The Birthday of Your Bestie

The birth of Sister CBXB was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I didn’t know it at the time but I needed a yin to my yang, a Meredith to my Christina, a Nicky to my Paris, a Sasha to my Malia, a Serena to my Venus, a Solange to my Beyoncé.

A brand, new dynamic duo.

However, we all know I love a glaring light on myself (also known as a spotlight), so don’t think I wasn’t pissed when bébé Sister CBXB was showered with gifts for just appearing out of what seemed from nowhere (I know Mama CBXB will beg to differ, delivering an 11 pound baby). I remember our neighbors Winnie and Clyde came to visit and while everyone coo’d and ooh’d over the bundle of joy, I got a bag of underwear. I think that may have been the first time I thought “what the fuck?” to myself.

I was always quick to remind folks that I was still around while they were admiring new life.

Gpa Morris ALWAYS had her binky (it’s on his right finger). And she always whined for it.
Gpa Morris DON’T FORGET ABOUT MEEE!

I was quickly schooled that two is better than one. I had someone to boss around, throw the blame on and found celebrating, well, everything was better with my forever plus one.

So many things to cheers to over the years.
Easter celebrations from Wonder Girls to Wonder Women.
Snow fort celebrating compliments of Dada CBXB and Uncle LewAss with the Morris Boys.
She’s always a fab sport when I wanna do a celebratory marathon day at the Iowa State Fair.
Never not fun at an Iowa Hawkeye tailgate.

We’ve always known how to say buh byeeeeee to the prior year, letting our hair down, throwing our hands up with a side of snacks we never let go to waste. You haven’t really lived if you’ve never dipped a pizza roll in Rotel cheese dip. Follow us for more classy tips.

Who needs more than two to ring in a new year?

Then, she met my future BIL (bro-in-law) and we had fun ushering him into trashtacular new year’s fun.

Inaugural NYE with BIL.
Who doesn’t have dance-offs on NYE?

BIL was always a good sport, even when we put on booth concerts at local bars.

Never a better duo screaming LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER!

Our audience was always so enthralled they could hardly keep their eyes open,

Before popping the question, I’m sure BIL had to consider what he was getting along with Sister CBXB.

HI. It’s me. I will be your forever third wheel.
I’m so easy to deal with.
OBVI.

BIL put a ring on it anyhow and a round of celebrating properly ensued.

Jazz hands run in the family.

Bachelorette shenanigans were nothing but drunken fun. So much so, we had our folks in tow.

Whose dad doesn’t bachelorette party it up?
She gets her classiness from me.
Once again, obvi.

The big day came and it was so apparent how happy and excited she was to start this next chapter of life.

As newlyweds, she rang the bell with her new hubs, sealing the deal at the Little Brown Church. A photo caught my thoughts…thank fuck it’s not me, it’s you!

The forever and always single, cray cray cat lady. Not mad about it.

Although it was her wedding day, I somehow still managed to bring out her sisterly love in a way.

The look of sibling love.
A look that runs deep.

This life that’s sometimes a party just kept getting greater. Sister CBXB and BIL welcomed twins and the festivities and hoopla got bigger and better.

Seeing her kill it as a mom is no surprise but fuck – no one lied when they say time flies.

How in the actual fuck are these two already nine?!

I’m forever indebted to her for taking any partnering up and kid pressures off of me. I get to be the outrageous aunt, thankfully.

What?
Kids are so easy.

Sister CBXB has put up with me her entire life. Often reacting with the “holy fuck, did she just say/do that?” face in her hands of hilarious embarrassment to be related to yours truly.

She never had any choice in the matter.

No option but to be my forced side kick.

Sisters are a special crew. We lucked out having Mama CBXB and Aunt Crazy Pants as an example of that extraordinary bond. The millions of times we laughed until our stomachs hurt and tears ran down the legs of the older duo, are some of the best times I have tucked away in my memory bank.

