Iowa Nice Way of Life

Man, I (mostly) love all things Iowa. I’m still (mostly) proud to be an Iowan.

It’s a gorgeous place and I feel really lucky to be a life long product of the state.

I grew up in a tiny ass town in southwestern Iowa, about one hour north of the Missouri border.

This weekend, the municipality is having a Sesquicentennial celebration. What the fuck is a Sesquicentennial party you ask (because I had to)?

Dictionary Definition:

“Relating to the one-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of a significant event. As the town’s sesquicentennial celebrations get under way”.

Um, why do we have to have a fancy word? Why can’t it just be “Happy 150th Birthday!” but I digress. There’s going to be a weekend long par-tay and I can’t help but reflect on the town of 1,200 peeps that helped fabricate the me I turned out to be (I’m also slightly pissed I wasn’t asked to be the Grand Marshal of the parade but I *might* get over it if I’m honored with the position for the Bicentennial (200th birthday) celebration. And yes, I fully expect to be alive and kickin’).

I mean, if anyone can be a parade Grand Marshal, it’s moi. I mean, look how I rocked the town’s many year round parades.

There was the annual Lenox Rodeo parade every summer we NEVER missed out being participants in thanks to Mama CBXB.

We also never missed the rodeo and as always, gussied up for the event.

Then there was the homecoming parade every fall. The first time I participated as an attendant, I was pretty fucking sure I was gonna marry my escort.

Then there was always a Halloween parade (back when we could still call it Halloween without fun haters insisting it be referred to as “Fall Festivals” at school). The entire town never failed to bring their lawn chairs and line them all the way up and down the five block Main Street.

Lenox is not only my hometown but the birthplace where my love of all things pussies began.

Being raised in a small town, I had independence from an early age. For example, at five years of age, Mama CBXB would let me ride my bike three whopping blocks to the community pool with instructions to come home for lunch when the town’s noon siren blared (does this still happen daily?).

I never missed a meal. Be right back after my beloved ketchup sandwich.

Growing up in a small community gifted me the “zero fucks to give” attitude that is still one of my most precious assets. Wanna play baseball in your backyard sporting a swimsuit? DO IT.

Think plaid might be for you but then realize you aren’t made for straight, confining lines? DO IT.

Wanna forever capture your love of busy patterns, colors and accessories? GO FOR IT.

Feel like proudly hanging out in a stellar swimsuit with a perm while contemplating slipping into the most heinous sweatshirt on the planet? WHY NOT?

Wanna rock a scrunchie while Sister CBXB nonchalantly sports a mullet? FUCK YES.

My young informative years solidified my allergies to situations I still don’t love.

Like camping at Lake of Three Fires.

Or the time I discovered my fingernails were “jewels, not tools” after assisting Dada CBXB with gardening for one day.

My softball career was long enough lived for me to get a card made. I was the catcher because I could the ball throw to second base at 10. I have a few of these left if you want an autographed copy.

Growing up in a small town means getting to see your dad rock turquoise shorts on a flatbed truck during a lip sync contest. In front of all of your friends. And he was a PE teacher for the entire school system and football coach.

Dada CBXB was also able to embrace small town culture by taking a baby and toddler on motorcycle sidewalk rides. No biggie.

My love of football started in the stands of Friday games.

You can get anywhere in under three minutes, so participation in every available activity is achievable.

Dance we did.

I was the number one peanut seller for Brownies TWO YEARS IN A ROW. Receiving my $5.00 prize in the Methodist church basement was obvies a real treat. Mama CBXB was never worn out from being our Troop leader, costume maker or party planner.

Ever.

Speaking of party planning, boy, did Mama CBXB and this town create a party-for-lifer. Oh, and the more the fucking merrier.

My love of mascots started at a young age. I mean, I couldn’t wait to get my paws on the Easter Bunny.

However, I am shocked that this piss poor rendition of Santa didn’t ruin Christmas for me forever.

We moved after I finished seventh grade and I don’t get back very often. When I do, it is fun to do a drive-by memory lane. Like the house we lived in since my sister was born.

Before that, it was this abode.

