Weekend Winks – Surprises, Six Degrees and Slaying

This shade of black really brings out the color of my soul.

God I love a t-shirt that speaks for me.

Open for fun.

My aunt flew in to surprise my dad for a mini retirement celebration. It was pretty fucking fabulous.

The par-tay train headed downtown to honky tonk on Broadway.

The Bat Building never gets old.

Robert’s Western World never gets old.

Arriving late after gussying up, as soon as my ass hit the bar stool in Robert’s, I got a message from an old school friend asking if I happened to be around. Seeing as Music City has 100 fucking people moving to the city every.single.day (please for the love of god, STOP MOVING HERE. Come visit, spend some cash and get the fuck out) Nashvillians going downtown is about as rare as a man being falsely accused of rape. So like, 99.9% never.

Downtown used to be a fun hang every so often but now, it’s asses to elbows everywhere. So it was Kismet that I happened to be in a bar right across the street from my old buddy, who still resides in Iowa. He was visiting for work and just thought he’d reach out. As kids, our families would camp (yes, I actually camped (ew) before I knew glamping was a thing) and one of our fave activities was going around Wilson’s Lake and collecting pop cans that we’d turn in for a refund at Cheese’s grocery store. Redeeming five cents per can, I thought we were going to be thousandaires as we packed garbage after garbage bag full of aluminum. I think we each ended up with about $50. Still not bad for 10 year olds.

Six degrees of CBXB.

When I went to meet up with his crew, I didn’t know anyone else at the table. But within the 30 minutes I chit chatted, I somehow had a connection to or through or knew someone they knew at the table. My friend came across the street to say hey to Dada CBXB who, prior to his move to Nashville (and retirement), was a teacher and coach of some sort for over 30 years.

Old school.

Naturally we did what all teachers and coaches do when they reunite with former students.

Shots.

I mean, you know I have an ever classy fam.

Blurred lines.

Saturday came early for my Iowa twins, who were frying up a donut storm.

Then they decided to create costumes since the weather was kinda shitty.

If you guessed bats, you’d be right.

Inspired by my mini bakers, my lazy ass decided to get out a new pancake mix I picked up. Mostly because it was gluten free but really because all it takes is 2/3 cup of the mix and 3/4 cup of water.

Betty.Fucking.Crocker.

My Iowa Hawkeyes had a 2:30 kick off, so I sauntered out to Dada CBXB’s and watched my dudes school the Minnesota Golden Gophers. The Hawks won 48-31. You know what that meant….six rounds of our classy Family Tradition.

I’m not good at math but I couldn’t fit six pics into my cute photo collage.

It also meant that the Floyd of Rosedale rivalry trophy will reside another year with my favorite birds.

The pig stays in the Hawkeye State.

After the welcomed distraction of a win, it remained consistently hard to escape the painful thoughts that have been swirling around my noggin for the last three weeks, as America’s attitude toward rape culture continues to shock the ever living hell out of me.

It’s sad. It’s so sad. So much so that I’ve turned to eating my pain away. Which isn’t working for my brain as much as it is my already ample ass.

I’ll have five pounds of wings, please. No, really, we had five pounds of wings. And Shit Dip that was already inhaled when this photo was snapped. And like one celery stick.

We welcomed Sunday by washing Saturday away with margaritas at our fave Mexican joint.

Tasty treats.

Accompanied by what felt like 482 lbs of food after I scarfed my feelings food down.

Another side of salsa, please.

Of course no self care Sunday would be complete without my personal bible, People magazine, and a dip in bubbles.

To those of you weary to the motherfucking bone after the past few weeks, know that it’s OK to feel that way. To those of you who are confused after the past few weeks, know that it’s OK to feel that way. To those of you who feel hopeless after the past few weeks, that’s not OK.

You matter.

The next generation matters.

K. Thanks. Bye.

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.Β  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!

Weekend Winks – Surprise Party Style

Jell-O shots, honky tonkin’ and birthday celebrations make for one fabulous Nashville weekend.