My sis has often carried me through life in fab times and the horribly bad. Maybe I’m a reason her back hurts? That can’t be, rather, I taught her how to lift with her legs, right? RIGHT?!

I’m always helping her put her Michelle Obama arms to great use.

Even though it looks like we could possibly be inbred in the photo below, I know she’s always got my back and me hers, no matter the woe. But for real, why does it look like we’re posing for a prom pic? We were on the lookout for Dada CBXB to arrive at his surprise party.

Back to Back
He made it.

Sister CBXB has never met a cake that didn’t meet the inside of her belly.

So today, eat all of the sugary confections with a side of that fancy bubbly!

Thanks for always being the straw holding this camel’s back.

I can’t wait until this cunt Rona is gone and I can come maul you and force you to carry me around for fun. You’re the best of the best, crème de la crème, I hope this birthday celebration grants you with everything you deserve. I’m forever thrilled that I get to be your sister. Thanks for being my bestie.

Cheers, Bitch!

Love ya, Mean it.

The Man. The Myth. The Birthday Legend

Oh dads.

If you are lucky enough to have a dad, have had one or a father figure in your life, then you win. A familiar fixture on this blog and in my life, my dada celebrates his day of birth (along with his twin!) today. Aunt Crazy Pants once doled out advice that I didn’t think much of at the time when I was younger. She said (during some stupid crazy boy drama, no doubt) “No man will ever love you the way your dad loves you.”

This didn’t really dawn on me until I was an “adult” (a term I use for myself extremely loosely these days) and a dude I was living with said to me, “I can’t treat you like your dad treats you.”

BOY BYEEEEEEEEEEE.

I guess I never had to think about it because of the jackpot I scored when my dad chose to be mine. A knight in shining (well, in his case probably rusty) armour. A frugal on the allowance guy whose driving abilities were always affected by how loudly the radio was playing in unknown territory (TURN DOWN Q.102 GIRLS WE’RE IN DES MOINES!). A dad who commuted four hours daily to work but rarely missed an extra curricular activity. A dude who could scare boyfriends shitless with his size but is actually a giant, goofy Teddy Bear.

A father who not only duct taped my glasses together in the third grade (hence the short-lived nickname “Ducky” by the oh-so-sweet 10-year-olds) but also uses the same magic to keep my bumper adhered to my car as an “adult”.

A dad who tells you to “tough it up” when you’re sitting in the superintendent’s office, holding a bloody chin after being hit in the face with a baseball bat during P.E. but remains strong and silent decades later when he’s driving you to the hospital after being raped.

So yeah, Aunt Crazy Pants and her advice rings true – best of luck to a dude ever living up to The Man, The Myth, My Legend.

Celebrating the Big Fella today, please join me as I share some of the valuable…

LESSONS FROM MY LEGEND

Image 90

You should always have your family’s back…

bl

… even if they often attack.

Throw your hands up in the air…

wave

…and wave them like I just don’t care.

Even if you’re a dork inside…

…it’s no matter if you’re cool on the outside.

The art of muscle blowing is unique.

Passed down to generations for upkeep.

Pink isn’t just for girls…

…guys often put the color on for a whirl.

Sequins should be in my everyday attire…

love

 … as you gave me the first bedazzled top I ever acquired.

It’s OK to stand out in a crowd…

…just be sure to do it loud and proud.

Giving is better than receiving…

…except when you let your three-year-old open your gift to be appeasing. 

The importance of slathering on sunscreen daily…

very

 …just be sure to not get too crazy.

The significance of jazz hands…

was

…often help when making demands.

It’s not a road trip…

check

…unless you have rot gut vodka and your finger to mix.

Reminding me there’s more than one fish in the sea…

fish

 …especially whenever a boy has been mean to me.

Being the life of the party…

…is like leading one big, fun army.

The duo that shoots shots together…

…stays together.

It’s important to share…

at the

…even while pigging out at the Iowa State Fair.

It’s OK to relax…

…after a day has been crap.

