Two Ghouls Are Better Than One

Oh Halloween, how I’ve always loved thee. The 31st day of October was – and still remains – the kick-off to a long-awaited holiday season for me.

I'll cut a bitch

Even at the tender age of three, I’d cut a bitch.

With an assist from my dad.

Letting Dada CBXB (you know, the guy who dresses up like Pam Anderson) do all of the carving work because even way back my nails were “jewels, not tools”.

In a small Iowa town where I was raised, we had costume parties at school and church (when you used to be able to call it a Halloween party complete with witches and bats, instead of a fucking bland Fall Festival with scarecrows and hay bales – why are there fun haters? Why?), parades to prance proudly down our eight block Main Street (where every single one of the 1,200 citizens showed up) and so much trick-or-treating mania, I’d have to come home halfway through the evening just to dump my candy (hiding it all from my dad in the dryer or it’d be gone by morning) because my pumpkin got so overloaded, it was too heavy for me to carry.

hall

Forget my adorableness for one second – what about the clown behind #165?

ped

The Halloween parade. A spectator sport for the entire town.

In my younger years, I carried the burden of celebrating Halloween by myself and being a lone Cookie Monster got frustrating.

Ho Hum

One is the loneliest number.

Begging my parents to procreate, I was presented with Sister CBXB (you know, the one who called my dad a goddamn son of a bitch at the age of four) who was immediately awarded with side kickin’ it as my lifetime partner-in-crime (lucky her). If I was going to be dressing up (oftentimes making an ass out of myself in later years) she was going to be doing it too, by god (town parades included).

In the beginning of our twosome, we were all about cutesy costumes.

Sugar'n' Spice

The rock star and Raggedy Ann. A little sugar for my spice.

The ‘cute’ theme seemed to carry on in our early years.  Except for the tilt in our heads…and the fog in the background…and the overall sinisterness of this photo.

Creepy Hollow

Cute masked crusaders in Creepy Hollow.

As we grew older, I wanted a little edge (well as much edge as an elementary kid and toddler could muster) to our giddy ups. I let my young inner badass out, as my sister scared the pants off no one.

very busy

That’s right. I was hardcore even in elementary school.

We slid slightly into the ghoulish department as my sister joined me in grade school.

Scardey Crow

Scaredy crow and premature mini old man. Almost spine-chilling. Almost.

Then I graduated to truly frightening and fearful territory as I crept toward junior high.  Pebbles was not impressed.

Pebs

I’m also starting to wonder if there was any other color of hair paint than green, since that tends to be a trend here.

When we thought we were oh so grown up, our costumes reflected our mature attitudes.

Lady and the Tramp.

Lady and the Tramp. Or Princess and Sock Hop Girl…however you want to look at it.

We were reminded in following years just how far from adults we were…especially yours truly. A recycled mask and costume from a previous Halloween hid my “I’m way too old for this shit” attitude toward trick-or-treating when I was forced to go with my younger sister.

Barley a Boo

I can’t tell who’s more excited – the monster or the witch.

And being older we’re not so much cute, cuddly or even scary creatures…we’re just mostly cocktailed.

bl

The odd couple. Pocahontas and Kid Rock.

Now that we’re miles apart during the costuming time of year, it’s fun to look back at our sisterly ghosts of Halloween’s past. But what’s even more fun is seeing her twin goblins growing to love the holidays as much as she and I did as kids.

Scary season #1.

As

Permanent partners-in-crime.

Scary season #2.

I know, I know. The cutest fucking dog and cat you've ever seen.

I know, I know.
The cutest fucking cat and dog you’ve ever seen.

Scary season #3.

Princess Leah and Yoda

Star Wars at its silliest.

Scary season #4.

A mermaid with her super hero.

Scary season #5.

Captain America and a Princess Peacock.

No matter how you choose to spend Halloween, here’s to having a side kickin’ ghoul for your spooky festivities.

Happy Haunting!

CBXB

CBXB!

Partners in Pumpkin Crime

Growing up (and still today for yours truly), Halloween was the kick-off to a long-awaited holiday season.

I'll cut a bitch

Even at the tender age of three, I’d cut a bitch.

With an assist from my dad.

Letting Dad (you know, the guy who dresses up like Pam Anderson) do all of the carving work because even way back my nails were “jewels, not tools”.

