Weekend Winks – A Wonder Dog and Dads

All is well and good until you kick your weekend off with a purple gin martini.

Then it’s fucking fabulous.

I only like gin when it’s purple.

A gaggle of friends were in Music City and we had so much fun, the time spent together warrants its own post. But what started out like this…

Was raging the following 24 hours like this…

No fun zone.

My Iowa twins were having their own fun on my old work stomping grounds at Adventureland, an amusement park near Des Moines.

You’re gonna have a fun filled day! (jingle)

I used to sing and dance on a stage that rose from the ground six times per day in the sweltering Iowa heat. It was so much more fun than waiting tables and it gave me the performance bug that eventually led me to Nashville.

I was not fortunate enough to be a plush dog. Once I was a fucking clown.

Princess B decided to get a few inches chopped off of her luscious locks and I don’t care that she’s my mini me, this chick can do no wrong when it comes to life her hair.

those. curls.

Saturday called for brunch and while I was busy guzzling bottomless mimosas at the bar, I saw a dog (it’s like my eyes are magnetically drawn to anything furry). The bartender took a beer, the dog retreived it from her hand and gingerly carried it to his owner at a nearby table.

I was so bummed I missed the video but naturally had to go and maul the dog, Dog for his fabulous efforts. Luckily for me, the owner was not a one and done kind of drinker, therefore, I had a chance to get this genius canine in his pet trick element.

*mind blown*

What else would one do on a low key Saturday night than watch your favorite Christmas movie for the 6,380,156 time? I couldn’t even wait until “Christmas in July”.

A fun old fashioned family Griswold Christmas.

Sunday greeted me with a fancy omelette courtesy of Van Waffles.

That drizzle is everything.

Father’s Day celebrations then commenced and I sent messages to my peeps. I have dudes in my life who are fathers to fish, four legged friends, and humans. First photo I received of the day was from my cousin and his one and some months year old daughter (why don’t people just say one? Why does it have to be 16, 18, 24 months? Just a side question for the humanless parents).

Juicy Lucy!

My mini party headed to the ever affordable Chili’s for their all day happy hour (2 for 1 house wines and beer, hello!) to celebrate dear old Dada CBXB.

Chips, salsa and snoozes.

My girl, Sleepy, went out the evening before and the salsa dipping proved to be too much, so she shut her eyes for a second.

Party animal.

While she was regaining her dipping strength, I gifted Dada CBXB with a small token of gratitude that he can share with me, naturally.

Bota Box Rosé. Bring that into the pool next weekend. Thanks.

I then turned my dad into Elton John by adorning him with my new sunglasses that are only missing lights.

Here’s hoping your week is just as extra as my dad’s sunglasses.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Smiles for Miles

There’s something about Memorial Day that makes it feel like summer has arrived. This past holiday weekend was no different. Van Waffles and I kicked off the fun with brunch at The Sutler that serves bottomless mimosas for $17. I’m sure I ruined that fabulous deal for everyone after my guzzling appearance.

I was more excited about the mimosas. Clearly.

One large group of tourists ordered four rounds of 16 shots while we were there. Four rounds of 16 shots. I can only imagine that their total bill was roughly about what I pay for rent monthly, as they were all having mimosas and food.

My Iowa twins are officially first graders! They celebrated their year in kindergarten by taking a mini vacay to Chicago.

Just a scosh excited about school being out.

Long legs in the Windy City.

Ice cream dreams.

Sometimes you forget the excitement about experiencing something for the first time. Smiles for miles about their first ride in a taxi.

It’s the little things.

Princess B got to go to the American Girl Doll store (which is apparently a rite of passage for kids when visiting Michigan Avenue). Instead of selecting a doll, she opted for a puppy which made my heart just about burst.

Mini me.

Sister CBXB was keeping me updated on the dog shopping and I about died when I received the following message.

Remind you of anyone?

Wonder where she gets it.

A very fancy piece of art was commissioned during the vacay.

Along with a fabulous view.

The fam made it back to Iowa in time for Princess B to attend her last dance class of the year.

Dancing Queen.

Speaking of last classes, I partied it up in honor of VooDoo’s baby girl who is all grown up and now a graduate.

A fabulous future lies ahead.

