How to Trash Up a Classy Joint

You can’t take me anywhere.

While in Miami recently, I was lucky enough to be invited to the beyond delicious Bourbon Steak restaurant. I’m sure the staff wanted to run for the hills upon our appearance and hearing my shrill voice laughing at the first photo of the evening which ended up being a group selfie fail compliments of yours truly.

I need longer arms. Or perhaps one of those things Santa delivered every other narcissistic person on the planet for Christmas…a selfie stick!

When entering a fine dining establishment, it’s important to first capture all of your classiness before you disrupt every other diner for two straight hours.

Don’t all restaurant goers get a pic in the entryway?

Hidden trashiness at its finest.

All of your classy efforts will fly right out the window faster than a witch on a broom when you’re unable to decide what to sip on for the evening due to the cocktail menu being as large as an outdated encyclopedia, so you just splurge. No one will look at you funny.

Two is better than one.

Next be sure to capture all of the finest accessories that accompany your experience because if you’re like me, you’re known for whipping together fancy suppers like this…

One of my masterpieces.

So pay no attention when snide looks are thrown your way as you snap a pic of very ordinary items on your lavish dinner table like olives so green it appears as if the Grinch made them.

GREEN OLIVES! HOLY SHIT!

And act cool when a Caesar salad comes out with a swirly bacon hat on top of it.

Is this considered six degrees from Kevin Bacon?

Keep it together when your sushi comes out minus the rice.

If I eat this raw fish I will have the body of Demi Moore, correct?

Being a classless diner means you wolf your food down while everyone else acts like a normal person and eats at a normal speed (and actually chews their food).

Did I do that?

Another thing about fabulously fancy restaurants is their comfortable seating. If you’re too full to move or need to pass out take a nap, simply lie down and do so.

After double fisting cocktails and stuffing my face so fast I wouldn’t have noticed if I swallowed one of my own rings, I sank into  the plush couch where my ample rear resided.

Fancy restaurants require a snooze.

Fancy restaurants require photo bombing.

Fancy restaurants require thumb sucking.

Fancy restaurants require make out sessions with a pillow.

To all of those diners around me, it looked as if I was down for the count.

JUST KIDDING!

When you’re back and at ’em again, it’s smart to get your second wind by drinking a martini and coffee at the same time.

Secrets to lasting all night.

Something else that will help you remain secretly trashy in a classy joint is being joined by a sidekick. Not only did mine expertly photo bomb me, she did the following when I asked her to take yet another picture of me (because I didn’t have enough already)…

Yep, she’s perfect for me.

Once a Sidekick is in residence, it’s important to share every little detail of the fancy eating experience.

So when I discovered a full length mirror with complimentary lighting, I had to get SK in on the adventure.

Oh hello mirror! I’ve never seen myself before. Better get a picture.

Get outta the way bitch. We need the 5,389,013 picture of ourselves tonight!

Victoria’s Secret has not called yet. Weird.

It’s of the utmost importance to act as if dining in such a fine establishment is no big deal, so on your way out of the restaurant don’t make a scene where everyone in the restaurant can see you.

No, that’s not a plastic bag hanging off of SK’s purse as you might expect. It’s a scarf. Because it’s terribly cold in Miami.

But then again, what fun is it dining in a classy place without bringing a little tashtacular attitude?

No fun. No fun at all.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

 

Merry Moments

I’m baaaack!

Miss me? Because I missed you as I greeted 2015 with about ten extra holiday pounds and 40,401 less brain cells.

Hello 2015!

While on a blogging break, I hung with my two favorite pussies more than I care to admit in Christmas pajamas.

Yep. Still a crazy cat lady.

I played reindeer games in hopes that Saint Nicholas would soon make an appearance.

All dolled up with no Santa in sight.

Ted nestled down in his Juicy Couture Pussy Palace while visions of life without New Cat danced around in his furry head.

Seriously contemplating how to get rid of NC. I raise sweet cats.

A key for Santa was accompanied by my favorite treat.

Who wants milk when you can have Captain?

Christmas morning found Princess B playing her kick ass guitar from Auntie CBXB that makes all kinds of loud, annoying noise.

Rock star in the making.

While Prince B got his very own puppy from me.

I almost wrapped up New Cat but settled on this instead.

