Weekend Winks – Spirits, Sparkles and Small Spaces

First full work weeks after holiday time off requires some celebrating for making it back into the regularity of well, regular life. What better way to do it than a little impromptu girl’s night out?

Girlfriends are the gift that keeps on giving.

Hi 2019. It’s me. Be nice.

While I am pretty sure I gained my body weight consuming every.single.alcoholic beverage I cold get my paws on, I’m back at hot yoga, trying to sweat out all of the impurities.

Nama-trying-to-get-fit.

Those not having to try hard in the slightest are those Iowa twins of mine who got to frolic in the snowfall over the weekend.

Snow Princess.

Snow Prince.

Although, I will say my B-I-L did have his work cut out for him, pulling two almost six-year-olds through the white fun.

Two ton ride.

While I haven’t made a new year’s resolution since fourth grade (I vowed to read 52 books and yes, I achieved that goal and then some because deep down, I’m a librarian rock star at heart), I did locate a possible dream vacation goal for 2019. Thing is, I wonder if all of my pussies can also cross the Canadian border…?

Who’s in?

I mean, don’t they look like they’re ready to be world travelers and not the laziest beings on the planet?

Three of my indoor four.

And for those of you keeping track, I still have this family of four I’m feeding outside. Anyone interested in rescuing? Anyone? Anyone? ANYONE?

My outdoor four.

Aside from my Meowfest goal, I’ve been besieged with social media tags on how I should exit this world. And I have to say, I’d really like this casket now because it matches my pink sparkly bass drum coffee table and I think it would make a good napping station.

I would actually sleep in this now. Morbid much?

What’s a day of rest without a little fun? First Mate and Rach called the first brunch of the season and who was I to say no?

Eeny Meeny Miny Mimosas!

From OJ to grape juice.

Finally, it’s time to take the Christmas decor down from the mini manse. Which meant I needed to climb up into Camo’s attic where he graciously allows me to store my warehouse’s worth of holiday bins. It’s the getting them down part that’s the most fun.

I may or may not still be stuck here.

Good news. I wiggled my way down and now all of my neighbors think I’m moving out, as I’ve decided to store my bins outside of the mini manse.

Nope. Not moving.

S.O.S.
@therosepepper

When the Alexa that I don’t own was no help in de-decoring, I decided to do the next best productive thing and immerse myself into bubbles.

It’s ain’t easy being me….as we’re all well aware.

Cheers!

CBXB

Weekend Winks – Saucy Scaredy Cat and Civic Duty

There’s a fucking saying, “do one thing every day that scares you”… and I’ve always thought it was pretty silly.

Go on a bungee jump? Try chugging a gallon of milk? Jogging instead of walking?

Well folks, I abided by the often used “scare you” quote and ran with it over the weekend (because my friend M. Star made forced coerced asked me too nicely).

Toilet paper on my sparkly pink wedge scares me.

What also scares the fuck out of me is how fast my Iowa twins are sprouting.

Road trip!

Prince B and Princess B were fortunate enough to score tickets to Kids Bop through their parents, thus were escorted to Minneapolis for the big show. This being their first pop rock concert, they needed to fit the part.

Princes B channeled Auntie CBXB in the non-permament pink haired department.

All spray, no stay.

Pop star ready.

What concert goer is complete without signs to hold up while fawning and screaming over the Kid Bop performers?

Already concert going pros.

You know what else is scary? Voodoo got married and I want her wedding ring so badly that I may chop off her finger.

Scary

Voodoo is now a +2.

Cheers to your married years!

Class Acts – First Mate, Voodoo, Bird Lady, Boob and yours truly.

Behind the scenes assy.

It’s also so scary to not watch Hawkeye football games with Dada CBXB because, it’s what we do. Well, what Dada CBXB and I do. Sister CBXB lives roughly 25 miles from the stadium and still, we get texts on game day like…

Because Voodoo’s marital celebration of bliss was in the middle of the Iowa vs. Indiana game, I arrived armed and ready for our Family Tradition shots. This week, we made an exception to do a winning (in lieu of an every touchdown) shot together, which may have been a blessing in disguise because the Hawks won 42-17.

