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 – The Buck Stops Here

You know those weekends that you think are going to be low key? Mine started out on Friday with a heavy pour of pinot noir and snuggle down with the fur balls.

Wine down Friday.

Saturday rolled around and I could hardly get out of the bed, even though it was an Iowa Hawkeye game day.

Caturday canoodling.

I mean, with lay outs like the one below, I decided to crawl back into the throne and frolic with the fur balls.

A king almost falling off a queen sized bed.

The Hawks were going to play a number three ranked Ohio State University (whom I loathe, have always loathed and will continue to loathe forever and ever amen. Maybe it’s because you’re supposed to say THE Ohio State University…maybe it’s because they seem to piss every major bowl game down their leg, maybe it’s their cockiness….you choose). Dada CBXB and I almost didn’t get together because my he was having his cable worked on and we weren’t sure it’d be done by the game. I also think we both figured that being the 20 point underdogs, it may be the most boring game of the Hawkeye season.

Cheerleading from bed.

A game against THE Ohio State University several years ago is the reason we started taking touch down shots (to keep the games more interesting for us Hawk fans when we scored maybe one touchdown per game).

Then this gem of a text rolled in from my sister. Who, may I note, lives about 25 fucking minutes from the University of Iowa and Kinnick Stadium where kick off takes place. EVERY. SINGLE. Saturday she asks:

A) Who the Hawks play

B) What time the game starts

I, in turn, always love asking her who the Tennessee Titans play. Her guess this time goes back to when our dad played for the Baltimore Colts (who are now located in Indianapolis for you non sports fans). She’s a huge football fan, obvies.

I got all game day gussied up and headed out to watch what was possibly going to be the worst ass beating in the history of our team. It’s not that I don’t have faith in my Hawkeyes – I do – however, it’s sometimes heartbreaking being a fan because when we’re bad we’re very, very bad and when we’re good we rock.

On my way!

The game started and as I was saying, “Jeez it’s really lou-…” the Hawks got a pick six and scored for a touch down eight seconds into the game.

“At least we lead once this game,” said Dada CBXB.

Then, something miraculous happened and Iowa scored again.

Surprisingly a second shot as Dada said, “Well, at least we lead some of the game.”

Shot three game and we were silly with excitement.

NO ONE thought we’d have four touchdowns on THE Ohio State University during the first half (let alone the entire game).

Colin Cowherd, a sports media personality with his own pod cast hates the Hawkeyes with a passion. Even when Iowa had a perfect 12-0 season two years ago, he found holes to poke. Well, he taunted with a Tweet during halftime….

….SUCK IT Colin, ’cause the Hawkeyes kept on steam rolling. Cowherd really does owe everyone at the Deadwood bar in Iowa City a PBR.

We were ultra prepared for an OSU comeback in the second half but instead, the Hawkeyes kept on trucking and gave our livers a run for their money.

Shot fucking 5?!

Holy SIXTH!

Our reputation precedes us, as even our loyal Facebook touchdown shot counters noticed we had posted nothing during the entire game, as we typically document each shot taken.

HEY-OH we posted the last shot taken of the game!

THE BUCK STOPS HERE at shot seven.

With a final score of 55-24, all of the Iowa fans rushed the field…

…as did yours truly, only virtually.

I mean, how could I miss out on a moment like this – that will most likely never happen again?

Victory shot for good measure, along with how the rest of the night felt.

Even the Internet took notice over the ass beating we handed THE Ohio State University.

Being that I thought I would be sober Sally upon the completion of the game, I didn’t pack a bag to stay at dad’s….but I who am I kidding? I wouldn’t have changed out of my Hawkeye gear anyhow. I may or may not still be in my game day clothes and I may or may not change out of them until we lose again.

Not ashamed of this walk of shame.

Here’s hoping you’re having a week as high as I’m feeling. My head is still in the clouds because the buck stopped here.

CBXB

 

Trashtacular Family Tradition

The white trash classiness that is my life continues as another season of college football kicked off last week.

