Weekend Winks – Ass Hats, Ass Slaps and Lazy Asses

Is the weekend ever here fast enough?

Not for this duo who couldn’t wait long enough for me to take a piss before expressing their delight in having their mother smother them for two whole days.

We spent Friday lounging around the mini while I guzzled wine like Kristen Wiig in an SNL skit.

My dream come true.

Sunny Saturdays in Nashville call for pool parties. Since I don’t do beer and sipping on Skinny Pirates all day can make for an early evening, I’ve discovered spiked seltzer water. It’s the shit – 4.5% alcohol, 90 calories per can and 0 sugars.

Truly. Madly. Deeply in love.

After an all day sunfest, our pool crew decided to hit up my fave watering hole, Dalts for the aforementioned Skinny Pirates and home cooked food.

Feed me.

Thirst quenching fun with Cat Boy, Pool Mom and Rasta.

You see, we chose Dalts for our after hours pool party because last weekend, we ran into a bit of trouble at another local bar. After several rounds of cocktails and bar snacks, I got up to sing one of my fave AC/DC songs with the band. Complete with a greasy bun, prescription sunglasses on at night (’cause I’m douchy like that – oh, and also sunglasses hide sins, requiring no makeup after a pool day) and a maxi dress.

After my non-Grammy winning performance, on the way back to our table, some guy at the bar smacked my ass so hard my bun fell out. Some guy who I hadn’t spoken to all night. Some guy who I hadn’t ever laid eyes on before. A stranger. Trying to get some semblance of dignity back after the unwanted, unmerited slap of a stranger, I made my way back to our table. Just in time to find Cat Boy in the dude’s face, defending my honor…and thankfully so. Who knows what I may have done once I garnered my wits?

Girls just having some fun.

We were immediately asked to leave the bar and I inquired whether or not both parties were being asked to leave. I was told yes and I must say that I understood why – alcohol combined with angry tempers don’t mix but not one person – not the ass hat who slapped me, not the bouncer, not the employee who asked me to leave a very busy bar acknowledged what had happened. And as we stood outside waiting on our Lyft, we witnessed the stranger who smacked me being served another round of drinks with his buddies.

Isn’t that nice?

Daily reminders compliments of Metal Marvels.

This kind of shit isn’t OK. It bothered me all week and so after a few days, I called the owner of the bar who went back, looked at the tape and called back to apologize. He also said that as an owner of this establishment of 13 years, he’d never had any issues brought to his attention like this and wondered out loud how many other times something of this nature happened. Which is so fucking true.

If you see something, say something.

Violence isn’t the answer but fuck. There is never an appropriate time to spank a grown woman – a stranger to you – like she just hit a home run in the 9th inning of the World Series. Hands off.

Luckily for me, these two were just happy to be scarfing down on celery and pizza and I got picture proof of it.

Are your diners this cute?

Princess B got a new leotard and hates it. Obvies.

Hot shit and she knows it.

You know who else is hot shit? Former Iowa Hawkeye, Karl Klug, who has played for the Tennessee Titans since 2011. As Dada CBXB says “Klug is what hard work and not great talent is all about.” Does he sound like a former football player and coach? It’s been beyond fun having a defensive end on our professional team to cheer on every Sunday (after our college football Saturday fun). Klug signed autographs after practice last weekend and my friend’s boys were lucky enough to get a little pep talk, as well as an autograph.

Football season can’t get here fast enough!

You know what else can’t get here fast enough? Tourists leaving Nashville. Us locals can’t even go downtown anymore without fighting asses to elbows…I mean, I’m sure Robert’s Western World is wondering where in the hell the folks who come and sit in he front row for 10 hours have been. Although the Music City has grown so much in the past five years, we may have to get there at 10am just to see our fave band come on at 10pm.

Winding down the weekend, there was a packed couch.

The gray duo on one side of the couch.

Balanced by the human sized Rocky on the other.

Somehow, some way we made it to our usual wind down spots, naturally.

All’s well that ends well.

Here’s hoping you have an ass slappin’ fabulous week – for all of the right reasons.

CBXB

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Face Stuffing, Pool and Panic Attacks

The sun will come out….tomorrow. Or at least that’s what you wanna believe. In my case, I just wear a shirt that makes me my own sunshine. Of course, having a little snuggly Teddy Bear helps, too.

Love of my life.

Lately Rapegate therapy has been pretty intense. To the point where afterward, instead of crying my eyes out immediately upon my return home in bed, this week I morphed into what could be the most white trash way to consume supper. Guzzling wine in the bath, trying to read while eating toilet pizza and then bawling my eyes out in bed.

Pretty much sums it up.

