Weekend Winks – Snoop Dogg, Fang Fingers and Flat Tires

When a gal pal wants to treat you to a night out for a belated birthday par-tay, why in the world would you say no? Of course we know I said yes, especially when the evening involved a Snoop Dogg concert. I was especially excited to escape from my reality after some particularly bad news came my way last week. A girl’s night out was just what this chick needed.

I over packed and lugged my beauty bag, taking over Funk 49’s kitchen counter to gussy up for a rainy night out in Nashville.

Yes, my bag of beauty tricks includes alcohol. Doesn’t yours?

Known for my booblegging skills at public events where liquor is priced like it’s solid gold, the glass below may or may not be Pepsi.

Sneaky sneaky.

The night was so full of fun that I forgot what a shit show my life has been for the past 24 months.

Problems? What problems?

After the concert, I didn’t want the night to end so I borrowed my Uber driver’s coffee on the way back to Funk 49’s house for a little perk me up.

Don’t worry. We gave him five stars – and I gave him back his coffee.

We kicked off our rainboots and did what ever girl party does after an evening out – ordered two pizzas for three ladies.

Hubba Hubba.

Upon stuffing my pie hole with at least 1.5 of the pizzas, I tried to coax Funk 49’s dog, Buddy, to lay with me in his bed…I don’t know why he seemed so annoyed.

My version of doggy style.

So I settled for a little downtime the following day with my own puppy Presh.

Prescription sunglasses are the only way to go when rehydrating on a Saturday morning.

While I was hunkered down in my Princess and the Pea bed, the Iowa twins were stuck inside for a third day in a row due to rain storms. So what did my genius sis do? She turned the garage into a bike bonanza for four-year-olds.

Rec room.

The Nashville Predators are in the NHL playoffs and my crew settled in for the third game of the series against the St. Louis Blues. Rocky, Princess Elsa Pants and Ted proved three times a charm, as the Preds skated their way to a 3-1 victory.

Fang Fingers.

I nestled into a Sunday full of job searching, #girlbossing, therapy homework, with a side of Glamour.

Sunday Funday.

No weekend would be complete without an evening full of leopard couch time with Ted – who now has his own personal shadow named Elsa Pants.

Forced Sunday snuggles – with extreme patience.

I found out that my first furry friend in Nashville crossed over to the Rainbow Bridge last night. Caesar was my constant companion when I worked as a personal assistant for a family when I first moved to Music City. He was my only “co-worker” and kept me company so many lonely nights in a new city. Love and miss you little guy.

Trying to keep the wheels from falling off my fragile state of mind, I hit the alarm early for a 7am yoga class today. But about .0005 seconds into the commute, I was t-boned in my parking lot, causing my chariot to come to an immediate halt for the time being.

No zen in sight on this Monday.

I decided it best to switch my morning coffee for something a tad stronger while on the phone with my insurance company.

A bloody mary to help ease spiked blood pressure.

So while I seem to be running into a tad of misfortunes lately, I can’t help but wonder…

I’m wide open for suggestions.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Perspective

My Thursday afternoons consist of sorting through bad shit that happens to good people. Which for me, means that I try to prep myself for the emotions that will inevitably bubble to the surface before, during, after and what feels like every single second of every day until I get to see my therapist Miss Sheila again the following Thursday.

Thursdays got me like…

I was already an emotional wreck because lately my pendulum of feelings swing from the highest of high (hello again inner badass!) to the lowest of low (where in the fuck is my self-esteem?) in about .0005 seconds. No notice. So I packed my squatty bodied mascot in my Louis for some comforting support this week.

Therapy session saver.

Although I had Precious the chug by my side, yesterday proved no different as I contemplated the subject matter of my session on the drive back to my mini manse, tears starting to slowly turn into an ugly cry, as I hid behind sunglasses on a rainy day.

The face that can typically turn feelings around.

Crawling into the bed with my well-worn hanky is my go-to Thursday “happy hour” of sorts after my sessions.

Wallowing with a wet hanky.

Typically, I watch endless videos of my two yayhonks from Iowa, who turn my mood around with their silly antics in a matter of minutes.

How could they not?

In between twin videos, scrolling through my social media, I saw Whitney Lover’s post about an impending trip from her husband’s 93-year-old grandfather that stopped me in my self-absorbed tracks.

Whitney Lover with a CBXB sidekick.

