Birthday Cheers to My Legendary Girl Dad

Oh dads.

If you are lucky enough to have one or have had one in your life, then you win. A familiar fixture on this blog and in my life, my dad celebrates his day of birth (along with his twin!) today. Aunt Crazy Pants once doled out advice that I didn’t think much of at the time when I was younger. She said (during some stupid crazy boy drama, no doubt) “No man will ever love you the way your dad loves you.”

This didn’t really dawn on me until I was an “adult” (a term I use for myself extremely loosely these days) and a dude I was living with said to me, “I can’t treat you like your dad treats you.”

BOY BYE.

I guess I never had to think about it because of the jackpot I scored when my dad chose to be mine. A knight in shining (well, in his case probably rusty) armor. A frugal on the allowance guy whose driving abilities were always affected by how loudly the radio was playing in unknown territory (TURN DOWN Q.102 GIRLS WE’RE IN DES MOINES!). A dad who commuted four hours daily to work but rarely missed an extracurricular activity. A dude who could scare boyfriends shitless with his size but is actually a giant, goofy Teddy Bear.

A father who not only duct taped my glasses together in the third grade (hence the short-lived nickname “Ducky” by the oh-so-sweet fellow 4th graders) but also uses the same magic to keep my bumper adhered to my car as an “adult”.

A dad who tells you to “tough it up” when you’re sitting in the superintendent’s office, holding a bloody chin after being hit in the face with a baseball bat during P.E. but remains strong and silent decades later when he’s driving you to the hospital after being raped.

So yeah, Aunt Crazy Pants and her advice rings true – best of luck to a dude ever living up to The Man, The Myth, My Legend.

Celebrating the Big Fella today, please join me as I share some of the valuable…

LESSONS FROM MY LEGEND

Image 90

You should always have your family’s back…

bl

… even if they often attack.

Throw your hands up in the air…

wave

…and wave them like I just don’t care.

Even if you’re a dork inside…

...without my shades.
                                              

…it’s no matter if you’re cool on the outside.

The art of muscle blowing is unique.

blow
                      
and
                                       
still

Passed down to generations for upkeep.

Pink isn’t just for girls…

flex

…guys often put the color on for a whirl.

Sequins should be in my everyday attire…

love

     … as you gave me the first bedazzled top I ever acquired.

It’s OK to stand out in a crowd…

Dada C-Note

…just be sure to do it loud and proud.

Giving is better than receiving…

Image 91

…except when you let your three year old open your gift to be appeasing. 

The importance of slathering on sunscreen daily…

very

   …just be sure to not get too crazy.

The significance of jazz hands…

was

…often help when making demands.

It’s not a road trip…

check

…unless you have rotgut vodka and your finger to mix.

Reminding me there’s more than one fish in the sea…

fish

           …especially whenever a boy has been mean to me.

Being the life of the party…

never
                                    

…is like leading one big, fun army.

The duo that shoots shots together…

Wild Turkey
Image 11
Stays together.

…stays together.

It’s important to share…

at the

…even while pigging out at the Iowa State Fair.

It’s OK to relax…

after

…after a day has been crap.

You’ve carried me through physical hard times…

broken foot
         
broken ankle

…even if sometimes it was from too much self-inflicted wine.

Tipping my Skinny Pirates when my nails are drying…

treat
                         

…because you know there’s a silver lining.

Most importantly, not all heroes wear capes…

Not all

…just dads who pick us up no matter our proverbial scrapes. 

So let us all raise our glasses today…

cheers!

…and cheers your birthday away!

Those are just a few of my lessons from…

happy

 The Man. The Myth. The Legend.

Happy Birthday, Dada!

Join the twins in a sing-a-long to Coo Coo…

(of course, we do not have normal monikers such as Grandpa in my classy family)

We love you.

CBXB, Sister CBXB, and the rest of our crazy crew!

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – The Badass is Back

Saying last week was hard is and will always be an understatement when it’s Rapegateversary time. The days moved so slowly, it feels like it should be October by now instead of February 3rd. Sharing my experience helps me in what I still grapple with from being raped and also, offers my support to whomever may need it. Speaking of support, you showed up for me in droves and that means everything.