My dad and I started a tradition a few years ago to celebrate every touchdown that our favorite college football team, the Iowa Hawkeyes, scored with a shot of moonshine (this way no matter what the outcome of the game, you can have fun – even if your team sucks – which is how this lovely tradition began. Unless they score nothing of course, and if that’s the case, get a new team).

First shot of the season.

First shot of the season feels so good!

Naturally, you can’t do shots of moonshine without something to coat the belly first, so we had our finest tailgating treats out before the 11am kickoff.

Finger lickin' good.

Yes, that’s my blogfamous Shit Dip and you should really try it this weekend.

Our freezer stash of Popcorn Sutton’s Tennessee White Whiskey was prepped and ready to go for the season opener.

Iced

Chic shenanigans await.

Much to our delight, Iowa scored on the opening drive of the game, which meant moonshine was downed at precisely 11:11am on a Saturday morning.

Touchdown Iowa!

Touchdown Iowa!

The second Hawkeyes score of the game came just before noon and we decided it best to flaunt which shot we were on with our digits.

Double the fun!

Double the fun!

In the third quarter, Iowa snuck in another touchdown making the score 24-0, which didn’t disappoint us – although it did make trying to do a selfie with three fingers in the air a tad difficult – but somehow we pulled through.

Triple threat.

Triple threat.

While Iowa let our opponents score twice, we answered with a fourth touchdown, making the final score 31-14.

Waaay funner by the fourth.

Waaay funner by the fourth.

You’d think it was lights out after a four moonshine shot victory but over the last few football seasons we’ve gained quite the tolerance for alcohol that makes chest hair grow whether you like it or not. So, thankfully we had plenty more of everything needed to round out the first college game day.

Double fisting at its finest.

Double fisting at its finest.

And the countdown for next week is on.

Who’s with us?

CBXB

CBXB!

How to be a Bad Best Friend (and Husband)

Ah, best friends.

Always around, never letting you keep anything bad down.

Ah....besties.

I’d just eaten rotten buffet shrimp. I swear.

Besties are always there to help you with bad hair.

Nice 'do.

Stick to your day job Scooby.

My mean gay bestie delights in bringing up just how far we go back.

We've known each other HOW long?

Memories painful due to time passed.

But I draw the line when a best friend doesn’t know how to properly spell my birth name.

There's NO MOTHERFUCKING H.

There’s NO MOTHERFUCKING H in my Megan.

So when it came time to paybacks going out when my gay bestie was in town, I made sure Scooby was primed and ready with wine…

Day drink.

Day drink #1.

And then beer….

And drink.

Day drink #2.

Topped with flavored moonshine.

And drink more...

Day drink #3.

By the time we got to the bar, Scooby’s world was spinning faster than a tilt-a-whirl and I kindly offered to take the lightweight back home.

This is your body on wine, beer and moonshine.

This is your body on wine, beer and moonshine.

But never fear! Gay best friend’s husband was near!

Hotter than a speeding bullet,

Hotter than a speeding bullet, Mr. Scooby zoomed in knowing just what to do.

Mr. Scooby directed his husband out the front door and into my parked vehicle, where he secured drunky into the front passenger side seat as he pretended to drive by moving his hands back and forth on the steering wheel, knowing Scooby would fall fast asleep.

No one will notice, right?

No one will notice a passed out gay guy, right?

Right.

Right.

Turns out Mr. Scooby and I are such extremely caring, thoughtful, kind souls that not only did we partake in martinis galore…

Cheers!

Don’t worry. We locked Scooby in.

… we decided to take the party four blocks down the road to a dance floor.

Scooby who?

Scooby who?

The club got so hot, I made Mr. Scooby take his shirt off and then I made an impromptu push up bra to compete with his pecks.

I got so hot, I made Kevin

Even if you’re straight, you can’t hep but appreciate!

And when my feet hurt enough to take my heels off, we went to check on our sleeping beauty who had moved down the seat about four feet.

Safely strapped in.

Safely strapped in.

Makes you think twice about misspelling my name doesn’t it?