Her post read:

“I’m so excited to have my husband’s grandfather coming to visit Iowa over this next week. He is a Holocaust survivor and will be speaking at several events around eastern Iowa to share his story and to help strive for a better tomorrow for all. He is truly an amazing and loving man who has never lost faith in humanity.”

Love for Gpa all around.

To read the entire article from The Gazette, please click here. It’s an incredible story of survival under the most unfathomable circumstances, loss, hope, perseverance and empowerment. That this gem of a human has seen horrors beyond imagine, the fact that he still has his faith in humans and believes in the good of people is awe-inspiring. He said, “I’m planning to be around for much longer, with my mission to prevent genocide and to do what I can to counteract anti-Semitism, which all good people of the world realize is a crime against humanity.”

If you’re in the eastern Iowa area this upcoming week, here’s where you can see this gentleman in person:

Please join me in cheersing this fellow who, by sharing his story, his time and his energy with others is helping educate, empower and touch lives in far reaching places.

Cheers to Gpa!

Thanks for the perspective Grandpa E.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Jazz Hands, Chugs and Pussy

You know I love the word pussy – a word I use quite frequently on this blog in describing my beloved feline fur balls. However, hearing it come from a dirty old man’s mouth, in regard to grabbing a woman’s crotch (any woman’s crotch for that matter) because he’s a ‘star’…. fucking please. So, to tune out all of the P word debate nonsense, I chilled with my fave P word – Precious the chug on the mini manse porch Friday evening.

My punkin with a full pumpkin.

My punkin with a full pumpkin.

We had to take it easy, as I was bleary eyed for an 8am appointment at the hair house on Saturday. Luckily, I get to bring my mascot – who needs no primping with a face like hers.

Salon style.

Louis Vuitton salon style puppy.

Even though I feel very Paris Hilton circa 1999, annoyingly toting my squatty bodied pooch in my purse, it’s too fun to resist – so I don’t.

Sunglasses hide sins.

Sunglasses hide sins. Yes, even inside.

Hurrying home after my gussy-up, I filled my fave wine glass with a Skinny Pirate for an 11am Iowa Hawkeyes kick-off.

Resembles our team's season falling apart.

My glass is resembling our team’s season falling apart.

While we’re tried and true fans, our tradition of touchdown shots was sidelined due a measly two field goals. So we chose to do sympathy shots in the third quarter.

Sympathy shot.

Forced to shoot out of boredom.

Then finally in the last two minutes of the game, Iowa scored a touchdown and we were able to celebrate family tradition style.

Winning!

Blurry celebratory shenanigans.

While we were day drinking our brains out, my Iowa twins were modeling for family photos.

Divine

I mean….the cuteness factor here almost makes my head pop off my body.

I mean...that hair.

That hair.

While I planned on detoxing Sunday, the realm of crazy surrounding the presidential debate forced encouraged me to take the edge of all of the nonsense with a little vino.

Proper debate prep.

Proper debate prep.

When did debate coverage become similar to College Game Day? When posters that made me piss my pants started showing up behind the commentator’s heads.

Best. Sign. Ever.

Best. Sign. Ever.

Even baby Elsa Pants was in dire need of a drink after the word devil was used by one candidate to describe the other.

Even Elsa Pants was

And Presh could only muster a side eye glance at the shit show.

One eyeing the madness.

One eyeing the madness.

Naturally, I guzzled. Well, in truth my sister and I played a game where we drank every time Donald Trump sniffled. Which meant we guzzled every other minute.

Forced to guzzle

Somebody give that man a fucking tissue.

The best thing I’ve seen since the debate was posted by Taraji P. Henson on Instagram in reference to pussy grabbing.

I hope Trump never comes near mine.

Grab these pussies? We'll cut a bitch.

You can’t grab this. We’ll cut a bitch.

Here’s hoping no one forcefully grabs anything of importance to you this week.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Take Your Chug to Work Day

Being that today is National Take Your Dog to Work Day, I couldn’t leave my Precious behind with all of the pussies in the mini manse.

Not another day with the pussies.

Not another day with the pussies.

Hell, I take the chug (chihuahua/pug mix) everywhere else I go…

Bitches do have more fun, you know.

Bitches do have more fun, you know.

Shop 'til we drop.

Supermarket sweep in the dog aisle.

We get our hair done together.