I never miss a chance to go to my fave place for fried cheeseballs – The Tiger Den. And now they have gluten-free buns. I die.

The Lenox park is where a fuck ton of memories were created. School picnics, the swimming pool, Sister CBXB accidentally entering a tractor pedal pull and won first place, and where we played hours on the equipment. Last time I was in Lenox, I broke my body trying to recreate memories.

I threw my back out jumping off of the goddamn merry-go-round. Aren’t those death traps now?

Take my advice from above and just reminisce about the equipment instead of playing on it. Because I tweaked my ankle jumping out of the archaic (but in stellar condition) swing set. But how could I resist when my ample derriere fit in the swing?!?

I love that I was able to spend my childhood in a town where I was granted independence practically at birth, conditioned to play by myself when needed, taught the importance of being empathetic and to show up for your family, friends and neighbors. It’s a treat not many peeps get these days.

Mama CBXB came across this ribbon from the Centennial (fucking 100th birthday) and I display it in my kitchen hutch.

Happy Sesquish birthday, Lenox!

I’m crossing my claws in hopes to be the Grand Marshal for the Bicentennial.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

Buy Me a Drink

The Birthday of Your Bestie

The birth of Sister CBXB was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I didn’t know it at the time but I needed a yin to my yang, a Meredith to my Christina, a Nicky to my Paris, a Sasha to my Malia, a Serena to my Venus, a Solange to my Beyoncé.

A brand, new dynamic duo.

However, we all know I love a glaring light on myself (also known as a spotlight), so don’t think I wasn’t pissed when bébé Sister CBXB was showered with gifts for just appearing out of what seemed from nowhere (I know Mama CBXB will beg to differ, delivering an 11 pound baby). I remember our neighbors Winnie and Clyde came to visit and while everyone coo’d and ooh’d over the bundle of joy, I got a bag of underwear. I think that may have been the first time I thought “what the fuck?” to myself.

I was always quick to remind folks that I was still around while they were admiring new life.

Gpa Morris ALWAYS had her binky (it’s on his right finger). And she always whined for it.

Gpa Morris DON’T FORGET ABOUT MEEE!

I was quickly schooled that two is better than one. I had someone to boss around, throw the blame on and found celebrating, well, everything was better with my forever plus one.

So many things to cheers to over the years.

Easter celebrations from Wonder Girls to Wonder Women.

Snow fort celebrating compliments of Dada CBXB and Uncle LewAss with the Morris Boys.

She’s always a fab sport when I wanna do a celebratory marathon day at the Iowa State Fair.

Never not fun at an Iowa Hawkeye tailgate.

We’ve always known how to say buh byeeeeee to the prior year, letting our hair down, throwing our hands up with a side of snacks we never let go to waste. You haven’t really lived if you’ve never dipped a pizza roll in Rotel cheese dip. Follow us for more classy tips.

Who needs more than two to ring in a new year?

Then, she met my future BIL (bro-in-law) and we had fun ushering him into trashtacular new year’s fun.

Inaugural NYE with BIL.

Who doesn’t have dance-offs on NYE?

BIL was always a good sport, even when we put on booth concerts at local bars.

Never a better duo screaming LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER!

Our audience was always so enthralled they could hardly keep their eyes open,

Before popping the question, I’m sure BIL had to consider what he was getting along with Sister CBXB.

HI. It’s me. I will be your forever third wheel.

I’m so easy to deal with.

OBVI.

BIL put a ring on it anyhow and a round of celebrating properly ensued.

Jazz hands run in the family.

Bachelorette shenanigans were nothing but drunken fun. So much so, we had our folks in tow.

Whose dad doesn’t bachelorette party it up?

She gets her classiness from me.

Once again, obvi.

The big day came and it was so apparent how happy and excited she was to start this next chapter of life.

As newlyweds, she rang the bell with her new hubs, sealing the deal at the Little Brown Church. A photo caught my thoughts…thank fuck it’s not me, it’s you!

The forever and always single, cray cray cat lady. Not mad about it.

Although it was her wedding day, I somehow still managed to bring out her sisterly love in a way.

The look of sibling love.