Best. Friend. Ever.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Bird Shit and Losing Bets

The Nashville weekend started early with a chance to go see a Beatle in all of his glory – for free!

This didn't suck.

This didn’t suck.

Taking full advantage of what our suite had to offer, waiting for Sir Paul to take the stage wasn’t difficult.

Suite life

Stalking up in the suite.

Gals on a budget know what to do when presented with free food.

Double fist.

Taking full advantage of the free. Gals on a budget know what to do when presented with free food. Double fist.

Cramming it in with class.

The concert was beyond fantastic, with Sir Paul playing for nearly three hours.

American, England and Tennessee flags flying high. See that small black one in the background? It was a pirate flag, which I assumed was for me.

American, England and Tennessee flags flying high. See that small black one in the background? It was a pirate flag, which I assumed was for me.

Naturally I had to snap my photo with the rock star and I’m pretty sure it turned out good enough to be my Christmas card this year.

Me

You can totally tell where I am, right?

Seems that flying on a kick ass concert high can be sucked right out of you the following afternoon when involved in a minor parking lot accident.

With someone who doesn’t speak English.

BOom

Fun times on Friday.

It did seem as if there was a small rain cloud over my head because while walking to a concert (yes, my third night in a row and yes, I’m still exhausted) I managed to get shit on by a bird. Without noticing it in my hair or my hand until I looked down to take a long guzzle of wine at the bar pre-show and then rushed to the bathroom.

Classy lady in the bar alert!

Bird shit. No shit.

Not bullshitting about the bird shit.

When the concert finally ended (Bluegrass shows promise two acts on the ticket, then invite everyone they know to come and play a song, which can make a concert last four hours), I mosied my way back to the mini manse to find this prize waiting for me by the door…

Left me this sweet surprise as he alwyas finagled his way out.

Ted’s way of showing me he’s done being a cone head.

Ted had a bum ear last week that he wouldn’t leave alone, therefore was forced into being in an uncomfortable state (you know, because he acted like the cone weighed 500 fucking pounds).

Ear infection?

Just trying to heal this little biatch.

It seemed like a small miracle the ear healed because every time I turned around Mr. Bear had weaseled himself out of the embarrassing accessory.

And then puked his way out of it.

All the shit I do and this is the thanks I get?

Cone head no more.

Good news arrived via text on Saturday morning proving that my niece, Princess B is going to grow up and be a rock star.

Rock star in the making.

Don’t worry, I’ll work on getting her a sparklier wardrobe.

It was also a big game day, as my blogging buddy Mark Bialczak’s alma mater was playing mine this weekend in college football. We had a virtual pinky bet that the loser had to post a big, smiling photo of the winner enjoying the game.

Food prepped

Our food was prepped.

Moonshine

The moonshine flowed for 31 points.

But in the end my team, the Iowa Hawkeyes were out played by the Maryland Terps and lost 31-38.

We took it pretty hard.

Losers

Loser face.

Drowning in my sorrows.

Loser post game activity.

But after we drowned in our sorrows for 30 seconds, we realized there was more football to watch, more snacks to eat and more cocktails to cuddle.

All peppy after taht.

Congrats Mark!

Who says sore losers can’t be smiling? Mark’s victorious photo will be posted on the blog soon.

Enjoy your week and be careful in parking lots…

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Moonshine-a-Rita Style

My Nashville weekend was full of cats (naturally), a little singing, snacks and all kinds of cocktails.

Being that I was about to piss my pants upon entering my mini manse Friday after work, I was unable to stop and conduct my typical greeting to my adoring felines. Not having any of that, Mr. Needypants wouldn’t leave me alone for all of 32 seconds to go to the bathroom.

Can't even piss without a cat in my lap.

Crazy cat lady can’t even piss without a cat in lap.

After showering New Cat with the appropriate affection on the toilet, I rushed around as was hosting a vocal rehearsal for No Name Band and needed to pull the proper ingredients for a successful evening.

Friday night delight

Successful ingredient #1: A buffet of Captain for Skinny Pirates.