This was also a bon voyage party for VooDoo who is moving to Alabama in two weeks. Bittersweet but so thrilled for her new adventure.

VooDoo, Boob, First Mate and the Captain.

Because we never have any fun when we’re together, our selfie game got a little sideways. First Mate’s arms lack the length to get more than one face in the frame.

That’s Boob in the way back.

Problem solving skills get better the more booze you consume so when it was time to open the wine with no opener, another genius party goer had the best solution ever. A screw and screwdriver got us thirsty gals our vino.

Red neck wine opener.

Due to the holiday, it was important that we stocked up on libations Sunday evening on the way home from VooDoo’s partay. Although the Nashville Predators failed to make the Stanley Cup this year, the swag was still out and we took full advantage of it for photo ops.

Helmet heads.

Van Waffles was kind enough to carry our loot.

I found the purrfect liquor in which I should be the spokeswoman.

My new favorite shot.

Speaking of cats, The Pussy Posse was in full relaxation mode this weekend. Fabio helped me eat leftovers taking up space in the fridge.

Do leftovers make my body look big?

Ruby Sue lived up to her nickname Thundercunt. She tried to commit suicide by constantly walking my porch railing, she enjoyed scaring the shit our of me while opening and slamming cupboard doors, and tried to suffocate herself in a plastic bag more than once.

Who could stay made at that face?

Scooch is taking cues from Elsa Pants (who can’t make an appearance on this week’s blog because she won’t sit still long enough for me to get a photo of her) and runs like a mad man is chasing him whenever I try to pet him. Poor thing.

Rocky just wanted to sleep and loves to lay on my arm while doing so. He just couldn’t because I had a dry cough that kept him from getting his normal 22 hours of shut eye.

Annoyed.

While we were all in relaxation mode, the weather was really making the rounds. Iowa City West High School students had to take cover at their graduation due to an EF-1 tornado. Thankfully no fatalities have been reported.

No Digity texted me from Vail where it was fucking snowing. At the end of May.

Colorado vs. Tennessee

Winding down after a full weekend ended the way it always does for me. In bubbles.

The purrfect ending.

Here’s hoping your start to summer made you smile.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Hometown Tourist

You’d think with all of the belly aching I do regarding Nashville’s ever growing population that I hate it here in Music City. That’s not true though – I love this city. I just wish other people loved it the way I loved it instead of moving here and trying my once (and still to some) mini city on for size for a few years before moving on to bigger and better.

OMG. Stop moving here. You are driving me to drink.

The job market is oversaturated, gentrification is becoming a serious side of living here (especially if your income is a single lady living on her own – cannot imagine what it’s like for families), high rises have already murdered the once charming Music Row, First Mate can count 18 cranes (she calls them sky birds and for the record, she’s totally fine with the havoc wreaking taking place) from her downtown office, every.single.fucking. bro country “music” artist has a bar in the once quaint downtown (from Florida Georgia Line to Blake Shelton to Jason Aldean). My once gem of a city is turning into a bonafuckingfide bigger Branson, Missouri, right in front of my peepers.

https://cowboysandcrossbones.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/image2.jpg

Country. When country wasn’t cool.

I digress.

When pals come to town, it’s always been fun playing tourist in my own city. Due to the massive growth the last few years, I haven’t taken advantage of seeing Nashville through the eyes of others lately (and because if one more fucking to-be bride drunkenly steps on my foot, I might lose my goddamn mind and kick her Taylor Swift wearing cowboy boots with skirt outfit circa 2015 to the fucking state line).

There’s enough crazy in town already, bachelorettes.

This past weekend, my college bestie, Tdawg was in town to get her giddy up on with some of her gal pals from Denver.

It was the group’s first time in Nashville and I threw caution to the wind, swallowed $40 for two hour parking (you parking lot people are seriously horrible human beings), and trotted my ample ass down to the swanky hotel on Friday and met the crew at the rooftop bar.

Gorgeous lobby.

Intricate ceilings.

Most importantly, the bar.

The views from this spot did not disappoint.

Three ladies and an asshole.

Because I must always be up to no good, I was more than happy to oblige photo requests.

Oh. Just you three in it? Sorry. Not sorry.

