Tag Archives: Country Music

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Weekend Winks – Tight Ends and Taylor Swift

Oh Nashville.

You used to be my hidden gem of a city. I’d lure people to visit because if someone didn’t like country music, they weren’t interested in coming. Nashville was never just country music and cowboys but only true peeps who lived here knew that. Now, the secret’s out. It’s been out for quite some fucking time since the overly dramatic television show Nashville hit TV screens and the last few years, one hundred people have been moving here per day, taking up precious space on my interstates (yes, the interstates here are mine and mine only) and causing housing prices to sky rocket (seriously stop moving here or I’m going to be unable to afford to live in my Mini Manse that is a 42-year-old, popcorn ceilinged, ratchety carpeted, brass hardwared apartment that has gone up in rent almost $100 per year the last three years).

After this weekend, it’s suffice to say that Nashville is a legit city. Music City hosted the NFL Draft (downtown), the Country Music Marathon (downtown), Jimmy Buffett threw a parrot head party (downtown), and Taylor Swift decided to make a surprise appearance in the city with an impromptu meet and greet at the same time regular tourists and bachelor/bachelorette parties invaded the city while regular events went on per usual.

In 2017, Nashville’s population was 691,243.

This weekend, 600,000 more people invaded the city.

A projected 340,000 people for the weekend. That number nearly doubled for the three day shenanigans in Music City.

Most folks that live here took heed from the warning below…

The traffic lights literally spelled NFL. Photo credit: Pedro Esteban Tellez.

Just because my city was inundated with NFL fans didn’t mean I wasn’t in the mood for the draft. Two Iowa tight ends were projected to be selected Round One. So naturally, I gussied up at work in support.

Tight End University, Baby!

Lucky for me, First Mate is a sports head too and she hosted a draft partay at her castle.

Do gators eat hawks or do the birds peck gators to death?

Nothing says football party like a little two boxes of rosé.

True to the projections, my Iowa Hawkeyes tight ends, T.J. Hockenson and Noah Fant were selections eight and 20 overall in the first round. The University of Iowa is the first ever to have two tight ends drafted in the first round, which is why we’re now known as Tight End University.

I’m a size medium if anyone is at Raygun in the near future.

Detroit for Hockenson.
Broncos for Fant.

Might as well have been downtown.

Or maybe we were glad we were in air conditioning.

Either way, we had such a ball that we accidentally killed two boxes of rosé.

R.I.P. Bota Boxes.

Did I mention it was Thursday night? I woke up with such confusion at First Mate’s Friday morning (because I usually stay over on a weekend), I almost lollygagged too long to make it to work on time.

As if draft day one wasn’t enough, Taylor Swift decided to grace Nashville with her presence the day she dropped her first single off of the upcoming album. Hint after hint was dropped by Swift’s camp and Swifties from all over the planet somehow figured the fuck out where she was going to be at 11am on Friday morning.

If you want to stand where Taylor is standing, this mural is in the Gulch area of Nashville.

For those of  you Swifties out here, below is a video (it’s grainy but you’ll get the gist) captured by a dude who misses nothing in Nashville and is hip to every.single.thing happening in town. Taylor apparently stayed and signed autographs and graciously took selfies for hours.

One thing most Nashvillians can unite on is our disdain for the “woohoo” girls who come down for bachelorette parties. Now of course they pay good money and stay downtown but are, quite possibly, the most annoying of all tourists. So this was an especially funny site to see.

Speaking of bachelorette parties, check out the best sign from the marathon on Saturday.

A big congrats to the 30,000+ runners who completed the half and full marathon. I’ve done both and they are hard as fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Run for the tacos. @rosepepper

Even though neither First Mate nor myself did any kind of running, we still decided we needed tacos.

So we ran to eat Mexican.

While Nashville was abuzz with all kinds of shit happening, my Iowa twins were all primped up for a wedding. It’s too bad they don’t enjoy each other’s company.

Nothing but love.

J. Crew model in the making.

Hair model in the making.

I mean fucking COME ON.

When Sunday rolled around, I was ready for some mauling by The Pussy Posse.

Rocky and Fabio have snuggling down to a science.

The newest addition Scooch, is another story.

After watching everyone stand on their feet for three days downtown, my tootsies ached for them. Of course I remedied that the best way I know.

To all those that came in for a few days, thanks for coming!

But mostly, thanks for getting the fuck out of town.

