Rosé All Day

It’s just one of the best sayings out there, isn’t it?

I am an equal opportunity wine lover. Aside from the too sweet Rieslings and Moscato, I have yet to meet a vino in which I can’t start a friendly relationship.

Fill to the brim, please.

The love affair started when I was looking for something to guzzle sip during weeknights that didn’t have caffeine and save overindulging of my Skinny Pirates for weekends.

Get the fuck out.

Just kidding. You can stay and sip a non-alcoholic beverage. Just be prepared for me to sweetly demand request you to be my bartender walking back and forth to the fridge for my refills.

I promise you’ll get your 10,000 steps in on your Fitbit.

I fell so hard for wine that when I was cooped up for days during a Nashville snow storm a few years ago, I walked two miles to the nearest liquor store for…

a) something to do

b) I wanted to use my snow boots

c) I NEEDED BOOZE

Desperation at its finest.

WORTH THE WALK.

Being that I’m the EEOC of wines, I love a chardonnay or Pinot Grigio in the spring and Pinot Noir or a red blend in fall and winter. And I love all of them in a bath full of bubbles.

I need someone to hold my book.

Thing is, I’m not a super fancy wine drinker. While I can surely appreciate a fabulously fine wine, I also have an adoration for wine that comes in boxes because it holds four bottles and costs $20.

Sister CBXB on the other hand is much more of a connoisseur of wine. Like, has been to Napa Valley and sent cases back expert. She introduced me to Rosé during one of my trips back to Iowa.

I fell in love. Hard.

Happy hour for everyone.

So upon my return home, when I saw a specialty bottle of Nashville Predators Rosé on the shelf of my fave liquor store, Reds, this past spring I sprung into action and made an unusual purchase of a $20 bottle. ONE bottle.

Collector’s edition…wine not? Pun intended.

It was delish. As I have found there are obviously different variations on the kinds of Rosé and some are way too sweet. So I was schooled that I liked dry Rosé or a sparkling brut Rosé. It’s crisp and the perfect pick for a summer day. Or night. Or both.

So when I was going in to get my weekly box of wine, I almost fell out of my stilettos when I saw that my favorite brand of cardboard wine had a Rosé. A DRY ROSÉ.

Dreams do come true.

It’s basically been my summer hydration station since then.

Summer IV bag.

Um, I have cats that drink wine, too. Although don’t tell any of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills that I serve it out of a margarita glass to the pussies.

I’ve done some converting to peeps that normally wouldn’t gravitate toward the pink wine. I brought a box over to First Mate’s one night and as she skeptically took a sip, it didn’t take more than the evening for the box to drain.

All aboard the rosé train.

Scooby and I often have texting dates while “sharing” a glass of the divine wine.

Cheers from Kansas City.

Dada CBXB, who typically partakes in rot gut vodka, has also hopped on the party train and might as well be the fucking conductor.

Drip drying the boxed bag.

No one I’d rather turn out like at 90 years of age than my fabulously fun party-her-pants off great Aunt Marge (one time she brought a bottle of champagne to Christmas, drank the entire bottle and then asked, “who drank all that?”), who also indulges in the pink stuff.

Ain’t no party like an Aunt Marge party.

There was a little hesitation from Mama CBXB but no worries, I shoved the straw down her throat.

Yes. She likes it.

But honestly, the icing on the cake comes from none other than Princess B, my mini me.

Relax. It’s just water.

But only for 15 more years.

There’s been many a time that I’ve thought I couldn’t have birthed my niece any better myself. I feel like I’m watching a tiny version of moi live her best life as she is deeply in love with sequins, having her nails painted, whipping her flair for dramatics out any chance she gets – oh, and she knows all of the names of my four pussies.

So when this text rolled in, I couldn’t wait to see what the fuck she was up to now.

My heart exploded with pride.

I WAS DRINKING ROSÉ WHEN THE VIDEO ROLLED IN. I’m contacting Bota Box to see if they need a new spokeswoman.

Coincidence? I think not.

If you need me to corrupt your children, please let me know. I’m just a glass of wine or Skinny Pirate away. Always happy to help, I am.

A definite, full on wino right here.

Now go Rosé all day.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Dog Days of Summer

If you know me in the slightest, you know that my fur kids are people to me (whenever I walk in my front door, no matter if I just took the trash out, I holler “where my peeps at?”). My world revolves around them. And, suffice to say, I have had the greatest honor and pleasure of rescuing a small zoo.