In small Iowa town where I was raised, we had costume parties at school and church (when you used to be able to call it a Halloween party complete with witches and bats, instead of a bland Fall Festival with scarecrows and hay bales – why are there fun haters? Why?), parades to prance proudly down our eight block Main Street (where every single one of the 1,200 citizens seemed to show up) and so much trick-or-treating mania, I’d have to come home halfway through the evening just to dump my candy (hiding it all from my dad in the dryer or it’d be gone by morning) because my pumpkin got so overloaded, it was too heavy for me to carry.

hall

Forget my adorableness for one second – what about the clown behind #165?

ped

Spectator sport for the entire town.

In my younger years, I carried the burden of celebrating Halloween by myself and being a lone Cookie Monster got frustrating.

Ho Hum

One is the loneliest number.

Begging my parents to procreate, I was presented with my sister (you know, the one who called my dad a goddamn son of a bitch at the age of four) who was immediately awarded with side kickin’ it as my lifetime partner-in-crime (lucky her). If I was going to be dressing up (oftentimes making an ass out of myself in later years) she was going to be doing it too, by god (town parades included).

In the beginning of our twosome, we were all about cutesy costumes.

Sugar'n' Spice

The rock star and Raggedy Ann. A little sugar for my spice.

The ‘cute’ theme seemed to carry on in our early years.  Except for the tilt in our heads…and the fog in the background…and the overall sinisterness of this photo.

Creepy Hollow

Cute masked crusaders in Creepy Hollow.

As we grew older, I wanted a little edge (well as much edge as an elementary kid and toddler could muster) to our giddy ups. I let my young inner badass out, as my sister scared the pants off no one.

very busy

That’s right. I was hardcore even in elementary school.

We slid slightly into the ghoulish department as my sister joined me in grade school.

Scardey Crow

Scaredy crow and premature mini old man. Almost spine-chilling. Almost.

Then I graduated to truly frightening and fearful territory as I crept toward junior high.  Pebbles was not impressed.

Pebs

I’m also starting to wonder if there was any other color of hair paint than green, since that tends to be a trend here.

When we thought we were oh so grown up, our costumes reflected our mature attitudes.

Lady and the Tramp.

Lady and the Tramp. Or Princess and Sock Hop Girl…however you want to look at it.

We were reminded in following years just how far from adults we were…especially yours truly. A recycled mask and costume from a previous Halloween hid my “I’m way too old for this shit” attitude toward trick-or-treating when I was forced to go with my younger sister.

Barley a Boo

I can’t tell who’s more excited – the monster or the witch.

And being older we’re not so much cute, cuddly or even scary creatures…we’re just mostly cocktailed.

bl

The odd couple. Pocahontas and Kid Rock.

Now that we’re miles apart during the costuming time of year, it’s fun to look back at our sisterly ghosts of Halloween’s past. But what’s even more fun is seeing her twin goblins growing to love the holidays as much as she and I did as kids.

Scary season #1.

As

Permanent partners-in-crime.

Scary season #2.

I know, I know. The cutest fucking dog and cat you've ever seen.

I know, I know.
The cutest fucking cat and dog you’ve ever seen.

Scary season #3

Princess Leah and Yoda

Star Wars at its silliest.

Here’s hoping you have the perfect partner in Halloween crime.

CBXB

CBXB!

The Skeletons in My Closet

Growing up (and still today for yours truly), Halloween was the kick-off to a long-awaited holiday season.

I'll cut a bitch

Even at the tender age of three, I’d cut a bitch.

With an assist from my dad.

Letting Dad (you know, the guy who dresses up like Pam Anderson) do all of the carving work because even way back my nails were “jewels, not tools”.

In small Iowa town where I grew up, we had costume parties at school and church (when you used to be able to call it a Halloween party complete with witches and bats, instead of a bland Fall Festival with scarecrows and hay bales – why are there fun haters? Why?), parades to prance proudly down our eight block Main Street (where every single one of the 1,200 citizens seemed to show up) and so much trick-or-treating mania, I’d have to come home halfway through the evening just to dump my candy (hiding it all from my dad in the dryer or it’d be gone by morning) because my pumpkin got so overloaded, it was too heavy for me to carry.

hall

Forget my adorableness for one second – what about the clown behind #165?

ped

Spectator sport for the entire town.

In my younger years, I carried the burden of celebrating Halloween by myself and being a lone Cookie Monster got frustrating.

Ho Hum

One is the loneliest number.