Love ya, mean it!

CBXB!

 

 

 

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How to Be an Anybody on a Red Carpet

If you need a reminder of where you’re at in the food chain, try attending a fancy award show like I did for work a few years ago at the Country Music Awards ceremony (we’re there again this year, too).

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An anybody surrounded by major somebodies.

Here’s a little tutorial in being somebody vs. anybody…

If you’re somebody, you get dropped off at the red carpet in a tricked out Chevrolet sponsored event car.

Lady Antebellum, being chauffeured to the red carpet entrance.

If you’re anybody else, you get to park two miles away, fending off a Chatty Cathy parking attendant (who also happens to be from Iowa and wants to talk your face off about it) and make your grand entrance on foot.

Obviously everyone awaiting my arrival.

If you’re somebody, you wait for the photographers to shout your name before appearing on the carpet.

Begging for the celebs.

Shawn Johnson, the retired Olympic gold medalist and Dancing With the Stars alum being cat called from the peanut gallery.

If you’re anybody else, you hide in this hallway while the star you’re accompanying soaks up the flash bulbs.

Where the star wranglers hunker down during red carpet photo moments. This hallway is directly behind the “stand and pose” photo wall.

Being somebody, you don’t need any announcement when you appear on the red carpet. Photographers and fans just know you and shout your name accordingly.

Lisa Marie Presley (yes, that Presley) needs no introductions (and yes, I was dying as I was snapping this photo).

When you’re anybody, your name appears in marker on a clipboard that is held up for the photographers just before you turn the corner to be photographed, ensuring people know who the hell you are.

Courtesy applause for the anybodies, please.

When you’re somebody and you recently got caught stepping out on your high school sweetheart wife, you go to the awards show with her anyway (and they’re since divorced and he’s remarried, which sounds like a sad country love song, doesn’t it?).

Jason Aldean and his now very unforgiving ex.

If you’re anybody else and everyone knows you’re a cheat, you stay at home and watch the awards from your couch in your pajama pants you haven’t taken off for three days, a stale beer and yesterday’s pizza, feeling very remorseful.

My pussy caught in a blatant act of cheating and not giving a fuck.

My pussy caught in a blatant act of cheating and not giving a fuck.

When you’re somebody, you know you look good and work it all the way up and down the red carpet.

Lady Antebellum’s Hillary Scott strikes a pose in a form fitted dress.

Jake Owen pranced around in a leopard blazer that I wanted to rip off his shoulders and keep all to myself (therefore giving him a complex that I was stalking him because I literally took 12 pictures of him down the carpet due to his jacket).

When you’re anybody else, you blog about the perils of what to wear to work the award show.

Does this vest make me look like somebody or just anybody?!

When you’re somebody, you get interviewed live by TV stations.

Tim Allen being interviewed by Evan Farmer of CMT.

When you’re anybody else, you crouch down in the corner ninja-style, trying to stay out of the camera’s shot or you’ll be kicked off the carpet. The horror.

Hiiieeeee! Don't mind me. Just over here taking 4,098,461 photos and maxing my phone's memory out.

Hiiieeeee! Don’t mind me.
Just over here taking 4,098,461 photos and maxing my phone’s memory out.

If you’re somebody, you have no problems finding a plus one to be your date.

Lisa Marie Presley with her hipster hubs make one handsome couple.

When you’re anybody else, you have to hang with all of the other people who are working the show.

Workin’ it with men in uniform. Poor me.

When you’re somebody, you perform on the massive stage.

A CMA Award show stage.

When you’re anybody else, you’re perfectly fine asking a stranger to take your picture in front of it.

Anybody want to take my picture? Anyone? Hello?

When you’re somebody, your entourage follows you up on stage to get you gussied up before the live performance.

Hair, make up and wardrobe folks putting the final touches on Carrie Underwood before her performance.

If you’re anybody else,  you have to take pictures back stage to remember where the bathroom is located, so you can brush your hair and reapply lipstick.

Which way to the ladies?

When you’re somebody, you blow the roof off the joint, then head out to the after party.

Aided by the foggiest fog machine ever and blasting confetti, you would have thought it was New Year’s Eve during Carrie Underwood’s performance.

When you’re just anybody, you get to go and walk the empty red carpet before tearing it down.

Long walk to fame…and I finally arrived.

And then pose like just anybody else while no one calls your name.

