Ghouls Night In

Being that I haven’t been in a celebratory mood for the past two years, retrieving my Halloween decor out of Camo’s attic was an exciting feat. Getting my giddy up back after Rapegate, I’m trying to stay on the right track by doing what I would “normally” do, which is celebrate the fuck out of every. single. thing. I can.

So Halloween has been my first glittery stiletto heeled step in the thriving direction. And what better way to get my ass in gear than to host my monthly Supper Club in October?

Yeah…all for the mini manse.

As soon as the bins were in, I was in shopping heaven – being that I hadn’t seen my sparkly Halloween accessories in almost 700 days. I perused my own decor, acting like I was on an episode of a holiday themed Supermarket Sweeps.

Decor for days.

This was also the first time any of my current fur ball amigos had seen any type of Halloween madness from their mama, and it was super fun trying to avoid stepping on a live cat bomb, as they hid amongst everything.

Elsa Pants trying her hand as a ground hog.

As the count down began, I decorated like the Wicked Witch of Nashville, readying my mini manse for a Ghoul’s Night In.

Why would it be worth even putting one decoration out, if you didn’t dress up the outside of your haunted house? Even the Glamingo slipped into her skeleton feather attire.

Grand entrance.

While most mansions have extravagantly large foyers, mine is excruciatingly small – but grand nonetheless.

Instead using my dining room for what its intended, I naturally have a few bars (duh).

The bar cart gussy up.

The liquor bar gussy up.

The side bar gussy up.

The wine bar gussy up.

The fur ball bar gussy up.

No, I do not think I have too many bars. No, I also do not need to attend weekly meetings (*cue eye roll*).

In lieu of dishes in kitchen cabinets, I chose to display Halloween knick knacks galore because…really, dishes are boring.

The stove top was easy to cover because it’s so rarely used.

My piece de resistance happens to be my player piano, which I turned into a haunted forest of sorts where resident pussies often tip toe through like abominable snowmen, seeing what all can be knocked over. Or broken. Or played with to pieces.

Speaking of my pussies, of course their room is also decorated – or else they’d be pissed.

Kit cats killed the witch.

Truth.

After my mini manse was haunted to the gills, it was time to prep for the ghouls.

Appetizing table setting.

Spooky Sangria prepped and ready.

My finest china ready for chili and potato soup.

Chili costume accessories.

All that was left were the ghouls who came to par-tay as my fave non-scary Halloween movie, Practical Magic, played in the background.

Cutest ghouls in Nashville.

Don’t think I let them forget me.

I mean, I am the ghostess with the mostess.

Happy Haunting!

CBXB

Summer Shenanigans

When I heard the grand jury decided to drop my Rapegate case against The Rapist due to lack of evidence, I was bummed – maybe more numb – to say the least. This meant that it was truly over. The criminal portion anyway. Because whether I like it or not, the aftermath of this trauma is still something that I grapple with daily – and know that I always will. But instead of staying cemented where I was upon receiving this news (on my leopard couch, with Ted on my chest naturally) I inched ahead as life proves it stops for no one.

I got this.

After finding myself jobless at the beginning of the 2017, (nothing like being the most impatient person on the planet, waiting for an excruciatingly slow criminal system with nothing but free time on my hands!) I finally landed a new gig. Hey-oh!

Think they get me? More pink please!

A positive work environment is such a welcomed change from what I’ve experienced the past two years – a bully with too much power feasting on the misery of others and a washed up, drugged out psycho who failed to wear any undergarments to work for a boss. This job is a big score for me!

With the help of family and very close friends, I stayed afloat financially – paid my rent, my car note, fed my fur balls and made a much needed trip to Iowa to see family. Less than a year ago, the Dumb to My Dumber, Aunt Crazy Pants, was suddenly diagnosed with terminal cancer after going in for a hip issue.

Can you tell we’re related?

While it has proven a difficult road (as cancer is nothing short of a fucking motherfucker), her attitude and determination to maintain a semblance of her normal life has shown me strength like no other. We watched my Nashville Predators hockey team comethisclose to winning the Stanley Cup together.

Who doesn’t quilt while watching sports?

We even went out and about to grace her presence at the local Mexican restaurant where she is basically a celebrity after a round of treatment.

Three amigos.

Please keep Aunt Crazy Pants in your thoughts, as she’s now under hospice care in her own home. Although, she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.

Her best “Ouiser” impression from the movie, Steel Magnolias.

While back in the Hawkeye State, I also got to see the two peeps who never cease to put a smile on this face.

Princess B was going to frolic her way through her first dance recital and I put my heavily honed make-up skills to work, as her first go-round wasn’t quite the desired outcome.

