that is now chasing New Cat around up above us.

Cheers to Foxi Brown!

Here’s hoping the bunny found you and you squeeze the furry loves of your life a little tighter tonight.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Birthday Bonanza

Oh the bliss of birthdays. Typically I think mine ranks right up there with the birth of Jesus and the discovery of booze and I start announcing reminders to all acquaintances – “exactly three months after Christmas – how can you fucking forget?” – the moment March 1 rolls around.

But this year, I have been a tad distracted and it snuck up on me like a pregnancy after a one-night stand (never experienced either, so everyone calm down). Fortunately, Dada CBXB and Bird Lady accompanied me to my fave Nashville watering hole, Dalts, where I loaded up on Skinny Pirates and … a birthday tequila shot.

Three birthday amigos.

Unfortunately for me, I had decided to wear my best bar shoes and almost broke an ankle on my way out the door, lunging for a mint.

These just make good walking sense.

Broken ankles averted, I woke up with a case of the blues on my actual birthday morning. Funny how life could give a fuck what day it is in your world and runs you over whenever it deems necessary.

Tissues for my issues.

For a long moment, I thought I’d be spending my day in bed with each of my pussies taking a pity party turn with me. Rocky chose to go first and made it mighty difficult to want to leave my fluffy throne.

Save the drama for yo mama.

Then I remembered that I’m the Queen of my fucking universe. So, I fumbled out of the bed, slapped on some lipstick and threw prescription sunglasses over the puffy eyes that made me appear as if I was a co-starring with Sylvester Stallone as a real boxer in a Rocky movie.

When life hands you lemons, pretend they’re oranges and add champs.

Friends have a keen way to know when they’re needed the most (especially when you text them and ask if they would like to take your broke ass (still job hunting!) out for your special day) and swoop in to save the day.

A Shit Show, a First Mate and a Bird Lady.

Being that I’m the most non-quiet woman on the planet, we can’t help but be noticed in a small restaurant. But we also acted like we were somebodies as Bird Lady talked on speaker phone while First Mate and I made fun.

Real Housewives of the Hard of Hearing.

We also added fuel to sticking out like sore thumbs in the extremely hip and cool East Nashville (you know, the area of a city where young folks pay $313 for an outfit that looks like it’s from Goodwill?) by carrying our Louis Vuittons, prancing around in our sky high wedge heels and…pulling out a fucking sorority wind breaker (***cue eye roll from moi***). As you can imagine, we gave zero fucks and partied the afternoon away.

What’s a K Triangle?

Speaking of being spoiled by friends, look what came all the way from Colorado just for me? A pussy pot crafted by the fabulous pole dancing, kick ass, wonder mom, ceramics maven and fellow blogger Viv.  I had long admired her crafty pots and so she sent me one. Lucky me!

A slight shade off from my #1 pussy of all time, Mr. Ted E. Bear.

One time my best friend forgot my birthday. And, I never, ever, ever, ever let him forget it (please – what kind of classy lady would let that go?). Years later (in what I think was an attempt to avoid missing my very important date again), he got married on my birthday (I wasn’t the maid of honor but I’ve let that go…kind of).

Happy Anniversary Scooby and Mr. Scooby!

While I was shenaniganing my way through the weekend, my Iowa twins were lounging it away as they were both fighting the sickness.

Party people!

When my nephew, Prince B was having a conversation with my bro-in-law about why mom and dad share things because they’re married he said, “Dad, I told you I’m going to marry mom! Back off that girl!”

The Royal Duo – with one heartbreaker in the making.

I started, and then couldn’t tear myself away from this book while soaking in the suds on Sunday.

Creepy fucking awesome.

Then I hunkered down with the still slightly under the weather Ted and laid on my leopard couch so long, there’s now an imprint of my body.

No better birthday present.

Thanks to all of you for the well wishes, Facebook posts, texts, cards, calls and overload of love. This gal couldn’t appreciate it more. That being said, I am still accepting invitations to celebrate, so feel free to reach out.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

I mean, who wants their party to end?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

Crazy Pants and Crazy Aunts

 

Being a crazy pants, entertaining aunt may be the death of me but it’s sure a lot of goddamn fun. A recent trip back home to Iowa was full of celebrations – and that’s just the kind of days this chick needed.

