Tag Archives: food

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How to Have a Pandemic Party Round Two

Holy fucking shit.

The fashionable 2020 March look is the fucking same in 2021.

If you had told me 365 days ago that I’d be having a second birthday during a worldwide pandemic tomorrow, I would have cock/cunt punched you.

@effinbirds

But here we are STILL in the throes of a global pandemic due to many “you can’t tell me what to do with my body” mask refusing ass hats, accompanied with politicians who act like they know more than the Center for Disease Control (go fucking figure) closely accompanied by the folks that follow said non-doctors blindly. I digress. My VIP Rona ticket happened to include my first ever birthday in quarantine. And now my second.

Oh hi! You feel like celebrating with people now? Too bad.

Little naive me thought I’d be hosting a half birthday party on September 25, 2020. Joke was on me! Well, really all of us. These were thoughts on my day of birth last year…

Poor, poor late March babies.

My birthday took place the first full week of lockdown in Nashville (when every business finally complied – lockdown actually started earlier). But still, I think everyone was hopeful/under the impression/couldn’t comprehend how this could last longer than a month, tops. 

Due to Rapegate, I would have been down to par-tay in isolation on any of my past five birthdays. But in 2020, I was ready for shenanigans and celebrations all about me, as I would have typically been pre-Rapegate. CELEBRATE EVERYTHING!

But not 2020. Oh no. This was the first year where this badass bitch was baaaack to finding all things joyful and ready to celebrate the entire month. So I did just that in spite of a fucking global pandemic.

I still celebrated my face off.

I partied and Prissy force loved it.

While the circumstances were not the most epically fabulous, my peeps far and wide celebrated with me. Boston Barbie canceled a trip she had planned to Nashville to celebrate with me in person due to the germy Rona shit. So she did the next best thing – had a bottle of champs with me via FaceTime and sent a pizza for supper.

Presents and hot toddy’s were delivered to the Mini Manse door.

First Mate tapped on my window and brought her own airplane sized bottle (is that what they are really called?) of fancy vino over and poured it into her own glass.  Rona shit was still so new, masks weren’t a required accessory yet (ATTENTION NASHVILLE RESIDENTS AND THOSE COWBOY BOOT PUKING TOURISTS – AS OF THIS DAY IN 2021 MASKS ARE STILL MANDATED IN DAVIDSON COUNTY).

Text messages dinging my phone all day kept me smiling from ear to ear. 

The world literally stopped turning on March 25, 2020. Yes. I am that.fucking.special.

Even my boyfriend T-Rac wished me a happy birthday and I pretty much died and went to Rona heaven (which would be the Mini Manse bed).

I almost burnt down the Mini Manse drunk baking my own gluten-free birthday cake.

Booze, boobs and baking.

While it was not on the top ten (or top 100) sweets I’ve ever tasted, it went down the hatch like a dry, dry, dry, dry, dry, dry charm (I think it was because of all the sprinkles). Yes, I still ate the damn thing.

Look the fuck out Martha Stewart.

This year’s pandemic birthday cake is gonna look different and be waaaaaay easier since I’m not gonna do fuck all with an oven.

Just need a candle.

Last year I wrote – and I quote, “What I want for my birthday wish is for you and your loved ones to be alive, healthy and ready to celebrate your faces off with me on my half birthday bash on September 25, 2020. Until then, stay the fuck home. Let’s make my half birthday party go viral for reasons other than a worldwide pandemic.”

So naive. So innocent.

This year my still-in-a-worldwide-pandemic-but-there-is-a-light-at-the-end-of-the tunnel plans are as follows:

An evening at the Mini Manse theater with a birthday themed film, accompanied with pizza and copious amounts of champs. And a side of extremely cold Diet Coke.

Hello Lovah.

Should I just get a case?

And because dreams do sometimes come true, I’m still alive and kicking after last year (and Rona free!). Typically, I’d head to my treasured watering hole, Dalts (they survived Rona too, woohoo!) to see my fave bartender ever to have eight a Skinny Pirate(s).

Marja + Skinny Pirates = Purrfection

Last year was the first time since I’ve lived in Nashville I didn’t celebrate my arrival into the world with Skinny Pirates and loved ons at Dalts.

2020 loner.

Maybe a more crowded party in 2022?!

It may not be post Rona normal yet but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna commemorate my day of birth all weekend and then some. Remember, there are six more days in my birthday month and I intend to celebrate the fuck outta each and every one. Shocker.

