How to Make an Ass of Yourself Ziplining

Squeezing in all of the wrong places.

While shooting a sizzle reel this past weekend, one of the scenes required yours truly to zipline, which I had never done before. Being a virgin to this activity, I was more concerned with which color of cowboy boot to adorn (naturally), rather than mentally prepping for the hours of hanging by a harness from a rope.

The anguish of important decisions.

Upon our arrival to the site, two zip instructors gussied my friend K-bell and I up in their finest attire.

Sexiness not included with harness.

While I had no trouble cruising into my adorable harness that made my already ample ass triple three sizes, I made myself vocal (one of my shining qualities) about messing up my ‘do when it came time to wearing the non-fabulous head ornament.

Bitching for one minute…

…and moaning and groaning two more.

I was wondering if my instructor, Charlie wouldn’t have to wear a helmet because his hair created one for him.

Helmet head au natural.

When I’d gotten complaining out of my system (for the time being), we were ready to conquer this ziplining shit.

As you can see, Charlie was not at all excited about devirginizing two celibate zippers.

Then it was time to make the trek to our first destination, which was far enough away that I had to squint to see the platform. And of course I had something to say about it.

You want me to walk where?

I’m out of breath. My feet hurt. Anyone bring a flask?

Once we arrived to the top of the shortest mountain in Tennessee, I was beyond ready to swing from the sky like Tarzan.

Bring it, Bitch.

In case we needed to know how not to land, there was a handy diagram on our equipment.

If you love your knee function, don’t do this.

Once I’d zipped 42 times (which therefore made me an expert on the sport) I had wise words of wisdom in how to accomplish a first attempt for my gal pal…

“Don’t be a pussy.”

Upon us both conquering the bunny hill of zipping, it was time for different camera angles. And while Ian, my camera dude, was placing the camera just so, I’m pretty sure he was thinking that working with me was a dream come true as I talked at him…

My feet hurt, can I sit down?

That’s too tight on my head.

Watch the aviator shades, Son!

When it came time to zip while wearing the lovely head apparatus, Charlie apparently thought I’d be able to hook myself up to the line all by my lonesome since I’d watched him do it for me 926 other times. It was then that I had to clue him in on my fingernail mantra, “Jewels, not tools.”

I’ll just stand here and not break a nail while you hook me up again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

After zipping for four hours straight, not only were my thighs screaming due to overuse, my crotch was numb from being the sole bearer of my body weight.

Take 1,479. Ice pack, please.

It’s a wrap! Hallelujah. Do you think we’ll ever be able to have babies after this?

Making it back down the hill and posing with our studly instructors, Forest and Charlie, I ripped my harness off faster than a dress hits the floor on prom night.

Mission accomplished.

We made it.

We did it.

I made an ass out of myself and it’s captured on film.

But, I survived.

Wish I could say the same for my shit kickers…

Casualties of ziplining.

Oh, and my crotch is still numb if you were wondering.

CBXB

The Real Housewives of Nashville

You know those reality TV shows where women do nothing but get drunk on cocktails and drama? Well, my gal pals and I recently had an evening full of booze and filming minus the screaming.

After being contacted by a producer to shoot a sizzle reel for a potential reality TV show, I wondered how laborious it really is to be a ‘housewife’ (insert any reality character here). Shooting footage this past weekend I found out first hand that it’s no joke.

For instance, you have to stand and smile with perfect lighting…

One Southern housewife + one crazy cat lady + one mama-to-be = good TV?

You have to sit and chit-chat endlessly…

Couch work can equate to exhaustion.

We had to document the end of each scene with a photo…

It’s hard to smile this big.

We had to get our gab on, while trying to look our most fabulous…

Serious, serious phone calls.

We were forced to sit and gossip while incorporating a big-headed Teddy Bear…

Spotlight on the mighty feline, please!

We were coerced into sitting under hot lights…

Smoldering trio.

Which forced us to cool off with more libations…

Keeping it classy.

And more cocktails had to be guzzled while setting up between scenes…

The grueling process of lounging.

While one of us was hard at work…

Making the magic happen.

The other two of us were very busy bottoming up…

Seriously prepping for our next take.

To ensure our behavior was within ethical standards, one husband tried to help the producer wrangle three ladies during the evening…

Mr. Husband and Miss America (who clearly hates this process).

Of course while we were hurrying up to wait, we had to conduct a selfie photo shoot in the hallway…

We hate cameras.

Because being interviewed on film can be compared to forms of torture (obviously), we figured out how to make it less stressful…

Does this martini match my outfit?

Then we had to watch playback of ourselves…

Too bad we don’t think we’re entertaining.

As you can see, being filmed is extremely assiduous but we somehow managed to trudge our way through the evening…

Blowing the testosterone out of the water.

Which led to us to celebrating the only way us Nashville housewives know how…

Remnants of a wrap party.

This is obviously serious business.

Which why we can’t wait to do it again.

CBXB

Captain of Fashion

You know, when I started writing this blog I truly had no idea what kind of impact I’d have on my readers.  It turns out that not only do folks tune in for the life and times of Captain and Ted, some young readers even try to follow in my fashion footsteps.

Remember my lovely Cray Cray Cat Lady Lingerie? (If not, do yourself a favor and click to read here).

All dolled up with only my cat to show…wonder why?

I was beyond flattered to know that I am now a fashion guru babies look to for style advice. When my gal pal sent me a pic of her daughter parading around in an outfit inspired by my own, my chest puffed with pride.  Look at young Aubs, who is decked head to toe in her finest leopard (I mean imitation is the sincerest form of flattery – and let’s be honest… I’m a shining example of how to wear copious amounts of gaudy leopard, right?).

Pride of the CBXB pack!

She even has little pink paws on the feet of her outfit, just like her fashion role model!

Like mentor, like protege.

And adorable Aubs has yours truly beat in mugging for the camera.

Crazy cat lady in training, perhaps?

But, she has yet to master the art of blending in to her surroundings.

My cray cray version of Southern camouflage.

Knowing how heavily I influence my infant readers puts some pep in this crazy cat lady’s step. I’m like the Rachel Zoe of infants. I think I see a Bravo TV show in my future (Ted’s paws are already crossed)…don’t you?

CBXB