Being that my therapy is on Thursday nights, I have an emotional hangover no matter what on Friday, that sometimes lasts through the weekend. Sometimes it doesn’t but you know what helps? Friends who know your deep down hopes and dreams, friends who know what will make you smile, while your heart races with thanks that somebody fucking finally brought this idea to fruition…door delivery wine. *swoon*

           

However, even this wonderful news of not having to leave my mini manse in order to get my vino fix didn’t knock me out of my therapy hangover. Running one errand to the grocery store, as I was leaving in the 100 degree heat, a full on fucking panic attack rushed over my body out of nowhere, like an asteroid dropped out of the sky and plummeted me into the middle of the scorching Earth.

If you’ve never had a panic attack (mine is a leftover perk of rape – yay!), I hear they mimic a heart attack. For me, I feel like a cat the size of a lion is hanging out on my chest, I sweat, shake, can’t catch my breath (which shouldn’t shock anyone who knows me as I once hyperventilated when I ran the mile in track during junior high – although I did redeem myself years later jogging slowly through a marathon), clinch my fists so hard my nails almost poke through the tops of my hands and I lose all comprehension that this sudden sense of overwhelming dread will ever end.

But it does.

And I end up looking (and feeling) I’ve been on a four-week cocaine bender with no sleep, when in all actuality, it was a mere 10 minutes.

Panic…but not at the disco.

After regaining semblance of normal heart rate and the ability to breathe in and out like a typical human, I resorted to the little Iowa faces that always drag me out of my low points.

How could these two not take away feelings of being blue?

Being that I’m not a quitter, the typical pool crew and I packed our coolers and headed up to beat the Tennessee heat.

Dada CBXB, Rasta, the shit show of the weekend (yours truly) and Cat Boy kept cool in the Saturday sun.

I refrained from my usual pool snacks, as I was invited to the hottest party in Nashville Saturday night.

A black card to the Waffle House is equivalent to $25,000 gift card to Target. And not only did we class the joint up, we sure as shit tried to spend the entire amount.

Not unhappy campers.

We’ll have one of everything. Thanks.

While we didn’t even come close to cashing out the entire card, we were able to leave a $100 tip for our waitress with remaining funds and boy, did it feel fucking fantastic watching her reaction from the car. A dance, a hug from the cook, a high-five from the other wait staff. Pretty cool of my gal pal to pay it forward.

Sunday while I was trying to detox from the overload of hash browns and eight orders of bacon the night before, my little fur balls were pretty pissy that they couldn’t go out on the porch due to the extremely high temperatures.

They really wanted to be baked pussy.

Guess who was just fine with the inside time?

The pussy that never turns away attention.

It was a much needed, uneventful Sunday at the mini manse. Complete with binge watching and burgers.

Here’s hoping there’s no panic in any of our lives this week and cheers to being our own rays of sunshine!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Rapegate, Pool Parties and Fang Fingers

You guys really know how to help a gal when she’s down and out! The overflowing abundance of support from my Rapegate post restored any questionable faith in humanity I may have had prior to posting. Not only was writing about the trauma cathartic for me, as now the matter is out in the open and I can talk about it, but also I didn’t expect the feelings of relief – conflicted with a little bit of fear when I hit the ‘publish’ button on the post.

What’s a gal who likes to celebrate do with mixed emotions and feelings of waves as large of a tsunami? She cracks open a bottle of champs given to her by gal pal Saving Grace (I was saving it for a momentous occasion – and this felt like one) while bawling and laughing at the same time. Yes, I’m still a hot mess.

Cheers to the release of yesteryear! Oh, and of course, FUCK 2016.

The outpouring of your support – my army that each and every one of you reading right now is a part of – lifted me up so high, so fast I just can’t thank you enough for the kind words, comments, messages, cards, letters, sharing of your own traumas, calls, texts and visits. While I might be Captain Sparkly Pants, you all have been nothing short of soldiers supporting one of their own. For that, I thank the fuck out of you.

Every single portion of Rapegate has been riddled with road bumps. So it’s onward and upward as I move forward, navigating unknown terrain even to my Sex Crimes Detective. We’ll get that worked out, I’m sure.

The wrong woman was fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Warm fuzzies are creeping back into the cracks of my emotions. My heart swelled a little when my phone reminded me over the weekend of cherished moments my sister and Gma shared on the last days of our grandma’s life. Of course, I had a picture of my stank-eyed pussy Ted, too, from that day.

Three of my favorite peeps still today.

When I texted the photos to my sister, we talked about how fast it’s gone – feeling like maybe it should be the first year.

It’s true. In two years, our extended family has gone through two divorces, a birth (yay!), rape (that’d be mine), cancer (that’d be Aunt Crazy Pants), a cross-country move for a cousin….just to name a few.

While reminiscing over the last two years, Facebook had an amusing memory from five years ago of Dada CBXB and I having a patio party, after we’d done some planting (in pots, to which didn’t make of course).