See ya in 2022!

Last year celebrating my birthday couldn’t help but feel full of doom and gloom. This year’s vibe is a MOOD called gratitude. Now every one of you start saving your pennies to come par-tay at Dalts with me in 2022.

Cheers to seeing you next year!

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

Buy Me a Drink

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Weekend What Day Is It Does It Matter Winks

Well, I for one, started this Ronacation off on the right foot. I wasn’t gonna let a worldwide pandemic keep me from fabulousness.

Safer at home day one.

I am fortunate to have the ability to work remotely and got my home desk all prepped and set.

Home office in the pussy room.

My desk is located in The Pussy Posse wing of the Mini Manse so, naturally, I have to display all things feline as to not wound the fragile feelings that cats pretend they own.

For those of you wondering, of course, I have pussies crawling all over me every damn day and I do not hate it. Not one bit.

But as the days rolled into weeks rolled into a month and then got all kinds of blurry as to what day of the week it actually was started taking a toll on my sparkly look. I morphed fairly quickly into a greasy-haired, messy bun, I-took-a-bath-so-I don’t-need-to-wash-my-hair-for-three-weeks, whatever-I’m-wearing-must be comfy-lady.

I’ve woken up like this precisely 32 days in a row now.

I’ve even taken things down 1,876,899 notches when taking Zoom calls, forgetting there’s a fucking video camera attached to the computer call. Blonde is hard.

I think many of us hold literal press conferences when we can say…

I mean, showering is not hard, right? But it’s so easy to skip washing my hair if I take a bath and because it’s long, I choose to wear the grease trap in a whale tail (a halved ponytail) or messy bun. If I get to feeling really fancy, I will shower AND wash AND then put deep conditioner in my hair, resulting in a wet bun for another five days (I am always cautious when taking my hair down from said wet bun, as I am not sure if it will have molded or if a kitten is hiding in there).

But the most impressive feat comes about every 14 days when I actually wash AND condition AND dry my locks.

There she is!

My Iowa twins are home from school the rest of this semester with planning for fall classes to resume. Like almost every other person I have seen on social media, the kids have started tie dying. Actually, I think this a prerequisite for Rona quarantine.

Am I the only one not doing this art?

If there’s anything my family knows how to do, it’s snack making. And Princess B is on it. She made her first batch of Rotel last Sunday and it was so tempting to get into my car (that wouldn’t make it down the block right now) and drive the nine hours to taste it.

Chef-boyarprincessdee

While Sister CBXB is teaching her kids how to cook, I’m letting mine snack when, where and on whatever they want to get them to shut the fuck up.

Rocky gettin cheezy.

I can’t stuff anything into my mouth without the prying puppy dog eyes from Prissy. I’ve conquered making a hot dog not fit into a hamburger bun. Rona probs.

A dog wanting a dog.

It’s a motherfucking shame that it’s taken a global pandemic to get family and friends to virtually gather. It’s not hard and why weren’t we doing this long before Rona?!

Virtual happy hours with friends near and far have helped me with my missing of in real life human connection.

A day in the life of quarantined CBXB looks a bit like the drawing I so accurately rendered below.

The Pussy Posse has a love/hate relationship with me right now.

While Tennessee is under a safer-at-home mandate until tomorrow, Nashville is under one until further notice. Mayor Cooper isn’t going to open the city until there are 14 days of COVID cases on the decline. Everyone has such mixed feelings but I think we can all agree it’s a fucking shame that kids are missing out on life milestones. In my apartment complex, it was shared that one of our resident’s daughters was turning 18, missing prom and her high school graduation. So her mom asked residents to decorate their balconies and come out of our places that evening for a surprise parade.

I still don’t know her name. But what a fucking fabulous feeling, helping spread a little joy with a community of neighbors whose names I mostly don’t know either.

All in this shitshow Rona prom/birthday/high school graduation parade together.

Speaking of prom, actor John Krasinski hosted a virtual prom last weekend for those missing out. On Instagram he wrote, “That’s right class of 2020, I’m DJing your prom with some friends this Friday night 8EST/5PST!!”

Best idea ever.

Due to it being a virtual prom, anyone could attend and Sister CBXB did it up right.

Prom Prince, Prom Princess, Prom chaperone.

Princess B got to wear one of her dance recital outfits, as it’s been canceled. Obvies looked adorbs. Prince B opted to go with a business on top, comfy on the bottom ensemble. Also, obvies adorbs.

