Rosé All Day

It’s just one of the best sayings out there, isn’t it?

I am an equal opportunity wine lover. Aside from the too sweet Rieslings and Moscato, I have yet to meet a vino in which I can’t start a friendly relationship.

Fill to the brim, please.

The love affair started when I was looking for something to guzzle sip during weeknights that didn’t have caffeine and save overindulging of my Skinny Pirates for weekends.

Get the fuck out.

Just kidding. You can stay and sip a non-alcoholic beverage. Just be prepared for me to sweetly demand request you to be my bartender walking back and forth to the fridge for my refills.

I promise you’ll get your 10,000 steps in on your Fitbit.

I fell so hard for wine that when I was cooped up for days during a Nashville snow storm a few years ago, I walked two miles to the nearest liquor store for…

a) something to do

b) I wanted to use my snow boots

c) I NEEDED BOOZE

Desperation at its finest.

WORTH THE WALK.

Being that I’m the EEOC of wines, I love a chardonnay or Pinot Grigio in the spring and Pinot Noir or a red blend in fall and winter. And I love all of them in a bath full of bubbles.

I need someone to hold my book.

Thing is, I’m not a super fancy wine drinker. While I can surely appreciate a fabulously fine wine, I also have an adoration for wine that comes in boxes because it holds four bottles and costs $20.

Sister CBXB on the other hand is much more of a connoisseur of wine. Like, has been to Napa Valley and sent cases back expert. She introduced me to Rosé during one of my trips back to Iowa.

I fell in love. Hard.

Happy hour for everyone.

So upon my return home, when I saw a specialty bottle of Nashville Predators Rosé on the shelf of my fave liquor store, Reds, this past spring I sprung into action and made an unusual purchase of a $20 bottle. ONE bottle.

Collector’s edition…wine not? Pun intended.

It was delish. As I have found there are obviously different variations on the kinds of Rosé and some are way too sweet. So I was schooled that I liked dry Rosé or a sparkling brut Rosé. It’s crisp and the perfect pick for a summer day. Or night. Or both.

So when I was going in to get my weekly box of wine, I almost fell out of my stilettos when I saw that my favorite brand of cardboard wine had a Rosé. A DRY ROSÉ.

Dreams do come true.

It’s basically been my summer hydration station since then.

Summer IV bag.

Um, I have cats that drink wine, too. Although don’t tell any of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills that I serve it out of a margarita glass to the pussies.

I’ve done some converting to peeps that normally wouldn’t gravitate toward the pink wine. I brought a box over to First Mate’s one night and as she skeptically took a sip, it didn’t take more than the evening for the box to drain.

All aboard the rosé train.

Scooby and I often have texting dates while “sharing” a glass of the divine wine.

Cheers from Kansas City.

Dada CBXB, who typically partakes in rot gut vodka, has also hopped on the party train and might as well be the fucking conductor.

Drip drying the boxed bag.

No one I’d rather turn out like at 90 years of age than my fabulously fun party-her-pants off great Aunt Marge (one time she brought a bottle of champagne to Christmas, drank the entire bottle and then asked, “who drank all that?”), who also indulges in the pink stuff.

Ain’t no party like an Aunt Marge party.

There was a little hesitation from Mama CBXB but no worries, I shoved the straw down her throat.

Yes. She likes it.

But honestly, the icing on the cake comes from none other than Princess B, my mini me.

Relax. It’s just water.

But only for 15 more years.

There’s been many a time that I’ve thought I couldn’t have birthed my niece any better myself. I feel like I’m watching a tiny version of moi live her best life as she is deeply in love with sequins, having her nails painted, whipping her flair for dramatics out any chance she gets – oh, and she knows all of the names of my four pussies.

So when this text rolled in, I couldn’t wait to see what the fuck she was up to now.

My heart exploded with pride.

I WAS DRINKING ROSÉ WHEN THE VIDEO ROLLED IN. I’m contacting Bota Box to see if they need a new spokeswoman.