They had supper reservations Friday night and I promised (after she forced me to call the studio by literally holding the phone up to my ear to make an appointment while I guzzled rosé at the bar) Tdawg I’d meet her on Saturday morning for an exercise class at Pure Barre. If you wonder who the fuck works out on a two day vacation, look no further than Tdawg. I have enough trouble sweating in my own city, let alone when I’m traveling.

Unless I’m visiting Yoga Barbie in Denver, I DO NOT workout on vacay.

Needless to say, I overslept and missed the fucking class. It ended up being OK thought because Tdawg was overserved the evening prior and spent the next several hours in her dreamy hotel bed. But she was up and at ’em for the evening and after supper, I took the gals to my fave honky tonk on the planet – Robert’s Western World to see my fave country band on the planet – The Don Kelley Band.

Recovered.

I used to frequent Robert’s so much before the besiege of tourists take over every summer, the last time I was there, Don Kelley said to me, “you don’t get out much, do you?” while I was dancing for the 4,812,654 time in front of him.

You AGAIN?!

Usually, on a Saturday night at 8:30 it’s already asses to elbows on Broadway and it was no different when we were frolicking about downtown. However, luck was on our side and when we galloped into Robert’s, there was an open booth at the front of the bar waiting for our rear ends. This kind of magic hasn’t happened since 2014.

Yeehaws all around.

Tawg was beyond impressed with the twang and spent most of her time at Robert’s on one of many devices.

 

The owner of Robert’s, JesseLee Jones, is the leader of the house band, Brazilbilly. They play every Saturday night from 10pm – 2am. In all of my years going to Robert’s, every single Saturday night, his mom comes and watches his show. Every. single. time. She sits in the same spot and drinks either coffee or Red Bull. It’s the fucking cutest thing ever.

Mama Jones.

Tdawg called it an early night but No Digity, MoHo and yours truly stayed to see The Don Kelley Band’s famous rendition of “Ghost Riders in the Sky.”

We didn’t hate it.

Upon returning to the Noelle Hotel, I tried to fill Tdawg in on what she missed.

No pillow talk for me.

The ladies had to get up at the first sign of the sun to catch their 8am flight. Meanwhile, I was able to get some much needed beauty sleep in a quiet, cool, dark hotel room.

Not so sleeping beauty.

When my lids decided to fling open, I realized that this place was a whole lot fancier than the Holiday Inns in which I’ve grown accustomed.

 

This mastery was just a reach beside the bed and I honestly don’t know how much longer I can live without one.

Controls for the entire room.

 

Parched after my previous evening’s boozefest, I sauntered out of the room to get some water and didn’t know how many choices there were when it came to H2O.

 

I couldn’t figure out where the ice machine was until I saw what looked like a fancy refrigerator drawer below the water.

 

I would have taken some ice packages if I had a bigger purse with me. Because, I’m nothing if not white trashiness at its finest.

Speaking of finest, what about my departing outfit from the fancy Noelle Hotel?

 

I looked like I was a hot mess because I was a hot fucking mess. No Digity gifted me a Robert’s Western World t-shirt that I refused to take off. When I went to retrieve my car from the valet, the dude asked me where I was heading home to (since I looked like a confused, hungover bachelorette from Nebraska).

No shame in my game.

“West Nashville.” Ever heard of it?

I had so much fun being a tourist in my town, I can’t wait to do it again. So consider this your warning if you’re coming to Music City and staying at a fancy establishment. I’m crashing your party. Until then, I’ll be riding as high as the rooftop bar I was lucky to experience.

Oldies but goodies.

Party on.

CBXB

CBXB!

 

 

 

 

How to Join the Mile High Club

How do you join the Mile High Club?

You go to Denver, CO. Get your minds out of the fucking gutter.

My birthday has been never-ending this year (sorry not sorry to those who’ve been forced lucky enough to celebrate endlessly with me), and one of my gifts was a trip to Denver from Van Waffles.

Poor, poor me.

Being the spoiled biatch that I am, the vacay commenced with bloody marys at the ass crack of dawn in the airport.

Time doesn’t exist in airports.

There’s something about the heinous Nashville airport carpet that is a “thing” to local peeps. A shop even sells t-shirts about this beautiful floor accessory. Naturally, I had to join in on the social media fun.