Just a small sample of you making it easier for me…

Just so you know, showing up for someone who needs it is beyond explicable. A kind comment on social media. A text. A check-in. A fucking hilariously inappropriate gif. I think sometimes people don’t reach out to others when they know it’s a hard time because they don’t know what to say and I just want to remind you that you don’t really have to say anything. A heart emoji does the trick.

Thanks for keeping me badass.

While I was busy with my International Day of the Badass, my two kick ass twins were celebrating their 100th day of school.

Princess B treated it like a party day.

Prince B couldn’t be bothered to look away from his Bad Guy book.

In this family, we may have our Touchdown Shot tradition but there are a few others that have remained alive and kickin’ – one of those being homemade donuts. When I saw what Princess B was baking I almost got in my rust bucket of a vehicle for the nine hour trip to indulge.

Donut delight.

There’s never, ever, ever, ever a dull moment regarding the twins. In between bike rides and hot tub splashing this weekend, they started their Valentine day celebrations as soon as February commenced.

Spreading the love.

Speaking of celebrating, I could not, for the life of me, decide whether or not to keep my pink tree up all year long again. Being that my pussies can’t answer with words, I turned to the ever scientific Instagram poll for assistance in decision making.

Enticing the decision, I displayed my prior celebration trees.

Digging around my phone for those pics basically translated to me wanting to keep the goddamn tree up in the first place. And my Instagram peeps agreed.

Landslide celebration.

Instead of immediately throwing Valentine’s decor on the pink corner of merriment, I went to celebrate the outcome with First Mate.

We sea more wine in our future.

Always stocked full of wine, First Mate has been collecting bottles and boxes from Trader Joe’s, where the price points make it beyond easy to try different vinos. I think the total of the featured wines below is a whopping $35.

So many options (and we’re cheating on Bota Box).

The thing with fancy gals like us typically drinking wine from a box is that we sometimes forget what tools properly open a bottle of wine. I can tell you this – it’s not a can opener.

Blonde is hard.

After First Mate’s failed attempt with uncorking a bottle with a can opener, we decided to fill our pie holes with pizza. Because she lives in a newer area, deliveries are sometimes difficult. Thankfully, not only can First Mate dismantle a bomb from her time in the military, fly a plane and be a boss bitch at work, she can also traffic direct (even though she can’t open a bottle of wine with a can opener).

Very important delivery instructions.

I knew better than to leave my pristine white sweatshirt on while stuffing my face dining like a classy lady and managed to get pizza sauce on the bottom of my arm. I have many talents. Sloppy eating is one of them.

With a full belly and a good night’s sleep, Saturday started with an overhaul of the Mini Manse living room. Rocky and Scooch were primed and ready to assist.

Before Rapegate, the pride I had in my own personal appearance, along with my Mini Manse was skyscraper high on my list. However, PTSD and depression have a way of sucking every last motherfucking bit of energy out of you and everything once prideful to me was thrown to the wayside. In finding a new rug for the living room, a spark was ignited that isn’t going to be extinguished anytime soon. I spent 14 hours touching all items scattered about, dusting, Windexing, vaccuming, moving furniture, building a cat scratch tree (OK, I just had to screw some things in but still), getting all photos and sparkles in just the right places.

Pussy approved.

This is a significant sign in my recovery process because it’s me acting like me again. I’m super fucking pumped that this bitch is back to being badass in almost all areas of my life again.

Also badass? My Iowa Hawkeye football players who now play in the NFL making appearances at this year’s Super Bowl. George Kittle and CJ Beathard on the 49ers and Ben Niemann and Anthony Hitchens on the Chiefs team. Either way the game went for me, it was a win.

The pussies could have given two shits.

Super no thanks on that bowl.

But Dada CBXB and I were sure to have one last tailgate of this football season.

Cheers to our final football watch until fall.

With my badass outlook back, I’m starting to see life through my fuschia colored glasses again.

Forever thankful to you for the assist.

Cheers!

CBXB

 

 

Weekend Winks – Sorry Not Sorry

I’m having some major holidayitis. It’s all I can do at work to stay focused because my head is in North Pole clouds. So I’ve been passing my time during my eight hour day like a cotton-headed ninny muggin.

Making good use of work centerpieces.