Her method.

Our shared method.

 

Sheer perfection. And she fucking knows it.

Due to the sellout of the recital, Prince B and I stayed behind for a snuggle date after a little Star Wars walkie-talkie fun.

No Princess Leia here.

Snuggle monsters.

After the babes went down that evening, the adults got into cocktails and had our own recital, reliving dance moves from show choir past.

Sis still has the moves. Obvies.

Catching up with two of my Iowa gal pals it felt like I’d just seen them the week prior, when I hadn’t seen them in a few years. Isn’t that the best feeling?

Fresh start to the evening.

Guess which one of us has our shit together?

Margaritas with mom rounded out my trip before I headed back below the Mason Dixon Line.

In between trying to figure out my headset attached to my work phone…

You guys, seriously. How does Britney Spears do it?

…and lounging weekends away at the pool…

Bring Your Own Boxed Wine,

…the cat cuddling has been heavy-duty.

Spending the majority of the Fourth inside due to rain didn’t quash my celebratory spirit in the slightest.

Red, white and shoes!

With a little red, white and booze.

However, up in Iowa, the spirits weren’t as joyful.

The Nashville weather even cleared up enough for our small trio to head up to the pool, guzzle some cocktails, order a pizza and watch the largest display of fireworks in the nation from a distance.

Keeping it classy!

Back at it after a holiday, I still can’t figure my fucking headset out.

Being blonde is hard.

But it’s nothing a cocktail and a bubble bath can’t fix.

Cheers to the second half of summer!

CBXB

 

Griswold Family Style Fourth of July

Driving a boat at Lake of the Ozarks…

Party Chick

…is a party girl from Tennessee.

Party Girl

As cousins gather every Fourth…

Cousins

…to be with family

The Griswolds

From Jell-O shots…

Jell-O

…with whipped cream.

Whipped Cream

Constant fights over the mic…

Mic Fight

to sing karaoke.

Karoake King

Trivial Pursuit winners, always reign supreme!

Winners!

From new tattoos…

Tattoo

…to pool dunks…

Dunk

…with drunken dancers around a hunk.

Hunk

Our favorite toy is the aqua bar…

Aqua Bar

…that prevents us from floating too far.

Floater

 I’m proud to be from my family!

Family

Where at least I can be me.

Beerpoo

And they never, ever let me forget

Just how handy my booty can be.

Handy

Cousins blowing their muscles up…

Blow Hards

…next to me

Muscles

so I won’t cry and feel left out.

Cry Baby

There ain’t no doubt I love my clan –

Clan

Thank God for my family!

Fam

Here’s hoping your version of the Griswolds has a safe and booze filled 4th.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Birthday Bonanza

Oh the bliss of birthdays. Typically I think mine ranks right up there with the birth of Jesus and the discovery of booze and I start announcing reminders to all acquaintances – “exactly three months after Christmas – how can you fucking forget?” – the moment March 1 rolls around.

But this year, I have been a tad distracted and it snuck up on me like a pregnancy after a one-night stand (never experienced either, so everyone calm down). Fortunately, Dada CBXB and Bird Lady accompanied me to my fave Nashville watering hole, Dalts, where I loaded up on Skinny Pirates and … a birthday tequila shot.

Three birthday amigos.

Unfortunately for me, I had decided to wear my best bar shoes and almost broke an ankle on my way out the door, lunging for a mint.

These just make good walking sense.

Broken ankles averted, I woke up with a case of the blues on my actual birthday morning. Funny how life could give a fuck what day it is in your world and runs you over whenever it deems necessary.

Tissues for my issues.

For a long moment, I thought I’d be spending my day in bed with each of my pussies taking a pity party turn with me. Rocky chose to go first and made it mighty difficult to want to leave my fluffy throne.

Save the drama for yo mama.

Then I remembered that I’m the Queen of my fucking universe. So, I fumbled out of the bed, slapped on some lipstick and threw prescription sunglasses over the puffy eyes that made me appear as if I was a co-starring with Sylvester Stallone as a real boxer in a Rocky movie.

When life hands you lemons, pretend they’re oranges and add champs.

Friends have a keen way to know when they’re needed the most (especially when you text them and ask if they would like to take your broke ass (still job hunting!) out for your special day) and swoop in to save the day.

A Shit Show, a First Mate and a Bird Lady.

Being that I’m the most non-quiet woman on the planet, we can’t help but be noticed in a small restaurant. But we also acted like we were somebodies as Bird Lady talked on speaker phone while First Mate and I made fun.

Real Housewives of the Hard of Hearing.