W-I-N shot. With help from Boob and First Mate.

Until next week.

While I was basking in Voodoo’s marital bliss and a Hawkeyes win, the twins were reveling in the first snowfall on Sunday.

The first taste of snow.

Second taste of snow.

While the twins were busy avoiding yellow snow, I was mustering up energy on Sunday morning, trying to remember why in the hell I told one of my besties, M.Star that I would go to my first ever spin class AND then go canvassing. Plus, it was a dreary, rainy day.

Any pussy care to join? Fuck off, we’re good.

M.Star picked me up in her carriage and off to spin class we went. I was mostly worried about having to ice down my crotch afterward.

Will I ever be able to walk again?

A few things happened during class:

• I could not stop staring at myself in the dimly lit room’s mirrors because my cleavage is off the chains due to Rapegate weight gain.
• My foot came out of my shoe that is locked into the bike when I tried to increase the resistance on the bike. Body was obviously saying DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.
• I came in second to last in overall standings after 45 minutes. Bright side? I beat somebody!

Best part is, this was a mimosa ride.

No mimosa left behind.

M.Star then had asked me to go canvassing with her. I thought she meant to the local gay bar, Canvass and was all “hells yeah!” but what she really meant was “let’s go knock on stranger’s doors and tell them they should go vote.”

Plied with alcohol, anything is possible!

We stopped at the local office for a quick run down of what to and what not to say (i.e. I was forbidden to say “Marsha Blackburn is a cunt.” But I was allowed to say, “you should go vote – here’s where you can even vote early.”) It was deemed that M.Star would be our spokesperson and I would be her sidekick along with our mascot, Mabel.

Would you open your door for us?

I dug deep. Into a bottle of wine. And it worked. Civic duty here I am.

A very convincing duo, indeed. Now go get your ass to the polls. NOW.

Back at the mini manse, I was mobbed by the very non-scary Pussy Posse, easing my weekend fears away.

I think I’m gonna take a breather from doing something ever day that scares me. Unless I’m plied with alcohol. Then, I’m pretty fucking fearless.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

 

 

How to Make an Ass of Yourself in NYC

For me, you know it wasn’t that difficult. I mean, I’ve made an ass of myself in Key West. I’ve also made an ass of myself on a Carnival cruise. So New York City was a piece of fucking cake.

I made asked Rasta to escort me as an unpaid Uber driver to the airport early one ass morning to spend a whopping 36 whirlwind hours in New York City, meeting up with my cousin R. Nasty to see The Late Show With Stephen Colbert. As I was doing this trip on an extremely tight budget (as I was saving the small amount of spending money for booze, naturally), I packed food I knew could last me for my less than two day stay.

Hard boiled eggs, popcorn and protein bars.

You shoulda seen the TSA lady’s face.

Sauntering to my gate, it was fate that my fave airport wine bar, Vino Volo started opening that morning before 7am to appease travelers that needed mimosas. And it was located straight across from my gate.

FATE.

How did I commemorate my first trip to NYC with a mimosa that cost the same as a bottle of the fancy champs I typically consume, Cook’s? Of course I asked the bar tender to take my photo – which was a big deal for me as I am a master selfie snapper.

No shame in my game.

For real though.

When I boarded the aircraft, I wanted to get a window seat so I could see the Big Apple as we flew in. Asking what looked like a non-judgemental lady if the seat in her row was available she practically did a cartwheel and said, “I’m so glad you aren’t a fat ass.”

Um, thanks?

Upon landing in LaGuardia, gathering my suitcase (yes, I checked a bag for a 36 hour trip because I could – and it was free, as I was flying Southwest) I waited about an hour for R. Nasty to land from the fabulous Hawkeye state.

I took the opportunity to capture my emotions.

My it’s cool, I travel all the time (to Iowa) face.

My HOLY FUCKING SHIT I AM FINALLY IN NEW YORK CITY face.

Once finding R. Nasty, we were off to the metropolis to live it up.

The most non-city slickers ever.

