Weekend Winks – WTF Fall?!

Where the fuck is fall?

It’s been a balmy 90 degrees and higher month of September in Nashville with not much of an end in sight. If you live below the Mason-Dixon Line, you know what’s up. At this rate, we’ll get one day of fall at the end of October and then it will start snowing.

There are signs of autumn all around – green leaves are falling from the trees (because it’s so fucking dry here), pumpkin spice everything is being advertised everywhere (did Starbucks start this beyond basic trend with their flavored latte?), football in the college and professional realms have kicked off, hockey season is upon us and Halloween decor is out in full force. So come the fuck on fall weather.

Regardless of the tropical heatwave, I scored seats to a preseason Predators game. Feeling the cool air in the arena reminded me what season is coming next.

Puck yeah hockey season is here!

Sleepy and I sat a few rows off the glass and I had to keep yelling chants to keep her eyes open (I kid, I kid. But this chick has fallen asleep numerous times when we’ve hung out, hence her nickname and the beautiful photo below).

Smashed ‘n’  Sleepy.

What other sport symbolizes the start of fall like college football? This was the fifth week of play and Dada CBXB and I were ready, as always.

Photo props waiting for their close ups.

We switched our Family Tradition touchdown shots from moonshine to Tennessee Fire (cinnamon whiskey – waaaaaay smoother than Fireball), when the Hawks started scoring more than two touchdowns per game. Our livers have loved us ever since.

Tenn Fire.

We even had a prediction as to how many touchdown shots would take place when the Hawkeyes took on the Blue Raiders of Middle Tennessee State University.

Our buddy’s shot forecast sure started out on the right cleat.

One and NOT done.

I’ve been trying to incorporate Prissy into the game day hoopla. She is so over it.

Shot two with an side of eye roll.

It was 11:58am when we slid the third shot smoothly down our throats.

Third outside with the birds.

When I posted a video about our Family Tradition consumption on Instagram, a few more peeps had more predictions…

We aren’t quitters.

Four more please.

Jazz hands for the fifth TD.

Double hands for the final family tradition count!

With a final score of 48-3, we were high on life, a win and had well dehydrated livers. Aside from victory, Saturday’s game highlighted one of the most endearing stories to come around in awhile. On the program College Gameday (the one where my 82-year-old boyfriend Lee Corso commentates and I just stood six hours to catch a glimpse of him two weeks ago), it’s tradition to hold signs up during the broadcast. My Iowa Hawkeyes played in state rivalry, the Cyclones on September 14 on their turf in Ames.

In the crowd, one of the signs red “Busch Light Supply Needs Replenished” along with a Venmo handle @CarsonKing-25. Meant to be a joke, strangers started sending funds to this Venmo account and when the sign maker, Carson King, a Cyclone fan, finally noticed, he’d received over $600 just during Gameday. And then, something specfuckingtacular happened. King decided that he would donate all of money he received for beer money to the University of Iowa Stead Family Children’s Hospital which is in Iowa City, where the Hawks reside.

That’s when it took off…

With both Anheuser-Busch and Venmo’s pledges to match donations through the end of September 30, 2019 (you’ve got time to donate), Carson King will be donating well over $2 million dollars raised in TWO weeks. What a heartwarming story needed when the climate of America is so divisive. The world needs more Carson Kings (oh and p.s. he’s 24 years old).

#ForTheKids

After all the feel goods in the morning, I joined the crew at the pool for one last weekend.

Captain, First Mate, Sleepy and Mama CBXB.

Saturday night proved alright. Prissy, the Pussy Posse and I hunkered down for the premiere of SNL, which did not disappoint. If you missed it, look up the sketch where Woody Harrelson’s Joe Biden character compares himself to a plastic straw. Comedy writing at its finest.

Saturday night vibes and yet, more fucking side eye.

Although it feels like tropical vacation weather minus the vacation in Nashville, my apartment pool shuts down this week. So you bet your ass, I planted mine in a lounge chair all of Sunday.