Snack attack.

Successful ingredient #2: A few ‘healthy’ snacks.

While all of the rehearsal shenanigans were taking place inside, these two couldn’t have cared less what was going on.

My less than impressed audience.

Curiosity definitely not killing these cats.

Earlier in the day, I received a brand new (to me) queen size bed (I’ve been sleeping double my entire adult life) for free and was beyond excited to give it the first test run.

Happy for all of three minutes.

Happy for all of three minutes.

Being that the bed is solid as a rock…I got about two hours of sleep.  But beggars can’t be choosy, right?

While visiting my folks this past weekend, I gave little Elvis a manicure, which he was none-too-thrilled about receiving.

Stop. Mani time.

Stop. Mani time.

It turns out that my niece, Princess B does a pretty good imitation of her feline uncle.

Takes after her feline uncle.

Cray cray cat lady in the making.

Although Father’s Day was a month ago and I am absolutely behind on gift giving (I just like to streeeeetch a holiday out, OK?) I lovingly wrapped up Dad’s gift in my fave hue.

Pink Present.

Pretty in pink.

Teeny tiny hose.

What gigantic man doesn’t need a teeny tiny pocket hose?

I couldn’t stop laughing my ass off at my nephew Prince B, who just learned the meaning of  ‘cheese’ before a photo.

CHEESE!

First time cheeser.

Saturday evening called for some low-key cocktails and company.

Saturday night's alrigh

Saturday night mini soiree.

Snack Queen

Of course the Snack Queen had to have munchies.

After a few libations, we got the Moonshine-a-Rita out for a taste testing.

Mooneshine-a-rita. Boob Juice.

Moonshine-a-rita is also known as Boob Juice (as will make clothes fall off if too much is consumed).

Naturally, I couldn’t just stop with one Boob Juice shot.

Shot # ?

Feels so good when it hits the lips.

And the over consumption of moonshine lead to (no, not clothes falling off – get your head out of the damn gutter!) photo bombing.

Photo bomb!

Sober or tipsy, I’ve got the skills for ruining a pic.

All of the party shenanigans made NC feel drunk by association.

Pussy passed out with PBR. So proud.

My pussy passed out with PBR. So proud.

Once we had a leaning chair calling for someone to sit in, we decided it was time to call the sober drivers.

Call cabs.

Ominous sign of a broken tailbone.

Detoxing by the pool was a fabulous way to spend Sunday.

Detox with sun

Sunglasses hide sins.

In between sips of a bloody mary and dips in the pool, I ran to my fave Hallmark store to purchase a must-have ornament.

Frosen. Christmas in July

Christmas in July with a Frozen theme.

I couldn’t wait to get my hands on this year’s Christmas Vacation ornament, which did not disappoint.

SQUIRREL!

I got the last one – fate!

After the holiday shopping spree and the pool, I was greeted back to the mini manse with two feuding felines on the porch.

Two feuding felines. Ted can't keep his big mouth shut. Wonder where he picked those skills up?

Ted can’t keep his big mouth shut…I’ve possibly been a bad influence.

Giving my precious pussies a lecture in love, I showed them the sibling fondness occurring in Iowa.

why can't they just get along like my B & B?

Why can’t my cats love like B & B?

Apparently the visual sunk in, as this is how we spent the rest of our Sunday.

Come to find out, they kissed and made up.

The kiss and make-up session.

Here’s hoping your week is off to a fabulous start!

Cheers!

CBXB!

How to be Almost Famous on a Cruise

Oh spring break how I miss you.

Not me right now.

Not me right now.

It seems just about everyone I know is packing up and heading to a warm, sunny, sandy, cocktail filled destination at the moment. So while sitting on the porch at my Nashville mini manse with an umbrella shoved into my Skinny Pirate, bird shit under my feet and last summer’s failed flower attempts rotting away in their pretty pots reminiscing on past vacations, I got a fresh email from Carnival Cruise Lines (rub it in my face whydontcha?).

