The Things I Do For Booze

What do you do when it’s snowed six inches overnight in a city that can barely function when it rains three centimeters and you realize that you only have enough wine for one more glass?

First world problems.


Since the Nashville Public Works denied my attempts to sweet talk a street sweeper to drop some vino my way, I trudged out of the mini manse to further assess the situation.

My snowmobile wasn't moving.

My snowmobile wasn’t moving.

So, I went back inside to load up on booze fuel in order to get my energy levels up in order to possibly face Snowmaggedon on my own.

Litle something warm.

Running on coconut rum and coffee.

With a belly full of warm libations, I headed out to haul my ass to the mother of all things blizzard. The liquor store.

Let's do this.

Let’s do this.

Naturally, I gussied Precious the Chug up in a matching outfit, as I needed company on my 1.5 mile walk.

P was all gussed up in a matching outit. Yes, I'm that pathetic.

Yes, I’m that pathetic.

Presh was all kinds of excited until she saw this first block of wet nonsense she’d have to traipse through.


You want me to put my four inch arm in six inches of snow?

She turned around faster than one can acquire whiplash in a fender bender.

FUck that noise.

Fuck that noise.

So then I was off on a lone trip to kill more of my vastly shrinking brain cells.

So I was off in my not pink snowboots.

Losing site of each foot in the snow with every step.

Keeping myself entertained, I took selfies about every 200 feet.

Bending in this

Yep. Still shin deep.

I must say it was a tad eerie being out on typically bustling roads but I had no time to be scared because I was trying to thwart myself from heat exhaustion due to the 18 layers of clothing I’d thrown on myself before leaving my mini manse.

Lovely views

All down hill from here.

After getting tangled in branches that rivaled a Disney villain, I finally made it to the store after 90 minutes of non-wanted exercise.

Treacherous Trees

Treacherous trees.


I shoulda brought a backpack. Fuck.

Being that I didn’t want to over exert myself with back to back 1.5 mile walks (and also being that the entire way to the mini manse would be uphill), I decided to see if the bar next door was open.

Better fuel up before heading up the hill I just about had a heartattack comeing down.

Better fuel up before heading up the hill I just about had a heart attack coming down.

Everyone on the west side of Nashville appeared to be at the local joint, as it was asses and elbows at 4pm.

One tasty cocktail for me.

My kind of fuel.

Just so happens, I met up with some of my favorite gents who were looking for some snow day fun themselves.

Knights in Shining Armor

Snow days don’t suck.

1 100 for the road.

At all.

When it was time to say goodbye, my buddies became my knights in shining armor, giving this busted ass queen a ride up the hill. Naturally I insisted they come in for just one cocktail. And maybe a little guitar playing. And maybe a little dance party. And maybe another shot. Or nine.

We made it home shot!

The ‘we made it home shot’!

A little music break.

Guitar hero.

Because it's a snow day break.

The ‘because it’s his birthday shot’.

Head banging from the couch.

Head banging from the couch.

Because it's we're thirsty shots.

The ‘because we’re thirsty shots’.

Put your glitter kitty in the air. And wave it like you just don't care.

Put your glitter kitty in the air. And wave it like you just don’t care.

Because we can shot.

The ‘because it’s a snow day shot’.

Sock fighting with a chug at its finest.

Sock fighting with a chug at its finest.

Because we can't stop shots.

Because we can’t stop shots.

You know what comes in handy to soak up copious amounts of liquor consumed? Snacks. Unfortunately, due to the snow (and my decision to save myself with wine instead of food), I only had a pan of cornbread to offer as a feast.

Crumbs of cornbread.

It went over well.

All in all, I’d say we partied our cabin fever right out onto the snow covered sidewalks. yeah, I'm empty.

The empty aftermath.

I know I did.

Snow days are hard.

What the fuck did happen last night?!

Snow days are hard.



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Is This Heaven? No, it’s Iowa.

Miracles do happen.

Miracles do happen.

