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!

Rock ‘n’ Roll All Night…

For CBXB, it’s rock ‘n’ roll all night….and pay for it the entire next day.

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

Jazz hands just scream rocker chick, right?

It was a girls’ night out in Nashville as Motley Crue brought their farewell tour to honky-tonk central.

GNO Crue

Me and my crue.

After six two rounds of pre-party cocktails we headed to the arena, where we stocked up on more libations before going in to see Alice Cooper, the opening act, pretend to be decapitated on stage.

Sobriety

Sobriety is no accident. It’s also no fun.

Naturally, after the besiege of concert cocktails we felt it necessary to hold a photo shoot at every location in which we graced our presence.

Photo shoot begins.

Pictures in the hallway.

My one and only move still going strong.

Photos at the bar with my one and only dance move.

Bathroom selfies!

Selfies in the bathroom….. like all the classy ladies do.

Show selfies

Seat selfies.

With all of our modeling, we almost forgot that there was an actual reason we’d come to the Bridgestone Arena. Luckily for us, we didn’t miss Tommy Lee’s impressive drum solo he performed while his kit moved up and down the lighted truss at .000000001 mph.

Oh yeah, there was also a show going on.

A trick as spectacular as a its geriatric pace.

After the concert it made perfect sense to do an additional whiskey shot in celebration of the kick ass farewell concert performance Motley Crue delivered. But something in my mind was doubting my capabilities to get up for work the next morning.

What the fuck is half of 2/3 cup? WHAT?

What the fuck do you think you are doing with that Fireball?! It’s a school night for Christ’s sake.

Naturally I downed that whiskey like it was Pepto Bismol, which is why I look so effortlessly chic and fabulous today.

Looking how I feel...

I wear my sunglasses inside ’cause I’m cool like that. And still burping up Fireball.

While my exterior appearance mimics exactly how I’m feeling on the inside, I need to get my shit together as I get to do the same thing all over again tonight when attending a Sir Paul McCartney concert.

For free. In a suite. With food. And booze. Free booze.

My liver is screaming “kill me now” with my feet expressing their disdain for my attempt to prance around in my high-heeled hooker boots for a second night in a row. But who cares what my feet think, I’m going to see a music legend, right?

And as Paul McCartney says….Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da life goes on bra.

Although I have a feeling my motto tomorrow will be more along the lines of “Live and Let Die.”

ROCK ON.

CBXB

CBXB!