All dressed up with somewhere to go!

Thankfully the weather in Music City has been pleasant (I mean after the tornado and whatnot). These two outside babies had their own kittens two weeks ago.

Rolo and Girlie Girl post-delivery of kittens.

These two petite sisters were born last April. I didn’t get them into the clinic in time for spaying before the tornado and then Rona hit. They got pregnant in the meantime and had kids. My little babies had babies. Eek. I have yet to see the kittens but I can hear them under the stairs. The Nashville Humane Society is going to take the kittens that I haven’t homed once they’ve weaned and socialized. As for the mamas, Rolo has found herself a home with my girl Rocky Ryan! We’re gonna meet up for the pussy exchange when it’s safe.

Going to be an Iowa Hawkeye!

Girlie Girl is still looking for a furrever abode. She’s sweet, petite, a purrer and I’ve finally gotten to pick her up for cuddles. Also, she and Prissy touch noses every morning, so she’s cool with dogs, too.

A pose for your consideration.

Social distance drinking is one of the events that can be done with nice weather! Last weekend, First Mate and I were able to enjoy separate boxes of our beloved Bota Box Rosé together but apart.

Two girls, two boxes, two dogs, safe distance.

When I put the above photo on Instagram, I was trying not to piss my pants pleasantly surprised when the actual Bota Box company “liked” my photo. It’s not like I rushed to any conclusions or anything.

While I know we are all dealing with this pandemic on different levels, it’s comforting to know that we’re in this together, apart. I can’t begin to express my gratitude for all of the essential employees and those working in the medical field.

And if you are safer-at-homing it but must go out, be sure you have the appropriate attire for Rona. I mean, this may be a tad extra but you get the point.

Not letting Rona steal my fabulousness.

Stay safe. Stay healthy.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

Buy Me a Drink

 

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My Viral Birthday

Holy fucking shit.

The tornado that ripped through middle Tennessee wasn’t even one month ago.

While the region was reeling, the global pandemic made its debut the day after the tornado with the first confirmed diagnosis in the state.

Now, I know many folks who showed up in droves to volunteer after the tornado are starting to test positive for COVID. I think this is largely due to the massive amount of good humans who showed the fuck up to help neighbors after a natural disaster. Since then, the Coronavirus has thwarted a lot of the efforts being made by organizations, supplies, volunteers, hard-hit businesses, etc.

But here we are in the throes of a global pandemic and we all have a fucking front row seat. My VIP ticket happened to include my first ever birthday in quarantine.

Oh hi! You feel like celebrating with people now? Too bad.

Since Rapegate, I would have been down to par-tay in isolation on past birthdays.

But not this year. Oh no. This is the first year where the bitch is baaaack to finding all things joy and ready to celebrate the entire year month week day. So I did just that in spite of a fucking global pandemic. I celebrated my face off.

We partied and Prissy force loved it.

While the circumstances were not the most epically fabulous, my peeps far and wide celebrated with me. Boston Barbie had a bottle of champs with me via FaceTime and sent a pizza for supper.

Quarantined prezzies were sent and loved hard.

Text messages and social media wishes kept a smile on my face.

First Mate tapped on my window and brought her own airplane sized bottle (is that what they are really called?) of fancy vino over and poured it into her own glass.

I almost burnt down the Mini Manse baked my own gluten-free birthday cake. While it was not on the top ten (or top 100) sweets I’ve ever tasted, it went down the hatch like a charm (I think it was because of all the sprinkles). Please feel free to spoil my hips after this shitshow is over with all of the gluten-free goodies. I won’t hate it.

Look the fuck out Martha Stewart.

While I’m now certain I can star in my very own baking show of failures (waiting for the phone to ring cooking channel), my gal pal in Scotland came up with an acronym for “when all this is over” – WATIO – and posed the question on her Instagram.

What I want even more WATIO, is for you and your loved ones to be alive, healthy and ready to celebrate your faces off with me on my half birthday bash on September 25, 2020.

Until then, stay the fuck home. Let’s make my half birthday party go viral for reasons other than a worldwide pandemic.

Love ya, mean it.

CBXB

CBXB!

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Weekend Winks – Love Potion

Kicking the love fest weekend off in cuteness were my Iowa twins showing off their dough from our uncle.

Holla for two dolla!

I was surprised by a secret admirer with a single rose delivered (by a florist and everything!) to work. I haven’t slept a fucking wink since.