Living in Tennessee, you can’t buy booze or wine anywhere other than a liquor store. I found this out the hard way, searching for a bottle of anything one Sunday afternoon shortly upon my relocation to Nashville (the horror of having to drink water with supper).  You also can’t buy anything other than beer on Sundays after 12pm, which makes one have to pre-plan for any and all Sunday situations (hard for this blonde brain of mine).

If you’re a regular reader, you’re well aware that I’m fond of a cocktail (or five) and often partake in libations with family and friends.

Keeping it classy.

My own version of Kevin Costner keeping his $10 handle of vodka classy with his plastic bag decanter.

One of my favorite pastimes when visiting my home state of Iowa is perusing the most fabulous grocery store of all time, Hy-Vee. With sparkling clean floors, produce that appears to have been grown in the backyard and Chinese food that would put PF Chang’s to shame, there’s not only a helpful smile in every aisle…

My version of grocery store Heaven.

Grocery store heaven.



Unofficial spokesperson for the booze section of Hy-Vee. Which is why I’m wearing sunglasses inside like an asshole.

In Iowa (as in many other smart states), you are able to buy liquor, wine and beer any and every day of the week. You can get it at the grocery store, gas stations, Walgreens, Target, Walmart or a liquor store.

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Just a regular Sunday. Milk, bread, vodka and eggs.

I forgot how easy one stop shopping could be as I twirled my way through the rows upon rows of libations, calling my name for their inclusion in my shopping cart. It’s my own personal field of dreams.

Image 155

If you build it, I will come.

As if picking a gigantic bottle of wine up with my gluten-free crackers wasn’t enough to send me over the edge of bliss, I can also shop for my all time fave collegiate sports team…the Iowa Hawkeyes, while on my way to the check out.

Hawkeye stuff

Intoxicating spirits and team spirits all in the same place?! Be still my beating heart.

While Tennessee is thisclose to passing a bill that would allow wine to be sold in grocery stores (which would be fabulous, of course), I’m lazy and want it all in one place. Because even if this bill passes, I still have to make an extra stop for my beloved Captain, vodka and moonshine.

However, I will still be tickled pink (what other color could I be, really?) if it turns out Tennesseans are able to buy wine at the grocery in the near future.

It's a double fisting miracle!

Double the pleasure. Double the fun.

Until then, I will be dancing in the heavenly Hy-Vee liquor aisles with reckless abandon.

Until you hear “clean up in rum aisle” over the loud speaker.



Weekend Winks – Bruno Mars Style

Bruno Mars was in Nashville this past weekend on his Moonshine Jungle tour and in celebration of her birthday, my mom I went to party down with the rest of the crooner’s 15,000 closest Southern friends.

I let Bruno give me a kiss...

Best kiss of Bruno’s life. Hands down.

A little pre-concert cocktailing at my mini-manse kicked our evening off on the right high-heeled foot.

Birthday Girl worked it!

Birthday Girl worked it!

On the way to the show, we stopping at my neighborhood liquor store (in which case, I’m pretty sure every customer in the store thought I was a hooker, based on the looks I received for my gaudy outfit), for some smuggled concert liquor concessions that I’m able to stuff in my bra with no problems (a small chest comes in handy at times like these!).

Now ya see it...

Now ya see it…

Now ya don't!

Now ya don’t!

After the bra stuffing incident, we (well, mostly me) primped before making our grand entrance onto the arena property.

Thank God for clean car windows.

Thank God for clean car windows.

We followed the beacon to the Bridgestone Arena (who knows where we’d end up without a landmark to follow?!) on a beautiful Nashville night.

beautiful Nashville night

We followed the light…

And of course had to have our photo snapped 400 more times (due to my insistance).

Ready to party!

Ready for the Moonshine Jungle!

Once we purchased our sodas in the arena, I headed to the bathroom stall (Gross? YES. Cost effective? Absolutely.) to mix cocktails with my booblegged liquor.


What more did you expect from this classy lady?!

I was also able to smuggle in my mom’s fave drink in my purse (maybe I should stop blogging about it so every venue in Nashville doesn’t start full body frisking me when I come within 15 feet of their establishments).

