Weekend Winks – Surprises, Six Degrees and Slaying

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

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

Open for fun.

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

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

The Bat Building never gets old.

Robert’s Western World never gets old.

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

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

Six degrees of CBXB.

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

Old school.

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

Shots.

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

Blurred lines.

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

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

If you guessed bats, you’d be right.

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

Betty.Fucking.Crocker.

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

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

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

The pig stays in the Hawkeye State.

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

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

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

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

Tasty treats.

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

Another side of salsa, please.

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

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

You matter.

The next generation matters.

K. Thanks. Bye.

CBXB

CBXB!

The Wapatoolie

You know the old saying ,”the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together?”

Oh you’re not familiar? Allow me to explain…

Our first Wapatoolie.

My dad and me sharing our first Wapatoolie. How sweet.

Every summer, my family tends to meet up at the Lake of the Ozarks and act like misfits from the Griswold family.

Heathens at their finest.

Heathens at their finest.

It was at the Ozarks where yet another one of our classy family traditions (which also include Jell-O and moonshine shots) was born.  Allow me to introduce you to…

The Wapatoolie

Yum

Looking just as refreshing as lake water, I know.

According to family legend (which was told by my dad, who is known for streeeeeeeeetching out a story or two), the Wapatoolie was first introduced to him and his twin (yes, there is a replica of my father….a story for another day) while at a college party with the Wisconsin football team.

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2

Blow Hard 1 and Blow Hard 2 sharing the same farmer’s tan.

As the story goes, a party was unfolding where the two twins above were innocent bystanders.  With zero prodding, my dad boasted that he bravely took a shot of a Wapatoolie (ingredients consist of whatever the hell is in your bar at the time). Hand to Jesus, I swear I could see his chest puffing up with each oooh and ahhh he received from the Band of Griswold Misfits.

The story ended with a quote only a college football legend (again, a story for another day) could utter….”The Badgers started it but it took a Hawkeye to refine it.”

No shit.

Recipe for tastiness.

Definitely not from a college kid’s bar but a recipe for tastiness nonetheless.

Before the last syllable of the tall tale could be sputtered, us cousins were extremely busy at work mixing a Wapatoolie for the bullshitter storyteller.

Mix masters.

Mix Masters.

Down the hatch.

Tequila, bourbon, whiskey, white and spiced rum, margarita mix, vodka and gin topped with a dash of creamy Bailey’s…

Mmmmm

Feels so good when it hits the lips.

The following evening, my cousins (all of whom are male on this side of the family, which probably just explained everything you needed to know) decided if their stud of an uncle could stomach a Wapatoolie, they could too.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The Village of Idiots and their leader.

The rest of us gleefully skipped to the bar to concoct the next round of poison potion.

Back to the mixing board.

Back to the mixing board.

Tough Guys...

Tough guys in the beginning…

Not so tough

….not so tough the first round…

or second round...first you don't succeed? Try, try again. Shoot, shoot again.

…or round two the following year…

And just like that, from one year to the next, the timeless, trashy tradition of the Wapatoolie was born.

Now, we extend the pleasure of this shot to anyone who dares to hang with our family…

Just get engaged to one of my male cousins?  A Wapatoolie for you!

First time to party with us at the Lake of the Ozarks?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Want to date my sister?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Think you can hang with us during football season?  A Wapatoolie for you!

Oh and for those of you who don’t drink liquor of any kind, we can mix a non-alcoholic version for you. Don’t worry.

Think you can hang with me and my dad?

So you wanna hang with us? You sure?

C'mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something...

C’mon over to my bar and let me mix you a little something…

Yum

Your personal rite of passage into CBXB’s clan.

And if you’re too chicken shit, we understand and will be happy to cocktail with you anyway.

Until then...

Equal opportunity drinkers.

Just remember, the family that Wapatoolies together, stays together.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!