Upon landing, we headed to our hotel downtown (Denver, what the fuck is up with your airport being 35 miles outside of the fucking city?). It was a sunny, 70 degree day that was just perfection. As soon as we left to explore the downtown, I somehow made a wrong turn but in such a right way.

My Mothership.

Yes. I came all the way to Colorado to shop in a Target because I’ve never been in my Mothership that was located in a downtown setting with no parking lot. I mean, it’s all about new life experiences, isn’t it?

Target in the heart of downtown.

Once Van Waffles was able to drag me out of the store that I just scoured the day before in Nashville (they have the same items in case you’re wondering which I’m sure you aren’t but now you know) it was time to enjoy pink wine in the sunshine.

A perfect day for rosé.

We then made our way to a shuttle that transported us to the famous Red Rocks amphitheater for a 311 concert.

I sure the fuck didn’t know what I was about to embark.

I was warned not to wear heels to Red Rocks. I listened. I was warned that it was “quite a walk” to the venue. I practiced hills at my local park in Nashville. But I still almost died (or so I thought) on the way up to that motherfucking theater.

The worst part was being sweaty, thirsty and having to stop to take a piss in the middle of my mountain climb in a hot, humid, stank ass port-a-potty. I’d never wished I had a penis more in my whole life as I tried to stand to pee over the gaping hole of other people’s waste (you know the feeling).

Mouth breathing.

Low and behold, much to Van’s bleeding ears, after all of my bitching…

As soon as I got to the fucking top of the mountain, my iWatch buzzed. I was certain that it might explode from my activity during the climb but alas it was just reminding me that I hadn’t come close to closing my step (in red) or exercise (in green) rings. And I’d had this watch on since 4:30am.

I work out a lot. Obvies.

What I do work out on a regular basis? My biceps. And by the time I spied the wine line, all was right in the world.

Workout more my speed.

All in all the weather was perfect, the band was killer and the night was fabulous.

If you ever get the chance to see a show at this venue, GO. But maybe watch my coaching videos above for reference before you attempt to mountain climb unless of course you’re in shape. Then it’ll be easy breezy for you.

When the concert was over, I walked down the mountain like I was a 94-year-old woman recovering from a hip replacement surgery. Mostly this was due to the fact that I fall down like it’s my day job and I’m not sure how much more my joints can take before I need a true knee, hip, ankle, elbow, and wrist replacement surgery.

Me: Sorry we’re having to walk down so slowly. (Literally taking left foot and stopping. Letting right foot catch up)

Van Waffles: It’s OK. Nobody knows us here.

Me: That’s so sweet fucking true.

After consuming every drop of water in the hotel (along with every bag of potato chips and maybe a Snickers bar because I got contact high from the legal marijuana smoked at the show) I woke up Saturday hacking like I’d been a lifelong smoker.

I soon got my act together because I had told my college bestie, Tdawg, that I would take her yoga sculpt class at Core Power Yoga where she instructs. She was picking me up at 10am and being that I take hot yoga, have taken many sculpting classes, I incorrectly assumed I was up for this challenge after a night out and a mountain hike.

Pre-yoga excitement.

Upon arriving, the serene yoga room had a reminder on the door.

Just what I need after a mountain climb.

Then Tdawg came in and blasted old school Nelly…”Andele andale moma E.I. E.I. uh oh!”

Uh fucking oh was right. She didn’t teach a power sculpt yoga class. She instructed a Jane Fonda on crack cardio class with a few yoga moves thrown in here and there while the room was heated. No big deal. This was just the second time I thought a workout was going to be the death of me in Colorado in a matter of 24 hours.

Yoga Barbie and a sweaty pig in a blanket.

Keeping everyone updated via Instagram stories, Sister CBXB kindly asked if we’d be partaking in our favorite college past time.

Not drinking.

Not doing drugs.

Yes. Embossing cards. We would stay in our dorm on the weekends and fucking craft homemade greeting cards. We were beyond cool.

Obvies.

Heading to her house after class to meet her offspring and hubs, she informed me that I am doing a fabulous job educating the youth of America.

Oh be still my beating heart. This is truly one of the highest honors of my life. Teaching kids the F-bomb and S-word is basically my equivalent to winning the Nobel Peace Prize.

Tdawg’s hubs, Cdawg was celebrating his birthday and when he offered me a mimosa to start his celebratory weekend, who was I to turn him down?