WHO IS THIS FROM?????

My Galentine’s day evening was spent with First Mate in our now annual tradition of going to a local joint, Sperry’s Restaurant. The last two Valentine’s days, we’ve ended up here and kept the staff on their toes, as we are about 40 years younger than their average customer.

Galentines guzzle.

I gifted First Mate’s dog, Jacey, with a new toy that we decided to use as our centerpiece.

When I saw First Mate’s mama had sent Galentine’s gifts, we stopped drinking our wine just long enough to open the pretty packages.

The cutest gift from The Perfect Setting in Franklin, TN.

As you may very well know (because I am extremely fabulous at documenting), First Mate and I are into budget friendly boxes of wine. However, as this was a rare evening out on the town, we splurged and ordered a bottle. And naturally, I documented the experience.

Bottle service.

When the waiter went to pour our purchased wine from a glass bottle into appropriately stemmed wine goblets, we stopped him short. Excuse us, we brought our own fancy glasses with us for dining purposes that said, “Cheers fo my Galentine.”

BYOG.

To soak up our fancy bottled wine, I got the surf ‘n’ turf and managed to use the entire tin of butter on the side.

Surf’s up.

Fries before guys is our motto, which is why we had to order a large batch.

Purrfection.

Or maybe I killed it…

Always keeping it classy in the ritziest part of Nashville.

While we were waiting on our second bottle of wine to be presented to us, our waiter almost lost a limb while clearing our table of plates. There may have just been a few left but no fry goes uneaten on our watch.

Take this away from hungry ladies at your own risk.

First Mate killed our second bottle of wine, so we are now even.

Galentine’s Day success!

Prince B woke with some sickness funk on Saturday but his sister, Princess B, was sure to keep some of the spotlight on herself (sound like anyone else you know?).

Prince B and a photobombing Princess B.

My side hustle, called Animal Queendom, is petsitting. All of the eyes in the Mini Manse are on Pop, a pomeranian we are watching this week. He looks like an actual stuffed animal because he’s almost too pretty to be real. However, that theory is out the window every time he has an accident inside the Mini Manse (he’s supposedly potty trained to go on puppy pads but hasn’t used one once since his arrival).

Double trouble.

Prissy was needing primped and she got a bath, which is usually her fave time. She even loves a blow out. But since we have pretty Pop around, she was mortified that Mama would make her do such a thing with company watching.

Totally embarrassed.

Speaking of water, the twins braved the chill to take a hop in the hot tub. They needed to get their fins wet before heading to Mexico next week!

Splishy, splashy fun.

I’ve been trying to get my Mini Manse back in organizational shape and this weekend I tackled my dressing room. It’s still a work in progress but you can now see the floor.

Dressing room debacle.

What do you do with leftover Valentine candy? You make a love potion, of course!

Potion prep.

Just add water and shaving cream.

Play to your heart’s content.

Now that I’m back on the take care of myself bandwagon after a four year hiatus, I have been experiencing some pinpointed trouble. The sciatic nerve on my right side has been some sort of a sneaky monster in the last six months or so. It reared its head when I sneezed last week while in the tub and I thought my right ass cheek was going to blow off of my body (and I was going to have to call for help to get out of the bath). Luckily I was able to hoist myself up and turned not to the medical corners of the internet but to my peeps on Instagram. I received all kinds of fab advice on supplements to take for joints, muscles and stretches to perform for my sciatic issue.

Pill popper.

After a thirty-minute supplement popping sesh, I headed to a local pub to meet Sleepy for a cocktail on Sunday. My Lyft driver was impressively on point with her customer kit. I had to snag a sucker before she dropped me at the Alley Pub.

Passenger goodies.

Mama CBXB also joined us in our lazy day shenanigans (when I should have been working away in my dressing room but what’s another day after it’s been four years, huh?!).

Sunday Funday.

The rest of the weekend look liked this…

Furballs cozied up on the couch, Netflix and a little vino.

Feline version of Siamese twins.

There’s really nothing better out there than being surrounded by furry love and adoration (which I am the one doing all of the fucking adoration, of course).

Cheers to a fabulous week ahead!

CBXB

CBXB!

 

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Yule Be Bowled Over

Holy shit the holiday season crept up and is flying out faster than a fad diet at the beginning of a new year.

This season not only marked Prissy’s first Christmas with me and The Pussy Posse, it also was our premiere road trip together.