A look that runs deep.

This life that’s sometimes a party just kept getting greater. Sister CBXB and BIL welcomed twins and the festivities and hoopla got bigger and better.

Seeing her kill it as a mom is no surprise but fuck – no one lied when they say time flies.

How in the actual fuck are these two already nine?!

I’m forever indebted to her for taking any partnering up and kid pressures off of me. I get to be the outrageous aunt, thankfully.

What?

Kids are so easy.

Sister CBXB has put up with me her entire life. Often reacting with the “holy fuck, did she just say/do that?” face in her hands of hilarious embarrassment to be related to yours truly.

She never had any choice in the matter.

No option but to be my forced side kick.

Sisters are a special crew. We lucked out having Mama CBXB and Aunt Crazy Pants as an example of that extraordinary bond. The millions of times we laughed until our stomachs hurt and tears ran down the legs of the older duo, are some of the best times I have tucked away in my memory bank.

My sis has often carried me through life in fab times and the horribly bad. Maybe I’m a reason her back hurts? That can’t be, rather, I taught her how to lift with her legs, right? RIGHT?!

I’m always helping her put her Michelle Obama arms to great use.

Even though it looks like we could possibly be inbred in the photo below, I know she’s always got my back and me hers, no matter the woe. But for real, why does it look like we’re posing for a prom pic? We were on the lookout for Dada CBXB to arrive at his surprise party.

He made it.

Sister CBXB has never met a cake that didn’t meet the inside of her belly.

So today, eat all of the sugary confections with a side of that fancy bubbly!

Thanks for always being the straw holding this camel’s back.

I can’t wait until this cunt Rona is gone and I can come maul you and force you to carry me around for fun. You’re the best of the best, crème de la crème, I hope this birthday celebration grants you with everything you deserve. I’m forever thrilled that I get to be your sister. Thanks for being my bestie.

Cheers, Bitch!

Love ya, Mean it.

Weekend Winks – The Fall Edition

So what the fuck has everyone been up to these days? You back at the office (I have been since March and boy, do I miss working from home)? Your kids in school? Or are you still virtual everything? Can you even go back to work if your kids are at home? Are you vaccinated? Do you wear a mask when you’re in large groups even if you are vaxxed? How you doing since the two week “flatten the curve” of 2020?

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!

I mean holy fucking hell. This year went from being a fresh start and then I blinked and it’s fucking October. After working from home nearly a year, I’ve found it rough “wasting” four hours of my day I didn’t realize I was missing out Before Rona. I would leave my house at 7am and get home at 7pm if I worked out, lugging my bags (usually forgetting my lunch on the counter) and sometimes even DOING SOMETHING after all of that in the evening. How did I have the energy?!?! Rona has made me lazier and like most of the world, my hair got washed about once a month during the deep throes of the pandemic.

Me. Trying to acclimate to sort of Post Rona Times but obvies not handling it well.

There hasn’t been much activity to report because my weekends were filled with the pool, Skinny Pirates, Netflix, snacks, wine, repeat. But now that college football is in full swing, you know what that means?! Dada CBXB and my Family Tradition Touchdown Shots are baaaaaaaack!

My Iowa Hawkeyes have been killing it so far this season. This team plays for a win but isn’t “showy or sexy” as one commentator put it last weekend. But ya know what? We are number three in the nation after schooling the Maryland Terps on Friday night 51-14.

It’s been years since we needed two hands for a photo op! Dada CBXB got the number six in our last pic, accompanied by the evening ending shot. Don’t worry, we had very fancy snacks for the game to help soak up the Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Fire.

A very fucking cool initiative college football is undertaking is creating awareness regarding mental health. An often taboo subject, (which of course it shouldn’t be because just like physical health, we all have mental health) this is helping change the narrative for young athletes and people. I’m so here for this shit.

Because the Hawks played on Friday night, I was able to hang with The Silent Indian on Saturday of whom I hadn’t seen since the night of the Nashville tornado in March of 2020. Hot dayum.

