How to Beat the Birthday Alternative

Getting ready to start another 365 fresh days, looking back on birthdays of yesteryear has been bittersweet. I’ve lost (and found!) the “celebrate everyday” mantra that I was so used to pre-Rapegate, coupled with the loss of relationships, deaths and general life changes that have been no control of mine.

YOU WILL CELEBRATE. AND YOU WILL FUCKING LOVE IT.

However, peering back over my shoulder now, there are extremely important lessons that I adhere to even today, as I prepare to celebrate another year of fabulous fun.

Huff. Puff. and Blow.

Huff. Puff. Blow.

Still at it.

Thank God I have candle blowing help now.

1) Always take a peek in a mirror before a photo is snapped, forever capturing the loveliness of you on your special day or you may end up with something like this….

My most gorgeous birthday photo ever.

Hello Gorgeous.

Relax already.

Seriously. Stare in the mirror and give a rat’s ass or you’ll be gazing at your lovely self in something as beautiful as a crocheted vest for years to come.

Crochet nightmare

Fashion at its finest accessorized with wispy bangs.

Celebrate

Own advice not taken. Clearly.

2) Upon receiving presents, always act like you’ve just received the best.gift.ever. Even if you have no clue what it is or have no intention of ever wearing/using/displaying/eating/drinking.

Always act surprised.

Holy shit! I love it! No, truly I do.

3) Hold up fingers to commemorate which age you were celebrating, as these photos will end up in albums and you won’t always remember what outfit you wore which year (side note: how hilarious is it that I have a shirt on that says First Mate, First Mate?).

Insist

I’m this many today.

Even if you’re not quite sure how old you are, own whatever you are saying which will demand more attention on you.

Even

If I say I’m two and a half, I AM TWO AND A HALF, ya dig?

When you’re out of fingers on both hands, just count drinks.

Three times….infinity?

4) Cake matters. Choose your design wisely.

Scoobs.

Everyone wants a piece of Scooby.

Then insist someone hand feed it to you.

Keepin' it classy. As usual.

Keepin’ it classy. As usual.

Just be careful if your cake starts on fire due to the copious amount of candles.

5) Practice your ‘birthday face’ so you can look adorable in all photos.

Mug for the camera.

Oh who me? Why yes it is my birthday. I’ll just hold this pose for the rest of the day.

Camera!

Adorableness fail.

Oh hi, just an adorable Mexican giddy-up for a girl who can’t keep her eyes open.

6) Be sure to have a themed party. Even if it involves you looking like an ass clown.

theme

Send in the clowns.

Even if no one shows up, you still look like you got it going on.

7) Dance, jump and twirl to your heart’s content, acting as if you have one ounce of rhythm somewhere in your being.

PARTY!

Shake, rattle and rollin’ expected.

Dance

High kicks accepted.

Head banging also accepted.

Head banging also welcomed but you’ll regret it in the morning. Trust me.

8) Noisy favors are a must. Especially if party goers are under the age of six.

Blow it out.

Blow out birthday party.

It’ll wear them out and force them to be couch potatoes.

Overcrowded couch? What’s better than that?

9) Always go with the celebratory flow.

Go with the flow

Balloons in my hair? Sounds like a good birthday look.

Or at least let someone catch you when the flow gets to be too much for you to stand on your own.

Hey-oh!

Hey-oh!

10) Don’t ever turn away a birthday kiss, no matter how much you think it may hurt your face.

Scruffy faces hurt my cheek. Always low maintenance.

Always being low maintenance, scruffy faces hurt my cheek. Shave already!

Presh loves to French kiss. Don’t judge.

11) Even if you share the same birthday with a cousin (gentleman to my left in photo below with thrilled look on his face) be sure you try to be the star of the show anyhow.

Sharing

Sorry. Not sorry B. Happy Birthday by the way!

12) Never, ever, ever, ever turn down a birthday shot. Ever.