Coincidence? I think not.

If you need me to corrupt your children, please let me know. I’m just a glass of wine or Skinny Pirate away. Always happy to help, I am.

A definite, full on wino right here.

Now go Rosé all day.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks- Tidbits

It’s been a minute since I have been able to post about my weekend shenanigans as I’ve had my head in the proverbial sand, trying to get my own shit together and love myself.

Loving myself fives hundred times over.

Thanks to my kick ass friends, family and followers, you’ve showered me with enough kindness and love to last a lifetime. And it’s meant the world.

Thank you from the bottom of my butt because it’s a helluva lot bigger than my heart.

Speaking of friends, an old pal from Iowa, Buffalo, blew in from Phoenix a few weeks ago and could not have come at a better time. The belly laughs, peeing of pants and long afternoon pass out naps were severely needed by this chick.

No straws left in Music City.

Dumpy, Buffalo and an Ass Clown.

You guess which one is which.

Honky tonkin’ in Nashvegas is literally like Vegas only you don’t win any money. There isn’t a chance. But you can sure blow your wad…just as Buffalo.

Cowboys and cowgirls out on the town.

What weekend of mine would be complete without jazz hands?

This man could be my soul mate.

After all of the shenanigans, this chick needed a low-key soak in a bubble bath. Since I lack a large lip around my tub, I resort to putting Precious on the shitter. She doesn’t seem to mind, since we’re still together.

Chug a dub dub while mom’s in the tub.

My other four fur babies can’t be bothered to join in any bathing fun because naturally, they sleep 22.6 hours per day.

Why did you have to use the flash, you bitch?!

Oh and those Iowa twins of mine? I’m waiting by the phone for a modeling agency to call me, as I’m dying to be their auntager. I will give Kris Jenner a run for all of her millions with these two natural beauties.

Yes, these are the two cutest kids on the fucking planet.

If the modeling doesn’t work out, there is always basketball. Especially if it’s a super girly league and Princess B is able to wear whatever the hell she wants and use a purple basketball.

Future Hall of Famers.

Speaking of kids, I’d be remiss not to speak to the horrendous mass shooting in Florida. The ongoing heartbreak of losing innocent lives, is beyond measure. And, I’ve had to question my own ideas, opinions and thoughts over the days since it’s happened.

Of course, I don’t know the answer. But I sure as shit don’t think that any kind of military grade rifle should be allowed in the hands of regular folks. Do you really need this sort of firearm to hunt? To protect your house? To shoot clay pigeons? I am no gun expert, believe me. I own a revolver and I have exactly five bullets in my mini manse and they are in my gun (for those of you who stay over at the mini, my gun gets unloaded and the bullets are housed in a separate drawer when guests arrive, so calm down). When I see people freaking the fuck out over the phrase “gun control” and being insulted by second amendment rights being taken away, I think that’s extreme. You want a gun to protect your house, fine. You want a rifle to hunt, fine. But do you need a military grade rifle to do so?

I have been reading all points of view – and yes, if someone is bananas enough, they will find away to kill people. Folks think the FBI could have done something, as they have admitted they missed two tips. I wonder though, what could they do? The kid had no record. His mother, when she was alive, notified the police of his behavior. He’d been expelled from school. He was having mental problems that were being treated. How many empty threats are made on a daily basis? Or, would this be like when you take a restraining order out to protect yourself but it does nothing?

Is this the answer? I don’t know what is – I wish I could look to those in politics who can enforce change but it’s beyond evident that I can’t. In my opinion, it’s not a Republican vs. Democrat problem. It’s an American problem that rings through every single state. I can’t imagine being a parent – let alone a fucking kid that has to practice gun shooting drills – today. It’s insane and it has to stop.

While the domination of news was focused on the Florida mass shooting (as it should be), the Olympics have also been underway and Dada CBXB and myself entered in our favorite sport. Drinking.

We trained all football season for this moment.