Begging my parents to procreate, I was presented with my sister (you know, the one who called my dad a goddamn son of a bitch at the age of four) who was immediately awarded with side kickin’ it as my lifetime partner-in-crime (lucky her). If I was going to be dressing up (oftentimes making an ass out of myself in later years) she was going to be doing it too, by god (town parades included).

In the beginning of our twosome, we were all about cutesy costumes.

Sugar'n' Spice

The rock star and Raggedy Ann. A little sugar for my spice.

The ‘cute’ theme seemed to carry on in our early years.  Except for the tilt in our heads…and the fog in the background…and the overall sinisterness of this photo.

Creepy Hollow

Cute masked crusaders in Creepy Hollow.

As we grew older, I wanted a little edge (well as much edge as an elementary kid and toddler could muster) to our giddy ups. I let my young inner badass out, as my sister scared the pants off no one.

very busy

That’s right. I was hardcore even in elementary school.

We slid slightly into the ghoulish department as my sister joined me in grade school.

Scardey Crow

Scaredy crow and premature mini old man. Almost spine-chilling. Almost.

Then I graduated to truly frightening and fearful territory as I crept toward junior high.  Pebbles was not impressed.

Pebs

I’m also starting to wonder if there was any other color of hair paint than green, since that tends to be a trend here.

When we thought we were oh so grown up, our costumes reflected our mature attitudes.

Lady and the Tramp.

Lady and the Tramp. Or Princess and Sock Hop Girl…however you want to look at it.

We were reminded in following years just how far from adults we were…especially yours truly. A recycled mask and costume from a previous Halloween hid my “I’m way too old for this shit” attitude toward trick-or-treating when I was forced to go with my younger sister.

Barley a Boo

I can’t tell who’s more excited – the monster or the witch.

And being older we’re not so much cute, cuddly or even scary creatures…we’re just mostly cocktailed.

bl

The odd couple. Pocahontas and Kid Rock.

Now that we’re miles apart during the costuming time of year, it’s fun to look back at our sisterly ghosts of Halloween’s past. But what’s even more fun is seeing her twin goblins growing to love the holidays as much as she and I did as kids.

Scary season #1.

As

Permanent partners-in-crime.

Scary season #2.

I know, I know. The cutest fucking dog and cat you've ever seen.

I know, I know.
The cutest fucking cat and dog you’ve ever seen.

As we’re on the eve of Halloween, you should take a look at the old skeletons in your closet.

You aren’t a fraidy cat, are you?

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Prep for a Parade

Prepping for a parade in small town America is serious business.

A wave fit for an unclassy queen.

A wave fit for an unclassy queen.

First things first, you must start the day off on the right foot in order to be thinking clearly when decorating your parade chariot.

First

Breakfast of parade day champions.

Once you’re finished guzzling down breakfast, it’s time to pimp the parade rides.

Prep

Our parade committee working on finishing touches.

Gussied up golf cart

Gussied up golf cart.

It is important that you get gaudy as humanly possible in your finest parade threads.

Get as gaudy as humanly possible in your finest parade threads.

A parade queen and princess adorned in the finest plastic necklaces you can find in America.

Be sure your parade float is tuned up and ready to roll (even though you won’t be driving and are too busy drinking Bloody Marys).

1952 Triumph TR3

A 1952 Triumph TR3 acting as my parade chariot.

Under the hood.

Looking good under the hood.

A hot rod of a classic car can never, ever be driven without the appropriate hand ornaments.

We should have thrown Grey Poupon from the car instaed of candy.

With a driver like this, we should have thrown Grey Poupon instead of candy at parade gawkers.

Once the preparations are complete, check to make sure everyone is looking their holiday best.

Pops, CBXB and MMM ready to roll.

CBXB, Miami Mini Me and Pops ready to cruise.

If you happen to have more than one vehicle in the parade, be sure to scream and shout whenever you see them pass by.

Our other chariot.

Our other chariot.

Avoid the temptation of throwing out all of your candy at once by taking endless selfies.

Selfie 1,487 during a 10 street block parade. I have mad skills.

Selfie 1,487 during a 10 block parade. I know, I know. I have mad skills.

But don’t get too absorbed in selfies and forget to enjoy feeling like small town royalty while waving your patriotic scepter at parade bystanders.

This is how we roll.

This is how we roll.

Once the eight minute parade is over, your arm will ache from waving profusely at people who are wondering who in the hell you are, your hand will throb from throwing 32 pieces of candy you meant to aim at toddlers but accidentally threw it straight into the arms of bratty teenagers and you’ll need to drink another one of these STAT.

