Weekend Winks IS BACK

Well, well, well life seems to be falling into a sort of ‘normal’ now that the Rona vaccines are out and available. It seems like f-o-r-e-v-e-r but yet justlikeyesterday all of the shit hit the proverbial fan. Who could have foreseen the division created by political so-called leaders in fighting what could have saved hundreds of thousands of American lives by refusing to wear a fucking cloth over one’s face.

Anyhoo, I hope you and yours are well and on the hunt for the vaccine if you haven’t already been shot with the Fauci Ouchie. I’m pumped to say both of my folks are vaccinated and hugs will soon be shared by all of the CBXB clan! WHOOP!

My weekend kicked off with birthday festivities for the second time during Rona. There was nothing that was gonna stand in my way of celebrating this year. I have a full bday recap coming because I’m literally celebrating every.single.day. in March.

Oh hi Rona round two.

I rang in my birthday Wednesday night talking with two of my girls – Miss Bella outta Chicago and A3 outta Duluth.

I’d stopped to get myself some bubbly on my birthday and splurged on a fancy (for me because it was above my typical $6.99 budget) frugal bottle.

I was beyond spoiled to say the very least upon my arrival back to the Mini Manse. This doesn’t include all of the loving I got before, during and still after my day (don’t forget we’re celebrating ALL month and there are three days left in March).

Wondering what was in the tall box, I contemplated if it could possibly be a tent delivered to the wrong address.

Turns out it was delivered to the correct Mini Manse AND was filled with the best treats a girl with Celiac Disease could wish for – a case of GLUTEN FREE DOUBLE STUFFED OREOS that just hit the market and have been impossible to find!

Double Stuffed DELIGHT.

I laid in bed all birthday morning eating Oreos and read all of my messages over and over and over and over. To the point my pussies were trying to claw the device from my hands for some attention.

But Mama’s got some claws of her own. My gal Lash Goddess has been in my Rona bubble and started practicing her talon magic on me much to my delight.

I won the claw fight over the phone, masked up and headed to my fave watering hole on the planet in almost a year…Dalts. Annual birthday Skinny Pirates galore (not unlike a preRona Friday night) for me.

Due to the INSANE amount of rain, it was the purrfect Saturday to stay in bed and binge watch Schitt’s Creek (the show the rest of the world watched at the beginning of the pandemic).

I Netflixed and chilled. Prissy whimpered and whined for a bite.

Nashville has been hit so hard the last 365 days, it’s almost impossible to comprehend everything that has happened. Starting last March with a tornado that ripped through all of Middle Tennessee, a bombing downtown on Christmas morning and ass clown tourists passing Rona around to our citizens because…bachelorette parties are more important than grandma’s life.

GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY. @musicshitty

Insanity poured down on Music City once again. South Nashville was hit especially hard and its demographic of citizens heartbreakingly aren’t typically the type to keep the news in cycle.

Bridge of debris in South Nashville. @musicshitty

Another fun reason I lollygagged in bed was due to being triggered by a rape case in Minnesota. The state Supreme Court of the Land of 10,000 Lakes really knocked the wind outta this survivor’s sails.  A woman was raped while she was drunk in 2017. The rapist was convicted and sentenced in 2019 BUT his smarmy (like for real, who defends rapists?) lawyers appealed to the Minnesota Supreme Court with absolute credibility because IT IS LAW.

This is victim blaming at its fucking highest level. It made me physically ill. Not only because of the similarities to my case but holy fucking shit. A rapist never rapes just once and he’s being given a new trial.

This is absolutely infuriating. ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. It tore me to pieces and I cannot imagine what the victim must be feeling – reeling from – after having come forward, her case making it to court, her rapist found guilty and sentenced, only to be given a new trial UNANIMOUSLY by the state Supreme Court because SHE was drunk. Folks, this is rape culture.

This is why who you vote for matters. It matters a FUCK ton because judicial positions such as these are appointed by politicians in which citizens vote. You know, like how former president Covita stacked federal courts and the Supreme Court with lifetime nominees. THIS. SHIT. MATTERS.

Needless to say, I spent much more of the weekend holding space for myself, while Prissy and The Pussy Posse wallowed in bed with me.