Dynamic duo getting gussied up together.

She helps select plants for my black thumb to slowly kill over the summer.

Perfectly picking out plants for my black thumb to slowly kill over the summer.

So when I asked P if she wanted to join me at the workplace today she was all –

The longing to go to work look.

WHAT?!

Ready.

Ready.

So I stuffed her into the Louis and she was carried through the streets of downtown Nashville in style.

A lift through downtown Nashville in Louis Vuitton style.

No autographs please.

She may join in on a meeting or two during the day.

May join in a meeting or two. Like a boss.

Like a boss.

Presh will claim my chair as her throne knowing she’ll still be overthrown.

Throne for Precious.

Making room for mom.

Throne fit for two.

When she gets tired of my ample ass in her face, she’s got her own personal air conditioner.

Keeping cool with her own personal air conditioner.

The way her mane blows, she might as well be in a Suave commercial.

Precious has a knack for knowing things – like she’s the cutest dog in the entire universe. But she really loves reading all of the accolades she’s showered with when arriving to the workplace.

Basically, she’s the pretty girl at the party who pretends to not know she’s pretty so people tell her she’s pretty.

Yeah, that’s Precious.

Adorn me. Now.

Adore me. Now.

So all of the office peeps follow orders and fawn all over P like it’s their job.

IMG_2872

IMG_2870

Naturally after all of this hard work today, I’m taking Presh out for a round at happy hour.

A few dogtails will be had in celebration of a successful day.

A few dogtails will be had in celebration of a successful day.

One proud mama.

One proud mama.

The best part about this national Take Your Dog to Work Day? It’s on a fucking Friday.

Hallelujah!

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Remedy Trashtacular Hair Hell

Ever wake up after a hard night’s sleep, take a gander in the mirror and immediately want to wave a white flag in defeat?

About last night...

About last night…

Surrendering any hope for good lookin’ locks for the day, you know when you show face (or dark roots, rather) in public folks will be talking behind your back about what a trashtacular turn for the worst your looks have taken? How you’re letting yourself go? How you must be broke as the top three inches of your hair are shades darker than the rest of your locks?

There's Something About Mary hair.

“There’s Something About Mary” hair – only greasier.

OK, so I don’t generally go in public decked out like a dork.  But I do often wake up longing for hair that magically grows a light blonde out of my scalp (instead, I have to visit my magician every six weeks) therefore alleviating the need for me to wash my hair every.single.day.  If I miss a shampoo, I look like I have taken Crisco to my roots by noon.

How does one cover up the trashiness growing from her mane?

Here are a few remedies I’ve found work for my hair indiscretions.

#1. The Snooki

Snookie

The Southern version of the Jersey Shore ‘do.

Requirements: two barrettes.

Two barettes

Objects may seem higher in the mirror than in actuality.

This overall style saves me 25 minutes of hair hell in the morning.

#2. The Bang

When I was bitching at work regarding my greasy, grimy mane, a girl turned around and said, “Just wash your bangs in the morning.”

No shit? Being blonde is hard work.

Wash your bangs. Duh.

Full frontal cleanliness.

Requirements: shampoo and blow dryer.  This version of “clean” hair saves me 20 minutes of primping.

#3. The Bret Michaels

Every rose...

Every hair has its thorn…

Requirements: scarf (and no ponytail the day/night before).

Louis Vuitton to the rescue!

Talk dirty to me.

This is an ultimate time saver, as I can truly bounce out of bed, tie a scarf and go (but I have to remember to pack a Sharpie marker in my purse for all of the autographs I’m asked to sign while sporting this style), which saves me 30 minutes of hair agony.

#4. The Bun

This was an accidental oily hair cover-up, as I tossed my locks up in a bun one day at the beach.  But when I realized it would stay put all day, the look was added to my dark root arsenal.

An accidental beach miracle.

An accidental beach miracle.

Requirements: one scrunchie (yes I said a scrunchie – I’m too cheap to buy the bun sponge helper thing. But it doesn’t count as a scrunchie in public if you can’t see it. Ok? OK?!) and bobby pins.

Bun it.

Just dreaming of Jeannie and wishing I could grant wishes.

Behind the bun.

Behind the bun.

This ballerina remedy adds another 15 minutes to my day.

#5. The Hat Trick

Greasy

Can’t tell I’m a slimy mess under the fedora, can you?

