Weekend Winks – Snoozin’ and Boozin’

There’s really never a dull moment in Nashville, unless you want there to be one (but what fun is that?!) so the weekend kicked off in full force at an NHL game where I met my hockey soul mate, Bob.

Me and my Predator's squeeze...Bob.

Bob the fan referee and his classy new sidekick who swiped his fedora.

Speaking of classy, aren’t the chicks who continuously take selfies in the stands beyond annoying?

Water is awesome.

We know.

I am a gigantic fan of snail mail – and an even bigger fan when a package is sent my way. Especially when it involves Christmas AND my Iowa Hawkeyes. So I was beyond excited to rip open this gift from my sister upon my return from the ice rink.

Score!

Gifts just because make my world go round.

A little box of heaven.

SCORE!

While we’re on the subject of Iowa, you know I think my twins are the shit (well, because they just are) but not simply because they’re related to me (let’s be real – how lucky can they be?). My heart tends to burst with pride purely calling them my niece and nephew but when they seem to follow in Auntie CBXB’s footsteps – well, that almost makes my head pop off.

Just a model

While Prince B mugs it up for the camera…

Hey-oh!

…Princess B knows the exact timing for a perfect photo bomb.

Skills run in the fam.

The mad skills run in the family. Obviously.

It wouldn’t be a fall weekend without a whole lotta college football fun and my mini manse was geared up and ready to go for some Iowa Hawkeye domination on Saturday.

Tailgate time!

Tailgate time!

Being that Iowa has been a severely mediocre team at best the past five seasons, to keep the games interesting Dada CBXB and I instilled the fine family tradition of doing a shot of moonshine after each Hawkeye touchdown a few years ago.

Little did we ever assume, believe, know that our fellas in black and gold would ever score more than four touchdowns in a single game…

Shot #1

Shot #1

Shot #2

Shot #2

Shot #3

Shot #3

Shot #4

Shot #4

Somewhere in between touchdown six and seven, we lost count…

Winning is exhausting.

Winning is exhausting.

But not really!

But not really!

You’d think a final victorious score of 62-16 would impress anyone but of course my pissy pussy Ted could have given two shits.

Annoyed

Who gives a flying fuck about football? Rub my belly bitch.

I’m pretty sure the evil eye bracelet my buddy brought back to me from Greece had something to do with my spectacular weekend full of shenanigans.

I'm never taking this off.

I’m never taking this off.

Evil juju be damned!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

How to Trash Up a Classy Joint

You can't take me anywhere.

You can’t take me anywhere.

While in Miami recently, I was lucky enough to be invited to the beyond delicious Bourbon Steak restaurant. I’m sure the staff wanted to run for the hills upon our appearance and hearing my shrill voice laughing at the first photo of the evening which ended up being a group selfie fail compliments of yours truly.

Group Selfie Fail

I need longer arms. Or perhaps one of those things Santa delivered every other narcissistic person on the planet for Christmas…a selfie stick!

When entering a fine dining establishment, it’s important to first capture all of your classiness before you disrupt every other diner for two straight hours.

Don’t all restaurant goers get a pic in the entryway?

First, capture all of your classiness before you disrupt the other diners for two straight hours.

Hidden trashiness at its finest.

All of your classy efforts will fly right out the window faster than a witch on a broom when you’re unable to decide what to sip on for the evening due to the cocktail menu being as large as an outdated encyclopedia, so you just splurge. No one will look at you funny.

Two is better than one.

Two is better than one.

Next be sure to capture all of the finest accessories that accompany your experience because if you’re like me, you’re known for whipping together fancy suppers like this…

One of my masterpieces.

One of my masterpieces.

So pay no attention when snide looks are thrown your way as you snap a pic of very ordinary items on your lavish dinner table like olives so green it appears as if the Grinch made them.

Grinch green olives reenest olives on the planet.

GREEN OLIVES! HOLY SHIT!