Why thank you

Birthdays taste so good.

13) Enjoy the fuck out of the loved ones who surround you for celebration because you never know when it’ll be the last time.

Teddy B and me.

Crazy and Aunt Crazy Pants.

This year, I’ll be drinking to the wise words my Gma always told me as I bitched about growing another year older, “having another birthday sure beats the alternative.”

She was one smart lady.

I’ll drink to that!

No matter how hard I have to huff, puff and blow on my candles.

Cheers to your birthdays of yesteryear – as well as a year full of the happiest of birthdays for all of us and those we hold dear!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Lucky Charm

Cinderella once sang “you don’t know what you got till it’s gone.”

I’m talking about the hair metal 80s band, not the princess of course.

I think we all can relate to the sentiment in one way or another. However, when it comes to peeps in my life that I love, you’re either in or out. One quality that I gratefully possess is I am never regretful of time spent with folks that I hold in my heart, nor do I take time with them for granted. That’s why for me, when you love the fuck out of someone and they no longer roam the earth, it can be a heart yanking time when their milestones still appear annually.

Aunt Crazy Pants celebrated her first birthday above on February 23, and in honor of this occasion, Mama CBXB came to Nashville and we par-tayed the only we way our family ever does. Trashtacularly.

On ACP’s actual day of birth, we took her to get her cocktail of choice, gin rickeys, at my fave local watering hole, Dalts.

A hungover day later, we went to get permanent tributes of the lady whose favorite color was green, loved shamrocks and owned one of the most unique signatures ever, which is what we were going to have tattooed on our wrists. I gussied up in my green heels I fashioned at the celebration of ACP’s life, perfected my mani to match and we were ready to go.

Naked and afraid.

While mother/daughter bonding over tattoos may seem odd to you, it’s sort of a family tradition in my clan (which should shock no one hence Jell-O shots with Gma at Christmas and Iowa Hawkeye moonshine touchdown shots are also custom family practices, well shared on this blog).

In summers of yesteryear, our families would spend Fourth of Julys at the Lake of the Ozarks. Which entailed not only in boating and booze but often tattoos and belly button piercings. Yes, yes, you read that right. I even think we made each new girlfriend of our dude cousins get belly button rings on their first Fourth with us. (A dream come true family that acts like a fraternity right here folks).

I was with ACP when she got her first ink from none other than the not even close to being world famous Tattoo Ted in the Ozarks.

We may have had one or eight drinks with sun poisoning but what did it matter?

With our history of classiness, we brought ACP along with us in spirit as Mama CBXB and I rolled into the Rebel Yell Tattoo and Social Club that came highly recommended.

When we traipsed through the doors, I’m fairly certain all four folks in the shop on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon were well aware that this wasn’t a past time in which we often partook. Especially when I wondered aloud with Justin, our extremely patient artist, how a tattoo on my wrist would look when I do jazz hands. Because I use them a lot. Like, we seriously had a five-minute conversation about it, he put a stencil on my wrist with ACP’s name facing me and let me look in a mirror before I decided how I wanted the fucking three-inch artwork done.

I mean you guys. Obvies we use them.

All.the.time.

Maybe our novice was a dead giveaway when I asked my mom 400 times in the seven minutes it took Justin to tattoo her wrist if she was going to cry when it was over (she did – Tearfest 2018).

My defense mechanism against physical pain is apparently laughing because it’s all I did the entire time my four-minute ink was being perfected. Justin kept stopping to ask if I was OK and all I could do was giggle in the most unquiet way possible.

All in all, mission accomplished.

Shortest time frame yet most annoying tattoo subject ever to grace Rebel Yell.

Getting any type of tattoo makes one a bad ass motherfucker, right?

I mean, look at my recovery plastic.

So what did these bad ass mother fuckers do? Celebrated with cocktails of course!

And it just so happened that two of ACP’s grandgirls came through Nashville that night, so we all cheersed our hearts out to the lady we love and miss.