Oh the joys of porch sitting.

How we feel about winters that last too long with no spring break.

Upon being reminded that I won’t be sailing away on a fun ship anytime soon, I decided revisiting a vacay with you would put a little pep in my spring step and give you tips for trashtactic hilarity on a boat.

First, one must kick the trip off with a photo bomb.

Sweet Nana just wanted a photo with her daughters for a holiday card…too bad. We were the last group to get on board and my attempt at a successful bomb even made the photographer giggle after his other 1,998 snapshots.

Last but not least ruining a Christmas card.

Upon boarding the ship, you must rush to your room and make sure the liquor mouthwash you carefully packed (even reattaching the tamper seal with super glue…yep I’m that classy!) did not get confiscated from luggage (God forbid any extra money is spent aboard the ship).

Mouthwash at its finest. Best mouthwash ever.

Mouthwash at its finest.

Next, you must check out the personalized party favors gifted from the gang you’re traveling with…thus finding out where you rank popularity-wise (don’t get your hopes up too high). Our party received tanks with nick names listed on the back (I loathe wearing matching giddy-ups but have no shame) as well as personalized drinking glasses.

The problem? My name isn’t Morgan.

Obviously my drinking reputation preceded my appearance on the boat.

To ease your mother’s worried mind, send her a picture of yourself ensuring the height of the cabin deck railings will prevent you from falling overboard into the sea (she was seriously concerned about this taking place – but in her defense I once fell down every single step at the Lincoln Memorial on a class trip).

Look Ma, no hands!

It would take waaaaay too much effort for me to hoist myself over. Plus, I don’t want to get my hair wet. Priorities, yo.

To make your trip above and beyond entertaining, you should seek out the loudest, crudest, funniest, could-give-a-rat’s-ass ladies (one of their crew experienced boat jail before even stepping aboard the ship because she forgot she had bullets in her purse…you know in between her moonshine and tampons) to be your cruise BFFs, calling attention to every single thing you do.

Lost in the bullet offender's bosom.

Quietly lost in the bullet offender’s bosom before a photo op.

Decible breaking

The unabashedly trashy, thunderous, photo loving group.

Having boisterous new pals will make complete strangers come up and want pictures taken with you. Below is my newly acquired bestie, who wanted her picture taken with “crazy girl” (shockingly her words, not mine). She introduced herself as Old Fart, naturally.

Craziness with an Old Fart.

I also suggest adopting a cruise pet to keep you mind off your little fur ball anxiously awaiting your return home. I took an adorable pigeon under my drunken wing, trying to coax him to perch upon my finger by tossing coconut breading his way. As the bird gobbled up the goods I kept scaring the bejesus out of him while trying to shove my digit under his talons.

Pigeon on my finger fail.

To really up the ante and make a famous ass of yourself on a cruise, get tipsy (because it’s raining and you have nothing else to do all day long but guzzle libations).

Touchdown!

When it rains, I pour.

Then while making your way to the bathroom, get motivated to stop and dance with a lone stranger (she was having her own fun, so I needed to crash her party) on the slippery deck to the sweet sounds of Hall & Oates.

The unsuspecting crowd.

A rainy deck full of eyes about to be on yours truly.

Because you’ll be dancing as if no one was watching (like, you know 902 eyeballs) be sure you still have your swimsuit on at 11pm for the complete effect (because rainy days call for swimsuits and no wardrobe changes) as you act like you’ve never pranced around in your damn life.

Celebrate good times, c'mon!

Celebrating my mad non-rhythmic, making-an- ass-of-myself skills.

All of your dancing nonsense will not only garner you endless stares from passengers the next day, it will also grant you first place in a very special contest. I woke up to this on our cabin door the following morning…

YES! I WON! Wait…

All in all if you follow my steps carefully, you will have a hazy recollection of a fun, eventful, laugh-’til-you-throw-up kinda cruise (or spring break). And you really won’t care that you made an ass of yourself (provided you drink all of your liquor mouthwash).

Ships ahoy!

CBXB

CBXB!