We also added fuel to sticking out like sore thumbs in the extremely hip and cool East Nashville (you know, the area of a city where young folks pay $313 for an outfit that looks like it’s from Goodwill?) by carrying our Louis Vuittons, prancing around in our sky high wedge heels and…pulling out a fucking sorority wind breaker (***cue eye roll from moi***). As you can imagine, we gave zero fucks and partied the afternoon away.

What’s a K Triangle?

Speaking of being spoiled by friends, look what came all the way from Colorado just for me? A pussy pot crafted by the fabulous pole dancing, kick ass, wonder mom, ceramics maven and fellow blogger Viv.  I had long admired her crafty pots and so she sent me one. Lucky me!

A slight shade off from my #1 pussy of all time, Mr. Ted E. Bear.

One time my best friend forgot my birthday. And, I never, ever, ever, ever let him forget it (please – what kind of classy lady would let that go?). Years later (in what I think was an attempt to avoid missing my very important date again), he got married on my birthday (I wasn’t the maid of honor but I’ve let that go…kind of).

Happy Anniversary Scooby and Mr. Scooby!

While I was shenaniganing my way through the weekend, my Iowa twins were lounging it away as they were both fighting the sickness.

Party people!

When my nephew, Prince B was having a conversation with my bro-in-law about why mom and dad share things because they’re married he said, “Dad, I told you I’m going to marry mom! Back off that girl!”

The Royal Duo – with one heartbreaker in the making.

I started, and then couldn’t tear myself away from this book while soaking in the suds on Sunday.

Creepy fucking awesome.

Then I hunkered down with the still slightly under the weather Ted and laid on my leopard couch so long, there’s now an imprint of my body.

No better birthday present.

Thanks to all of you for the well wishes, Facebook posts, texts, cards, calls and overload of love. This gal couldn’t appreciate it more. That being said, I am still accepting invitations to celebrate, so feel free to reach out.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

I mean, who wants their party to end?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

Crazy Pants and Crazy Aunts

 

Being a crazy pants, entertaining aunt may be the death of me but it’s sure a lot of goddamn fun. A recent trip back home to Iowa was full of celebrations – and that’s just the kind of days this chick needed.

My Aunt Crazy Pants had a birthday a few weeks ago and although she’s kicking cancer ass, she still found her party pants. My sister (the not always happy about being my partner in crime but does it anyway) and Mama CBXB were able to join in on the festivities.

Fab four.

Birthday Queen.

Naturally, I couldn’t resist adding a little bit of fuchsia to the birthday bash.

I now want to grow a mustache. Only in the fuchsia hue.

We even forced Mr. Jakers to get in on the shenanigans.

We kept the thrown down going the following day because, well, why the hell not stretch out a birthday for as long as possible?

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

It was also my Aunt Crispie’s actual date of birth, so it was a double party whammy. Naturally our trashtastic family always uses the ever classy red solo cups for guzzling beverages of the alcoholic sort.

A trio of fun aunts. You figure out the crazy one.

Being the fun aunt just may be the reason of permanent paralysis below my waist… but so worth it.

A back adjustment the old-fashioned way.

One of the perks of being a short adult is my capability of stuffing myself into an extra-large kids t-shirt. Therefore, I get to wear matching tops with Princess B while she still thinks it’s cool.

It’s party time!

We ended Aunt Crazy Pants’s celebration week with a trip to trivia night at the local grocery store (yes, that is what we do in small town Iowa and it’s fucking fun). Although my brain cells only provided one correct question of 20, our team “The Rats,” were able to slip into second place while having a laugh riot.

Trivia tomfoolery.

Being that I live 1,000 miles away in Nashville, cramming in all celebrations close to my visit date is common. Therefore, Santa made a special visit just for me – even with a small, glittery tree.

Christmas in March.

We also scrunched in an early birthday bash for yours truly, so I really raked it in (don’t worry if you haven’t picked anything out for me yet – you still have time and yes, I will provide a list).

The more the merrier in March!

Any Iowa birthday party of mine isn’t complete without a trip to see my bro-in-law, Dr. Cocktail, who makes libations that rival any mixologist on the planet (and no, that isn’t an overstatement).

Manhattan man.

Mine. All mine.

While there were only four adults present at the kitchen island, it sort of seemed a fraternity party took place when we were winding down. But that only means it was an evening of amusement, yes?

A party of four…or 44?

Regardless of the time my head hit the pillow, I had the two most adorable alarm clocks bust in and interrupt my beauty sleep with their not-so-spot-on rooster imitations.

Cockadoodle don’t.