And act cool when a Caesar salad comes out with a swirly bacon hat on top of it.

Is this considered six degrees from Kevin Bacon?

Is this considered six degrees from Kevin Bacon?

Keep it together when your sushi comes out minus the rice.

Tasty tuna.

If I eat this raw fish I will have the body of Demi Moore, correct?

Being a classless diner means you wolf your food down while everyone else acts like a normal person and eats at a normal speed (and actually chews their food).

Did I do that? Inhaler.

Did I do that?

Another thing about fabulously fancy restaurants is their comfortable seating. If you’re too full to move or need to pass out take a nap, simply lie down and do so.

After double fisting cocktails and stuffing my face so fast I wouldn’t have noticed if I swallowed one of my own rings, I sank into  the plush couch where my ample rear resided.

Pass out, er I mean nap time.

Fancy restaurants require a snooze.

Photobombing

Fancy restaurants require photo bombing.

Thumb sucking.

Fancy restaurants require thumb sucking.

Make out sesh with my pillow.

Fancy restaurants require make out sessions with a pillow.

To all of those diners around me, it looked as if I was down for the count.

JUST KIDDING!

JUST KIDDING!

When you’re back and at ’em again, it’s smart to get your second wind by drinking a martini and coffee at the same time.

Still able to double fist.

Secrets to lasting all night.

Something else that will help you remain secretly trashy in a classy joint is being joined by a sidekick. Not only did mine expertly photo bomb me, she did the following when I asked her to take yet another picture of me (because I didn’t have enough already)…

A woman after my own heart.

Yep, she’s perfect for me.

Once a Sidekick is in residence, it’s important to share every little detail of the fancy eating experience.

So when I discovered a full length mirror with complimentary lighting, I had to get SK in on the adventure.

Oh hello mirror!

Oh hello mirror! I’ve never seen myself before. Better get a picture.

Get out of the way bitch. We need the 5,389,013 picture of ourselves tonight!

Get outta the way bitch. We need the 5,389,013 picture of ourselves tonight!

Victoria's Secret has not called yet.

Victoria’s Secret has not called yet. Weird.

It’s of the utmost importance to act as if dining in such a fine establishment is no big deal, so on your way out of the restaurant don’t make a scene where everyone in the restaurant can see you.

Hey-oh!

No, that’s not a plastic bag hanging off of SK’s purse as you might expect. It’s a scarf. Because it’s terribly cold in Miami.

But then again, what fun is it dining in a classy place without bringing a little tashtacular attitude?

You can't take me anywhere.

No fun. No fun at all.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Take Me to Church

Or…maybe you shouldn’t because I might burst into flames.

This Church. Not the one with a steeple.

This Church. Not the one with a steeple.

Being that I’m a lucky lady, I scored a ticket to the Eric Church concert in Nashville this weekend.  Naturally the most important element of concert prep is putting together my concert attire. And I tend to always go understated.

What to Wear?

Being subtle is my favorite thing in life.

Once the giddy up was on, I trotted down to a local honky tonk where I ran into an Arizona buddy that I haven’t seen in years. Once we started talking, it seemed like we were in the high school hallway yesterday.

Photo Bomb!

The Photo Bomber gets bombed!

My choice in outerwear proved to be a wise one as it easily turned into a bar pillow.

Bar Pillow

Heads get heavy after too much Grey Goose.

It also upped T Man’s bland outfit at one point in the evening.

Giddy Up

Animal print is so complimentary.

Leopard went straight to T Man’s head because he ever so graciously took photos of himself while using my phone.

Camera Man

It’s all fun and games until a blogger posts your picture.

What would a concert be like without a cocktail?

Showtime

No fun. A concert would be no fun without a cocktail.

But having seven a couple of Skinny Pirates might not have been so smart, as a life sized devil appeared during one of Mr. Church’s songs, making me want to sprint to the nearest House of Worship.

Devil

I still see this every time I close my eyes. Thanks Eric.