Speaking of moments, I still have my Christmas tree up (aka Celebration tree) and since it was pouring down on Saturday, I sat my ass on my leopard couch and got sucked into TV movies.

Redneck? White Trash? I don’t give a fuck.

Cuddled up butt to butt with my favorite snuggle pants.

A chug with a chugger.

Watching horrendously cheesy Hallmark movies (side note – it’s a dream of mine to star in one, no shit) full of you-already-know-what-the-character-is-going-to-say-before-they-say-it while falling in love and getting engaged within a week pulled at my cold, dead heart for once. I immediately called in all reinforcement.

Divorce court here I come. Crisis averted.

While I peruse Facebook as often as the next person, I have a serious love/hate relationship with the fucking memories that pop up from forever ago. Yesterday, my Aunt Crazy Pants and I celebrated nine years of social media friendship. Which was fitting because her birthday would have been this upcoming Friday, so she’s been on my mind constantly (not that she isn’t always).

Taking solace in my wine glass was quite easy because it was national drink wine day yesterday (which is every day for me but since it was a nationally recognized holiday, who am I not to overly partake?!).

OH. MY. GOD. BECKY. It’s an every day for us.

Good thing I have wine glasses that hold entire bottles of wine while I plot how to take over the universe.

Cheers to all of the tidbits in your life. Now go pour a heart healthy glass of vino.

Captain’s orders.

CBXB

Weekend Winks – Freezing! Fiesta! Football! Fun!

One of the joys of living in a city that isn’t equipped to handle any type of winter weather, is it’s kinda fun when it comes. Freezing rain on Friday meant that I was able to slide out of work and into my bed for a day of conference calls and cat naps (the cats, not me of course).

When you’re given the option to work from home…

YOU TAKE IT.

No one was excited about it at all.

My mom checked in from Iowa to make sure I was all set with necessities because it’s a fucking freak out frenzy when there is even mention of the “s” word – SNOW. Nashville citizens (and anyone else who didn’t grow up above the Mason Dixon Line) all but lose their goddamned minds.

While I was hunkered down with my pussies Saturday, my Iowa twins were getting hyped up to par-tay. Why you ask? Because they are turning five – FIVE – FUCKING FIVE YEARS OLD – on Wednesday. I mean holy fucking shit how did this happen so fast?

FIVE!

Due to the fact that Princess B eats salsa like its soup, the day was a fiesta complete with the best cakes on the planet.

Crazy over cake.

My artsy sis even crafted a pinata for the occasion.

FUCKING FIVE.

Fiesta fun!

Naturally, there were outfit choices to be made and Princess B did not disappoint.

Just a little gussy up.

Nor did she get any salsa on the sequins.

I finally mustered up the energy to walk over to Rasta’s pad on Saturday night, forcing myself out into the blustery cold I’m not used to anymore. Speaking of force, Rasta isn’t a football fan of any sort and I made her watch the Titans game in her own house.

I’m so sweet.

While I drank her wine.

Tailgate City.

My Titans were playing actual football titans, the New England Patriots and so I was hoping for at least a touchdown. And we scored one first! Then, just as quickly as that happened, my dudes ended up getting an ass beating. Rasta kept up with the team spirit though, assisting me through the horrendous game.

She’s officially my wine coach now.

Yeah, it was that bad.

She wins the sportsmanship award for sure.

Football fun.

I was up at what felt like the ass crack of dawn on Sunday to watch a segment on CBS Sunday Morning. It was regarding the Time’s Up movement and Oprah interviewed several prominent women who helped initiate the campaign. Being that I take great interest in this due to Rapegate and the #MeToo movement, I expected support from my pussies.

Only one showed the fuck up.

#whywewearblack

The others were busy having a menage à trois in the unmade bed.

Thanks for the support, assholes.

While watching other NFL playoff games, I started to take down the few Christmas decorations I put up this year and toyed with the idea of Valentine’s Day. But promptly stopped after dressing my Glamingo.