My Uber descended to their house and both the Dawgs could not have been more gracious, offering me a full-to-the-brim roadie I happily accepted. “Hopefully one day you’ll come out of your shell,” Cdawg’s dad said as I doled out departing hugs.

Shyness doesn’t become her.

Next up? I showered, gussied up in my finest sequins to meet a friend who until today was only a virtual friend. She’s a fellow blogger who lives in Boulder and when I reached out to let her know about my last second trip, she was available to meet! IN PERSON! When does this happen?

It’s Viv in the flesh!

We’ve been virtual friends for almost six years and she’s known me before the twins, before Rapegate, before losing my music business career…so it’s like we knew each other because we did. It just took it to an entirely new level being in the flesh. Best long lunch date ever.

I told her I didn’t smoke at the concert the prior evening because I don’t like smoking but maybe I would try an edible while in Denver. She said if I did, to nibble on the ear of a gummy bear because peeps usually over do it (and let’s be honest, I could eat a bag of regular gummy bears, so eating just the ear off of one would seem like an underperformance on my end).

After lunch, she sent me this very ominous meme.

I chose not to edible.

Avoiding edibles proved to be the best possible thing because I wanted to keep my eyes open to meet up with yet another gal pal SS. Our mammas were sorority sisters in college and we were childhood friends. I hadn’t seen her since 4th fucking grade.

Not much has changed since we were 10…

Then we went and met up with the rest of the Nashville crew.

Hanging with the gang.

Although I didn’t get high, just mostly drunk, I still had the munchies on the way back to the hotel and it was very upsetting when passing a gluten-free bakery that was closed. I handled it like a lady.

I was just trying to fuel up for the flight home, which was occurring in a matter of hours after our night out.

Too many people before coffee, a bloody mary and 6am.

Best part about the early flying is I got to sit by the Easter Bunny and I scored her phone number!

Furever friends. For real.

Immediately upon arrival home in Nashville, I got a bloody nose that was the gift that just kept on giving all goddamn day long.

Dry Denver air don’t care.

Once the door to the Mini Manse opened, Van Waffles looked at me and said in all seriousness, “is your birthday over now?”

What the fuck do you think?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Weekend Wink – The Luckiest Girl

It’s that time of year that green is all around us in Nashville as a welcomed sight. The grass, the leaves and this past weekend, the hue of celebrating the patron saint of Ireland, Patrick.

I met up with one of my former band mates, Keys, and we had a fun catch up lunch at my fave watering hole, Dalts.

Old friends make me a lucky gal.

Friends of yesteryear also keep me company with kind words and support he’s always throwing behind me.

I had a guest coming over for supper (oh, we will get into this supper vs. dinner debate at a later date) Friday evening and I hadn’t made my Lazy Lasagna (or anything that didn’t simply require a microwave heat up) in…well, I can’t remember when. Naturally, I acted like I was concocting an eight course meal, when really I was just layering ingredients.

Slaving away for supper.

Lucky for me, it turned out in my favor.

Once the lasagna was baked and in my belly, I promptly took a 16 hour nap, gearing up for the weekend festivities.

Pot of gold kickers.

In celebration of the season, I’d gussied up my pink tinsel Christmas Celebration tree and sat to enjoy my Saturday spiked coffee in front of it.

Lucky tree.

Perk Me Up.

Meeting up with friends for the celebration of Irish culture did not make for a dull time.

Lucky ladies.

I’m gonna need these hearts in pink for daily use.

We saw nothing but green until we started to consume cocktails of the day’s hue.

The Queen of green Jell-O shots…

.. might have had me seeing black and white.

While I was busy with Shamrock Shenanigans, my Iowa twins were road tripping down South.

Lucky they’re on their way to see me!

My neck aches for them.

It’s hard to remember just how little these two nuggets were a mere three years ago.

Time flies with twinning fun.

Three years later and still the cutest two shits I know.

Speaking of shits, I’m lucky to know the most fun one in all of Iowa City. My buddy N8 never misses a chance to morph into the best leprechaun every year.

Lucky leaning tower of green.

On Sunday, the actual day of Saint Patrick, I met up with First Mate for a gulp of our favorite boxed rosé. Although we didn’t get the green dye for to properly mark the occasion, we made do.

