Griswold Family Style Fourth of July

Driving a boat at Lake of the Ozarks…

Party Chick

…is a party girl from Tennessee.

Party Girl

As cousins gather every Fourth…

Cousins

…to be with family

The Griswolds

From Jell-O shots…

Jell-O

…with whipped cream.

Whipped Cream

Constant fights over the mic…

Mic Fight

to sing karaoke.

Karoake King

Trivial Pursuit winners, always reign supreme!

Winners!

From new tattoos…

Tattoo

…to pool dunks…

Dunk

…with drunken dancers around a hunk.

Hunk

Our favorite toy is the aqua bar…

Aqua Bar

…that prevents us from floating too far.

Floater

 I’m proud to be from my family!

Family

Where at least I can be me.

Beerpoo

And they never, ever let me forget

Just how handy my booty can be.

Handy

Cousins blowing their muscles up…

Blow Hards

…next to me

Muscles

so I won’t cry and feel left out.

Cry Baby

There ain’t no doubt I love my clan –

Clan

Thank God for my family!

Fam

Here’s hoping your version of the Griswolds has a safe and booze filled 4th.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

The Fabulousness of White Trash

Sink.

Only chic people bathe in the kitchen sink, ya dig?

Can white trash be fabulously classy?

It’s all in one’s perspective.

I picked up all kinds of trashy tips from my youth – like wrapping a can of pop (soda, Coke, whatever area of the world you live in insert word here) in aluminum foil is a poor gal’s koozie (my mom would do this to chill my beverage for field trips), keeping a wet wash cloth in a plastic baggie is just the same (and much cheaper) than a wet wipe (again, my clever mother), and ketchup between two slices of bread will make you feel like a chef (my genius shining through).

Ketchup sandwich for one, please.

Ketchup sandwich for one, please.

Any of these tips ring a bell to you? If not, you’re a classy person – in my book anyway.

To me, being white trash is knowing better (eating the piece of cheese after removing the moldy corner, blaming the broken basketball hoop on me, your cousin when I saw you break it with my own two eyes, proudly announcing that your entire family’s favorite movie is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, digging the bag of chips out of the garbage because you want to be sure you ate them all or wearing a mini skirt with heels – that are just a tad too high – but doing it anyway), while not giving a rat’s ass what anyone thinks.

A mini minus the heels.

An early mini minus the heels.

I grew up in a rural Iowa town where it was a big deal if Dad decided to get a Casey’s gas station pizza on Friday night, a small hog (yes hog, not dog) house served as my backyard playhouse where mud pies were served abundantly and you were never short a friend or cousin to play alongside and smoke sugared cancer sticks.

Smoking deck for my cousin and me.

Classy candy cigarettes on the smoking deck after a long day of play.

I was also raised in a world where it was perfectly acceptable (in my family, anyway) to come home from the pool for lunch, play a round of baseball with Dad in the yard (not opting for a wardrobe change – sticking with the classy bathing suit), then head back to swim the rest of the day away.

Quick round of batting practice while home from the pool

Quick round of batting practice while home from the pool.

Being in a small town, we made our own fun. If there were no toys around or activities for a kid to do, my parents entertained me with a brown grocery bag, which I obviously enjoyed with enthusiasm.

No toys? No problem. A paper bag will do the trick.

No toys? No problem.

Preschool graduation days were also classily creative due to my mother’s knack of using paper and a plastic bowl in lieu of a real hat.

Graduation day at its finest.

Kiddie College graduation day at its finest.

Thankfully, the tricks of the white trash trade I acquired while growing have remained in perfect tact.

Drunk Girl

Classy drunk girl gracefully aging through life with a red roadie and one shoe.

White trash? Or fabulously trashy?

Fabulous in my book.

CBXB

CBXB!

Star Spangled Shenanigans

Driving a boat at Lake of the Ozarks

Party Chick

Is a party girl from Tennessee

Party Girl

As cousins gather every Fourth

Cousins

To be with family

The Griswolds

From Jell-O shots

Jell-O

With whipped cream

Whipped Cream

Constant fights over the mic

Mic Fight

To sing karaoke

Karoake King

Trivial Pursuit winners, always reign supreme

Winners!

From new tattoos

Tattoo

To pool dunks

Dunk

With drunken dancers around a hunk

Hunk

Our favorite toy is the aqua bar

Aqua Bar

That prevents us from floating too far…

Floater

And I’m proud to be from my family

Family

Where at least I can be me

Beerpoo

And they never, ever let me forget

Just how handy my booty can be

Handy

Cousins blowing their muscles up

Blow Hards

Next to me

Muscles

So I won’t cry and feel left out

Cry Baby

There ain’t no doubt I love my clan

Clan

Thank God for my family!

Fam

CBXB

CBXB!

How to Trash Up a Classy Joint

You can't take me anywhere.