First

Parades are exhausting.

And while it may take many cocktails to help unwind from the exciting festivities, you’ll find satisfaction knowing the parade could not have been the same without you and your crew.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Oh Say Can You See

Patriotic Trio

Patriotic Trio

The Fourth of July holiday weekend took me out of Nashville and on a road trip. Much to my dismay, a stop at Kentucky Fried Chicken was part of my journey.

Did you know that KFC proudly serves buffet style?

Buffet of Germs

Menu from my own personal hell.

I opted for anything that didn’t require being served from the dishes and serving utensils surely manhandled by 1,437 people before me. So I got a boxed meal to go, which made me get creative in the bathroom as I didn’t want to set it down on the floor, baby changing station, counter top or any other space that looked as if it hadn’t been disinfected since 1999.

Road trip germ avoider

Thank God for my thighs of KFC steel.

Holiday attire is a big must in my book and I was beyond delighted to find mini top hats awaiting my arrival.

Attire

Red, white and sparkly headband? Yes please!

As I was taking fancy up a notch, my dad was busy being the “King of Awesomeness” (who made him this pin? WHO?!) which I assume is a button he will never, ever, ever forget to put on any shirt he wears for the rest of his life.

Tennessee attire

Tennessee Fourth of July attire.

What about those chubby cheeked twins I adore so in Iowa? They, too, were decked out in their finest holiday threads just like Auntie CBXB.

Iowa attire

Cutest little shits I know.

I was asked to jump on stage and sing with a band that’s been celebrating with Fourth of July shows for the last 20 years.

Flew in to sing Stage it.

They flew me in on this plane for the performance. I kid. But that is the stage.

In preparation, my Miami Mini Me helped calm my nerves as she kept a countdown as to how many songs were left before my big debut.

My Miami Mini Me pumping me up before the performance.

MMM not really calming my nerves.

While MMM was tallying up the minutes before I took the stage, I prepped with mouth exercises to ensure I would be able to get all of my words out.

Worked my mouth out before singing.

A classy lady and an ass.

Wondering how excited everyone else was for the big performance?

One of my tens of fans headed out to the car without announcing his departure.

Unassuming vehicle.

Unassuming vehicle.

He was overly eager with anticipation to my performance and needed to nap it off.

Biggest fan awaiting my performance. Which he slept through.

Biggest fan awaiting my performance. Which he slept through.

Sing

Snoozefest 2014.

After my debut, we were able to really let our hair down and party.

Not only did we partake in cocktails but we also practiced one of my fave pastimes.

Photo-bombing.

Celebratory photo bombs!

Celebratory photo bombs!

Check the back.

We’re the strangers in the waaay back who then asked the strangers in the front row to text us the photo. We’re classy like that.

Not to be outdone, my dad had to get in on the photo-bombing action, even if it was mocked up for him.

And not to be outdone...

Dad was only successful with help from the always fabulous @WanderinPoet.

What else does a holiday weekend entail?

An omelet party, featuring Bloody Marys and mimosas.

Omelet bar greeted me after my big show. Well, the e ntire neighborhood but one cna dream.

Not too shabby.

A parade in which I used a Fourth of July decoration as my own personal scepter.

Parades to participate in.

Happy Independence Day from my self-appointed Royal Highness.

A magnum of wine that had to be consumed.

Magnums of wine to guzzle

Somebody had to do it…

And passing out naps on concrete retaining walls.

Forced me to sleep.

Singing, eating, drinking, drinking and drinking can really tire you out.

Not to leave me hanging, MMM decided to get a little shut-eye after all of the events as well.

Mini Me following in my sleepy footsteps.

Following in my sleepy footsteps.

On the way back to Nashville, I rode next to Bret Michaels the entire way.

Drove all the way home next to BM. By the way hat does he know about an RV?!

Why does a rockstar rock RVs?

I was welcomed back to Music City by a fabulous care package from my gal pal and fellow blogger Lisa Johnson Sawyer.

Avon Lady!

Avon Lady @LisaCharlene5 spoiled me!

Box full of happiness!

Box full of happiness!

Wanna know what else was full of happiness upon my return home?

Girl talk with my fave pussy.

This gray little pussy of mine.

Here’s hoping you’re fully recovered from your Fourth of July holiday weekend…I’m not.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!