One of us was embarrassed of a hotel lobby selfie. One of us was clearly not.

Dada CBXB is not known for his speedy lead foot. If anything, when we are on a road trip to Iowa, the texts I usually get from family go a little something like, “see you next week” when it’s simply a day’s drive. However on this trip, Dada CBXB splurged and got a hotel room in St. Louis, the mid-way point between destinations. He very cleverly booked us at a place that featured three free cocktails per guest, along with snacks until 7pm. We arrived at 6:30.

Will speed for free booze.

After chugging, we wound down catching former Hawkeye, George Kittle kill it on the field with the San Francisco 49ers. Always a way with a nickname, Dad called our usual night caps, “Kittle Kaps” and well, that’s what it shall be named from here on out.

Kittle Kaps all around.

Not only was this first holiday road trip for Priss, this was also her introduction to the twins. I was slightly worried I may not get to take her back to Music City with me once the duo of cuteness got their paws on her.

Prissy, the instant hit.

One of the reasons Prissy is enviable to the twins is her size as my dogphew, Spike, can’t sit on laps and be carried around on a hip easily. But boy can he snuggle like nobody’s business.

You can totes see the family resemblance, right?

It was new hair dos all around for the big man in red.

Hair envy, anyone?

What would a Christmas be without a sugar cookie fest for my pie hole? Sister CBXB had three pounds of buttercream frosting that may or may not all be sitting on my hips at the moment.

Cookies more delish than they appear.

When the wee ones wondered to bed my BIL (also known as Dr. Cocktail) whipped up some of his finest drunk mixes. One round was vaguely familiar and it inspired me to start watching Sex and the City on my next TV binge.

Carrie Bradshaw style Christmas Cosmopolitan.

Prissy couldn’t decide if she’s a Carrie or a Charlotte. Jury’s still out.

After matching cosmos, we kept up the sister game by sporting matching sequined Santa starter jackets because why the fuck not?

Holla Ho!

The following evening we were treated to a snazzy seasonal supper complete with place cards created by the twins. They somehow managed to set their own cards at the heads of the table. Clever little fucks.

Supper is served.

Soon after our bellies were full, it was time for the slumber before Santa’s visit.

The calm before the Christmas tsunami.

HE CAME.

Our day was filled with stockings, sugar cookies, mimosas, coffee, sugar cookies, mimosas, presents, dogs, kids, mayhem, mimosas, movies, naps, a fire pit, sugar cookies, pizzas, wine and fun.

Fucking crazy for Christmas.

The holiday went off without a hitch and I’m pretty sure the blood pumping through my veins is still straight saccharine.

Prissy and the Princess.

The Christmas stimulation proved to be tiring to my pooch who typically acts as if she’s on some sort of canine cocaine on the daily. She spent most of the nine hour sleigh ride back to Nashville the next day with her eyes shut.

Sleeping ’til 2020.

While I was trying to pry my eyes open with toothpicks for work back in Nashville, the twins were partying with tacos and Mama CBXB.

Taco time.

With Christmas falling in the middle of the work week combined with two travel days in a car, my body didn’t know up from fucking down. I was able to muster a work outfit together on Friday, which felt like a Monday and then felt like a Saturday because the Iowa Hawkeyes were playing in a bowl game that night, when they usually play on Saturday day. See the difficulty for me?

Be bold, wear gold. And sequins. Lots of sequins.

A mix of emotions for the last game until next August. The horror.

It was quite fitting the Iowa Hawkeyes played in the Holiday Bowl against USC this year. Our long time beloved coach, Hayden Fry, passed away earlier in the month. When he was coaching, this bowl was one of his favorites, so winning it would be extra special. Dada CBXB and I weren’t sure what to make of Iowa scoring on their first drive, even though we were favored to win by two points.

Naturally, we did the typical Family Tradition…times fucking seven. Yes, SEVEN.

Touchdown #1!

Touchdown #2!

Touchdown #3!

Touchdown #4!

Touchdown #5!

Touchdown #6!

Touchdown #7!

It’s been forever since we needed two hands for counting shots so we were a tad out of practice. We also had to get really crafty with our picture props, as the Hawks kept scoring TDs. The final victorious score was 49 – 24, making Iowa’s overall record this year 10-3.

If that’s not a way to end a season, I don’t know what is. ON IOWA!

High five to a new decade.

I was certainly feeling bowled over the next day…with no complaints.

Cheers to the last few days before a new year!

CBXB!