And Princess B was so upset that she didn’t receive a stuffed dog too, she taught my mom a less by punching her in the face.

WHERE’S MY PUPPY GIGI?!

And so she stole Prince B’s gift.

Mine. All mine.

While I stole all of the chips and AE French Onion dip in the house.

‘Tis the season of overeating….

Which came in handy as I was leaving for Miami the following day.

Toes in the sand with my chip and dip gut.

But I visited the local Jewish Community Center where I tried to work off my Christmas caloric intake but couldn’t figure out how to use the damn equipment.

Workout fail.

Trying to shed ten pounds in one morning didn’t really work out in my favor but that was OK as I was too busy kissing 2014 goodbye to care.

I love you Captain.

I also got to hang with some real hipsters who obviously got all dolled up for the big night.

He had chips and dip over the holiday too.

And as it came down to the final seconds of 2014, I celebrated in my normal subtle way.

Double horns for double NYE excitement!

There was much to anticipate in the early days of 2015 – like one more Iowa Hawkeye football game. And while I wasn’t with my family to celebrate in our traditional game day ways, we still ‘tailgated’ together.

Representing the Hawks on the beach.

Overalls on in Tennessee.

Preparations for the game being made in Iowa by Prince B.

While Princess B could give two shits about the upcoming game, as she was still busy with her brother’s puppy.

When the ominous clouds rolled in over the beach, I shoulda known what was going to happen as the Hawks have had a piss poor season. Even though we were playing an equally dismal team, the University of Tennessee Volunteers, I just knew it would be a good game, forgetting the fact that I attended one of the top party schools in the nation (according to a 2013 report). So I suppose fun in the sun got the better of my team.

Lightning did not strike for my Hawkeyes.

After a 21-0 Vols lead in the first quarter I was suddenly thrilled that I didn’t make any bets with the Tennessee fans around me. Finally in the third quarter of the game Iowa scored but still managed to make the Tennessee Vols look like a Superbowl team.

A much needed celebration touchdown shot.

The Vols had not won a post season game since 2008 and I was less than thrilled that my Hawkeyes were able to grant them a big W with a final score of 45-28. And so I did what any fan would do after losing a hideously named Taxslayer Bowl…

Drowning in my salt water sorrows.

Upon my arrival back to Nashville, I was greeted with fuck you flowers from my buddy and Vols fan, Camo.

A masked insult in a lovely bouquet.

And I thought maybe 2015 wasn’t starting off on the right foot…

Um, I think I miss you 2014.

Until I ran into my best friend at Dalts, which made everything right in the world again.

Skinny Pirates to the rescue!

So now I am back in love with the idea of a new year and I plan to kick 2015’s ass.

I hope you do, too.

CBXB

 

 

Hasta La Vista, Baby!

Look out Florida! I have my sequins and sunscreen packed, heading to Key West and Miami for the next week, where I’ll be basking at the beach while cabana boys deliver endless Skinny Pirates. Teddy is vacationing at his grandparents house where he’ll play with his two feline uncles and be spoiled rotten, coming back home with a catalogue of demands longer than Santa’s naughty list.

We had to get one last post in before our departure and wish everyone a fabulous weekend.  Naturally, Teddy wanted it to be all about him, as he admired himself in his handsome holiday tie (like the world revolves around him…oh wait…mine does – Jesus this cat knows me well) while scrolling through pictures.

Ted loving Ted

So we leave you with happy Spring thoughts – if you hear of any breaking news in Florida, I had nothing to do with it.

Cheers!

CBXB

Do These Boots Make My Calves Look Fat?

Why yes, yes they do.

Living in Nashville the closest department store we have that could be called semi-chic would be our teeny, tiny Nordstrom. While visiting Miami, I got giddy (like leave nose and finger prints on the outside glass window giddy) as I perused the luxury stores at the Bal Harbor Shops.  When I sat down to try on upscale (compared to my Nine West usuals) boots, I felt like Cinderella getting to try on fancy footwear I drool over online.

After about three seconds, I found my fairy tale boots.

Oh yeah. I’m in Bal Harbor, pawing every boot in sight!

Oh the highly coveted red soles….sigh.

Then I slid my foot in, expecting for my life to be suddenly transformed when I zipped them up and strut about the store. And that’s when the storybook magic abruptly stopped.