After being fired up for two days straight, it was fitting to start my Monday with the gang who quite literally carried me virtually through the pandemic on Instagram. A workout crew, the Clams, started by Body By Trainor is almost always my saving grace.

Is there any better way usher in a week than with a swift one-two to the face?

I think not.

Love ya, mean it.

BUY ME A DRINK!

I’ll Get You My Pretty

What better way to commence my favorite week of October than by upping my mani ante with a little blood splatter masterpiece?

Not your ordinary apple.

I got a tad ambitious in my manicure adventures but with a glass (or four) of wine, I found my inner confidence beaming through.

To achieve this look, you’ll need a clear, nude or white polish, a toothpick and your choice of a red hue.

Terrifying trio.

After applying Seche Vite base coat, I started with two coats of Sally Hansen Xtreme Wear in White Out.

Hopefully you’re better at staying in bounds than me. Wine makes my lines blur.

To create the blood drips, I dipped a toothpick into a bottle of Sally Hansen Insta-Dry in Rapid Red and started with a single drop in the middle of a fingernail (be careful how much polish is on the end of your toothpick or you’ll have a large glob instead of a small drop – I’m speaking from experience).  Once you’ve dripped in your desired nail locale, use the toothpick to drag the red to the tip of your nail.

Dip baby dip.

After I had my drips appropriately placed, I added little dots of red for a splattered effect. Then, I did one thin swipe of red along the top of my fingernail (still with the toothpick) to tie everything together.

Dripping digits.

Wait about 15 minutes before applying a top coat (I’m in love with Seche Vite Dry Fast Top Coat), as the red globs need more time to dry and will smear if you don’t wait long enough (again, speaking from impatient experience).

While my talons have gotten a few raised eyebrows already today, it’s the best way I can convey my excitement for a beloved holiday. A lady at the grocery asked me why I painted my nails with red stripes (because I fucking wanted to, lady) this morning.

I offered her an apple from my cart.

*Insert evil, cackling witch laugh here.*

CBXB

Hallow-Mani

Naturally.

Known for being anything but subtle, I chose coordinating holiday colors for my Hallow-mani.

Who doesn’t match their mani to their decor?

After applying a base coat, I doubled up on Sally Hansen’s pumpkin hued polish in Crushed. Letting that dry a few minutes, I followed with a swipe of Orly’s GOTH on the tips of my talons and with a slightly steady hand (I like to have two glasses of wine before attempting this step) I glided Salon Perfect nail art in Silver Plated between the black and orange colors.

Just sipping on the blood of my enemies.

No matter what mani I’ve just completed, I always use Seche Vite Dry Fast topcoat. Always.

Terrifying trio.

Always keeping it cool because that’s what a self-appointed Queen of Halloween would do, right?

I vant to suck your blood. Well, really I don’t because it might ruin my nails.

Happy haunting.

CBXB

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

Running Out of Gas

Sometimes when bad shit happens to good people, it can take a minute, a month, a year or beyond until life resumes to some sense of ‘normal’. In my case, I’m still in the month category – eighth to be precise – of recovering, trudging through, putting one stiletto in front of the other, moment by moment bullshit that I didn’t ask for but get to relive every day.

Being that I was already a tad absent-minded and every bit the stereotypical blonde prior to my bad shit, it’s a wonder that something like this has never happened to me until I was a grown ass woman as a short while ago, I actually ran out of gas about three blocks from my house.

Does that light and the constant dinging mean something?

You see, I am now often consumed by my thoughts as I go through the motions. I see someone talking to me but I’m not always processing what they’re saying. I know I should be practicing my once beloved hot yoga or jogging but being alone with my thoughts is sometimes unbearable to the point that I cry.  Which means I’m feeling feelings. Gross.

Being that I’ve been diagnosed with severe stress, extreme PTSD and adjustment disorder (I know, I know, I sound like a dream woman!), I have no clue when or where something is going to be triggered. But I do know that I’m absent-minded as fuck, so I often fall down because I don’t notice the pothole, stairs, curb, drop off in front of me. Or forget to pay bills because, well, that means I have to keep track of something. In accordance with those symptoms, naturally I ran out of gas on a humid, blistering, Nashville morning while I was experiencing what could be described as an intense tiny hangover.