You can’t take me anywhere.

While in Miami recently, I was lucky enough to be invited to the beyond delicious Bourbon Steak restaurant. I’m sure the staff wanted to run for the hills upon our appearance and hearing my shrill voice laughing at the first photo of the evening which ended up being a group selfie fail compliments of yours truly.

Group Selfie Fail

I need longer arms. Or perhaps one of those things Santa delivered every other narcissistic person on the planet for Christmas…a selfie stick!

When entering a fine dining establishment, it’s important to first capture all of your classiness before you disrupt every other diner for two straight hours.

Don’t all restaurant goers get a pic in the entryway?

First, capture all of your classiness before you disrupt the other diners for two straight hours.

Hidden trashiness at its finest.

All of your classy efforts will fly right out the window faster than a witch on a broom when you’re unable to decide what to sip on for the evening due to the cocktail menu being as large as an outdated encyclopedia, so you just splurge. No one will look at you funny.

Two is better than one.

Two is better than one.

Next be sure to capture all of the finest accessories that accompany your experience because if you’re like me, you’re known for whipping together fancy suppers like this…

One of my masterpieces.

One of my masterpieces.

So pay no attention when snide looks are thrown your way as you snap a pic of very ordinary items on your lavish dinner table like olives so green it appears as if the Grinch made them.

Grinch green olives reenest olives on the planet.

GREEN OLIVES! HOLY SHIT!

And act cool when a Caesar salad comes out with a swirly bacon hat on top of it.

Is this considered six degrees from Kevin Bacon?

Is this considered six degrees from Kevin Bacon?

Keep it together when your sushi comes out minus the rice.

Tasty tuna.

If I eat this raw fish I will have the body of Demi Moore, correct?

Being a classless diner means you wolf your food down while everyone else acts like a normal person and eats at a normal speed (and actually chews their food).

Did I do that? Inhaler.

Did I do that?

Another thing about fabulously fancy restaurants is their comfortable seating. If you’re too full to move or need to pass out take a nap, simply lie down and do so.

After double fisting cocktails and stuffing my face so fast I wouldn’t have noticed if I swallowed one of my own rings, I sank into  the plush couch where my ample rear resided.

Pass out, er I mean nap time.

Fancy restaurants require a snooze.

Photobombing

Fancy restaurants require photo bombing.

Thumb sucking.

Fancy restaurants require thumb sucking.

Make out sesh with my pillow.

Fancy restaurants require make out sessions with a pillow.

To all of those diners around me, it looked as if I was down for the count.

JUST KIDDING!

JUST KIDDING!

When you’re back and at ’em again, it’s smart to get your second wind by drinking a martini and coffee at the same time.

Still able to double fist.

Secrets to lasting all night.

Something else that will help you remain secretly trashy in a classy joint is being joined by a sidekick. Not only did mine expertly photo bomb me, she did the following when I asked her to take yet another picture of me (because I didn’t have enough already)…

A woman after my own heart.

Yep, she’s perfect for me.

Once a Sidekick is in residence, it’s important to share every little detail of the fancy eating experience.

So when I discovered a full length mirror with complimentary lighting, I had to get SK in on the adventure.

Oh hello mirror!

Oh hello mirror! I’ve never seen myself before. Better get a picture.

Get out of the way bitch. We need the 5,389,013 picture of ourselves tonight!

Get outta the way bitch. We need the 5,389,013 picture of ourselves tonight!

Victoria's Secret has not called yet.

Victoria’s Secret has not called yet. Weird.

It’s of the utmost importance to act as if dining in such a fine establishment is no big deal, so on your way out of the restaurant don’t make a scene where everyone in the restaurant can see you.

Hey-oh!

No, that’s not a plastic bag hanging off of SK’s purse as you might expect. It’s a scarf. Because it’s terribly cold in Miami.

But then again, what fun is it dining in a classy place without bringing a little tashtacular attitude?

You can't take me anywhere.

No fun. No fun at all.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

How to Make an Ass of Yourself on a Private Plane

Is it possible to act like taking a private jet is no big deal?

Holy shit!

Holy shit!

For some, yes. For me, hell no.

I have a real knack for being trashtacular (i.e. acting a tad inappropriate during insane experiences but carrying on anyway while not giving a rat’s ass because I have zero shame) because every time I try to ‘be cool’ about outrageous things I get to do for work, I tend to look like a total idiot.  So while riding in a private jet, I was my typical fabulously trashy self (at least I’m consistent).

If taking a private plane is second nature to you, there is no need to take a photo of your transportation.

But when you’re classy like me and think this may be your one and only opportunity to ever board a jet like a superstar (I’m the hired help), you go bananas and try to document the trip so you can prove you were actually on the plane.

Photo 1,093,267 of the same damn plane.