You’ve carried me through physical hard times…

…even if sometimes it was from too much self-inflicted wine.

Tipping my Skinny Pirates when my nails are drying…

…because you know there’s a silver lining.

Most importantly, not all heroes wear capes…

Not all

…just dads who pick us up no matter our proverbial scrapes. 

So let us all raise our glasses today…

cheers!

…and cheers your birthday away!

Those are just a few of my lessons from…

 The Man. The Myth. The Legend.

Happy Birthday Dada!

Join the twins in a sing-a-long to Coo Coo…

(of course we do not have normal monikers such as Grandpa in my classy family)

We love you.

CBXB

Weekend Winks – Sun and Summer Fun!

Oh, hello there! Long time no talk. I’ve been dealing with a cyberstalker of sorts for 16 months and it requires me to be hyper vigilant about what I post on all social media accounts and especially this blog. But since there isn’t anything I can do about it (until I end up on Forensic Files, my fave true crime show), I’m gonna start blogging my brains out again. Fuck it.

You know I love the shit outta my pool and the Music City weather was gorgeous this weekend to make it a two day extravaganza! Sleepy joined in on the sun fun all weekend. So did the man behind my shoulder, casually photobombing our selfie.

Sleepy gifted me a new magnet but while you’re trying to read it, please also enjoy the view of my homegrown boobs. The one and only positive of gaining 50 lbs after Rapegate (I’ve since lost 20!) but I really, really, really, really don’t wanna lose my trauma tits because I’ve never had anything other than an A cup since fourth grade. And I didn’t have to buy them! Whoop.

NO SHAME IN MY GAME.

While I was sipping away in the sun, my Iowa twins were having a foam partay. I wanna get one of these and throw The Pussy Posse in it just to see what happens. The machine brand is FOAMO and you can find it here on Amazon if you wanna support billionaire Jeff Bezos’s next penis shaped rocket ship. (Full disclosure I have an Amazon Prime membership). You can also get it at Target but it’s a bit pricier.

Princess B was pretty pumped about her new back to school kicks and who can blame her? Oh the joy of loving the last of summer vacay days before school (if Rona lets it be in person, which might I remind you to WEAR A FUCKING MASK even if you’re vaccinated. Asymptomatic, vaccinated folks can still transmit the virus to others including KIDS).

I got to FaceTime with one of my goddogs, Maxie Saturday. His mama, Boston Barbie was also allowed to talk – some. I mean, does he love his Auntie Captain or what?!

Speaking of love, this little shithead has tried to escape the bounties of endless spoiling granted to her at the Mini Manse twice recently. I lost my big toenail in one of the instances. She thinks it’s all fun and fucking games to see me schlep behind her, while my sciatica screams at me to stop. She’s lucky she’s so goddamn k-ute.

Sunday was certainly a fun day! Dada CBXB came in for a fab day at a mostly quiet pool. We’re greasing up our livers for family tradition Hawkeye touchdown shots that are gonna be down our hatches in less than a month. YeeHAW!

He also loves when I fetch him drinks and when he switched from rot gut (lowest end vodka possible mixed with Coke) to beer, he said it was in a koozie already.

Save Big Money at Menards! He also sported his fave t-shirt gifted to him forever ago by Miss Mt. Ayr. Red, White and Brew, Baby.

Dada CBXB left before I was ready to head back to the Mini Manse, so I was again, called upon to fetch something for him. Can you tell whose shoes are whose?

Sleepy stayed to hang and keep the drinks endlessly flowing, so I never quite know what number of cocktail I’m on. She’s sneaky good like that and in the pic below, I think I’m still on libation number one even though we’d been at the pool for four hours already.

When we retired from the pool, my Big Three needed their own happy hour out of my bathroom sink. Even thought I have six water bowls and a goddamn cat fountain, they need to drink out of a faucet. Jesus fuck. My vet always says she wants to come back in another life as one of my Pussy Posse. Can we blame her?