As I puttered to a dead stop in front of a Nashville bus stop on a busy highway, I couldn’t help but get into a hysterical laughing fit. I’m an adult with eyes that missed the yellow ‘warning-you’re-about-to-run-out-of-that-stuff-that-makes-your-car-move’ and the incessant sound that accompanies the light. All I could giggle about is how 2016 has really been shaping up as one motherfucking humdinger of a year.

2016 has done nothing but make this chick run on nothing but empty – especially emotionally – it’s been exhausting. I’m out of gas.

No love for this year.

While I was contemplating what the fuck a gas damsel in distress should do, my iPhone broke the silence and the woman whose voice I hate more than most anything asked me this:

A lot Suri. You can help me with a fucking lot.

You can help me want to shower and change out of pajamas.

You can help me understand this statement fully.

You can help me find my sunglasses.

You can remind me to buy larger bottles of wine on therapy day.

You can give Ted a head’s up when his Mama has had a shit day.

You can tell me why I haven’t been able to sleep in my bed for 7.5 months.

Snapping back into my reality after 38 seconds of wallowing with Suri, the first person to come to mind in calling (although I knew there was a chance he’d be in a moonshine coma on a Sunday morning) was Camo. You know he’s the type of dude who could build an outhouse with a match and whatever else is in the back of his goddamn truck. And I was pretty sure he already had a gas can.

Camo needs a non flammable cape.

After making sure my chariot started – and thankfully it did – I hauled ass the nearest gas station.

Fumegate 2016 over.

While my gas tank took what felt like almost an hour to fill up, I started perusing around my shit show of an SUV in search of a diamond pinky ring that had gone missing. Much to my surprise, my personal luck tank was turning around.

I found the ring – along with what could have amounted to a large order of McDonald’s french fries under the driver’s seat.

Fumegate miracle.

Which got me to thinking about how I’ve been coasting on fumes through life the past 240 days and I started dwelling on the instances and folks who have helped me keep my fumes from fully being extinguished.

Cheers to a full tank.

Family up close and personal depositing some gas.

Family fully blowing my self-esteem up with hot air.

Family cheersing with me across the miles.

Family bringing the Cornhusker fun to the Music City.

Mugs that make working away from the office the thing best ever.

Whiskey in coffee is needed for this shit.

Friends filling up my tank, embracing my cray.

Friends following through on a brunch date because they know you need it.

The more I thought about the non flammable Camo giving my car the liquid needed to work, the more I considered how much has been changing – even if it’s at a snail’s pace.

Easing myself back into the bedroom the only way I knew how…

Netflix, hot pussy, hotter sox and wine.

Then Mr. Bear got extremely demanding, tired of restlessly trying to fight me for room on my leopard couch.

SLEEP THE FUCK IN HERE ALREADY.

The way I ended back up in my heaven of a bed was by having a buddy spend the night who was a tad too intoxicated to drive home. Without thinking, I offered up my permanent bed couch. And you know what? I may not have slept more than mere minutes but I was back in the bedroom saddle again.

Awe yeah!

Another quarter of my personal tank has been filled by Sunday nights being mani night again.

Naked nails are not this chick’s style.

Mani Monday back in all of its glory folks.

Thinking about how lucky I am to have those around me keeping my primary tank as full as possible – and about the teeny, tiny baby steps I’m making are so easily overlooked by myself when consumed by a panic attack or go-to feelings of despair. While I can’t always help how I feel, I know the Grand Canyon I accidentally fell into January 1 of this year through no fault of my own, is something I’m slowly climbing out of (I say slowly because let’s be real…my nails are jewels, not tools).

Now it’s my turn to be the Fumegate Crusader. I’m heading to Iowa this week to assist Aunt Crazy Pants with whatever it is that floats her proverbial boat as she started her fight against that fucking illness called cancer last week.

Dumb and Dumber at their prettiest.

Thoughts on Cancergate.

However, I’m showing up with lighter fluid (and of course wine) to ignite this fight.

Fire stirrer in back not included, so don’t get excited Aunt Crazy Pants.

Here’s hoping that our fumes never run out and we’re lucky enough to always be surrounded by folks who want to keep our gas tanks full.

I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine.

CBXB