Of course I got to talking at him about the most important element of the football game. The outfits. Which most refer to as uniforms but not me. They’re outfits. And, I’m pretty sure that the Iowa Hawkeyes have the best outfits in all of college football. Of course TSI thinks his team’s blah hunter green and white outfits are better, so I took to the inaccurate IG story polls for reassurance.

WELP……..

Obvies that argument is settled.

After the outfit chit chat, I thought it would be fun to FaceTime everyone we knew because who doesn’t do that on a Saturday night?

All in all a successful round of drunk dial FaceTime.

While I was very busy sitting on my ass, watching football and drinking Skinny Pirates all weekend, my twins had their first soccer game! And yes, I know they look like actual kids instead of little kids. Time please slow down.

In recovery on Sunday, I enjoyed a gluten free chicken pot pie, in which I also add a bag of peas. Therefore, it is called Pea Pie.

By Sunday night I could hardly keep my eyes open due to all of the fucking social time spent with two men in my life that have known me forever and which I didn’t have to make small talk. But it’s the first time since….2019 (?) that I’ve done something two nights in a fucking row. Our night ended early like this….

Happy 3,820 week in Rona hell. Hope you are all keeping your sanity and if you ever think you’re on the brink, just remember I always have been and always will be a walking shit show. So know that you aren’t alone.

Love ya, Mean it!

CBXB

Buy Me a Drink

Village People, Iowa Style

Iowa is my home. It’s where I was born, raised, grew up and attended college. All four of those life instances took place in different parts of the state. I was born and raised in a small town (I refer to as home home) of 1,200 peeps, moving to the Des Moines area when I was in eighth grade (which is where I “grew up” so-to-speak) and became a Hawkeye when I attended the University of Iowa. Due to a downhearted event with the passing of a cousin, I needed to get home home (where I was born and raised) in the corner of Southwest Iowa with a few day’s notice earlier this month. Me trying to figure out how the fuck to get where I needed to go with 3,612 moving parts was like the worst algebra problem I ever faced.

Do I fly into Des Moines or Cedar Rapids? Who can pick me up on short notice? Should I try to borrow a car? What about getting back to the airport? Do I have to have the gold star on my license yet to fly? WHAT IS GOING ON?!

Performing this feat is like trying to get to Mars (where’s Jeff Bezos when I need him?) because once you land at one of the two major airports in Iowa (IF you can find a last minute flight there), you still have hours to go by car in order to wind up at your final destination. Thank fuck I have friends and family who put in time and effort acting as travel agents, angel investors (flying to Iowa isn’t cheap in the first place and one of the flights I saw to book cost $6,000 with a layover – my ticket was nowhere near that pricey) and Pussy Posse sitters to make this last second shit happen for me.

Once travel plans were set on a Friday for me to leave the following day, I acted as if I’d never flown anywhere before and found my leopard suitcase full of 2019’s St. Patty’s day shit.

After unloading it, I texted a family member, asking what she was wearing to the funeral service (as I was planning on a black dress). She responded….and I could only imagine one thing pictured below.

Now, I’m not the end all be all when it comes to the fashion police but there are a few things I loathe more than Crocs footwear (when not properly used for yard work or as non-slip work shoes) but jean capris rank right up there (she did not, in fact, wear jean capris to the funeral, FYI).

After throwing what black dress I thought might fit into a suitcase, I was ready to head to the airport where I realized I hadn’t checked in 24 hours prior to my flight and if you’ve ever flown Southwest, you know that’s a grave mistake. The seating starts at A-1 and ends at C-50 in order of boarding the flight.

Indeed I was the final person to board the full aircraft and I realized I forgot my hand sanitizer but that ended up being the least of my worries once I found the last open seat.

Arriving to Iowa without incident, I was greeted by Aunt Crispy and Uncle Toddy (the man who taught me to snort knox blocks up my nose as a kid) at the airport and escorted to their fab abode for a night’s stay.

Lipstick on my teeth is a sign that we’ve been in masks far too long and Iowa, ya girl noticed you need to do a better job in wearing them. I mean, especially since your Governor Covid Kim, isn’t helping protect you or your kids.