**Insert crickets chirping here**

It’s rough trying to be anybody! Wish somebody would have told me.

CBXB

CBXB!

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White Trash Winery

How do you roll at Nashville winery Arrington Vineyards, owned by Kix Brooks – half of the Brooks and Dunn country duo?

Do as the Tennesseans do!

Take pictures upon your arrival to the vineyard, so you have proof you were there.

We're heeeeere!

We’re heeeeere!

Stalk the country music artist owner to get your picture taken and then don’t smile because you want to act like it’s no big deal.

My Dad and Kix Brooks. New BFFs (only he Kis doesn't know it).

New BFFs (only Kix doesn’t know it yet).

Bring your own food into the winery to enjoy while sipping (well, you’re supposed to sip but I like to guzzle) wine.  Being that we are transplants from Iowa, we’re Midwesterners and (otherwise referred to as Yankees in the South – because people here tend to forget the Civil War ended 140+ years ago) we are very no nonsense about our table and how we arrange our snacks.

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Nothing fancy for us.

It seems Southerners on the other hand are a tad more uppity with their dining decor. Our table neighbors had a pressed table cloth to feature the same store bought food.

Classing it up with a table cloth

Why go to all of the trouble? The chips taste the same with or without the table cloth.

Paper napkins are a must at a winery! If you have one too many people show up, you can always add additional napkins quickly by ripping in half.

Half Nap

Not enough napkins? No worries!

Paper napkins also double as photo shields when you’re trying to hide from your camera happy daughter.

Photo Shield

Too fancy for photos.

Don’t bother bringing plates for your snacks, either.

No Plates

No plates? No problem! Just use the dip lid for crackers.

Plus, with low maintenance food, cleaning up is a snap.

Trash Compactor

Stack and throw!

In case you didn’t have time to give yourself a proper manicure, don’t worry. Just whip your scissors out at a table and proceed like you’re in the comforts of your own home. It’s not trashy at all.

Mani Time!

Do as the Tennesseans do. Clip your nails at the table.

As for Southern winery attire, you can go one of two ways.

Shiny sequins are more than appropriate, of course.

Or you can choose the more comfortable route…

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And wear your finest sweatshirt.

A heavy handed pour helps empty Arrington wine bottles with swift ease.

Full Pour, Please

I’ll take the last drop, thanks.

But if you’re really worried about getting all of the wine (like me), just drink from the bottle. Totally acceptable.

NO WASTING!

Wine. A terrible thing to waste.

What winery visit would be complete without a photo bomb?

Facebook Profile

Dad wanted an updated photo for his Facebook profile…too bad!

After all of the chugging and glugging, you’ll find it hard to leave. I got rather attached to a big, shiny tree on my way out.

Tree Hugger

I only hug trees when I wine.

I don’t know how they do it in Napa wineries but South of the Mason Dixon Line, we’re nothing but trashy class, Baby.

And proud of it.

CBXB

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One in a Million

While in Milwaukee, WI last week for work, I was deemed the ‘star wrangler’ of the day.  As I was getting the talent all situated in his hotel room before a concert, I asked if there was anything else I could get before I headed back to the venue for sound check.

The second the words came out of my mouth, I immediately regretted my offering.  The talent wanted steamed salmon, grilled vegetables, a baked sweet potato and a Heineken.  Typically this request would be no problem but we were at an airport hotel with no room service and I was in a state that I had never before stepped foot. Shit.

I ran downstairs and let the overly friendly front desk clerk (who didn’t know her ass from her elbow) provide suggestions. I was able to score the salmon and grilled veggies in the same restaurant and begged them to prepare it for me before they opened for the day (I can be quite a schmoozer when the situation arises).

The baked sweet potato, however, proved to be the bain of my existence.

As I drove downtown Milwaukee, I was calling, Googling, texting (all the while sweating heavily in my underarm area) trying to locate a sweet baked potato above the Mason Dixon line. I found sweet potato fries, tater tots and chips but nothing baked. F!

I about shit as I walked into the fancy schmancy Harbor House to pick up the talent’s salmon, as I had no company cash on me and I was crossing my fingers my check card would go through.  After picking up the $30 fish and veggies, I continued the search for the baked sweet potato.

After several unsuccessful search calls to local restaurants, I decided to get the Heineken (and possibly shot gun one myself) out-of-the-way.

I wanted to stay all day at this liquor store.