As soon as I arrived home to the Mini Manse on Friday night, I poured a hefty glass of vino while I planted my ass on my leopard throne. When it was time for me to break my seal, I came back from the bathroom to find an atrocity created by a curious canine.

The HORROR.

While red wine was soaking like quicksand into my beloved custom couch (first and last big girl purchase since college), I not-so-silently freaked out. I glanced at the other end of the sofa and found the culprit just wallowing in her guilt.

Sorry not sorry.

I quickly ran to my new best friend (since The Pussy Posse has reached numbers of a zoo and due to my overall daily klutziness), Resolve carpet cleaner. This shit works miracles but I wasn’t sure if it would be enough for red wine on a spotted couch.

Couch (and Prissy life) saver.

Turns out, the Resolve performed an early Christmas miracle.

What wine?

Prissy felt so badly, she pretended as if nothing happened. I didn’t cry tears over the spilled wine but I did have some choice words for the pom.

The nerve of this bitch.

Saturday was an early tailgate for Dada CBXB and me with our Iowa Hawkeyes kicking off at 11am. We downed our first touchdown shot before noon.

Who doesn’t shoot shots before noon?

Iowa went on to be victorious due to field goals, so our family tradition was one and done for the day but I was able to eek out a bit more for Saturday fuel.

Dada CBXB loaded several of my Christmas bins in his sleigh for Saturday delivery (full disclosure: not all of them would fit into his vehicle, so the rest are coming in next weekend). The Mini Manse currently looks like Christmas got drunk and threw up all over but at least I’m making Santa proud.

Christmas cray cray.

I wasn’t alone in my holiday excitement. The twins have gained the love of all things decorating from Sister CBXB and started trimming one of their trees.

After elfing and unloading bins, I sat down for a quick rest that turned into a full-on pussy mauling. Which translates into “I couldn’t move for three hours because cats were all over me.”

Thundercunt snuggle.

I moved when she moved.

Fabio, Ruby Sue (TC) and not pictured: Rocky and Scooch.

Sweet Princess Elsa Pants of the Mini Manse perched on the highest place possible, just out of reach. She’s my socially anxious pussy that is finally realizing the luckiness of her life with this crazy cat lady.

Finally settling in…after three years.

Beyond excited to watch Saturday Night Live, which was hosted by Will Ferrell, I pissed my pants (again) when Maya Rudolph reprised her role as Kamala Harris. In a previous SNL skit, she declared herself “America’s Fun Aunt” which she shortens to F.U.N.T. She then went on to say she was also “America’s Cool Aunt” and stopped short when she started to say C.U.N…–. I died. You can watch the skit here.

While I was busy wearing my rewind button out, pissing my pants over a F.U.N.T. the twins were prepping for their upcoming viewing of Frozen 2.

Prince B decked out in one of a kind bling crafted himself.

Princess B not only handcrafted herself Frozen-themed necklaces, but her mama also created a hair-do in which Princess Elsa herself would envy.

Beyond jealous of the hair.

Sunday really was a fun day for me. I meandered out to get groceries at 10am and ended up hitting two TJ Maxx stores (my second mothership to Target), Burlington Coat Factory, Marshalls, Kirklands and my fave liquor store, Reds. I didn’t mean to but it was fun just gazing at all of the holiday decor. I’m pretty sure I lost all sense of smell from the 1,843,023 candles I had to fucking sniff. I stumbled on a fun delight at Reds – canned bubby rosé from House Wines. Two dollars from each can benefits the Human Rights Campaign. So, I was doing my good deed for the day, right?

Making errands bright.

When I finally arrived back at the Mini Manse, my monthly box of cat shit had arrived. No matter how many mother fucking pet beds are around, the pussies insist that boxes are best.

Rocky. Never a dick in a box.

Ruby Sue. Always a dick in a box.

I settled into what was supposed to be a relaxing bubble bath with my brand new wine glass from family who visited earlier this month. It immediately became my favorite upon laying eyes on it as it reads: I do not spew profanities. I enunciate them CLEARLY like a fucking lady. It’s like my cousin “gets me” or something. Speaking of getting, Prissy had visions of vino in her head as she tried to not-so-slyly get into the glass on the edge of my tub. She’s such a fucking bitch but she’s so obviously mine as she’s a true booze hound.