Adding further insult to my fashion sense, the fella picking me up from Uncle Toddy’s the following day arrived to escort me to Southwest Iowa in what he calls “time savers”. Naturally I voiced my concern at his footwear choice immediately but all was forgiven being that he adorned an Iowa Hawkeye hat even thought he attended the rival school.

Upon arrival at my stay in Lenox, I was shown to the guest quarters where the bed made me resemble André the Giant. I couldn’t decide if it was adorable or creepy as fuck but regardless of my feelings, I slept on a very accommodating air mattress that would allow for my short legs to stretch long.

Even with a comfy sleeping arrangements, I basically stared at the back of my eyelids all night, dreading the next day in that we were saying goodbye to my smiley cousin Linda.

While it was a hard, it was a beautiful day to celebrate Linda’s life. I was the youngest grandkid by far on this side of the family. Linda was ALWAYS so pretty and doing something cool that seemed so fabulous to me and I couldn’t wait to be like her (and her sister Dianne) one day.

Linda, Dianne and their groupie.

The “didn’t wear Jean Capris” and “Time Saver sandals with socks” folks ordered a gorgeous flower arrangement for the celebration service. This complicated as fuck bouquet was ordered from a town over, that didn’t deliver and proved to be a challenge in the day’s events because we (Jean Capris) worried about getting it to the final destination for no less than 12 hours in the three pieces it came in.

Thank fuck there’s no stoplight in this town because by going slightly under the 15 mph speed limit, the flowers, statue and candles in this arrangement made it in one piece. They knew better than to entrust me with anything that could be dropped – or – broken if I had a slip and fall (very common for me these days).

One of the best things about awful days like this are seeing the peeps and family you grew up alongside. The folks who shaped (and tolerated my ass) in the early years of life. We’re missing a few cousins for the now vs. then pic but they were there with us in spirit.

I couldn’t imagine what my closest cousin on this side was feeling, losing her older sister. But man, it felt good getting to hug on her and see that she has not aged one bit with the time that has passed.

I ran into a few teachers of my old teachers at the service and I could NOT bring myself to call them by their first names even though decades have passed and we’re friends on Facebook. Mrs. Shawler, Mr. Peterson, and Mr. Oliphant (who assisted me when I got hit in the face with a baseball bat in 7th grade and told my terrified ass I was going to need stitches), were all among the crowd paying respect.

It’s been at least a dozen years since Time Saver and Jean Capris had their photo nabbed with these three gorgeous gals. The most contemporary pic they have of me is my high school senior class photo and I’m not mad about it in the slightest because I pretty much peaked in high school.

As we gathered to celebrate Linda’s life, you couldn’t help but see the love she had for her family and especially, her kids.

I’m so very thankful and lucky to all of those who helped get me to my final destination in a day’s notice. Being home home meant the world in order to say goodbye to my cousin and hello again to family I hadn’t gotten to lay eyes on in real life for years. The trip was brief, sad and fulfilling in all of the ways.

As if we need this reminder in today’s world, say what you need to say, hug when you can hug and love the fuck out of people while they’re here.

Also, don’t wear socks with slip on sandals – no matter how much time it saves you.

Stay safe out there. Remember others as you go about your days. You never know whose life you could be saving by getting vaccinated and masking up.

Thanks for being a part of my village.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

BUY ME A DRINK

Weekend Winks – Sun and Summer Fun!

Oh, hello there! Long time no talk. I’ve been dealing with a cyberstalker of sorts for 16 months and it requires me to be hyper vigilant about what I post on all social media accounts and especially this blog. But since there isn’t anything I can do about it (until I end up on Forensic Files, my fave true crime show), I’m gonna start blogging my brains out again. Fuck it.

You know I love the shit outta my pool and the Music City weather was gorgeous this weekend to make it a two day extravaganza! Sleepy joined in on the sun fun all weekend. So did the man behind my shoulder, casually photobombing our selfie.

Sleepy gifted me a new magnet but while you’re trying to read it, please also enjoy the view of my homegrown boobs. The one and only positive of gaining 50 lbs after Rapegate (I’ve since lost 20!) but I really, really, really, really don’t wanna lose my trauma tits because I’ve never had anything other than an A cup since fourth grade. And I didn’t have to buy them! Whoop.