This is the simplest remedy of them all. Grab hat. Put on head.

Requirements: any kind of stylish head topper.

Put a cap on it.

Playing hide and seek with the horrific dark roots.

This trick saves me 35 minutes of messing with my tresses.

After all of the five remedies above have been tried and tested over the 42 days between salon visits (minus the nerd look), it’s time to visit my miracle maker.

Preshy

Getting blonder (not smarter) by the second with my precious sidekick, Precious.

My roots breathe a momentary sigh of relief as I let them come out to play in all of their newfound blonde glory.

FullSizeRenderBlonde!

Back to blonde(r) requires celebration, naturally.

If you happen to see me in any of the above states, you’ll know I’m either trying to eek out seven weeks between salon visits or avoiding the hair wash (because I’m hung over, tired from a long weekend, hung over or just plain lazy).

It’s possible you won’t recognize me in all of my “I-swear-I-don’t-live-in-a-house-on-wheels-although-you’d-never-know-it-with-my-three-inches-of-visible-dark-roots” various, incognito giddy ups as you mistake me for Bret Michaels. Or any guest from the Maury Povich show.

Cheers to good hair days!

CBXB

CBXB!

Pussy Pandemonium

Apparently being traumatized by another human being in a life altering event makes one feel the need to buy love. For me, acquiring affection isn’t in the form of old-fashioned hookers or new-fashioned Bumble (seriously, what is that?) but through the purchase of pussies. Three too many of them.

You see Mama CBXB thought it’d be a good idea to get my thoughts on something other than an ongoing police case, the fact I have no employment, the furball love of my life Ted developed a serious heart condition within two weeks and wanted to provide me some light life focus.

So she decided to buy me a kitten.

Princess Elsa Pants Crossbones

How can you say no to this face?         You don’t.

First, I was leery. I mean Teddy is used to being the main attraction of all things CBXB (even though he shared the spotlight with our dearly departed, highly annoying but oh-so-loved New Cat for a bit). With that in mind, it was still end of story when we entered Pet Smart on what just happened to be National Adoption Weekend.

How much is that pussy in the window?

How much is that pussy in the window?

I don't hate this idea.

It didn’t take long for me to warm up to the idea.

Upon putting my hand in a pile of young pussies, I pulled out a sweet faced baby who was already dubbed Elsa. Being that the Iowa twins favor that princess most, I fell in love and this kitten hit the jackpot. All I needed to do was check the fuck out with my newest family member.

No name change for the Princess.

No name change for the Princess.

But then I stood up and was met with piercing green eyes peering out of a cage, staring so hard through my soul I could almost feel the two holes burned into my forehead.

You know you want me too.

You know you want me too.

I just had to get into the cage to see what was going on with this emerald eyed monster who immediately head butted my face, accompanied by a swift lick when I tried to crawl into the metal house with her.

Hi there. Care if I join?

Hi there. Care if I join?

Turns out this black beauty had an extremely shy brother sleeping in the back of the cage who wasn’t adapting well to being in a rescue. These four-year-old siblings were surrendered by some asswipe who decided they couldn’t care for them anymore.

Who am I to break up a sibling bond?

Who am I to break up a sibling bond?

I then decided to check all three of them out at once, testing the waters.

Totally under control.

Totally under control.

My arms of steel were able to squeeze all of the felines tight enough to keep them in my crazy cat lady grip just long enough to not triple second guess my decision to take them all.

Mulling it over for .00000001 second.

Mulling it over for .00000001 second.

And just like that, the operator of Sweet Faces Cat & Kitten Rescue agreed to let me take the ‘triplets’ home to the mini manse, where Ted and Precious the chug unknowingly awaited the new arrivals.

Penny and her #1 customer.

Penny and her #1 customer.

 

MVP of the weekend.

MVP of the weekend.

 

What is about to happen?

What is about to happen?

In keeping with my love of all things Griswold family, I decided to name my newly obtained family members after Cousin Eddie’s kids.

Rocky - the strong, silent type.

Rocky – the strong, silent type.

Ruby Sue - possibly missing a brain cell or two.

Ruby Sue – possibly missing a brain cell or ten.

And as I said before, the baby remains Princess Elsa in honor of my Iowa twins.

P

They love animated Elsa. I love the fur ball version.