Still NOT sorry.

As the holidays roll around and the state of the world is divisive at best, I think it’s a good time to remember kindness. Life can be harsh as we are all aware, but being kind isn’t hard. I have a lot of people in my life who have lost loved ones, with this being their first holiday without them here. I also know peeps who just loathe the holiday seasons for their own reasons. Whatever the case may be, just remember a smile can go a mile.

Thanks for the reminder Mr. Rogers.

Here’s hoping you have a short work week and unapologetically enjoy it.

Sorry not sorry.

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Winks – Feelings of Funk

I have been in the worst mood the past few weeks. Nothing self inflicted – mostly my reaction to first world problems kind of bad mood. I haven’t been able to shake it the fuck off (where is Taylor Swift when I need her?!) and it’s been an emotional and mentally exhausting time. The kind that sucks the joy from your bones.

Anyone else been stuck in a foul funk?

All the feels.

Luckily for me, aside from implementing the coping skills gained from therapy, my fur babies just know when mama needs extra TLC.

Prissy leading the snuggle pack.

I can never stop gazing at her purrfectly imperfect underbite. It’s the fucking cutest thing to me.

No need for canine braces.

My middle boy, Fabs, is the pussy most attached to my side by demanding attention, head rubs, head butts and figure eighting between my legs in horrible attempts to trip his already klutzy as fuck mother. But damn do I love the companionship (and let’s be honest, constant attention).

As for my twins, Rocky and Ruby Sue (aka Thundercunt), they may as well be attached at the hip. At night, this is their exact position, only I’m in the middle.

The snuggle is real.

Coming home and being surrounded by The Pussy Posse is a tremendous aid in the day-to-day bad mood struggle. You know what else helps? Weekends. And booze.

First Mate has been busy running around the world traveling for her new job, so we needed a catch up on a fabulously fall weathered Friday.

My kind of happy hour.

What the fuck would we do without our friends?

Hawk chomp.

College football is also another sanity sidekick I eagerly anticipate every Saturday. My Iowa Hawkeyes lost two of the last three games, so there was some extra added bubbles into the mix, as our family tradition shots have been shockingly sobering the last two weeks.

Champs. The only thing fun about an 11am kickoff.

Still touchdownless during the first half against Purdue, we overindulged in all the tailgating snacks.

Snack attack ingredients combined.

Then FINALLY, Iowa scored two touchdowns, double shots went town smoothly and our livers were back up and running.

Two touchdowns and a WIN!

While I was celebrating Saturday away, my two little monsters in Iowa were busy prepping for Halloween.

Cutest pumpkins on the planet.

I’m not exactly sure what was in this concoction, or which witch is gonna consume but brewing took place outside of their palace.

Witches brew, anyone?

Princess B has become quite the “baker” as she learned how to deep fry an Oreo.

Chef BoyarePrincessBee

She hated it.

The grocery chain Trader Joe’s is one I have never stepped foot in, mostly because it’s in the middle of a highly congested area of Nashville (and we all know how I feel about the fucking traffic here nowadays). A new store opened in my neck of the woods, so I decided to make my way in for their CBXB priced wine I’m always hearing about.

Trader Me Happy!

I got a cart (buggy if you’re from below the Mason-Dixon Line) and soon remembered why I don’t go to grocery stores on Sunday. Especially stupid since this Trader Joe’s had its grand opening this week.

Superfuckingmarket Sweeps.

There is no way the store wasn’t at its capacity, as every aisle I tried to venture down was asses to elbows to shopping carts nipping at my fucking ankles. Therefore, I just stayed in the wine aisle and gazed lovingly at the gigantic assortment offered.

Still worth the pennies on the vino I paid.

After the shitshow of Trader Joe’s, I went to my mothership, Target and ran into First Mate. Obvies it’s obvies why we’re besties. Afterward, we headed to Dalts for our new favorite Sunday cocktail, the poinsettia (champs with cranberry juice).

Watering hole.

After settling back into the Mini Manse, I practiced my Sunday selfcare for two hours (yes, I have to drain the tub and add more hot water but soooooo worth it).

As for the funky feelings, they are still lurking around the corners of my mind but what can’t be cured by pumpkins and wine?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

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!