June 15, 2020 by Cowboys and Crossbones

Weekend Whatever Week You’re On Winks

Oh the things being stationed from home 24/7 will make you do…like take in a kitten who just had her own litter. Therefore, making me not a grandma but a GLAMma.

Oops I did it again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

I have an outside brood of seven pussies that I’ve been feeding the last two years. I was able to trap and release (TNR) each one last spring. TNR is when you catch a cat in a trap, take it to the vet for a spay or neuter and then release it where you found it. I’m making this sound easy but it takes a goddamn act of the stars being aligned even if Mercury is in Retrograde to accomplish this because feral cats are basically wild animals.

I missed a female last spring and she had kittens. And now, I am a Glamma and have four sweet, teeny, tiny Glammies inside the Mini Manse quarantined in their own Rona hell to my bedroom. They are now known as The Glam Squad and I almost lost an arm and two eyes trying to get them into the Mini Manse but that’s a story for another day.

Girlie Girl feeding Maverick and Ruth.

The Glammies are almost fully weaned off of Mama. I’m on a waiting list at Value Vet and Nashville’s Pet Community Center (that has 600 felines afuckinghead of me) for spaying and neutering. These little nuggets won’t be going back outside, either. They’ve entered the Mini Manse and are now accustomed to a boxed wine luxury lifestyle with Glamma. It’s been a shit ton of work but definitely, a welcomed distraction from whatever this thing is we now call the world. All of the babies will be up for adoption. Don’t you think you need a new friend?

Girlie Girl, Fauci and Nelly enjoying their breakfast buffet.

All of this pussy momming has given me even more reason to dive right into my Crazy Cat Lady status that I have not one ounce of shame over.

Light Friday night reading compliments of M.Star.

So how do Prissy and The Pussy Posse feel about acquiring temporary residents?

WHAT. THE. FUUUUUUUUUUUCK?

Because The Pussy Posse, Prissy, and yours truly all sleep in my Princess and the Pea bed, I’ve had to do some distracting to avoid immediate punishment from the permanent feline residents in the Mini Manse. The weather has been quite fabulous, so I am able to leave the Pussy Patio wing of the Mini, Teddy’s Terrace open for their recreational habits of napping all day every day and night.

Fabio has no complaints.

Thundercunt would like to speak to the manager.

While I’ve been trying to keep my cat hoarding situation under control, Sister CBXB has been entertaining her duo with her fabulous versions of summer camp.

So far they’ve been to France, Japan, and space.

Day camps can be exhausting, so they get a little happy hour every day.

Summering so hard.

Princess B also got a visit from the tooth fairy twice last week.

I could run a summer camp on how to find shit in the garbage can. Remember when I found my dumpster wedding dress (that is still in my possession, I mean, just in case, you never know)? Well, when I was leaving the Mini Manse on Saturday, what to my wondering eyes did appear but a gigantic framed fancy photo of some golfer. And you know who loves her some golf?

First Mate.

One woman’s trash is First Mate’s treasure.

I snapped a pic of it and sent it to her as a joke. Turns out she really wanted it and I unshamefully backed my ass up and it’s now anchored at her beige palace.

You who else needs to back their asses up? Every single motherfucker in this photo from Kid Rock’s bar in downtown Nashville taken this weekend. What do you want to bet every single person in this photo has bitched and moaned about businesses reopening and how masks are an infringement on their personal fucking freedom?

Thanks for helping Nashville inch back to Phase 1.

EVERYONE I know wants to get out and about and have some sense of pre-Rona normalcy. But when a very large handful of peeps take the conveyed Tennessee message “proceed with common sense,” in establishments that completely ignore city set guidelines (6 feet apart, wear a mask), it’s inevitable to not feel like these folks aren’t being wise. Nashville is in a four-phase reopening plan. Currently, we are on Phase 2, with many businesses waiting for Phase 3 to reopen. Selfish folks, like Kid Rock’s establishment, accompanied by many other downtown Nashville bars are completely ruining it for other businesses waiting for their economic means to starting flowing again. Get your shit together you selfish fucks and maybe, just practice compassion for others.

In London over the weekend, great compassion was shown for a counter-protester to the Black Lives Matter march. Patrick Hutchinson saw a white counter-protester on the ground, about to be trampled. Hutchinson picked the man up, and with help from friends, got him out of the large crowd and to safety. Remarkable compassion and integrity.

Selflessness at its finest.

I think some people have become frustrated with what may seem like a lull after two weeks of full-on worldwide protesting (so yeah, the entire universe thinks black lives matter). It’s important to remember that Black Lives Matter is a movement, not a moment. It will take time, education, resources, protests, reform, and….compassion.

Speaking of viruses, my vehicle has been nothing but bad juju and decided to finally piss out on me two weeks ago. It’s just been sitting in the parking lot (silver lining of remote working compliments of Rona) at the Mini Manse until yesterday. And when I started to drive it to CarMax, seeing if I could muster any kind of moola out of them for it, the old rust bucket came up with the soundtrack to 2020.