Bittersweet without sharing the experience with ACP, there’s something ultra comforting to know she’s right here on my wrist. There have been some dark days for me recently, and I’ve found myself flipping my wrist over, admiring her signature, reminiscing on conversations, knowledge, 1,573,982,400 laughs and love we shared over her lifetime.

What I come to think of most is right after Rapegate, ACP was one of the first phone calls I received as the news made its way through my family. Her first words were, “you’re already one helluva strong lady – but you’ll be the strongest woman you know now.” The same words rang true when we found out she had terminal cancer six months later – and I repeated her words of wisdom back to her.

While cancer can go fuck itself, I’m comforted by the fact that I knew what I had with ACP before she was gone. Which is why her absence is ever present, more so now that I’m a bad ass mother fucker with a fancy signature on my wrist.

Know what you’ve got before it’s gone.

Now who wants to go get tattoo sleeves with me?

It could be the experience of your lifetime.

CBXB

Weekend Winks – Abu Dhabi Derby Day

Ever wonder just how cliché it is to be a crazy cat lady?

Well, here is a peek into a wild Friday evening with me and my fave pussies.

You may just see two cats.

Rocky and Ted with front row lap seats.

We found ourselves minus plans after staying late the last day of the work week, so we huddled on the couch to catch up on some DVR (before my player spontaneously combusts at always being asked to remain 99% full). Except when we went to watch our weekly shows, a rerun of an Adele concert was on live TV.

But we're all watching live TV. A rerun A adele

And it captivated all of us.

Then between sobs, listening to Adele pine away at whatever it is her magical voice pines for, we tried to call every ex-boyfriend and girlfriend between the six of us (yes I have five furballs – and no, I give zero fucks about what folks think in regard, hence the crazy cat lady label!) because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Adele told us to.

S.O.S.

S.O.S.

After getting zero ex answers across the board (Teddy had the most to call), we woke to a bright, shiny Kentucky Derby Saturday. No one was more excited than Princess B who has discovered the many ‘looks’ Snapchat has to offer (why does my three-year-old niece know more about social media than moi?).

Derby Darling

Derby Darling.

I met up with Bird Lady, using the excuse for the Derby to day drink although we didn’t really adhere to any of the fancy rules.

No horses. No tiny jockeys. No hats. No mint juleps. Still fun

No horses. No tiny jockeys. No hats. No mint juleps.

However, I did place a bet on the race.  Since money is an object to me, I wagered a shot and when this kind gentlemen lost miserably, he paid in full. And now I have a new favorite shot: The Fresca.

I only bet booze. And I won.

I only bet booze.

And somehow this teeny tiny Abu Dhabi bar mug ended up in my purse by the end of the evening.

Trophy of sorts.

Trophy of sorts.

Sunday was for lovin’ on all of the mamas and mine was showered with flowers.

CBXB flower power mama.

The power of flower.

My sister was getting extra specially spoiled on her third mother’s day with a manicure, compliments of Princess B.

Princess B has mastered the Mother;s Day mani.

Just like the spa.

Obviously.

Obviously.

Bored Prince B waited patiently for the paint to dry on his mother’s nails so she could be off doing better things.

Can't be bothered.

Like pushing these two in a tire swing.

IMG_1754

Mother’s Day isn’t just for those chicks who have squeezed human life out of their bodies.

No way. No how.

Do you know how hard it is to open a bag of food every damn day?

Scoop a littler box?

Give every little furry being their own attention before they ignore you for 23.75 hours per day?

Exhausting.

Sweet friends reminded me of my status in the world.

Turns out, for us cray cray fur ball ladies, you really can buy love.

Turns out, you can buy love.

Preshy thinks so too.

Preshy thinks so too.

There was no better wind down for this mom of five than my sudsy Sunday soak while everyone was participating in their 23.75 hour daily ignore fest.

Just what a mama needs.