After easily scoring the beer, I decided to buy a sweet potato at a grocery store and cook it in the hotel microwave (I of course had to call a Martha Stewart type in Nashville to get advice on how not to over cook in the quick heating appliance).

I ran into a what looked like a farmer’s market and frantically asked the first woman behind a counter where I could find a sweet potato (by my demeanor, you would have thought I was with a search and rescue team trying to locate a missing child).  The kind woman said “there are baked sweet potatoes at the soup counter.”

You mean already cooked, ready to eat, I can buy and get the hell outta here sweet potatoes? SCORE!  Just as I was approaching the counter, a man tapped me on my shoulder. I was clearly annoyed, sweaty and stressed because I needed to get lunch to the talent that I had left in a hotel room 55 minutes ago.

As I whipped around to let him know that I didn’t want to sample what he was pushing, or buy a flower from his basket or take a tour of the market, or whatever it was that he wanted he said, “You’re our millionth customer!”

My response was, “No shit?” I mean, I’ve never seen anyone be the millionth anything (except on TV or in movies where they win a million dollars. Wait, did I win a million dollars?!)

Turns out in lieu of cash, I won a gift basket with a cooking class certificate (obviously needed), apron (will come in handy while I bake a sweet potato), cook book (hopefully containing instructions on how many minutes to scorch a potato in the microwave) and a $50 gift card to the market.

Milwaukee Public Market loot.  Too bad I live 500 miles away, so I can’t redeem my certificates.

Who, me?! Hurry the F up and take the photo! I have a sweet potato to deliver!!

Instantly relieved with a baked sweet potato in my hand, accompanied by my basket of millionth customer goodies, I raced back to the hotel, and presented the talent his lunch and beer. To which he said, “this is cold.”

He’s one in a million.

CBXB

CBXB!

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Redneck Red Carpet

While I was all in a tizzy about what to wear to work the Country Music Association Awards last Thursday night, I should have been charging my phone because it unfortunately died due to me acting like I was a member of the paparazzi.

Walking up to the red carpet area, I was overly excited at the first classy thing I saw – a freaking hot dog cart.

Do you think they sell hot dogs at the Academy Awards red carpet or is it just a country staple?

I arrived at 3pm – the same time all of the D list stars were being dropped at the red carpet entrance.

The girl in the cream coat almost broke an arm trying to get an autograph from an American Idol 6th runner-up from 2006. Seriously.

Fans gathering on the red carpet four hours before the CMA Awards show began. If I had more balls, I would have snapped pictures of their snazzy outfits – some combining sequins and Crocs.

In case you stayed WAY past the start of the show (as most fanatics do), you’d need to leave your sunglasses on if you’re prone to migraines or seizures.

Moving my way around back to slide into the mover and shaker scene, I felt the same way about the rear of the red carpet as I do about my own backside…needs a bit of work.

Baby got back.

The ass of the red carpet is also where stars sneak out after they’ve had their photo taken by media and don’t want to walk down the long line of TV interviewers. I recognized as many ‘stars’ that came through the back entrance as they did me. Zero (apparently anyone can be a country singer these days. Just attach a cowboy hat to your head or wear mirrored sunglasses at night or really go out on a limb and do both).

The scene of a photog’s dream (and mine, since I was about 6 feet from all of the upcoming action. And I was extremely busy pretending this was no big deal, while having to bite my cheeks to keep from smiling too big from giddiness).

While I was busy acting like I didn’t give a rat’s ass about my surroundings, I was constantly ducking out-of-the-way for the CMT’s Katie Cook and Evan Farmer, preparing to interview all of the celebs.

After giving my thighs a squat work out from my continuous up-and-down-out-of-the-camera’s way calisthenics (and trying really hard to be nonchalant about the whole ordeal), the big stars were just about to appear in front of me.

Phone out. Camera app on. Flash off (God forbid anyone think I’m taking a picture. I may be a little white trashy but sometimes I do know when to save face).  Holding the phone out from my body just so (pretending like I can’t see the screen up close). Positioned just high enough (so it doesn’t look like I’m taking a picture).  Phone rings. Boss needs me now. Damn it!

As I disappointedly turn to walk out (I had a red carpet spot!), I hear the photographers shout, “Sugarland, over here!”

And being the classy lady that I am, whipped around and snapped a blurry picture, complete with flash on my way out. Score!

Oh, and I got a hot dog on my way to the show in case you were wondering.

CBXB

CBXB!