See ya summer.

I’m already working on a bikini body for next year’s heatwave in hot yoga and spin classes (still trying to lose the weight gained since Rapegate).

Rising and fucking shining.

Now come the fuck on fall!

Cheers.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Catfish, Cuteness and Cocktails

No matter your job or career, there’s something about that Friday feeling that gets most of us nine to five folks giddily gearing up for the weekend ahead.

Rocky nailed it.

Fridays always call for cocktails in my book and I was lucky enough to partake in the very divine avocado margaritas (sound disgusting, beyond delish) at a local restaurant called Avo. It’s a fabulous vegan place that even carnivores  (me)can love.

Double fisting at its finest.

I have a love/hate relationship with the social media “remember this from a year ago” shit they drudge up daily. But this time, I was loving the reminder on Instagram.

From toddlers to kids in the blink of an eye.

While my Iowa twins are a ways away from 21, that doesn’t stop the party from taking place around the time of a typical happy hour for Princess B (remind you of anyone else you know?).

No problems with happy hours here.

While it was juice galore for my princess, Prince B was pretty much trying out to be a Harlem Globetrotter.

Is the player that short or is Prince B that tall?

He’s a serious athlete in the making and I can’t wait to yell, make a scene, cheer from the stands like the appropriately embarrassing aunt I will never cease to be.

I cannot wait to wear his jersey.

In other sports related news, my Nashville Predators hockey team is in the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. So I did what any good sports fan does and got gussied up in my finest attire. Nashville’s non-official ‘mascot’ is a catfish because inevitably at the start of any game, a fan always throws a catfish on the ice. Now there is a tank full of catfish at the arena (these catfish are only for viewing pleasure, not to be thrown on the ice, FYI).

Gussied up in my Preds gear.

It was a girl gang-a-palooza watching party at a local joint, The Centennial, in the Nations area of Nashville.

Girl gang in full force.

Van Waffles had the pleasure of being our mascot for the evening. I don’t think he minded being the ring leader of us gaggle of gals.

Van Waffles and the resident clown.

The hockey game got exciting, as it went into overtime. When I glanced over at First Mate, she’d added a Preds hat and brought her towel out of her purse to further encourage our team’s win.

Stealth accessory adder.

First Mate undoubtedly looked adorable in her additional giddy up, which proved to help our Preds because they won in overtime. Meanwhile, I had a hard time putting on an accessory otherwise known as a windbreaker.

Blame it on a big head or being blonde?

Winding down Sunday, a little hair of the dog action was necessary while watching Tiger Woods come back out of his 11 year slump. I’m way too loud for golf but it’s easy to get caught up in the hype of excitement with an event so big.

The Pussy Posse could have given two fucks about the Masters, so they had a snuggle party in bed instead.

Snugglemania.

After not watching the insanely hyped Game of Thrones debut (I haven’t seen but the first episode where a brother has sex with a sister and they push a boy out of a castle window, so I don’t get why every.single.person I know is in love with this series but to each their own). Instead, I ended the weekend the way I always do.

Bubblicioius.

Cheers!

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Sleeping, Sunning and Celebrating Beauties

There are 168 hours in seven days time. Last week, I think my eyes may have been open a solid 24 hours maximum. I caught some sort of bug that made me incapable from seeing the back of my eye lids. When I tried to go to work on Wednesday, I sat down to have coffee on the couch at 6am after 12 hours of sleep and suddenly woke up at noon.

Couch potatoes.

When I did make it into work on Friday, I sounded and looked stoned. My eyes were little slits, so being the 90-year-old I’d morphed into, I had to leave at noon and promptly take a four-hour nap upon my arrival home to the mini manse.

Day of the Living Dead.