While Rocky, Fabio and Ruby Sue were sipping away, Prissy wanted to remind me how sorry she was about scrambling out the door (I think she can collapse her rib cage like a mouse and squeeze through any opening). She is highly aware that wrapping herself around me like a scarf is a sure way to ease my hate/love her to like/love her again.

She’s also aware that today is a BIG day for us. It’s our two year anniversary and I honestly don’t know how either of us ever lived without the other before we met. Happy Gotcha Day bébé.

It’s always a pile on when the white noise machine hits play. The Big Three come in this order: Rocky, Fabio, Ruby Sue. And they all want to sit in the same spot by my head. It’s really fabulous for my neck. Prissy sleeps on the other side butt-to-butt with me. When the lights go out The Little Three make their way into my queen size bed for a fun snooze fest.

As the numbers of Rona climb – AfuckingGAIN – please know that I will be using my Irish accent anytime I see Tennessee’s piss poor governor, Bill Lee, or my very unfavorite Senator Marsha Motherfucking Eat Shit and Die Blackburn. These two ding dongs are highly responsible for the lack of unvaccinated Tennesseans, Lee fired our state’s Dr. Fauci for trying to create better vaccine outreach last month and Nashville’s Rona numbers were up 400% in July. Nashville’s unofficial slogan is “love thy neighbor” so lets FUCKING DO BETTER.

If anyone else I know gets Rona and dies from what could have been EASILY prevented I may spontaneously combust. You are not a super hero. You are not immune. Wear a mask for others and just be a good human.

I really don’t prefer the way I look on fire anyhow.

Stay safe. Mask up.

Love ya, Mean it.

CBXB

BUY ME A DRINK

Weekend Winks – Hot and Bothered

Wowza was it a fucking scorcher of a weekend in Nashville. Sticky humidity, coupled with high temps was a reminder that summer is here. How did I blink in January and it’s now fucking June?

I’m not really into being a basic bitch if I can help it. I don’t really like the normal flavored White Claws (I know….GASP…) but I will absofuckinglutely drink them if they are a) free and b) in front of my face, being my only choice. However, I found a new poolside fave in the hard seltzer category and it’s fucking White Claw brand. BUT it’s iced tea flavored and didn’t give me a canker sore after having several libations at the get-in-the-water-or-you-will-melt pool day this weekend.

Aside from the weather making me hotter than the hell I will surely grace with my presence one day, I am still seething over last week’s news that Attorney General Merrick Garland will allow the Justice Department to continue to defend Donald Trump (Covita to me). Our tax dollars are being used by the DOJ to defend Covita in a defamation lawsuit filed by a woman he raped in the 1990s, E. Jean Carroll.

It’s the equivalent of me paying for Shane the Rapist’s defaming comments about me. Thinking about it almost makes me spontaneously combust. The fact that Covita used the DOJ as his personal law firm throughout his presidency was gross misuse of power (to which fucking no one held him accountable – aside from Americans voting the motherfucker out of office). The current president slammed this misuse of the DOJ last year but it’s his Attorney General, Garland, allowing this to continue.

Since speaking out about her issues with Covita, (all he needs to do to clear his name is provide a DNA sample to her lawyers because she still has the dress she was raped in – with semen on it), E. Jean Carroll has lost her longtime job at Elle magazine (I unsubscribed immediately) and been at the epicenter of victim blaming. And folks wonder why rapes aren’t reported.

To elude myself from walking around needing a fire extinguisher, I turned to my on screen boyfriend, Rip, who is a character on the TV show Yellowstone. If you aren’t watching this series, giddy the fuck up already. It’s on Paramount Network and Peacock. Season four debuts this Sunday and I’ve been rewatching previous episodes to prep.

We make a cute couple, right?!

Also beyond k-uteness are the twins who performed at their recital this weekend. Thanks to technology we got to tune in and see pics!

This weekend marked my first party post Rona vaccine and it was fabulous to be in a space, unmasked and not feel the slightest bit weird about it. Sleepy’s not-so-little lady is turning 16, which of course is cause for celebrating!