I also somehow came across a hideous Pucci hat that a lady who thought she was famous and was my boss at the time gave me as a leftover present (she would regift her unwanted Christmas presents to me for my birthday in March). You want it? It’s yours.

Her exact positioning and expression in every photo.

After throwing one helluva classy fiesta, my sister pulled through in our white trash ways when storing leftovers.

After getting her text, I was craving Mexican and justlikethat First Mate sent a text wanting to meet up for wine at our fave joint. Talk about fate.

We come for the handsome pours of wine, not the margaritas.

The Minnesota Vikings game (which was one of the best last second endings ever) was on at the restaurant. The fans chant skol and my sister and I were confused as to what it meant. We had an Iowa-Tennessee-Georgia family tutorial via text from my cousin Tballs – a huge Vikings fan.

My guess of “yeehaw” was way off.

After heading home with a belly full of wine, salsa and chips, I settled in for a night cap.

A literal night cap.

Here’s hoping your week is full of fiesta-ish fun.

SKOL!

CBXB

 

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Red, White and Booze

Dreary skies didn’t keep the fun out of the Fourth of July holiday weekend in Nashville.  The crew and I were going to have a fabulous time – even if we had to enlist in the party patrol.

Patriotic party patrol.

Patriotic party on patrol.

Not everyone was in the spirit of celebrating. Prince B wasn’t sure what to think of his new headpiece as he paraded around his kitchen in Iowa.

Serious Statue of Liberty.

Serious Statue of Liberty.

While the real life sculpture was sulky, there was zero hesitation on my part whether or not to fete the weekend – no matter how shitty the weather. It was still hot enough for a boat ride accompanied with a bag of wine for classy, cooling off shenanigans.

Wine not?

This can also be used as a pillow if a party goer needs to pass out.

Between the over consumption of vino and the precarious monsoon-like weather, I kept refreshed in the lovely I-don’t-care-why-it’s-brown-because-I’ve-had-too-much-to-drink colored lake.

Cool down in the cool rain.

Cocktails helped keep my composure in the non-crystal clear lake.

Princess B had a much better (smarter, cleaner, safer) way of keeping her body temp in check by slurping on a slice of watermelon.

Keeping cool with water melon.

Star spangled smartie.

Not to be outdone by my niece, I threw on a matching outfit but sipped on something a bit more my speed.

Choosing another route.

Bringing the best out for a holiday.

Dada CBXB double fisted to stars and stripes forever as he downed a very American meal of … chips and salsa.

Double fisting cool down.

Red, white and brew baby.

Meanwhile I was policing my two pussies as they tried to create their own fireworks all weekend by demanding to drink out of the same dish at the same time, acting as if they had their sights set on the last nine ounces of water left on the planet.

Double up cool down

Party patrol on high alert.

Here’s hoping you find your own way to keep the blistery summer heat at bay.

Might I suggest something with booze?

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

Weekend Winks – Babies and Booze

Just passing time away at a baby shower.

My version of a baby bottle.

Is there any better way to spend a Nashville weekend than hanging with cats (naturally), friends and cocktails?

Of course there’s not.

Much to Teddy’s annoyance, we’re still housing the little fur ball that we rescued a few weeks ago. I’m affectionately calling him New Cat, so as not to fall in love with the sweet boy as I try to find him a more permanent home.

Is my shadow still here?

Beyond annoyed with his new shadow.

In great effort to hide from his newest best friend, Ted tried to obstruct himself in a mound of pillows.

Hide out

So not invisible.

My two favorite people turned one last weekend and at their super hero themed party, I acquired a temporary tattoo…

My favorite pair

Super Girl with her sidekick, Captain Cutie Pie.

…that still resides on my forearm one week later (I swear I shower).

Temporary my ass.

Temporary my ass.

Sporting my Incredible Hulk ink, I headed to a baby shower for my gal pal Coco (the Shit Dip recipe creator) who is expecting twins this spring.

Baking twins 'til April.

You can barely tell she’s baking babies, can you?

Seeing an assortment of friends, mostly all moms or mothers-to-be made the afternoon fly by.