Funny, we already had plans to ‘decorate’ my mini manse loggia (fancy word I learned from a previous, rich employer that means back porch as I kept saying back porch and she kept correcting me that it was a loggia). So we hit up the flower hot spot for ferns, all pink flowers and some sort of palm thing that is going to go great with my pink flamingo (of course a gal like me has plant accessories before the actual plant).

Green thumbs galore.

Because that thirty minutes was so exhausting, we spent the rest of the day playing at the pool.

Fun fun in the sun.

My favorite pussy also likes to relax in the rays but I just can’t help myself and have to take a picture. This is always the glare I get when I get caught mid snap.

Resting bitchy face with a case of the side eye.

Wanna know what those two Iowa twins are up to? Well, first off they have graduated from pre-school.

Get out the caps and gowns.

Naturally, this meant celebrating was in order and they didn’t hate one minute of it.

Starting with snow cones.

Celebration splash pad style.

Their parents even took them to see where it all began. At the bar in Iowa City, where my sister approached her future husband at the very booth below for a cigarette (obviously the trashtacular classiness runs in the family). He didn’t smoke (neither did she) but it all worked out and here we are today…

Taking it back to where all of the magic began.

Being that they’d visited a festival, Princess B had to get her face painted – and clearly thought it was poorly done as you can see from the photo below.

Hello gorgeous.

Graduating from pre-school also calls for dessert.

Sweets for the sweets.

Dessert that was good to the last drop.

Yep. Definitely takes after her aunt CBXB.

Something else seeping back in through the cracks of this gal is nail painting and t-shirt bedazzling. Nashville’s NHL team, the Nashville Predators have made it to the Stanley Cup finals (for those of you who don’t know hockey – it’s like the Superbowl. For those of you who don’t know what that is, just look at the nails and sparkly shirt below) for the first time ever in our franchise’s history. I joined in on the fanfare with Predator colored nails and blinged up a shirt to boot.

Fang Fingers is what the crowd does here in Nashville when the opposing team has to go to the penalty box. They play the music from the shower scene in Psycho and fans seriously stand there and move two fingers from both hands in a clawing motion. We may look like ass clowns but we don’t care. Also, I was so pumped to get this shirt because aside from getting to see our mascot Gnash come down from the ceiling before every game, I can’t ever wait to do Fang Fingers.

All out sparkle for my fave Cinderella NHL team.

The Predators were on no one’s radar and have had the heart, fight and spirit of Nashville behind them. For real, the entire city could not be more proud. This is a photo of the main artery in Nashville on game day. It stemmed from the stadium with an overflow of people who couldn’t get in to the game (due to the insane ticket prices) down ten blocks to the river. Not to mention the packed bars and restaurants.

Game day in Smashville.

While the Preds are behind in the series 2-1, you can help cheer them on with me at 7pm CST on NBCSN.  They whooped some ass on Saturday with final score being 5-1. Badasses.

Speaking of badass, here’s how I pumped up my mental state closing out the weekend.

The inner badass is coming back…

You guys are my badasses. My army of badasses. I love each and every one of you.

Hooah!

CBXB

CBXB!

Vegas Style Twerkin’ Cool Down

Ah…spending the day at the Hard Rock pool Rehab as a Vegas first timer was quite the eye opener. With the drunken shenanigans taking place all around, I sealed myself in tightly with my two new gay besties, who happened to be sporting the best t-shirts of all time. A kitty DJ tee for one and a tank that read $uper Rich for the other.

Horsie head

My newly acquired Vegas besties. Kitty Cat DJ and $uper Rich as horse head.

While I sat back and drank (guzzled) poolside cocktails these two were busy twerking for any stranger that would stop and take a gander.

Twerk it

Over twerked and on the ground.

Of course all of this bouncing around will make one ultra hot. But instead of cooling off in the more traditional way of sucking down a pina colada, we though it would be way more fun to start the cooling process bottom up.

Twerk

Twerked out? LOL.

twerk

We’ll be happy to help cool you off.

ice

Step 1: Prepare for ice.

twerk

Step 2: Insert ice.

ice

Step 3: Fill to brim.

Packi it up packit in

Step 4: Pack it up, pack it in.

twerk

Step 5: Allow no movement while ice melts.

melting...

Step 6: Enjoy the numbness that has overcome your lower body.

As you can tell, the poolside cocktails made us masters in the talents of a twerking cool down. Feel free to use our technique on your buddies this weekend.

You’re welcome Miley Cyrus.

CBXB

CBXB!

How to go to Rehab in Vegas and Not Get Peed on by R. Kelly

Yes, I went to Rehab in Vegas. And no it’s not the typical rehab you’re thinking of (it’s OK mom, no need to have a heart attack).