The life changing moment.

And, my life was transformed. I discovered I had fat calves from f’ing running up Nashville hills and these boots would only zip for a rich, skinny calf. Now I was the ugly step sister, not Cinderella.

Look how far the zipper is from closing!

The clock didn’t even need to strike midnight before my boot dreams were dashed.

Turning to pumpkins before my very eyes!

But never fear, my ultra generous Fairy Godmother appeared! And after a wave of her wand, I was gifted these fabulous, non-calf-discriminating boots (which are beyond gorgeous and way more my speed than the knee-high (or what I call hooker) boots)!

Thank God my ankles are skinny!

And poof!  I was transformed into the Belle of Chanel.

Now how do I ration calories from my calves?

Seriously. How?

CBXB

Trashy Track

While in Miami, I was fortunate enough to visit Gulfstream Racing and Casino Park. It’s an all-encompassing venue that includes horse races, a casino, shops, restaurants and bars. For me, it was sensory overload. I felt like Teddy seeing sequins reflecting off the wall (what is that? where did that go? which one should I chase first?).

But the best part (for me) was being able to sip a cocktail (surprise!) while casing the joint for our next adventure. So of course, I kept it classy, with a side of trashy tourist (I know you’re shocked) during my visit (I was just missing a gigantic camera with a long lens around my neck to complete my look).

On your mark…get set…I wanted to run behind the bars, just to ‘make an appearance’ as the doors flew open.

There was a scoreboard that I couldn’t read but had pretty palm trees all around, so of course a picture was snapped.

The actual track seemed huge while they pranced the pretty ponies around (I took this picture for the poinsettias).

What horses?

Keeping my dream as a Price is Right model alive (I mean, did you see me hand gesture the hell out of a Bently? Better click here if you didn’t), I tried to look as spokesperson-like as possible by my favorite sign.

Keepin’ the game show gesture model hope afloat!

Hello home away from home….

Calling my name.

As soon as I laid eyes on the tiki joint, I put a sold sign up by a chair.

Permanent residency.

Of course all of the sitting and drinking makes one hungry, so we shelled out the big bucks for the fanciest (worst) nachos in the history of the universe (and at every last crumb).

Gut bomb.

We had to take a break from the nachos and horses to perform emergency sliver surgery. Don’t worry, we sterilized the needle with a lighter. High class, I know.

Not sure how this was acquired but needed immediate removal. At the dining table.

Bored waiting on the horses to actually start trotting, we ventured to watch the teeny tiny jockeys (which made me feel as tall as Khloe Kardashian and I am 5’5″ on a good day) prepare to race at the Saddling Paddock. I wanted to ask to get my picture made with one of the jockeys but too terrified I would look like the Jolly Green Giant.

So, I took a picture of the sign instead.

We caught a glimpse of the horses as they were paraded around in a circle.

My favorite number 8! Really, I just like this one because it wore pink, duh.

Look guys, more palm trees!

Once back at our seats we appeared so swanky, our endless movie quoting buddy (“remember that line from Airplane when…” kinda dude) stopped by our table so that we could place bets without having to get up from our very comfortable plastic chairs.

So flattered…until he walked to the next table.

Our place betting friend only collected money, so we had to run (literally from excitement) to collect any winnings.

Uncle Jimmy sprinting for his $2. Exciting!

I didn’t want to bet because I like keeping the money I have (to spend on Captain and clothes), so I went to the bar for another cocktail. And what I saw inspired me to immediately go on a liquid only diet.

Bartenders don’t look like this in Nashville.

To start my food cleanse, I decided it best to double up on the liquids.

Thank God I don’t bar tend in Miami!

Two handing vodka lead to an impromtu photo shoot of all surroundings.

A tractor in Miami definitely calls for a picture, right?

I acted like I’d never seen a tattoo sleeve in my life when I walked briskly behind this guy to get a picture.  Any closer and his girlfriend might have decked me.

SECURITY!

And I tried to have a little swagger as I moved around the place, trying to look like I ‘fit in.’

Who me? I’m a local.

I never made an appearance in the casino but really wished I did when I saw what playing the quarter slots could land.

Where this dude spends most of his days.

Hundred dollar bills, y’all!

Drinks on Aunt Eenie!

Anyone got a quarter I could borrow?

CBXB