Which one of these is not like the other...

Which one of these is not like the other…

Two non moms.

The two non-moms.

To avert anyone from thinking I was carrying anything other than alcohol in my belly under my billowy shirt, we made signs to ease minds.

Twins for one. Skinny Pirates for another...

Twins for her. Skinny Pirates for yours truly.

As the shindig wound down, it was time to clear out the wine bottles and of course I was more than happy to put my expert gulping skills to use.

Sombody's got to do it.

Stand back and let a classy professional kill it.

While I was downing all of the vino east of the Mississippi, my Iowa nephew was eating all of the watermelon west of the river.

Watermelonmania!

Watermelonmania!

I love spending a Sunday parked in front of the TV, gussied up in my finest pjs, snuggled down with Ted. Which is why my body almost went into shock as I went against my weekly ritual to watch the Grammy Awards at a viewing party last night.

Stop. Grammy time.

Stop. Grammy time.

Joining a fine trio of fellas at the party, we decided it was time to bring our band out of retirement and grace the over saturated Nashville music scene with our presence again.

You’re welcome Nashville.

In celebration of our revival we had a hard time paying attention to the awards show.

Holla!

Holla!

But when we turned our attention toward the big screen, it tended to look like this….

Um...

Um…was that Madonna?

Which made this morning all the more fun as I groggily got myself up for work.

But as I left my mini manse, a certain pouty pants of a Bear had a friend helping him bid me adieu on his favorite perch.

Monday..

Peacefully sharing the view together…

Think my resident fur ball is falling for New Cat?

CBXB

CBXB!

How Many Bitches Does It Take to Open a Bottle of Wine?

At a recent bachelorette party, we wanted a little swig of wine before leaving (and to be honest, carry in our plastic cups during our walk) to the bar.  Being the oh-so-smart ladies we are, no one brought a wine opener for the bottles so we called down to the front desk. And after about 30 minutes (they apparently don’t keep them on hand…at a downtown Nashville hotel…WTF?), one arrived.  I thought my years of deep expertise uncorking bottle after bottle of vino would suffice and I offered to open the damn thing that we could hardly wait to get our tongues on.  But I was wrong. Way wrong.

Not a job for one...but two...

Not a job for one…but two…

This cork would.not.budge. It seemed really crusty (if that is even possible for a cork) and we had the shittiest wine opener on the planet (the kind that makes a T at the top with a tiny spiral attached).

If I had on a skirt, I'd have rug burns on my knees

Coco’s leg power and my spaghetti arms were no match for this bitch.

Not if G can help it!

If I had been wearing a skirt, I’d still have rug burns on my knees.

With all of the difficulties the two of us ladies were having, my gal pal G (you know, the one who yelled at the 80-year-old man) decided to bring her pull into this uncooperative wine bottle.

Tug-o-wine war

Tug-o-wine war.

This was one serious cork

Three ladies, no luck.

Realizing Coco was outnumbered by G and yours truly, LK entered the corking contest, pulling and tugging on the biceps of our resident redhead.

And the fourth gal got involved, trying to help Coco

Eight arms outsmarted by one defiant jug of vino.

When it was all said and done (and I was thankfully not pulled apart into two pieces) this fucking cork refused to budge.

No such luck but a great arm work out.

No luck but a great arm work out.

We then decided it would behoove us to push the cork down into the wine. And then it started disintegrating before our eyes, breaking in half and making me want to start bawling while kicking my arms and legs on the floor in true tantrum style. I WANT WINE DAMMIT!

All of that for half a cork still in the f'ing bottle

All of that for half a cork still in the f’ing bottle.

Then Coco used what strength she had left in her arms to push the stupid piece of shit into the liquid we all needed so badly. SCORE!

Cork pieces taste so good

Pieces of cork really add something special to a glass of pinot noir.

And that folks is how it takes four bitches to “open” a bottle of red wine.

I know, so classy. Expect anything else from this chick?

I didn’t think so.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!