In between sleeping all day and night like a newborn baby, I was able to catch up on some news. I almost taped my eye lids open to read every single report of R. Kelly being indicted on 10 counts of aggravated sexual abuse. Looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong overdue. He’s been taped having sex with minors, reportedly keeps women hostage and if you haven’t seen the documentary series on Lifetime, Surviving R. Kelly, watch it. The revelations will make you queasy. He was acquitted in 2008 for child pornography charges but where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Suck it R. Kelly.

#muterkelly

In not so fabulous news, I read that outright racist, Steve King, who was yet again voted into Congress by Iowa (narrowly beating J.D. Scholten who actually campaigned and visited every.single.county in the district while King sat back and watched) plans on running in 2020. If you live in one of the 39 counties in the 4th District of Iowa (click here if you don’t know if you live there) and don’t go to the polls and kick this motherfucker out of office, then you’re doing something wrong. The fact that he unabashedly quotes and defends white nationalism should be enough but if you need more convincing, contact me.

When this sleeping disaster woke from her slumber Friday evening, I was greeted with a FaceTime from Scooby. What this technologically challenged lady didn’t know is that if you have the iPhone 10, you can make your head anything you want. And now this is a must have for me.

Unicorns are real.

Saturday would have been Aunt Crazy Pants’ birthday.

Sisters.

While ACP should be here, we know she was having gin rickies galore upstairs, so in her honor, Mama CBXB and I got together to celebrate. When she showed up at the mini manse, we had unknowingly dressed as twins in green and sparkle.

Matchy, matchy.

Green was ACP’s fave color and we showed up in Irish spirit. We went to the Cheesecake Factory where her favorite gin rickey is served, we found a parking spot, one bar table was open AND I kept my eyes open until bedtime. Think we might have had some help from above.

Gin Rickies for everyone.

Two other hooligans celebrating were my Iowa twins who are living it up in Mexico this week.

Off to the beach!

Bed bugs.

Beach beauties.

They have been so active, I’m exhausted just by looking at the pics sent of their overabundance of fun. On their second day – before noon – they’d been swimming, gone on a boat ride, zip lined and swam again. Meanwhile, I was very busy deciding to keep my celebration tree in full swing.

When you live in Tennessee, it’s no big deal if your Christmas tree is out all year. Or so I tell myself.

Rounding out the celebration festivities, who doesn’t love an Oscars party? The twins walked the red carpet in Mexico.

Award winning duo.

While I slid into my most comfortable stretch pants and did this…

Well, actually I did have on a floor length sequins jacket and rhinestone wine glass, so that counts as glam, right?

One of my long time buddies, Aha! came over and heard me say “shhhhhhhhhhh!” 4,902,653 times when a gown I had to have appeared on the red carpet. Which was every .00007 seconds.

Aha!

We paired our boxed wine with fancy cheese of course.

Snack City.

I loved this year’s show, which opened with Queen featuring Adam Lambert and had to rewind the performance of “Shallow” with Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga three times. I died. I cried. I’m still swooning over the fucking thing. Shortly after that part of the show, my cable went out. And that part wasn’t as pretty with me yelling into my phone for Instagram stories while I was missing out on Best Actor, Best Director and the other fucking big time categories you wait three hours to view. Oh, Comcast is getting a letter.

These two were not alarmed in the slightest by my raised voice.

Lucky for me the internet exists and Aha! was able to pull up the speeches I’d missed. Also lucky for me, I was gifted tickets to the Nashville Predators (hockey for you non sports folks) game last night. Dada CBXB sure hated it.

Armful.

We started the evening off at the very first honky tonk I ever took him to when he first visited Nashville.

Legends Corner.

We realized that when I am trying to take selfles of us, I lack the needed arm length when he is standing at his normal height (and not squatting to get a touchdown selfie during a Hawkeye game).

Selfie fail.

We got smart and asked another human to take our photo when we got into the arena. The seats were killer, the game was close and the Preds kicked ass by winning in a shoot out.

PREDS WIN!

And we all know how I ended the evening…

Sudsy soak.

Cheers to keeping our eyes open this week!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

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!

 

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!