The Wapatoolie

You know the old saying ,”the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together?”

Oh you’re not familiar? Allow me to explain…

Our first Wapatoolie.

My dad and me sharing our first Wapatoolie. How sweet.

Every summer, my family tends to meet up at the Lake of the Ozarks and act like misfits from the Griswold family.

Heathens at their finest.

Heathens at their finest.

It was at the Ozarks where yet another one of our classy family traditions (which also include Jell-O and moonshine shots) was born.  Allow me to introduce you to…

The Wapatoolie

Yum

Looking just as refreshing as lake water, I know.

According to family legend (which was told by my dad, who is known for streeeeeeeeetching out a story or two), the Wapatoolie was first introduced to him and his twin (yes, there is a replica of my father….a story for another day) while at a college party with the Wisconsin football team.

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2 sharing the same farmer’s tan.

As the story goes, a party was unfolding where the two twins above were innocent bystanders.  With zero prodding, my dad boasted that he bravely took a shot of a Wapatoolie (ingredients consist of whatever the hell is in your bar at the time). Hand to Jesus, I swear I could see his chest puffing up with each oooh and ahhh he received from the Band of Griswold Misfits.

The story ended with a quote only a college football legend (again, a story for another day) could utter….”The Badgers started it but it took a Hawkeye to refine it.”

No shit.

Recipe for tastiness.

Definitely not from a college kid’s bar but a recipe for tastiness nonetheless.

Before the last syllable of the tall tale could be sputtered, us cousins were extremely busy at work mixing a Wapatoolie for the bullshitter storyteller.

Mix masters.

Mix Masters.

Down the hatch.

Tequila, bourbon, whiskey, white and spiced rum, margarita mix, vodka and gin topped with a dash of creamy Bailey’s…

Mmmmm

Feels so good when it hits the lips.

The following evening, my cousins (all of whom are male on this side of the family, which probably just explained everything you needed to know) decided if their stud of an uncle could stomach a Wapatoolie, they could too.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The rest of us gleefully skipped to the bar to concoct the next round of poison potion.

Back to the mixing board.

Back to the mixing board.

Tough Guys...

Tough guys in the beginning…

Not so tough

….not so tough the first round…

or second round...first you don't succeed? Try, try again. Shoot, shoot again.

…or round two the following year…

And just like that, from one year to the next, the timeless, trashy tradition of the Wapatoolie was born.

Now, we extend the pleasure of this shot to anyone who dares to hang with our family…

Just get engaged to one of my male cousins?  A Wapatoolie for you!

First time to party with us at the Lake of the Ozarks?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Want to date my sister?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Think you can hang with us during football season?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Oh and for those of you who don’t drink liquor of any kind, we can mix a non-alcoholic version for you. Don’t worry.

Think you can hang with me and my dad?

So you wanna hang with us? You sure?

C'mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something...

C’mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something…

Yum

Your personal rite of passage into CBXB’s clan.

And if you’re too chicken shit, we understand and will be happy to cocktail with you anyway.

Until then...

Equal opportunity drinkers.

Just remember, the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Summertime Blues

Summer sniffles and sneezes found their way into CBXB’s mini manse this weekend…

1,402,734th sneeze of Friday night.

1,402,734th achoo of Friday night.

Thinking that I was going to beat the snot out of a cold before it got the best of me, I turned to my old friend, vino.

A little whine for the whiny.

A glass of wine a day keeps summer colds at bay. Right?

WRONG.

It turns out that gigantic glasses of wine do not thwart off watery eyes, itchy, drippy noses or soothe your vocal chords that now sound like you’ve been smoking cigarettes since gracing the world with your presence.

Crusty face

Rising but not shining.

Ted and New Cat were so concerned with my minor condition that they laid on the porch all day long.

I. don't. care.

Oh you don’t feel well? We don’t give a rat’s ass.

Leaving my empathetic felines behind, I tried jogging the cold away. Until I started up the first hill of the course and turned into what felt like a two ton puppy with the drippiest nose in all of Nashville.

Panting like a two ton puppy in the Tennessee heat. Made my nose run more. Runny nose running

Runny run.

While attempting to chase my summertime blues away, the twins were mauling my mom who is always hands on when she visits Iowa.

Twin wrangler.

Twin wrangler.

Prince B received his first hair cut with the bribe of a sucker.

Getting the hair did with the bribe of a sucker.

A little sucker for sweets.

Being that Prince B not only got to visit a stylist first AND got candy, Princess B went shopping and got a haul that makes Auntie CBXB’s heart pitter patter.

Little CBXB in the making

Skulls, cats and studs? A little CBXB in the making, my friends!

Wallowing in my whiny self-pity, Ted stonewalled me when I asked him to pay me some kindness.

Shut the fuck up.

Again with this sickness nonsense? Shut the fuck up.

I turned to a cinnamon shot Saturday night, hoping to ease my scratchy throat.

Grandpa's cough syrup

Grandpa’s cough syrup on double time.

Even Cameron Diaz couldn’t believe I braved the polar vortex with my cold to see her new film, Sex Tape (wait and rent at home).

AH!

The lengths I go to for entertainment…

Knocking myself out cold with medicine, I was sure Sunday would greet me with a little healthier fun.

Can't stop. Won't stop.

Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

When I realized the sneezes were here to stay, I braved sweating it out at the pool.

Sweating it out at the pool

Just what the doctor ordered…sunshine and a bloody mary.

Unable to keep my eyes open and fearful of passing out, resembling a drooling beached whale at the pool, I retreated back to the mini manse where I was finally given deserving bedside manner.

Sniffles snuggled away.

Snuggling the sniffles away.

Proving that Nurse Ted is the cure for my summertime blues.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

Who Shit in the Baby Pool?

Growing up, my sister and I had the fortune of being raised alongside our kinfolk (I live in the South now, so I can use that word like it’s no big deal and still relevant in this century. Although I only ever heard it once growing up, in a history book).  A batch of our cousins would visit for weeks at a time in the summer and being in such a small town, we made our own fun. Like getting the garden hose out and filling up a plastic pool on the deck to swim (even when you feel WAY too grown up to get into it).

As it goes with family, you often times become so comfortable, you can let it all hang out (sometimes quite literally).  On the specific day in the photo below, we had an absolute surprise from my cousin T.  He was particularly lazy, not wanting to get out of the pool for a bathroom break.

What's that smell?

What’s that smell?

That’s the little shit (pun intended) T in the back, concentrating on his masterpiece. My sister is on the left, splashing with oblivious delight, as I sit next to her in my Rainbow Brite swimsuit, not amused. Of course T’s big brother in front thinks it’s all kinds of hilarious.  Being trashy is knowing better but doing it anyway, not giving a rat’s ass what anyone thinks.  And T absolutely knew better but rejoiced in seeing our squeals of disgust and overreaction to the floater in the baby pool.

Although, I’m thinking a turd in a plastic pool was a step up from where my folks originally took me to swim…in mud puddles (because that’s all kinds of sanitary, yes?) where it looked like someone had previously taken a dump.

Mud buddies.

The original Honey Boo Boo.

No pool? No worries. Just find a hole on a gravel road and insert kids! Luckily for me, I had on long pants unlike my teeny weeny friend Erica who got to soak in all of the benefits of a gravel pit with her short overalls.

Now that’s nothing if not fabulous trash.

CBXB

CBXB!