I awoke Sunday to a very pissed off pussy (who might as well have been the life size devil at the show) because he lost a wee bit of beauty sleep due to my Saturday night shenanigans.

SLEEP

Where the fuck were you last night?

I was relieved to find my phone in check, as I had lost my Louis Vuitton clutch twice during the previous evening – once in the arena and I then left it in the Uber cab (I don’t know how in the world this happened as I had a cross body bag on to prevent me losing anything. Major fail). But faith has been restored in humanity as not only was my clutch waiting for me at guest relations but the Uber driver came back by to see that my clutch found its way back to my mini manse.  Phew.

Upon charging my very dead phone, this is the face that greeted me as it powered back on.

Screen Saver

You might want to think twice if you are putting your mug on a blogger’s screen saver. Just sayin’.

Not only was I excited for the Golden Globes yesterday, I about pissed my pants in delight when I used my local grocery store’s points at the pump, making each gallon less than a dollar.

What?

Twenty gallons for less than $20.

While under lock down in Iowa due to bone chilling temps, my twins are approaching a small milestone.

T

Just the cutest duo on the planet.

Prince and Princess B will soon be entering a horrific phase (for their parents)…

Terrible Twos?

Terrible twos on the horizon this week.

In anticipation for my fave awards show, I thought I’d try to mimic the little golden statue by using a similar colored face mask while soaking in the tub but it did nothing but make me still look like me.

Golden Glow

Golden glow fail.

It was then time to decide which healthy treats I should grant myself  while watching the red carpet after eating my way through the holidays.

Dip Baby Dip

Pigging out while watching impossibly skinny stars prance around in their elegant gowns does wonders for self confidence.

And then the fabulous trio that resides in my mini manse gathered on the couch for the Golden Globes.

My Two Pussies

Golden globed PJs, one happy cat and one pissed off pussy.

Some things never change.

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!

Weekend Winks – Hot in Herre

Gangsta Glory

CBXB gangsta glory.

Heading to a Nelly show this past weekend called for some extreme primping measures. Band aids, crowns and an overload of vodka did the trick.

Turning water into vodka. modern day Jesus.

My modern-day Jesus – turning water into vodka.

Wouldn’t be a road trip without a roadie now would it?

Keeping it Iowan.

No one drinks like an Iowa girl.

Of course we needed a bathroom break halfway through our hour long journey and loaded up on liquids and napkins (you know, in case of sloppy accidents in the car).

Napkin Queens bouquet of napkins

Napkin Queens at your service.

Royalty, Bithes Two front row didn't get close mouth memo

Me and the rest of my heathens.

While we were in attendance to see Florida Georgia Line, I couldn’t help but be a tad more excited to see Nelly, who was the opening act. And if you’re sitting there wondering why in the hell Nelly was opening for a country duo, together they had a gigantic hit last summer called, “Cruise.” And yes, the crowd was a terribly interesting mix of red necks, hip hop lovers and idiot college kids with their pants down to their ankles. Luckily for me, I have a big ass and wear skinny jeans, so no worries about my rear hanging out, FYI.

While here to see FL GA Line

Let the good times roll.

This chick and I busted a move to the front row to see our fave rapper.

These two dames were front and center for...

My boss’s work wife and real life wife. Holla!

Nelly

Andele andele mami, E I E I – Uh oh!

Nelly

Hot in…so hot in here….

It got so hot I nearly lost my band aid.

It got so hot I nearly lost my band-aid.

It got so hot for Nelly that he really lost his shirt.

It got so hot for Nelly that he really lost his shirt.

And I about lost my damn mind.

And I about lost my damn mind.

Being that I was able to keep all of my clothes on while oogling Nelly (who very clearly needs to work out), I worked up quite a thirst and almost started crying tears of joy upon seeing my new favorite place on earth.

In order to cool off for the ride home...Thirsty

Late night liquor store drive thru.