I never thought I’d have to force a kid to take a selfie…but I persevered!

Hat’s off to a sweet sixteen!

I chose the wrong shoes because I forgot what parking is like in Music City when you go anywhere near downtown. The parking lot was gravel, yet I remained in an upright position both to and from the restaurant. That’s a major accomplishment for yours truly, who loves tripping on air pockets like it’s my side hobby.

Shoes most definitely not made for gravel travel.

Heading into a new week is welcomed after the last felt like it was seven years in length. But the sneaky fucking thing that continues to stalk me into being its best friend, anxiety, has taken over the wheel on my bus.

For me, anxiety can be crippling. Not to the point that I can’t function or go to work but certainly to the point that I am in a constant state of flux. I look fine (well, maybe more tired because it interferes with my precious sleep, and then that seeps into your entire fucking life and then I end up in a state of what I refer to as “circling the drain”- it’s supes fun), I sound fine, I walk fine, I talk fine, and on and on. I am just experiencing an internal boxing match with myself constantly. I’m on meds for this type of shit but man, it’s hard not to dwell on what got me in this state in the first place…Rapegate. And……repeat the cycle.

However, one of the methods I gained from my years of recent therapy, is to look forward to the small stuff. And yet another basic bitch trait I’ve picked up in the Rona Times is shitty, ooey, gooey, can’t-look-away-makes-your-life-feel-better trainwreck of the reality TV show, The Bachelorette.

You can tune into my recap of the show on my Instagram stories. Yes, I always dress up for the live reporting on the best trash TV every Monday evening. Never a bride, always a bachelorette. You know what I’m saying?!

Love ya, Mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

BUY ME A DRINK

Love Me, Mean It

Ever know one of those annoying people who won’t shut the fuck up their birthday? Well, now you do.

Cause I love me some me – especially when it’s my time to shine, celebrating the day I graced Earth with my presence. Candles, crowns and a crowd have always accompanied my birthday.

I think far too many folks don’t celebrate themselves to the fullest and that’s a goddamn shame. Shouldn’t we live every day like it’s our birthday? Show ourselves the same self love we celebrate on our day of birth because as my Gma Morris always said, “another birthday is better than the alternative.”

I’ve always loved my fucking birthday. Maybe it was because when I was growing up, parties felt epic because living in small Iowa town, all of the kids from class were invited.

Maybe it was because I share a birthday with my cousin B (LUCKY HIM) and we always got together to celebrate and that meant two parties for me – one with friends, one with fam. He’s the thrilled kid on the left of the pic below.

Either way, I lived to par-tay and last year, Rona really fucked that shit up.

But this year? Oh hell to THA NO. This year my birthday month was going to be honored and acknowledged by yours truly every.single.day of March. Of course, I had some help.

Why thank you, however did you know? Maybe me announcing it daily on IG stories?

The champs popped March 1, 2021.

Why wait for just one day to celebrate?

As a visual reminder, I wore a headpiece or birthday crown daily for all to see.

Cheers to meeeeeeee!

While talking about my second birthday in Rona non-stop, I preemptively took the day off of work in honor to appropriately concentrate on the very important task of celebrating me.

And in case I forgot, I got reminded. (My gawd I have fabulous friends).

When the actual day arrived, I made use of my made just for me booze holder that reads “Happy 2nd Covid Birthday” and filled that sucker up with a Skinny Pirate.

Then I hopped back in bed with Prissy and The Pussy Posse to do whatever the fuck I wanted. To start, I read every single text, social media posts about my birthday and direct messages. Please exit this post immediately if

A) You do not like me.

B) You do not like reading gushingly love filled messages to me that I am going to unabashedly share.

Consider yourself warned.

One woman we have to thank for my love of celebrating every.fucking.thing is Mama CBXB who chose the most appropriate photo to commence the day (and goes to show that I’ve been authentic since birth).

Cutest little faces with well wishes!