The Hard Rock Casino’s pool is known as Rehab and while I was gracing Vegas with my presence, the pool celebrated its 10th anniversary with none other than R. Kelly hosting the party AND performing.  How could I not go once I was invited by friends who were staying at the casino?

LOL

Me not attend a shindig? LOL.

Security was beyond tight, getting into the pool.  I was frisked up one side and down the other, had to take my sunglasses and hat off and my wallet was violated by dirty security guard fingers poking through its contents. My sunscreen was sniffed and the book my friend brought (yeah, not sure why we thought a book was appropriate for this party) was combed through. After this search, any airport security shenanigans will forever feel like a breeze.

Once granted entry, a peaceful (not for long) oasis awaited our arrival.  If you can, acquire a lounger if at all financially possible or you will get to stand in the yellow (that’s surely supposed to be blue) wading pool all day, waiting for your toenails to fall off.

Acquire a lounger if at all financially possible.

For your safety, put a towel between your body and the cushion. Just sayin’.

We had no problems getting all cozy and pretending as if this was an everyday occurrence in life.  For instance, when the waitress came by and told us about “the amazing special we have today for our anniversary. It’s a bottle of Ketel One Citroen and it’s only $495,” my jaw only remained open for 13 seconds instead of the typical 25 minutes that this kind of information would implore me to do. Nor did I say that I could go get that same bottle for $30 at my liquor store. Nor did I ask how much a bottle of $9 Skol vodka would cost. That’s how well I pretended. Impressed, aren’t you?

No big deal

Please. We do this every day. Can I get a tap water?

After my “I’m not impressed at your expensive price for regular liquor face” I couldn’t help but notice the buckets of Bud Light (only $75 for 12 – such a fair price) and the bottles of Ketel One being delivered to the Argentinian bachelor party bed in front of us.

Rehab

Upon conversing with the tipsy crew, they asked us if Sunday came after Saturday. Wonder what was really in the Ketel One bottles…

When the sticker shock sinks in, go to the bar (and be sure the bartender is the opposite sex) about 22 times and ask to sample the frozen drinks because you’re just not sure which one you want.

Sampler platter.

Sampler platter. That’s how I roll.

Attire is key when attending a soiree hosted by R. Kelly.  It’s important that you put on your finest threads.

Finest threads

Yes, I said threads.

It’s always more fun when you meet new friends, so go do it.

I saw this tall drink of gay water walking out of the pool with his tank top reading $uper Rich.  Our newfound friendship became further solidified when his partner came up in his DJ Angel Kitty tank. Yes, I said DJ Angel Kitty (and yes, my cray cray over my cat, Ted came up in conversation about 1.4 million times upon laying eyes on Dude #2’s shirt).

Gaywich

CBXB gaywich.

Angel kitty

Hello. I think we’re clothing soul mates.

If you’re worried about covering up your less-than-perfect body parts, no worries – you will fit right in at Rehab. I mean, check this gentleman out. As you can see, he was feeling a little insecure about his chest. But the beer belly was out in full glory.

Not this guy with his beer belly AC.

The beer belly AC technique.

When the host started singing, folks were a tad worried about getting pissed on. At least that’s what everyone kept saying (as he’s apparently known for doing this to women, specifically. Classy guy).

No peeing!

I didn’t see any urine.

Bananas

These people would have had zero clue if it even started raining, let alone if any type of body excrement fell on them.

Hearing all of this talk about number one led me to do some hiding, so that I could remain in a pristine, slightly sweaty state.

Hide behind a flag

I hid behind a flag with all of my new buddies.

Or a horse head.

I hid behind a horse head.

Or borrow a hat from a stranger and hide under it.

My friend borrowed a hat from a stranger and hid under it.

Hide behind friends

Lastly, I hid under a dog pile. I refused to get pissed on!

After playing hide and seek from the party host, keep the party going by twerking in front of complete strangers.

Twerk it

Nice angle.

Then help your new gay bestie keep the dance going by spanking him to the beat of songs.

Keep it going

Seriously? You like this?

And twerk.

My hand hurts.

Once everyone’s dancing heartbeats are back to a resting state, grab another cocktail and keep the nothing but classy Rehab anniversary party alive (further assuring your spot in a different kind of rehab in the future. Maybe even the next day).

New gay Argentinian

This is our party, we can do what we want.

As you’re having too much fun, you’ll lose track of time and suddenly look around at an empty pool and spy two police men, giving you the evil eye to get the F out of the area.

Oops

Two of LV’s nicest and finest giving our crew the boot – after we snapped a pic, of course.

And that my friends is how you survive an R. Kelly hosted Rehab party at the Hard Rock.

Any questions?

CBXB

CBXB!