Princess Elsa Pants Crossbones

Princess Elsa Pants Crossbones.

The ride home from Pet Smart was eerily quiet with each cat in a newly purchased cardboard box (as I didn’t intend on coming home with any furry addition). Not a peep, meow, hiss, growl or howl was uttered.  And nothing was said as I introduced each new family member to Mr. Bear and Presh one by one. The transition from being a cray cray cat lady to borderline animal hoarder was smooth sailing for everyone.

Cautious cats.

Princess and King, cautious friends at first.

Warm

Warm and fuzzies after about four minutes.

Turns out, Tedstar likes being the big man in the mini manse – but refuses to acknowledge his contentment.

Butt buddies.

Butt buddies.

Nightly ritual.

Nightly ritual.

Brotherly love.

Brotherly love.

Mauling mania.

Mauling mania.

I know, I know, I’m thisclose to being a stereotypical cliché given the fact that I’m an unmarried, candle loving, drinks wine alone while watching sappy Lifetime movies and I live in a literal animal house. But guess what? I don’t give a fuck.

I inspired this action figure.

I inspired this action figure.

Nashvillians know me by name.

Famous among Nashvillians, obviously.

IMG_0776

Let’s be honest – no one snickers behind my back because I have the type of family and friends who will ridicule me to my face with the hopes that I do not in any way shape or form turn into this woman…

Please intervene if it my situation gets this dire.

Please intervene if my situation gets this dire.

But you know, while I feel good about saving three more sweet souls in the end, I wonder who is really saving whom?

Saved.

Can’t help but love the crazy, pussy pandemonium can you?

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

Weekend Winks – Hangover Haunt

Who gets presents sent to them at their favorite Nashville bar from a complete stranger?

Alcoholics.

THIS GIRL.

A happy stalking

A note from a faithful follower. Also a reminder that I might talk about Captain Morgan, Skinny Pirates and Dalts too much….bah! Not possible!

Ah….my reputation as a liquor lover awarded me big time this past weekend.  As many of you know, bad shit has gone down during the first quarter of 2016 and one of my readers just made my entire year this past weekend. Ken, the Purdue fan from Indiana, sent me a care package to the bar I frequent on Fridays.

The Captain

Here’s the address in case you want to send me something too.

Accompanied with a sweet note, I opened the package and not only found my mug staring back at me, I got the sweetest note wishing me a better year AND a bottle of Captain Morgan Private Stock. To say that I was touched is an understatement. It takes quite a seismic shift to move me to tears but I can tell you my tiny Grinch heart grew 22 sizes from one of the most thoughtful gestures I’ve had the pleasure to experience.

Best Friday ever!

Best Friday ever!

Cheers to you Ken from Indiana!

Cheers to you Ken from Indiana!

We all say thank you!

We all say thank you!

As a matter of fact, we got so inebriated from that Purdue fan’s gift that in a hungover stupor, Dada CBXB went and bought a new car Saturday morning.

Drunken purchase.

Just kidding. He wasn’t hungover.

But I was, so in my Saturday morning haze I ended up purging some of my shoes.

Proud of me Dada?

To make room for new ones, of course.

Hangovers typically make me want to acquire more possessions. Like three pussies in one day.

Crazy.

No buyer’s remorse here!

Much as this guy likes his alone time, he seldom gets a sec these days at the mini manse.

Savoring a moment alone.

Peace, quiet and my fave pussy.

Teddy now has a shadow that follows him around like a bad hangover.

Two's a crowd. But welcomed.

Two’s a crowd. But welcomed.

You know what makes a headache disappear? Tandem smiles from those Iowa twins.

I mean...seriously.

I mean…seriously.

Tenderhearted Prince B just may be the most handsome dude on the planet.

Mohawk mania.

Mohawk mania.

While the face of Princess B tells it all…

Pretty much sums it up.

Pretty much sums it up.

In between Netflix and DVR catch up, I did get my ass out and try to work off the 1,024 pounds I’ve gained from emotionally eating myself into oblivion the last month.

Don't mess with G.

Yeah, that’s my girl G. The one who almost fought an 80-year-old in defense of my loud honor.

No weekend would be complete without a little tongue time in the tub with my favorite chug, Precious (or as the twins call her, Pweshy).

Tongue tied.

Tongue tied.

Here’s hoping your weekend isn’t still haunting you!

CBXB

CBXB!