My Aunt Crazy Pants had a birthday a few weeks ago and although she’s kicking cancer ass, she still found her party pants. My sister (the not always happy about being my partner in crime but does it anyway) and Mama CBXB were able to join in on the festivities.

Fab four.

Birthday Queen.

Naturally, I couldn’t resist adding a little bit of fuchsia to the birthday bash.

I now want to grow a mustache. Only in the fuchsia hue.

We even forced Mr. Jakers to get in on the shenanigans.

We kept the thrown down going the following day because, well, why the hell not stretch out a birthday for as long as possible?

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

It was also my Aunt Crispie’s actual date of birth, so it was a double party whammy. Naturally our trashtastic family always uses the ever classy red solo cups for guzzling beverages of the alcoholic sort.

A trio of fun aunts. You figure out the crazy one.

Being the fun aunt just may be the reason of permanent paralysis below my waist… but so worth it.

A back adjustment the old-fashioned way.

One of the perks of being a short adult is my capability of stuffing myself into an extra-large kids t-shirt. Therefore, I get to wear matching tops with Princess B while she still thinks it’s cool.

It’s party time!

We ended Aunt Crazy Pants’s celebration week with a trip to trivia night at the local grocery store (yes, that is what we do in small town Iowa and it’s fucking fun). Although my brain cells only provided one correct question of 20, our team “The Rats,” were able to slip into second place while having a laugh riot.

Trivia tomfoolery.

Being that I live 1,000 miles away in Nashville, cramming in all celebrations close to my visit date is common. Therefore, Santa made a special visit just for me – even with a small, glittery tree.

Christmas in March.

We also scrunched in an early birthday bash for yours truly, so I really raked it in (don’t worry if you haven’t picked anything out for me yet – you still have time and yes, I will provide a list).

The more the merrier in March!

Any Iowa birthday party of mine isn’t complete without a trip to see my bro-in-law, Dr. Cocktail, who makes libations that rival any mixologist on the planet (and no, that isn’t an overstatement).

Manhattan man.

Mine. All mine.

While there were only four adults present at the kitchen island, it sort of seemed a fraternity party took place when we were winding down. But that only means it was an evening of amusement, yes?

A party of four…or 44?

Regardless of the time my head hit the pillow, I had the two most adorable alarm clocks bust in and interrupt my beauty sleep with their not-so-spot-on rooster imitations.

Cockadoodle don’t.

Talk about a fun aunt. I went to visit my great aunt Marge, whose husband of 67 years recently passed away. Out of the five sisters in her family, her husband was the last to pass and holy shit was he was one gem of a person. He basically became the surrogate hubby to the four widowed sisters – much to his (dismay, perhaps?) delight.

Uncle Bill’s ashes sit in an urn next to Marge’s TV stand. She pointed at it and said, “I’m going in there with Bill but I gotta lose some weight first.”

A BV and water party night.

If there’s anyone I can think of emanating in this lifetime, it’s this spunky, hilarious broad. She’s 88, looks maybe all of 68 and acts 38.

She can also sing karaoke from the couch.

And is obviously true relation with our family tradition of Jell-O shots.

More whipped cream for you?

After my Iowa party parade, I made it to the airport and back to Nashville just in the nick of time, as inches of snow were starting to accumulate.  Although, I was a tad disappointed I didn’t get to play with my two faves in the snow.

Snow bunnies.

However, I’m not sure I would have fit in with this “angel”.

Angelic my ass.

Here’s hoping your day is filled with a little fun, a little crazy or a whole lotta both.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Alive and Kickin’

Holla!

Did you think I fell off the face of the fucking earth? Well, I kinda did.

My 2016 in a nutshell.

My 2016 in a nutshell.

After the start of this year, I knew January was going to be a doozie, so I stuck my head in proverbial sand, pretending I was the world’s most glamorous ostrich.

A leopard print ostrich.

The first month of 2017 marked the initial 365 days without my sweet J.Bean on the planet. The absence of this fiery young force is missed tremendously by her family and friends.

First anniversary of a devastating loss.

A devastating loss last year.