NO SHAME IN MY GAME.

While I was sipping away in the sun, my Iowa twins were having a foam partay. I wanna get one of these and throw The Pussy Posse in it just to see what happens. The machine brand is FOAMO and you can find it here on Amazon if you wanna support billionaire Jeff Bezos’s next penis shaped rocket ship. (Full disclosure I have an Amazon Prime membership). You can also get it at Target but it’s a bit pricier.

Princess B was pretty pumped about her new back to school kicks and who can blame her? Oh the joy of loving the last of summer vacay days before school (if Rona lets it be in person, which might I remind you to WEAR A FUCKING MASK even if you’re vaccinated. Asymptomatic, vaccinated folks can still transmit the virus to others including KIDS).

I got to FaceTime with one of my goddogs, Maxie Saturday. His mama, Boston Barbie was also allowed to talk – some. I mean, does he love his Auntie Captain or what?!

Speaking of love, this little shithead has tried to escape the bounties of endless spoiling granted to her at the Mini Manse twice recently. I lost my big toenail in one of the instances. She thinks it’s all fun and fucking games to see me schlep behind her, while my sciatica screams at me to stop. She’s lucky she’s so goddamn k-ute.

Sunday was certainly a fun day! Dada CBXB came in for a fab day at a mostly quiet pool. We’re greasing up our livers for family tradition Hawkeye touchdown shots that are gonna be down our hatches in less than a month. YeeHAW!

He also loves when I fetch him drinks and when he switched from rot gut (lowest end vodka possible mixed with Coke) to beer, he said it was in a koozie already.

Save Big Money at Menards! He also sported his fave t-shirt gifted to him forever ago by Miss Mt. Ayr. Red, White and Brew, Baby.

Dada CBXB left before I was ready to head back to the Mini Manse, so I was again, called upon to fetch something for him. Can you tell whose shoes are whose?

Sleepy stayed to hang and keep the drinks endlessly flowing, so I never quite know what number of cocktail I’m on. She’s sneaky good like that and in the pic below, I think I’m still on libation number one even though we’d been at the pool for four hours already.

When we retired from the pool, my Big Three needed their own happy hour out of my bathroom sink. Even thought I have six water bowls and a goddamn cat fountain, they need to drink out of a faucet. Jesus fuck. My vet always says she wants to come back in another life as one of my Pussy Posse. Can we blame her?

While Rocky, Fabio and Ruby Sue were sipping away, Prissy wanted to remind me how sorry she was about scrambling out the door (I think she can collapse her rib cage like a mouse and squeeze through any opening). She is highly aware that wrapping herself around me like a scarf is a sure way to ease my hate/love her to like/love her again.

She’s also aware that today is a BIG day for us. It’s our two year anniversary and I honestly don’t know how either of us ever lived without the other before we met. Happy Gotcha Day bébé.

It’s always a pile on when the white noise machine hits play. The Big Three come in this order: Rocky, Fabio, Ruby Sue. And they all want to sit in the same spot by my head. It’s really fabulous for my neck. Prissy sleeps on the other side butt-to-butt with me. When the lights go out The Little Three make their way into my queen size bed for a fun snooze fest.

As the numbers of Rona climb – AfuckingGAIN – please know that I will be using my Irish accent anytime I see Tennessee’s piss poor governor, Bill Lee, or my very unfavorite Senator Marsha Motherfucking Eat Shit and Die Blackburn. These two ding dongs are highly responsible for the lack of unvaccinated Tennesseans, Lee fired our state’s Dr. Fauci for trying to create better vaccine outreach last month and Nashville’s Rona numbers were up 400% in July. Nashville’s unofficial slogan is “love thy neighbor” so lets FUCKING DO BETTER.

If anyone else I know gets Rona and dies from what could have been EASILY prevented I may spontaneously combust. You are not a super hero. You are not immune. Wear a mask for others and just be a good human.

I really don’t prefer the way I look on fire anyhow.

Stay safe. Mask up.

Love ya, Mean it.

CBXB

BUY ME A DRINK