Not only able to dispense booze out of a window, they also happily cooled us down with a bag of ice.

Ice!

Heaven.

Chilling myself down enough to sleep off my Friday fun, I awoke to bright smiles from the Iowa twins on Saturday.

Keeping it cute in Iowa

Gigi, Princess B and Gma keeping it cute.

Prince B keeping it suave

Prince B is clearly a little stud in the making.

Trying out new spots in Nashville on Saturday night, I found my dream bathroom vanity full of nothing but glaringly bright lights and therefore held a brief photo shoot, like every other grown ass woman doesn’t do in between other restroom visitors.

Lights! Lights! Me!

Lights! Lights! Me!

It was a gorgeous sunset and my annoying ass inserted my gigantic noggin into the photo trying to be captured.

Photo-boming my own city

Photo-boming my own city.

Sunday called for a lazy day at a fancy schmancy hotel pool, where I busted a move to my personal ghetto blaster.

Personal boom box

Still listening to Nelly.

It was extremely hard to move from the lounge chair at the end of the day but the appearance of hotel staff closing down the pool made it easier.

See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.

See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.

It was time to go anyhow because aside from my two monster fur balls awaiting my arrival, I recently acquired five new babies.

The two pussies.

Get your ass home. We’re hungry. And need to punish you for being absent.

A bird has been baking five little eggs since Memorial Day weekend on my mini manse porch.

Nesting

Cute as Cadbury eggs.

And now I am the proud foster mom to five baby birds who cheep, cheep, cheep constantly in unison while their mama bird seems to bring them endless bites of food.

Crazy bird lady

Just as demanding as my two pussies.

I’m slowly turning into this…

Yes. Modeled after yours truly

Modeled after yours truly.

Only my action figure should probably read Cray Cray Animal Lady since I’ve recently rescued a cat, a tick and now, these birds.

Help…

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Single in the Sizzlin’ City

Girls just want to have fun is a severely underused statement, as was proven by the party I hosted for gal pals this past weekend.

Cheers to the ladies!

Cheers to the ladies!

Instead of a red carpet roll out, I had a piece of khaki carpet all dazzled up for everyone’s arrival.

Rolled out the khaki carpet

White trash version of the real deal.

Truth: my neighbors upstairs just moved in and left this on the sidewalk. Everyone loves a soaking wet, nasty piece of used carpet sloshing under their heels. Am I right, ladies?

An ode to our beloved show “Sex and the City,” we gussied up as our fave characters from the show.

Triple threat.

We know. We know. Dead ringers for Samantha, Miranda and Carrie.

What party would be complete without favors?

Party favors

Cocktails for everyone!

When you live in a mini manse with no storage, you don’t keep things like an ice cooler on hand. So you substitute a sink in its place.

Ice ice baby.

Ice ice baby.

My group of girls are serious about their party food. God forbid we go three minutes without the ability of shoving something in our not-so-quite mouths.

Chicken coming out of our ears.

Chicken nuggets galore.

Food galore

The added veggie tray among dips, chips and sausage wrapped cheese made us feel ‘healthy’.

Instead of gathering around and watching an episode of our favorite TV show of yesteryear, I decided to force gather the gals around and get their feedback on my sizzle reel.

Sizzlin' it. Just a little bit.

I fed them plenty of alcohol before this preview, so naturally they loved it.

While I was showing off skull rings, I incorporated a ring pop into the mix.

Ring Pop, anyone?

The gaudier the better.

When my pal, Bird Lady (we felt each other’s pain a few years ago working for the same über rich, wannabe country singer) said she’d never heard of a ring pop, I nearly forced my naughty finger clad with a sucker down her throat.

What's a ring pop?

Ring pop for one, please.

Of course no party is complete without a photobombing attack from yours truly.

Photobomb!

Not the first nor last time First Mate’s photo will be ruined by my photobombing expertise.