Being the budget friendly gal I am, I packed booze in my bag. (Free travel tip. I do this everywhere I go unless I’m flying to Iowa where Sister CBXB has a cocktail connoisseur for a husband and a wine closet. I have yet to have any bottle taken out of my suitcase or break – but I do carefully pack, wrapped in my jeans with a box of tampons thrown on top – no one wants to look through that mess. You’re welcome).

We celebrated our arrival with a bottle of fancy champs from Arrington Vineyards, a winery in Nashville that I received for my birthday recently. I knew I was gonna save it for a special occasion and my first time in NYC with my cousin to see Stephen Colbert in honor of his mama deemed most appropriate.

Then it was time to hit the town and acting like any local, I took photos of every bar napkin, drink and sign in sight.

Flash on in a dark bar.

When the bartender asked where the hell I was from, I turned on my non-Southern charm and he bought us shots for us being NYC virgins.

Cheers to cherry poppin’!

I forced myself up in the morning to take advantage of the scrumptious breakfast included in the cost of our hotel room.

I woke up like this. No really, I did.

An omelette like concoction, hydration station and some sort of semblance of meat.

Regardless, I ate it all and then some. I needed fuel for the day to walk around the streets of the city. R. Nasty needed a bit more beauty sleep, so we decided to meet up later. Until then, I was on my own, which is scary as I have zero sense of direction and could have walked all the way to Canada before realizing it (well, my feet would have started hurting first and I would have stopped because I’m a big fucking baby but you get the idea).

Where the fuck am I?

I swore to Christ I couldn’t find Time’s Square. Above is the image of what my eyes saw when I actually fucking Googled “where’s time’s square?”

I almost asked this guy but he seemed a little angry…plus, I couldn’t pay him but I could give him a “FUCK YOU” back.

Suri responded to my insanely stupid question with “Bitch Please, (someone entered that as my name on my iPhone and I don’t know how to change it), you are in Time’s Square.”

FUCKING DUH.

It was then I caught a glimpse of this contraption of stairs with a dude on top getting his picture taken. Uh, guess who also needed it done rightfuckingnow?

I went over to the guy as he came down the steps and asked him to take a picture of me. He laughed kindly and agreed.

Do you think ABC News noticed my jazz hands and will come calling?

As I was hopping down the stairs, there was a small crowd around the man who’d taken my pic and I said it seemed like I was missing out on the joke. Come to find out….I’d interrupted a photo shoot for a Jamaican rapper. And it was the rapper whom I’d asked to take my picture. And the stairs were their prop for the photo shoot.

Uh…..*cue unashamed tourist moment*………

Curly Cash the Jamaican rapper couldn’t have been more nice and accommodating to this ass clown of a tourist.

I’d worked up quite an appetite unabashedly disrupting a photo shoot, so I stopped at Angelo’s Pizza on the way back to get R. Nasty. Who was I not to stop since happy hour started at noon?!

Selfie game on. At the bar. By myself. ‘Cause I’m cool like that.

Let’s not forget the food pic.

After our experience with Stephen Colbert, more selfies and food pics ensued in our NYC fun.

We hit up Ruumy’s Tavern which had a large array of sake cocktails.

I ordered the most naturally named for me booze concoction on the list…Because I Cannot Sleep.

Oh bro-in-law Dr. Cocktail, can you recreate?

Flash on again at the bar. I think this one finally got an eye roll from R. Nasty.

Not wanting our hours full of NYC fun to end, we picked up some booze at Duane Reed and had after hours in our hotel room. Which really was all fun and games…

… until I had to depart the hotel at 5am to catch my flight back to Nashville.

Upon returning to the mini manse, a hot, hot, hot soak was needed for my weary feet (and body…and liver).

The Pussy Posse couldn’t have been more lazy about their mother being back home. All five of them could barely lift their heads and open their eyes when I squealed at the highest decibel possible how happy I was to see their faces.

The Fab Four Pussies

Preshy rounding up The Posse

You can bet your ass I took my non-embarrased, touristy tired ass and nestled in between them for the remainder of the day.

