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.

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?

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.

Gifts just because make my world go round.

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.

While Prince B mugs it up for the camera…

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

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!

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 #2

Shot #3

Shot #4

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

Winning is exhausting.

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.

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.

Evil juju be damned!

CBXB

 

How to Trash Up a Classy Joint

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

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

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?

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.

Fancy restaurants require a snooze.

Fancy restaurants require photo bombing.

Fancy restaurants require thumb sucking.

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!

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.

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)…

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

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

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.

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?

No fun. No fun at all.

Cheers!

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.

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.

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.

The Photo Bomber gets bombed!

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

Heads get heavy after too much Grey Goose.

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

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.

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

What would a concert be like without a cocktail?

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.

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.

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.

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.

Twenty gallons for less than $20.

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

Just the cutest duo on the planet.

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

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 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.

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.

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

Some things never change.

CBXB

 

Weekend Winks – Oh Say Can You See

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?

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Biggest fan awaiting my performance. Which he slept through.

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!

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.

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.

Not too shabby.

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

Happy Independence Day from my self-appointed Royal Highness.

A magnum of wine that had to be consumed.

Somebody had to do it…

And passing out naps on concrete retaining walls.

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.

Following in my sleepy footsteps.

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

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 @LisaCharlene5 spoiled me!

Box full of happiness!

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

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

Weekend Winks – Hot in Herre

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.

My modern-day Jesus – turning water into vodka.

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

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 at your service.

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.

Let the good times roll.

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

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

Andele andele mami, E I E I – Uh oh!

Hot in…so hot in here….

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

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

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.

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.

Heaven.

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

Gigi, Princess B and Gma keeping it cute.

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!

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

Just as demanding as my two pussies.

I’m slowly turning into this…

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