Capturing all of the honky tonk best.

Capturing all of the honky tonk best.

My mama’s birthday was this past weekend and my Aunt Crazy Pants was top secretly flying in from Iowa as a surprise. Being that it was late in the evening on Thursday night and the fact that her flights were all on time, I didn’t think twice about heading to the airport in the classiest threads in my closet.

My evening finest.

My evening finest.

When luggage didn’t make the flight, I realized I would have to grace the airport with an appearance and I got to proudly march through baggage claim in my most subtle t-shirt and see through stretch pants.

Luggage

Aunt Crazy Pants was happy to see me. The airport staff, not so much.

On Friday Ted anxiously helped with the decorating as he’s an old party pro, being that I’m his mama. New Cat was carefully taking pointers while being sure to rest his bowling ball sized belly near the front window, unable to lift a paw to help.

Decorating helpers

Party on, Ted.

Done and done!

Done and done!

Once the party prep was complete, there was only one thing left to do – get the celebration started properly.

Party On!

It’s five o’clock somewhere…just not in Nashville.

After a few happy shots, we needed to hide Aunt Crazy Pants quietly.

Quiet in the mini manse!

Silence in the mini manse!

So we put her on a stool in the corner of my bathroom. I’m nothing if not a gracious host.

HIde out.

Hide out.

Turns out Mama CBXB had zero clue any shenanigans were in the making and the surprise went off without a hitch.

Surprise!

Gotcha!

Our fabulous foursome of ladies was complete with the entrance of L-Dawg and we started to party like classy dames….which didn’t last long.

Fun Crew

Fun crew.

The inner rock stars came out about 19 minutes into the evening….

Guitar hero.

Guitar hero.

Aunt Crazy Pants decided to showcase her abilities to take Jell-O shots off of her own chest…

Jell-O shots with no hands.

No handed Jell-O bandit.

And Camo had to be called later in the night, as my aunt decided to try and single-handedly destroy my closet after copious amounts of spiked gelatin.

Camo made an appearance to save my closet's life.

Camo made an appearance to save my closet’s life.

All in all a fun way to spend a Friday night.

Cheers to an evening fulfilled!

Cheers to an evening fulfilled!

Saturday greeted us with bottomless mimosas and some girl talk for breakfast.

Table talk.

Table talk with Ted.

After spending the entire day in our pajamas, it was time to get gussied up and head downtown to honky tonk.

Gussied in our giddy ups.

Adult women in matching giddy ups are beyond fabulous, right? RIGHT?

My 6’4″ dad drives a vehicle the size of a clown car but thankfully all of our curvaceousness fit into the backseat with no problems.

Fred Flintstone mobile.

Fred Flintstone’s car is bigger. Just sayin’.

As soon as we hit Roberts Western World, it was time for jazz hands to come out and play.

Jazz handing it like it's my job.

We’re heeeeeeere! You know, the quiet ones in the corner booth.

I worked off all of my alcohol intake by sweating it out on the dance floor like it was my job with my new friend Gramps.

My new fave Grandpa.

Dancing with the Stars FAIL.

Aunt Crazy Pants had a much better time being twirled around by her own personal Fred Astaire.

Cray Pants

Giving me and Gramps a run for our dancing money.

There’s nothing less annoying than the dancing crew who takes endless selfies of themselves, in hopes one photo will capture all of the fun taking place.

Holla!

We look nuts and my mom is headless but we’re living it up.

Sunday morning came all too soon and my poor pussies were pooped from all of the weekend late night festivities.

Party pooped

Looking just how I felt…from all of the dancing.

Prince and the pillow.

His Royal Highness with my pillow, refusing to move for placement of my head.

And while we cat napped the rest of the weekend away, the three days of celebrating were well worth the headache(s), liver dehydration and caloric overload.

Fun festive

Two waters, please.

Here’s hoping your week is off to a fabulous start!

CBXB

CBXB!