But there are always fur babies that hold an extra special spot in your heart and I’m sad to share that I came home from work last week and found that my chug, Precious, had passed away. She was in the exact spot where she normally awaits my arrival home. Although, upon calling out, her little tail didn’t wag and her head didn’t pop up in excitement of seeing her mama after mere hours away from one another.

Coolest chug on the planet.

To say that I am devastated is an understatement. I am having a hard time writing this now – and yet as we all know too fucking well – life moves on. For me, I’m trying to comprehend the timing. I’ve lost my two best fur friends within a year. Two fur peeps that were like guns in holsters by my side, one on each hip constantly. My chest has been heavy and my heart is honestly in pieces. But with my constant support system of the fabulous humans in my life, I’ve managed one moment at a time. One bestie told me that if she didn’t know me, she’d think I had Munchausen Syndrome of drama because so much shit has rained down in the last few years. But unfortunately, it’s all true. Which is why I always let people go first when we talk about how our day has been.

Ted and Presh. Best buddies playing forever over the Rainbow Bridge.

I dread walking through the front door where I found Presh but on the first day the task had to be done, I had a bouquet from the most kick ass friends in which a girl could wish greeting me. They were sitting right outside my door, easing the burden of the inevitable door walk through.

Flowers are a grieving gal’s best friend.

While I wanted to wallow in bed with the covers over my head, I realized I do have rent to pay, lights to keep on and four pussies to feed. When I came into work, pink roses awaited my arrival.

Team members showed their love.

My cousin and his wife were thankfully in town Friday and Dada CBXB and myself went to meet them for a much-needed Skinny Pirate(s) after the longest fucking week. While I do pride myself in being current, I couldn’t help but die when I snapped a pic of our cocktails and saw that a walker was in the background. If you get to Dalts before 5pm, you’ll be sharing the bar with people who make you feel like a newborn. And I don’t hate it.

Can you tell we’re related?

In my Iowa twin news, there were getting prepped for the arrival of Coo Coo (yes, that’s the phrase we use for grandpa – always keeping it classy).

Hunk of the month. I’m talking about the boy, not the dog.

Swish swish full of swag.

Coo Coo made it just in time for cocktail hour on Saturday.

Jazz hands run in the family, obvies.

Another thing that runs in the family? Fabulous nails. Princess B set out to give Auntie CBXB a run for her patriotic mani money.

Red, white and blue-hoo!

Tootsies too.

Same color scheme, slightly different approach for this old broad. I can’t wait to make Sister CBXB give me a manicure next time I see her since she’s got mad mani skills.

Patriotic claws.

While Coo Coo and the twins were living it up in Iowa, I was having a time getting my ass outta the bed.

Rasta and the sun coaxed me out of the mini where I floated the day away.

We were slightly alarmed after seeing the obviously-required-by-the-codes-department-sign hanging at the pool that missed vital information…

Who’s gonna save me?

Getting ready for a bath (full of bawling my eyes out) post swim, First Mate called and saved the day. She swung by with Bota Box Rosé (seriously the best box of wine on the market at the moment) and we chit chatted and then started to binge watch the show Younger (seriously an easy-to-watch-thirty-minutes-of-fuff). And then my main TV crapped out. Did we let ruin our slumber party?

The Gulp ‘n’ Go.

Nope. We moved the cheese platter, popcorn and the pussies into the bedroom.

Our Cardboardeaux Rosé accompanied us.

Nothing like nestling in for a binge…until someone says “I just need to rest my eyes,” and it’s lights out. So First Mate saw herself out of the mini after her host rudely passed out.

Slumber party shenanigans.

Starting the newest novel by Ruth Ware, I decided it was better to get more vitamin D while reading than complete and utter darkness under the covers. Sunday Funday found me back at the pool in 95 degree heat. While I have gained 40 pounds since Rapegate, the one perk of the extra LBs has been the enhancement of my flat chest (oh and I have pride in photos and videos that make the rounds to friends).

Wallowing in the sun.

Complete package.

With must needed thirst quenchers.

Again when I was side eyeing the bath tub (Precious would sit on the toilet while I bathed – again, nothing but classy white trash), knowing it would cause a tearfest, Bird Lady happened to call and suggest a cocktail and snack outing.

When she saw me she said, “Your hair looks really great. What did you do?”

“I finally washed it.”