Just what a mama needs.

Here’s hoping you got just what you needed this weekend.

Cheers!
CBXB

CBXB!

 

My Mom Kicks Ass

Roses are red, violets are blue,

Today is your birthday, Mom and here’s a poem for you.

Favorite pictures from the past are always a hoot,

This one is my favorite although I look like a goof.

Yo Mama

Often times through the years we looked so cute,

Good times

But sometimes I see photos I wish we could color mute.

Did a rainbow throw up on this picture?!

You’ve lead us through the sea of life,

In the sea of life, you taught me how to keep my head above water...

Like a bright, shining, ray of light.

Made mon Russ

While two girls were just perfect for our close knit clan,

Yo Mama

You were thrilled to add a son-in-law and then twins to the fam!

Fun Day Father's Day!

You’re a party girl at heart,

And everyone always wants you around when the fun starts.

Taught me the value of a good cheers!

You taught me the importance of good cheer

And how to dance with jazz hands showing no fear.

And how to keep the party going strong!

Some folks were jealous of me, having you as my mom

And I don’t blame them one bit because you’re the bomb!

Like mother, like daughter!

So for some birthday fun, put your dancing shoes on

For tomorrow night we’re going downtown to get our honky tonk on!

Love you!

CBXB

CBXB!

Yo, Mama!

Roses are red, violets are blue,

Today is your birthday, Mom and here’s a poem for you.

Favorite pictures from the past are always a hoot,

This one is my favorite although I look like a goof.

Yo Mama

Often times through the years we looked so cute,

Good times

But sometimes I see photos I wish we could color mute.

Did a rainbow throw up on this picture?!

You’ve lead us through the sea of life,

In the sea of life, you taught me how to keep my head above water...

Like a bright, shining, ray of light.

Made mon Russ

While two girls were just perfect for our close knit clan,

Yo Mama

You were thrilled to add a son-in-law and then twins to the fam!

Fun Day Father's Day!

You’re a party girl at heart,

And everyone always wants you around when the fun starts.

Taught me the value of a good cheers!

You taught me the importance of good cheer

And how to dance with jazz hands showing no fear.

And how to keep the party going strong!

Some folks were jealous of me, having you as my mom

And I don’t blame them one bit because you’re the bomb!

Like mother, like daughter!

So for some birthday fun, put your dancing shoes on

For tomorrow night we’re going downtown to fawn,

All over Bruno Mars as he sings us his songs!

Surprise!
CBXB

CBXB!

How to Make Your Mom Piss Her Pants

And/or throw her back out…

When I was a kid, my friend Scooby (yes, the one who was just here this weekend. Miss our shenanigans? Do yourself a favor and click here,) had a knack of hiding in my front bushes at any time of the day or night.  He’d wait for the opportune moment to pop up, pound on the windows and give my mother a heart attack (her chair sat right next to the window), therefore making her piss her pants or throw her back out (thankfully, she has a strong heart but a weak bladder after two 10 lb babies).

The master of suspense would also creep around the back of my house on a Saturday night, while I was watching movies downstairs and just stand in the light outside the double french doors and stare.  My sister and I would scream bloody murder, therefore making my mother sprint like an Olympian to the basement from her slumber.

So what better way to spend a drunken Saturday afternoon when Scooby was visiting Nashville than to perform a surprise attack on my mom? It was a no-brainer in our book.

Bah!

Surprise!

Is that a pee face?

Is that a pee face?

Full disclosure: The pictures below are staged reenactments.  No mother was hurt during this photo shoot.

blah

She can’t believe history is repeating itself.

Full Disclosure: A reinactment

Do you like the props we added for dramatic effect?

I’m proud to state that no bladders were emptied and all back muscles remained in tact during this scare.

Does that mean Scooby is losing his edge?

Gotcha!

Revisiting the chest clutch.

My mom sure hopes this is true.

CBXB

CBXB!