As the evening crept into the wee hours of the morning, we started making silly decisions. Like my Georgia friend Podunk, who swore to her husband that she’d stick to beer.

No shots for Podunk. Hubby's orders!

Yes, I’ll take a whiskey shot please.

Down the hatch

32 shots later….

Fully loaded with liquor we turned into a think tank around 2am, brainstorming ideas and writing them on our makeshift white board…paper towels hung from my busted up blinds.

Think tank.

We become geniuses after midnight. And 46 combined cocktails.

When the clock struck 3:30 am, we didn’t turn into pumpkins. Nope, not us. We turned into supermodels.

"Look sexy"

We know. We know. Dead ringers for Claudia Schiffer, Cindy Crawford and Elle Macpherson.

When heads finally hit pillows at 4:30am (after a rousing 3am rendition on my piano of chopsticks – you’re welcome neighbors) six minutes seemed to pass before the sun came up. Upon opening the freezer door to retrieve ice for much needed water later that morning, I was greeted with a leftover cocktail next to my Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Fire (have you tried this yet? It’s better than Fireball, FYI).

Good morning. Freezer finds.

Freezer finds.

Leftovers, anyone?

Leftovers, anyone?

Thirsty?

Apparently we were extremely thirsty.

How does one recover from an all night estrogen party? Lay by your private pool. (Which is typically full of screaming kids and chatty parents – somehow the universe just knew I needed quiet time).

Enjoying private pool

Pool for one.

New Cat recovered from the festivities by laying on top of every single piece of literature I tried to read the rest of the weekend.

Reading the newspaper blocker. Cat blocker

Cat blocker.

While Prince Charming could do nothing but scowl about loud ladies keeping him up past his precious bedtime.

If looks could kill...

Read my face, I hate you.

If looks could kill…

Here’s hoping you have a fabulous week.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

The Bomb

I’ve never met a photo I couldn’t bomb.

Being that this is one of my sparkling qualities and photo bombing is a dying art, I take great care in honing this skill down to perfection.

Want a nice selfie for a LinkedIn profile photo?

Boom

Not happening.

Or perhaps a profile pic for Facebook?

Bomb

Fail.

Or maybe a cute selfie for Twitter?

Bomb

Wide mouth human stealing your thunder.

How about capturing a moment with a friend you see never?

Bomb

I’m there to ruin it.

Want to commemorate a celebration, hoping to get a pic good enough to frame?

Bomb

Three’s a crowd.

Or maybe you wanted to document the time a friend had swine flu and got to wear a face mask to a wedding.

Bomb

Too bad. I needed to jump in and deliver a single Dorito.

It’s impossible to snap a pic of you enjoying a sunny Nashville day with me around.

Bomb

Can you see me?

Bomb

Can you see me now?

Bomb

NOW can you see me?

On a girls trip and want one goddamn picture without me in it?

Bomb

Too bad.

Bomb

Still here.

A sweet photo of a couple can be all kinds of ruined by my ability to be a complete jackass.

Bomb

Romance ruiner.

Trying to capture the lovely lamp you admire and would like to remember?

Bomb

You get me with jazz hands instead.

Want a photo with your two raven haired, gorgeous daughters for a Christmas card?

image-28

Think you spot a famous person in Nashville and try to covertly whip your camera phone out?

Bomb

Made ya giggle. And shake the camera. But at least you got my mug.

I also have the ability to photo bomb famous guitar players.

Bomb

Poor Richie Sambora striking a rock star pose that I immediately thwarted.

Taking a shine to my innate ability to make a complete ass clown of myself, one of my blogging and Twitter besties, @WanderinPoet has created a webisode featuring yours truly entitled #TheBomb on Twitter.

As you can see by the first two episodes, my knack for being able to ruin a photo is still going strong…

1 ~ Bill Clinton

photo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Come join on the photo bombing fun with @WanderinPoet.

Next time you’re prepping for a pic, peek over your shoulder to be sure I’m not hovering…

CBXB

CBXB!