Couple the above situation with the first anniversary of bad shit happening to a good person (yours truly) within days of one another, I almost hunkered down in my dressing room to cry the rest of my life away (with all of my furry pussies, of course). I was hoping a sparkly asteroid would hit my mini manse.

Awaiting the Glitterbombpocalypse.

Instead, almost one year to the day of my bad shit, I found motivation to get my ass the size of Iowa out of the closet. I chose to march with millions of other folks in hundreds of cities across the globe in solidarity with the Women’s March on Washington (if you’re one of the people still wondering why this took place (has your head been in the sand – or perhaps my purse from above?) I’ll be addressing that in a later blog). The Nashville march expected around 4,000 people. Over 15,000 showed up and peacefully flowed through the downtown streets.

#imarchwithlinda

#imarchwithlinda

Surrounded by thousands of fellow citizens made me feel less alone (which seems utterly ridiculous, since I have a support system that rivals the American military). On the actual anniversary evening of my incident, gal pals came over to the mini manse and at midnight, we cheersed the fuck out of surviving various bad shit that happens to all of us.

Cheers to

We survive. We persevere. We kick ass.

Starting the second month of 2017 off on the right high-heeled foot, I found myself feeling empowered, emotionally stronger and proud that I trudged through the worst few hundred days life has presented me thus far. Still struggling with PTSD, adjustment disorder and severe stress caused from one single traumatic event – I finally felt some of my happy seep back in. Happy – the one thing this lonely lady has needed most out of the many things stolen from her in an instant. And anything that makes me feel better seems like a goddamn victory.

Yay me.

I also found myself suddenly unemployed – but can’t say I was sad.

At all.

Although my wallet is waaaaay lighter, my spirits are brighter, not breathing fumes from a toxic environment. Stumbling into unemployment presented all kinds of fun. Like getting into a small fender bender on the way to a therapy session minutes after cleaning out my office.

I mean, C'MON.

Nothing a glass of vino can’t fix. With a side of car insurance…

Life Savers

… and a round of life savers.

Time away from the daily grind has been fabulous. It’s allowed me to arrange a long trip to Iowa, aiding Aunt Crazy Pants in kicking some cancer ass.

Aunt Crazy Pants

Jazz hands for Crazy Pants!

When bad shit happens to good people, sometimes they (who moi?) lose their fucking minds and adopt three cats at once without first consulting their existing pussy and chug.

Some of us were more happy than others on adoption day last year.

This milestone gave a big reason to celebrate! I mean, what pussy wouldn’t be thrilled to come home to a trashtacular mini manse and doting (albeit almost certifiably cray cray) mama?

Happy kit cat adoption day!

Dada CBXB and I threw down a party so hard, the cats needed to snooze the entire next day. And night. And then the next day. And night.

One year later…taking the damn manse over.

Having extra time on my personally manicured talons also means I can stare at these two mugs all day long.

Uh, yeah. Smiles for Miles

Uh, yeah. Smiles for miles from Iowa.

Waaaaaaay too cool for school.

Waaaaaaay too cool for school…

I'm waiting patiently to be their auntager.

… but not too cool to be models for their local library’s website. I’m waiting patiently to be their auntager.

While we creep into a Nashville spring, the reminder that human beings are generally kind has enveloped over me like a hangover seeps out of your pores on a Sunday morning. There’s finally a light at the end of the longest fucking tunnel I’ve ever looked down (maybe it’s more of a Grand Canyon type deal but you get the point, right?). Mind you, the hue is fuchsia with flecks of pink sparkle slowly falling all around. It doesn’t twinkle or glisten.

It glows. Radiating the biggest, brightest, fuchsia light I’ve ever fucking seen down a tunnel I’m starting to walk down. A tunnel I’m starting to run down. A tunnel I’m starting to sprint down. When I finally arrive at the other side of the tunnel (way out of breath needing a gallon of water but instead opting for a bottle of champs), watch out. Because it will be then that I’ll have gained the ability to pick up my rusty, once broken spirit and kick my ass into high gear.

Imthisclose.

Until then, I’m satisfied being just a little bit of a happier shit show.

At least I’m alive and kickin’!

Now, how the hell are you?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!