Talk about a fun aunt. I went to visit my great aunt Marge, whose husband of 67 years recently passed away. Out of the five sisters in her family, her husband was the last to pass and holy shit was he was one gem of a person. He basically became the surrogate hubby to the four widowed sisters – much to his (dismay, perhaps?) delight.

Uncle Bill’s ashes sit in an urn next to Marge’s TV stand. She pointed at it and said, “I’m going in there with Bill but I gotta lose some weight first.”

A BV and water party night.

If there’s anyone I can think of emanating in this lifetime, it’s this spunky, hilarious broad. She’s 88, looks maybe all of 68 and acts 38.

She can also sing karaoke from the couch.

And is obviously true relation with our family tradition of Jell-O shots.

More whipped cream for you?

After my Iowa party parade, I made it to the airport and back to Nashville just in the nick of time, as inches of snow were starting to accumulate.  Although, I was a tad disappointed I didn’t get to play with my two faves in the snow.

Snow bunnies.

However, I’m not sure I would have fit in with this “angel”.

Angelic my ass.

Here’s hoping your day is filled with a little fun, a little crazy or a whole lotta both.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – On a Wing and a Prayer

There’s many reasons why humans over consume booze.

One of those 4,891,492 reasons is travel.

Last week, I was en route to Iowa to see Aunt Crazy Pants after her first round of chemo.

Fuck Cancer

She’s a jazz hander too!

I was also going to manhandle the twins while in the Hawkeye state.

I mean...

Princess B turning into a Queen.

That face.

Prince Charming.

An early morning flight makes for one tired cowgirl, as I can remember when I’ve stayed up until 4:30am but haven’t had to wake up at that ungodly hour since my mother was feeding me formula from bottles. Bleary eyed and in dire need of a mimosa, I couldn’t figure how the fuck to use the machine to check in my luggage.

Warning sign.

Warning sign.

After being thisclose to a meltdown an agent came over and assisted my sorry ass, saying the machine was acting up (but I’m pretty sure it was user error). Bags checked and I was off to board a plane that was at full capacity with 170+ peeps. Just as we were about to taxi away from the gate, I heard a brief clicking sound followed by an announcement by the pilot that our plane had just been hit by lightning.

Yes, you heard me right. My motherfucking plane was hit by lightning. The wing of the plane to be precise and while this occurs in the air all of the time during storms, maintenance was going to take a peek to see if there was any damage. Funny thing is, it wasn’t even raining.

Not even raining.

A beautiful day to be struck by lightning.

After deboarding that plane and hopping on another after an hour, as the aircraft was about to taxi away from the gate, the flight attendant came over the loudspeaker announcing “There are no more connecting flights to Des Moines today. You will be on your own for accomodations until tomorrow morning at 10am.”

Did I mention it was 9:30am when this was announced? So I’d basically have a 24 hour layover on my own dime. After five hours at the airport, being struck by lightning, boarding and deboarding two plans all before 10am, I ubered my ass home and hoped for good karma to come my way the next day.

Early birds

Early birds hoping for good luck worms.

Next day was a flying success! I made it to Des Moines and to Aunt Crazy Pants’s palace just in time to make her my world famously bland potato soup.

Giada Delaurentis I am not.

Drunk chef.

Those who know me well can vouch for the severely deficient culinary skills I possess, so it was no surprise to my mother when I called to ask her how you know potatoes are done boiling. “When you can stick a fork in them.”

Stick a fork in them. Fork Me.

Fork me in the goat ass.

Fortunately, wine helped the ho-hum porridge seem a little more gourmet and was a hit with ACP.

Well, the wine was delish!

Wine. Making dining fine since forever.

I was asking myself how my co-workers would function without me in the office and I got my answer early on Friday via an illustrated text message.

Reason 6,891,482 to inhale libations? Work environments that are bananas. Which is why it’s good to have a drinking buddy whom I left alone while in Iowa. Poor thing.

While my partner-in-work crime was cocktailing in solitude, I became the third wheel of my fave duo.

Trash sandwich

Trifecta of happy.

An impromptu family get together is always filled with shenanigans.

Family be

The family that parties together, hangovers together.

Especially when Aunt Crispie gets out her gigantic chalice and fills it with whatever liquor is lying around.

Aunt Crispie means business.

All business. Party business.

I was down with a glass of booze the size of my head because it’s what I drink nightly .

Bombed

The photobomber gets bombed.

You know what’s the best idea ever after mixing martinis, Aunt Crispie’s concoction and Skinny Pirates?

Fireball shots, of course.

FullSizeRender

Which lead to a photo shoot, naturally.

Don't be jealous.