Fancy folks who typically travel in style (and not always in the back row of coach right next to the fucking bathrooms) are not impressed with the gold-plated seat belt. When I saw the shiny buckle, I acted like it was a solid gold and wondered how I could rip it from the seat and put it in my purse as a memento.

This fabulous accessory should be mine.

Private planes have heavily stocked liquor cabinets that I was happy to help empty.  And, when you constantly travel via private jet, you know to sit in the seats with cup holders to hold your tasty beverages.

Not me. When I boarded, I just had to sit on the couch because the planes I normally ride in don’t contain living room furniture.  Therefore, I had my neighbor hold my wine glass when my hands were busy.

Seat mates equally as classy as moi make for good cup holders.

The truly fabulous jet setter knows that pilots fly the plane.  But I had to capture the moment in the cockpit in case I forgot.

Pilots flying a plane. How outrageous.

After helping the flight attendant clean out the liquor cabinet, I had no shame in becoming her best friend. And of course I had to solidify our newfound friendship with a photo.

The ever patient Chelsea who provided endless refills and most likely wanted to punch me in the face by the end of the flight as I was not the model passenger.

The fabulous jet setting crowd know that they can carry whatever they want onto the aircraft.

Being a giddy idiot over a gift basket I’d received during the trip, I paid no attention to putting one foot in front of the other and spilled its contents boarding the plane, horrifically watching my loot hit the tarmac (you can breathe a sigh of relief – all of my goodies remained in mint condition.  Although I don’t think the flight crew had ever seen anyone loose marbles over a cookbook the way I did as I galloped down the stairs to collect my scattered possessions).

I’ll be damned if this is going under the plane.

And after all that running around the runway, gathering my basket belongings, I hustled up into the plane to get a snapshot of myself acting like a lady of leisure in the talent’s seat.

Oh Dahling. This old piece of metal? No biggie, I fly around in it all of the time. Where’s my glass of champs? CHELSEA!

This private jet thing is no big deal….unless you’re an ass clown like myself – and then it’s the ride of a lifetime.

CBXB

CBXB!

How to be Almost Famous on a Cruise

Oh spring break how I miss you.

Not me right now.

Not me right now.

It seems just about everyone I know is packing up and heading to a warm, sunny, sandy, cocktail filled destination at the moment. So while sitting on the porch at my Nashville mini manse with an umbrella shoved into my Skinny Pirate, bird shit under my feet and last summer’s failed flower attempts rotting away in their pretty pots reminiscing on past vacations, I got a fresh email from Carnival Cruise Lines (rub it in my face whydontcha?).

Oh the joys of porch sitting.

How we feel about winters that last too long with no spring break.

Upon being reminded that I won’t be sailing away on a fun ship anytime soon, I decided revisiting a vacay with you would put a little pep in my spring step and give you tips for trashtactic hilarity on a boat.

First, one must kick the trip off with a photo bomb.

Sweet Nana just wanted a photo with her daughters for a holiday card…too bad. We were the last group to get on board and my attempt at a successful bomb even made the photographer giggle after his other 1,998 snapshots.

Last but not least ruining a Christmas card.

Upon boarding the ship, you must rush to your room and make sure the liquor mouthwash you carefully packed (even reattaching the tamper seal with super glue…yep I’m that classy!) did not get confiscated from luggage (God forbid any extra money is spent aboard the ship).

Mouthwash at its finest. Best mouthwash ever.

Mouthwash at its finest.

Next, you must check out the personalized party favors gifted from the gang you’re traveling with…thus finding out where you rank popularity-wise (don’t get your hopes up too high). Our party received tanks with nick names listed on the back (I loathe wearing matching giddy-ups but have no shame) as well as personalized drinking glasses.

The problem? My name isn’t Morgan.

Obviously my drinking reputation preceded my appearance on the boat.

To ease your mother’s worried mind, send her a picture of yourself ensuring the height of the cabin deck railings will prevent you from falling overboard into the sea (she was seriously concerned about this taking place – but in her defense I once fell down every single step at the Lincoln Memorial on a class trip).

Look Ma, no hands!

It would take waaaaay too much effort for me to hoist myself over. Plus, I don’t want to get my hair wet. Priorities, yo.

To make your trip above and beyond entertaining, you should seek out the loudest, crudest, funniest, could-give-a-rat’s-ass ladies (one of their crew experienced boat jail before even stepping aboard the ship because she forgot she had bullets in her purse…you know in between her moonshine and tampons) to be your cruise BFFs, calling attention to every single thing you do.

Lost in the bullet offender's bosom.

Quietly lost in the bullet offender’s bosom before a photo op.

Decible breaking

The unabashedly trashy, thunderous, photo loving group.

Having boisterous new pals will make complete strangers come up and want pictures taken with you. Below is my newly acquired bestie, who wanted her picture taken with “crazy girl” (shockingly her words, not mine). She introduced herself as Old Fart, naturally.