After feeling all of the love, I worked out with my fave trainer I found on Instagram last year during the pandemic. She runs the Body By Trainor Experience (@bodybytrainor) and posts workouts daily on her IG page for free. The heart pumping, along with the fact that we are long lost twins, accompanied by the virtual friendships culminated through this community has made me one motherfucking lucky gal.

I even had a workout named after me – HEYOH!

While I didn’t make the 6am live workout, I enjoyed doing it at my leisure along with Hot Mama and Bella in Chicago, and my fave Beast from Canada.

If you had told me a year ago that I would have an assortment of weights that I used almost daily, I would have laughed masklessly in your face. This year, I am clean pressing 20lbs! What? What?

These weights were gifted to me throughout the year by fellow group members. I was using wine bottles and cat litter prior to graduating to real weights.

One friend sent quite a fabulous workout outfit but in lieu of sweating in it, I decided to celebrate in it.

I’m not at a point where I’m ready to go midriff baring however, one’s birthday in isolation is a different story and after I put “It’s My Fucking Birthday” sash on, I threw caution to the wind.

One thing I did not count on was a delivery needing signature. I was back brushing my pearly whites when the knocking didn’t cease on the Mini Manse door.

Pretty sure no one was going to be able to look past my homegrown Rapegate boobs.

Oh hello Dizly delivery from my bestie M.Star. I put this to use the moment the ogling delivery dude left (I hated no moments of it).

Now an annual celebratory must.

Spoke to friends who I’ve only “met” virtually in Canada, North Caroline and Chicago!

Got to talk to my great aunt Marge who puts us all to shame in the game of celebrating. I remember my first time drinking with her, she brought a bottle of champs to Christmas and said soon after, “Did I drink all of that? Who can we prank call?”

Soon after, I enjoyed the rest of my evening on the phone chatting with friends and family while mauling Prissy and the Pussy Posse.

The following day was Friday and it was gonna be my first time back at the watering hole that holds half of my heart.

Birthday gift cards are the best!

Last year was the first birthday I didn’t spend at Dalts since moving to Nashville due to that cunt Rona. So while this year was still tame due to restrictions, I got to go to the bar, see my fave libations pourer, Marja and par-tay with my closest regulars I hadn’t seen in a year.

Skinny Pirate #1.

My lovely Strawberry Blonde met me and stayed sober while I accepted gifted drinks from other patrons at the bar.

A forced photoshoot is never a surprise when you’re with me, either.

1,765,812 more candid photos follow this one, naturally.

I mean, who doesn’t wear a full length pink and gold sequin cape casually?

As you can imagine, my quiet, quiet voice, my very subtle outfit and me shouting every time someone walked by “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!” drew a teeny tiny bit of attention. Unbeknownst to Strawberry Blonde and myself, a fellow customer quietly paid my our tab. We didn’t know it until the end of our eight hour stay but she’d said “I love seeing women celebrating themselves.”

My Sugar Mama requested a photo before she left and prior to my knowledge of her picking up what wasn’t a cheap tab. It was so fucking nice. Like, beyond.

Strawberry Blonde awarded me with a trophy that said “Congrats on Adulting” and I tell you what, we all deserve goddamn prizes for trudging through the last fucking year however we saw fit. This will be the one and only time I throw my weight behind “participation” trophies for all.

The rest of my birthday weekend was spent in bed with The Pussy Posse, Prissy and pizza.

I can’t muster one complaint about celebrating my face off for 31 days. The accessories. The brazen daily announcements regarding me. me. me. all month long on Instagram. The outfit that dared me to bare my belly that’s not quite ready for bikini season yet. The reminder that I excel in the art of not giving a fuck.

So here’s to celebrating you, me and our ability to *almost* emerge shitshow after shitshow of 2020 to a newish norm. Just beware you may wake up looking like this the 32nd morning of your birthday shenanigans.

And it was worth every fucking second.

Cheers to us.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

BUY ME A DRINK!