Gisele and Derek Zoolander are for hire.

The rest of the evening followed as such…

Hmmm

…and I was in dire need of hydration the next morning.

#iwokeuplikethis

Pretty as a trashy princess.

I had to quench my liver because I sweet talked two of my cousins into joining me at the Iowa State Fair – my mothership. My most favorite day of the year (aside from my birthday and Christmas). The day I open mouth and insert whatever is covered in fried batter.

Fair bound baby!

Fair bound baby!

My cousin Smarty Pants has accompanied me to the fair more times than he cares to admit. Saying that he doesn’t love it is an understatement. I don’t think he necessarily hates it but last time he came with me, he read The Economist while I scavanged through the animal barns.

No reading material needed this year as I drug both of their asses everywhere and forced them to capture every Kodak moment.

Nope. Nothing compares.

Nothing compares to Smarty Pants and his favorite hog.

I traipsed them through the animal barns while cousin ConMan was bitching about having to take his 49th photo of the day.

Get in the picture and shut the fuck up.

Get in the picture and shut the fuck up.

I also made my two Iowa State Cyclone fans stop at the Varied Industries building to visit my beloved University of Iowa booth where I settled for a pic with a plastic Herky the Hawk mascot instead of the real deal.

Hawkeyes rule.

Hawkeyes rule.

Not knowing how long I’d be at the fair (typically a 12 to 14 hour day for me but we got a late start), I forgot that I was wearing my prescription sunglasses as the sun went down. This worked out in my favor as our last stop was a walk down the bright lights of Midway to ride the double ferris wheel.

An asshat in night vision goggles.

An asshat in night vision goggles.

A lady in line said that this was the last year for my fave ride but she couldn’t remember where she heard it. And I believe everything anyone tells me – including strangers. Can anyone from Iowa confirm this to be true?!

Lat year?

Say it ain’t so!

My sister texted to see if I was going to last until the 11pm fireworks.

You bet your ass I did. Asshole in her sunglasses at night. Until next year!

You bet your ass I did.

Until next year…I’m on a strict diet of celery and Skinny Pirates.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Girls! Girls! Girls!

Sometimes a little tender lovin’ TLC is best and there’s no better way than to hang with your gal pals at an old (in our case) fashioned slumber party.

First time with a selfie stick fail.

First time with a selfie stick fail.

None of the ladies could believe that I had never before used a selfie stick and as it will be no surprise to anyone, I couldn’t figure the fucking thing out all night.

Bo better

Bird Lady, Bex and First Mate – faces of disappointment.

So I reverted back to the good old day arm selfie with much clearer (whatever that means) results.

Old fashioned

Old school selfies rule.

While our pajama photo shoot lasted until way passed the wee hours of three, a few faces from the gaggle of my zoo were pissed that they weren’t yet fast asleep in sleeping bags.

Just go the fuck to bed.

Just go the fuck to bed already.

So we took heed of their facial advice and landed wherever we dropped for our beauty sleep.  A silent Saturday was in store at the mini manse, as everyone was catching up on their ZZZZZZZs.

Tired twosome.

Elsa and Rocky – a tired twosome.

Teddy was so tired, he couldn’t even muster a glance at the camera – and we all know how he likes to be the star of the show.

No look for you.

No look for you.

Ruby Sue’s eyes remained open but she was also snoring. I know, I know, I have one talented pussy right here.

Wide-eyed sleeper.

Wide-eyed sleeper.

Even the always peppy Precious was down for the count on Saturday after a long night with the girls.

Down for the count.

Pooped chug.

But I’m pretty sure Presh was still groggy from getting her teeth cleaned the day before…I mean, look at those eyes.

Dazed and confused.

Dazed and confused.

I received a custom Bitmoji that is now my screen saver on my cell (DON’T tell the twins) from my gal pals who reside in the Windy City.

My

They were out shopping and found what will soon be part of my daily uniform.

Diamonds

Shirt reads: Cats diamonds are a girl’s best friend. TRUTH.

My Iowa twins were enjoying some unseasonable warm weather over the weekend, acting as adorable as ever.

Princess

Princess B – always a crowned jewel.

Check out the abs on Prince B below. I’m going to start taking workout pointers from my three year old nephew.

Long, tall Prince B.

I’m trying this technique tonight at the park but need to figure out how to also sip my Skinny Pirate.

Sunday I found myself surrounded by more fabulous friends as we met up for a drunk brunch.

Ladies who drunch.

Ladies who drunch.

As always, I ended the weekend in a bath full of relax.

Best bubbles on the block.

Best bubbles on the block.

Here’s hoping your week is full of the TLC you need.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!