Pink and green are the perfect pairing.

It was so fabulous outside, we couldn’t resist a patio where Van Waffle asked me to take his picture. The fucking nerve.

My thoughts on being the photographer vs. the model.

All in all, the weekend of sunny skies, fabulous company and fun made me feel like the luckiest girl. Although, what makes my world go round always takes my lucky cake…

Lucky fur mama.

Here’s hoping a little luck comes your way this week.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Cocktails, Crocs and Kindness

There are some weeks that seem 14 days long and Friday couldn’t have gotten here soon enough. Nashville has been plagued with rain and dreary skies for the last month (not to bitch too much because I know it’s been earth shatteringly freezing above the Mason Dixon Line).

Once the work week was behind me, my gal pal Rasta came over for a little girl’s night in. She’s been under the weather since the holidays and is finally feeling better.

Jazz hands for happy health.

I’ve been cheating on The Pussy Posse with my side hustle, which is pet sitting. I can’t say I don’t love it because look at these faces…

Princess Purr-A-Lot.

Some definite puppy love going on.

Rocco the dog lives in an apartment complex and while I was dropping in on him, I could not help but notice the pile up of shoes at his neighbor’s place. The first visit I just glanced and thought they must have had company. The second visit I noticed that a pair were fucking Croc style knock-offs that were camouflage. I mean, please.

No. Just no.

Some dude actually wears those motherfuckers.

When I posted on my Insta about the in my opinion abhorrent shoes, I received messages with excuses examples of why people have them. My favorite response was that I should burn them to help the guy out. Slappy takes the cake because she has a matching pair with her husband – BUT only for outdoor purposes and they aren’t camo, so that’s OK?

Oh, Slappy….

My Iowa twins spent some much deserved time in Mexican sun after a winter with temperatures bottoming out at -52 degrees.

Riding back to Iowa…

They went from sunny and 80 degrees to about 12 degrees in two hours. Their vehicle needed pushing assistance from helpful Samaritans upon their landing back in Iowa.

Back to the snow.

Just as active as ever, they went from horse back riding to drive way ice skating in a day’s time.

Personal skating rink.

While they were outside burning through energy, their cousin was watching the Nashville Predators all the way in Iowa. Cheering for the yellow team because yours truly likes them. How fucking cute is that?

GO YELLOW TEAM!

So many decisions needed to be made on my behalf regarding Saturday night because I had been properly asked out to supper. I haven’t been out – really out – since Rapegate and this was a fabulous sign that I was excited. I was excited I was excited which means there’s been some major healing on the forefront.

To platform or to platform?

We went to a fabulous foodie restaurant called Husk. Being that I am a frequent guest of lower status restaurants, I had to enlist in the help of Sister CBXB and BIL to guide me with choices, as Husk’s menu changes daily.

I am officially a fucking foodie. Between the crafted cocktails and quality of the meal, I feel like Chili’s isn’t going to be a place I frequent as often.

Never have I ever seen catfish so pretty.

First Mate ended up meeting us out after supper and I stayed all snuggled up on her sofa. Because neither of us can (or like) to cook, she spoiled me with coffee and Bubly the next morning.

Sunday morning two-for-one.

These two knuckleheads were up and at ’em early making the most of their day of rest (which honestly, I don’t think these kids ever rest and relax unless they are asleep in bed).

One version of Sunday Funday.

My version of Sunday Funday.

While enjoying my bloody mary at Dalts, I was recalling the time shortly after Rapegate began, I received a package from a reader when I arrived one Friday night. It was from a complete stranger who knew I frequented my favorite watering hole and contained the sweetest note of encouragement and a bottle of Captain Morgan Private Stock. Funny that this then popped up in my Facebook memories last night.

Speaking of sweet surprises, I received a package with the most purrfect for me present inside.

Truth.

You guys spoil me beyond and know just when a gal needs a smile. Thank you T. Ratt for thinking of me and gifting me my now favorite shirt.

Speaking of faves, you know that Princess B is basically morphing into her crazy aunt.

So many colors. So little time.

Except she has me drooling with envy over her fucking insane hair.

Gorgeous as all get out.

And she knows it.

What better way to end the weekend than with a sudsy soak?

Bubbles make my world go round.

Cheers to a fabulous first full week of March!

CBXB

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!