So now I’m wondering if I can ever show my face again in NYC, acting like a cool, calm, collected, well traveled person.

I think we all know the answer to that question.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Glitz, Groping, Girltime

Someone once told me that I was the ‘girliest dude they know’ and took that as a huge compliment. I love sports but I also love my sequins, using a spare bedroom as my dressing room at the mini manse and makeup. I adore makeup. So, it was a dream come true to have a whopper of a package sent to me compliments of Too Faced made possible through my friend M. Star.

I got home from hot yoga and had to take a look at all of my loot in between undressing and the shower, naturally.

No. It doesn’t get much better than this.

March marks my last payment on my Toyota Forerunner! It also marks the time that every cent from my tax return check (and then some!) goes right into the fucker. This year, I needed all new power steering. Once they thought it was fixed, the vehicle was back three more times because it kept leaking fluid. So I started taking power steering fluid wherever I went so I could keep the car on the road.

Classy lady at the bar.

I’ve decided that after dumping $2,000 into my rust bucket, the chances of me getting my dream car of a Range Rover are waaaaaay out of reach for years, so I’m settling for my version below.

Done and done.

Snuggling with my two furry fellas helped ease the pain of my ever diminishing bank account. And while I was gonna stay in on Friday, I was coaxed into making an appearance outside of the mini manse.

Bed heads.

Rasta, our buddy DS and myself lived it up in Nashville’s midtown area.

Tequila + Jell-O = FriYAY

Being ever so responsible, we called a Lyft for a ride home. I sat up front with the driver chit chatting and we dropped Rasta off first and then headed the 45 seconds it takes to get to my mini manse from hers. As the ride was ending, the driver asked for my phone number, which I declined to give him, he asked for a hug and kiss, which I absolutely denied to give him and as I was opening the door to back out of it (worried he’d slap my ass), he instead groped my chest. I slammed the door and ran inside.

I was in shock to a degree and think that after Rapegate, I’ve become somewhat desensitized – although it’s not OK to fall back on that. It’s mentally exhausting to think through this shit and then realize that due to no fault of my own, I get the pleasure to chase this man down through his company and be sure this doesn’t ever happen to any other passenger of his again. This shit is exhausting. And wouldn’t be an issue in the first place if people remembered body basics taught in kindergarten and just keep their fucking hands to themselves.

It took a minute, but was a trigger for me on Sunday, making the emotions of PTSD come to the forefront and well, exasperating other aspects of Rapegate. But such is life and this is how it is for now. So bitchiness is my best friend.

In happier moments, one of my Iowa twins lost his first tooth!

Prince B and his pea sized tooth.

Naturally being related to me, Princess B was miffed she didn’t lose one and get a visit from the tooth fairy. So you know what this gentle soul of a young fella did? He snuck into her room before she woke up and gave her one of the two dollars he’d received.

And he also played tooth fairy dress up with his sister. Best brother ever.

In the biggest news yet, the twins are making their debut in Nashville this week and I. AM. DYING. with anticipation of their arrival.

Saturday was an impromtu brunch date with Bird Lady and as always, I had to have both hands full.

Double fister through and through.

My gal pal found a fabulous place called City Fire with bottomless mimosas (I’m their worst nightmare).

Cheers times two.

Bird Lady then acted as my own personal Uber driver and took me to my hair appointment, where I also kept both hands occupied.

I never want one hand to feel left out.

I received one helluva fun surprise from one of my fave cat lady besties.

Best. Shark. Ever.

All of the pussies took turns in their own personal shark tank. Ultimately, fur flew as one fur baby pushed the other out for a mouthful all day long.

Speaking of babies, my cousin welcomed his first – a sweet baby girl named Lucy Kay!

You’re gonna rock this dad shit.

Fabulous parenting must run in the family because one of my sweet pussies aided me in lunch today.

And cats get a bad rap for being assholes.

In other animal news, GO GET THIS APP NOW.

So, my squad is on the road already today!

Here’s hoping wherever you are, this week feels more like spring than winter already. Am I right?!

Cheers!

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

… 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.

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 from Iowa.

Waaaaaaay too cool for school…

… 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