So fresh and so clean cocktail hour.

Thanks again from the bottom of my heart for helping this gal, who is seriously trudging through the muck of life (I mean fucking seriously, was I a serial killer in a past life?), feel loved, important and heard. Words, gestures and hugs go the longest way.

Can’t wait to see her again and Bear again. Two great loves of my life.

Take care of yourselves. Look both ways before crossing the street. Make sure you don’t fall down any stairs. Wear a floatie in the lake. Make sure that seat belt snaps. Because if you’re reading this, I love you. And my heart can take no more losses at the moment.

XOXO –

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Loud and Proud

First world problem – a non-working cell phone that carries over to a week.

How the fuck do landlines work again?

My iPhone 6 took a literal dump. Complete with a cracked screen (I seriously replaced that motherfucker four times – FOUR TIMES and each and every time cracking occurred, it had a protective screen on it) and total black out of the phone BUT if I kept it charged, sometimes Siri would work. Bonus, I was gifted an iWatch from Sister CBXB for my birthday and I could use that to talk and text like a fucking secret service agent.

Who doesn’t scream into their wrist?

Wanna know how I felt as soon as I had a brand new phone in my hands?

Hello again 2018.

While I was awaiting my new phone, I was able to hire, beg my gal pal Rasta, into being my own personal paparazzi. My cousin, Tballs and his wife with whom he’s been with so long, she feels like a cousin, Hussy #5 visited Nashville and naturally, I needed documentation.

A trashtacular family sandwich.

Hussies for life.

Dad’s Day required margaritas and four heaping bowls of salsa.

Feel good Father’s Day.

My twins of The Pussy Posse turned six last week. They were overjoyed. Obviously.

Sleepy at six.

Another member of my posse is making the rounds at the vet (and I’m still paying off Ted who’s been over the Rainbow Bridge for almost a year), Precious my chug.

Fainting couch needed.

Pres is 12 years old but truly acts like a puppy in the fact that she canNOT contain her excitement over anything. At all. So, in the recent weeks, she’s been so excited seeing her leash, she passes out for a few seconds. The first time at the vet, we were supposed to keep an eye on her. Then, she passed out upon my return home from work last week (I mean, I do know how to make an entrance into a room).

Vet visit two resulted in a referral to a pet cardiologist AND an order to keep this chug as calm as possible. I sound like a fucking ass clown coming home from work, trying to talk in a monotone voice, when typically my screech could shatter windows when talking to my fur kids.

Netflix and chillin’.

I’m not even supposed to take her out to pee (she’s puppy pad trained) because the sight of her sparkle leash literally makes her pass out. So what’s a fabulous fur mom supposed to do for a little stimulation? Put her in a Louis Vuitton and take her on errand runs.

Most annoying duo on the west side of Nashville.

Preshy even joined First Mate and yours truly for an early Friday happy hour.

While speaking of illnesses and fur kids, Mama CBXB  has two pussies that I may or may not have had a hand in getting her. One is a fucking beast who gives all felines a bad name – hissing and batting at legs and making sounds that don’t seem like they belong on this planet. The other, is the sweetest little baby you could imagine. Yet, they get along.

A beast and a baby.

When I tried picking the beast up over the weekend, I got a little souvenir for my heroic efforts of love.

Finally! I’m sprouting cat hair.

Speaking of hair, look who is the proud owner of some colored locks…

Sorry. Not sorry she’s my mini me.

My nephew, Prince B, is taking after his folks for a love of baking. This weekend it was pizza.

Chef BoyArdee.

The ultimate taste tester.

After a week full of shit show news, it was good to get out and about at Nashville Pride.

Roaming the festival with Rasta.

LGBTQ allies.

One of my fave parts of festivals is gawking at people and boy, this one did not disappoint. The best t-shirt ever goes out to this dude, who found it on Etsy.

Trump is not his safe word.

It was also Tan Boy’s birthday and we had a big time making fun of my blondeness.

Taking Pride a tad too literally.

Pride weekend was a much-needed positive reminder after all of the hate spew coming from people of all walks of life these days.

Love is love.

Regardless of your political affiliation, every person bleeds red, compassion is compassion and treating people like actual human beings is NOT hard.

Image by Justin Teodoro.

Care.

Care your fucking brains out with compassion. It matters. If you need any guidance on how to do this, give me a ring. I no longer have to shout into my wrist.

CBXB

CBXB!