Don't tell Carrie Underwood that I was in a bathroom stall with her husband (even if he was only on a cup)

Don’t tell Carrie Underwood that I was in a bathroom stall with her husband (even if he was only on a cup).

While waiting on Mr. Mars to take the stage, I was completely jealous of his gold, shiny, sequined palm trees!


I feel like I need this as wallpaper in my mini manse. Agree?

Trying to avoid the awkward situation where a mother behind us asked that the ladies in our row “stop dancing like strippers” in front of her 12-year-old son (although Bruno Mars does cocaine, sings about sex in about 80% of his songs and uses the F word and M’fer like it’s going out of style and humps the stage with his pelvis, you’re going to get pissed about how we’re dancing?), we held a photo shoot to keep me from getting into a brawl.

Hurry the hell up!

Hurry the hell up, Bruno!

When the star hit the stage, all I could do was shake it (probably not as gracefully as a stripper) for two hours straight.  I got a side ache from boogying in one spot (and I’ve run a marathon without a side ache…think that means I need to up my jogging game?) while trying to avoid pissing off the couple behind me who stood as still as trees the entire show.

dance the night away

Lights! Back up band that danced like the Temptations! Bruno Mars in a leopard shirt! I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

While sitting to let the crowd clear after the show, I thought we had a medical emergency on our hands, as a gal in our row took a plunge over the seats in front of us.

Wonder what she's doing?

Wonder what she’s doing?

And still doing?

And still doing?

She was just trying to get a piece of the Bruno Mars glitter magic that was released at the end of the concert. Of course, it didn’t make any sense to her to walk to the now-golden stairs two feet to her left to pick up one piece from the 5.7 billion that covered the surface. Easier to go over the chair. Much easier.

Trying to get a piece of the glitter magic.

Chair diving for the shiny. So worth it.

Outside, I was wooed by two cute fellas who unlike Bruno, brought flowers to me (and the 10,000 other females who were at the show). I had to leave them broken-hearted because I just couldn’t choose between the two!

It's been so long since anyone brought me flowers, I had a hard time deciding...

It’s been so long since anyone brought me flowers, I couldn’t make my mind up…so I left with Mom.

Keeping up with the theme of the evening, we tried to muscle our way through the entire concert crowd to get into the downtown moonshine bar.

Keeping with the Moonshine Jungle theme, tried the moonshine bar but packed

A Moonshine Jungle tour begs for us to drink moonshine, right?

At a quick glance, we were going to be asses to elbows inside the joint and I couldn’t bear to stand on my feet for much longer after my fabulous shoe selection for the evening. It seems that jumping, twirling and step touching did a number on my tootsies in these babies…

While my feet hurt a tad after all of the jumping, dancing and

How do strippers do it?

Although my feet were a tad sore, I wasn’t about to unload my sparkly kicks, like this person did when his flip-flops apparently gave his feet something to scream about.

Abandoned and broken

Abandoned and alone on the Nashville street.

As we were leaving the downtown area, I asked a young dude and a girl (who I thought was his girlfriend) if he could take our picture he said, “I can do a hell of a lot more than that to you.” Um, OK nevermind. I’m going to ask this Grandpa who probably has never used a digital camera in his life but won’t give me genital warts just by looking at me for three seconds, thanks.

Honky Tonk Time!

Successful birthday celebration!

We woke up the next morning to find my mom had acquired a concert injury.  While walking down the steps in the dark arena, she felt like she was going to fall. Not wanting to drop her precious cocktail, she held onto the railing with just her pinky. She says it still feels really good.

pinky parade

Sacrificing a finger for a party. Smart choice!

And while I thought I was exhausted, parked on my couch for the entire Sunday, Teddy could hardly keep his eyes open after we kept him up until 3am with all of our concert stories (that he really, really cared about hearing).

Lights out the rest of the weekend!

Who the F is Bruno Mars? I don’t care. I need my beauty sleep.

With weary feet, a side ache still thumping two days later and a shriveled up liver, I’m trudging through this Monday like a champ.

And it was so worth it.