Craziness with an Old Fart.

I also suggest adopting a cruise pet to keep you mind off your little fur ball anxiously awaiting your return home. I took an adorable pigeon under my drunken wing, trying to coax him to perch upon my finger by tossing coconut breading his way. As the bird gobbled up the goods I kept scaring the bejesus out of him while trying to shove my digit under his talons.

Pigeon on my finger fail.

To really up the ante and make a famous ass of yourself on a cruise, get tipsy (because it’s raining and you have nothing else to do all day long but guzzle libations).

Touchdown!

When it rains, I pour.

Then while making your way to the bathroom, get motivated to stop and dance with a lone stranger (she was having her own fun, so I needed to crash her party) on the slippery deck to the sweet sounds of Hall & Oates.

The unsuspecting crowd.

A rainy deck full of eyes about to be on yours truly.

Because you’ll be dancing as if no one was watching (like, you know 902 eyeballs) be sure you still have your swimsuit on at 11pm for the complete effect (because rainy days call for swimsuits and no wardrobe changes) as you act like you’ve never pranced around in your damn life.

Celebrate good times, c'mon!

Celebrating my mad non-rhythmic, making-an- ass-of-myself skills.

All of your dancing nonsense will not only garner you endless stares from passengers the next day, it will also grant you first place in a very special contest. I woke up to this on our cabin door the following morning…

YES! I WON! Wait…

All in all if you follow my steps carefully, you will have a hazy recollection of a fun, eventful, laugh-’til-you-throw-up kinda cruise (or spring break). And you really won’t care that you made an ass of yourself (provided you drink all of your liquor mouthwash).

Ships ahoy!

CBXB

CBXB!

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Getting together with my gal pals always starts off with classy intentions.

Sometimes, we start at a local Nashville winery where the owner is out and about rubbing elbows with visitors. And being that this winery dude used to be in one of country music’s biggest duos, Brooks and Dunn we have no shame in asking for a photo, naturally.

Does anyone else hear Neon Moon?

Patiently waiting for a neon moon with Kix Brooks while guzzling wine.

Typically on a ladies night, we begin with good intentions all dolled up with our lipstick still in tact.

Good intentions

Pretty in pink with lipstick, of course.

Then after about a cocktail and a half, photo shoots commence while our love for one another gushes throughout conversations.

Fun fun

I love you. No I love you! But I loooove you, Girl.

Once love is professed, it’s time for shots.

And then...

Cheers to classy times.

And then hell starts to break loose…like taking pictures of our party in the back of a mini van.

Photos!

Yep, that’s how we roll.

We feel free to ditch the shoes and any ounce of dignity as our killer heels hurt our feet.

Shoes off!

Who needs shoes when you have booze?!

Our magical powers of prowess surface as we will our significant others to call us.

Pleeeeeeeeease call!

Pleeeeeeeeease call!

We find other uses for feminine products while on cocktail number five.

Tampon Time

No Botox needed when you have a maxi pad.

The fun on girls night out never stops – not even for pangs of hunger.

STOP!

Won’t stop. Can’t stop.

Us trashtacular gals know when it’s time to stuff our faces like truck drivers in order to keep the party going.

Like this...

Eating cheeseburgers is hilarious business.

Once our bellies are full, we charge on divulging deep, dark secrets.

Secrets

Trust me, your secret is not safe with me.

Photo ops get a little trying as we start to lean like the Tower of Pisa.

Pic train

Wait, you leaning left or right?

Once we start feeling fat from cramming food in our bellies, yoga moves seem like a good idea.

Work it.

A plank pose. Who’s with me?

And then we get to feeling crafty. Who doesn’t want a marker creation on their forehead?

Get crafty.

Trust me. This is the best smiley face ever.

No gals evening is ever complete without the appearance of jazz hands.

Jazz hands, anyone?

Treating ten digits like extra accessories.

An evening with my sophisticated crowd wouldn’t be the same without helping a lady to a chair.

Hey-oh! It's not a GNO until someone is groped.

Hey-oh! It’s not a GNO until someone is groped.

But all good things must come to an end.

NOOOOOOOOO I never want the party to end!

NOOOOOOOOO I never want the party to stop!

Some of the bigger bawl babies have to be coddled – soothed into knowing there will be another night to galavant around with the girls.

Tell me I'm going to be OK...

Tell me I’m going to be OK…

Coming home in the morning light isn’t as glamorous as Cyndi Lauper makes it out to be but at least my mother isn’t yelling at me to get my life right.

To this. Sushi can suck it.

Dreams of next GNO dancing in my head.

While it may take us a little time to get back into our daily saddles again, we always have fun in the back of our minds as we work the week away.

Is it? Well, is it?!

Is it? Well, is it?!

Who’s in for the next night out?

CBXB

CBXB!