The brakes completely went out about 15 seconds in the car. I was able to emergency brake it the entire way to the dealer. When the mechanic took it out for a test spin, before giving me my appraisal, I warned him that if he valued his life, he may want to stay in the parking lot.

The rust bucket in better days, when I wished it was a Range Rover.

Turns out, the make and model of my car holds value. WHAT? WHAT? Exsqueeze me?

GOOD NEWS?

How awful is it that I’m accustomed to the very worst scenario always panning out? I’m not a pessimist but I am just always prepared for the defeat of a situation these days. Instead, I got so much for my rust bucket, I was able to get a better vehicle in my price range that I love.

Car salesman Harry and I are now best friends.

My new beaut is being transferred from Maryland and is the exact same make, model and color as my old one. Just newer and minus the rust, the duct tape, the myriad of dashboard lights on 24/7, and no power steering fluid leak. HOW LUCKY AM I?!

For those of us who didn’t have my luck yesterday, (which applies to every other area of my non-vehicular life) might I suggest some sage to last us the next six months as we patiently await 2021?

Let me know when you want me to come sage your place. I have a new ride, you know.

Stay safe.

CBXB

Buy Me a Drink

August 26, 2013 by Cowboys and Crossbones

Weekend Winks – Titans Style

A Nashville weekend for CBXB complete with a little kit cat time, preseason NFL football and a whole lotta lazy in the sun.

The number of cups equals the amount of fun had at a Titans game, FYI.

Friday called for a little relaxation out on the patio of my mini manse.

Fridays taste so good!

I was trying to unwind under my bright lights that annoy the piss out of my neighbors (someone had to be the Clark Griswold of the neighborhood!) but the incessant whining from some little furball inside made it impossible for me to concentrate on reading my People magazine and chug my Skinny Pirate. So I let the little whine calf out.

Who wouldn’t wanna party here?

And I immediately regretted my decision as Teddy sprinted to the end of the deck, dramatically putting the front half of his body out over the ledge and meowed (what he surely thought sounded like a lion’s roar, but sounded like a sick goat) to announce his presence to no one. I thought, “Great. My family is going to have a heyday with this story when the apartment complex calls telling my folks that I broke my neck jumping off my second story deck to save my cat, Mr. Bear – who would of course walk away unscathed.” So instead of freaking the F out and yelling at him, I casually pulled him in and yelled “NO!” once he was back on all fours of the appropriate side of the deck.

Until my whine calf made it unable for me to enjoy

You go, I go you little shit.

Once every nook and cranny was checked out, it was time for tricks.

Acrobatic show off.

And while practicing his balance, TB acted as if he was doomed to be on the porch forever, trying to claw at the window screen.

Outside looking in.

Once again yelling “NO!” (you see how scared Ted is of me?), he tight roped down the chair and settled in for a nice, long cat nap.

F You!

Four minutes of curiosity makes a feline tired.

Worn out after the circus tricks of the prior evening, I hauled my lazy ass up to the pool on Saturday. Where I continued to be lazy. All. Day. Long.

Decompressed by the pool with a cocktail

All I was missing was a tan.

A spontaneous invitation to go to the Tennessee Titans game produced all kinds of fun with my First Mate and her hubs. Although, as I was rushing to get ready, she reminded me that you can’t take a purse bigger than your palm in to the stadiums anymore. WTF?! Where am I supposed to put my sunglasses? My bootlegged liquor? My lip gloss? My ticket won’t even fit into my purse without having to be folded! The horror!

Teeny tiny purses didn’t deter from fun.

I was still able to mix cocktails in the bathroom bar by smuggling in my spirits.

Can’t stop this classy girl!

Although, we were forced to be assholes wearing our sunglasses at night because we had nowhere to put them.

Yeah, we know we’re cool.

While we started out with our vodka and beer, First Mate and I HAD to have a glass of wine once we saw the container it came in.

Reusable AND it has a lid!

Cupholderific!

The mixing of liquor, beer and wine gave us a really good idea for a blog post. I’m going to try out to be a Titans cheerleader next year and First Mate will document my uncoordinated experience. You’re welcome in advance and I am not eating solid food until after tryouts next April (but I refuse to give up my Skinny Pirates).

All I need to make the cut is fake boobs, three more inches added to my legs and the ability to make it through a cheer without giggling. I got this.

Parched as we were, a stop at our fave bar Dalts was required before calling it quits on a fun Saturday night. Can’t you tell Hubs was just having the time of his life?

Leaning tower of blondes.

With the best of intentions of going to hot yoga on Sunday, I decided to sweat out the shenanigans of Saturday night by holding a day long savasana pose by the pool.

Perfect end to the weekend…while gaining a teeny tiny tan.

While I sat on my soon-to-be-a-Titans-cheerleader-dreams-dashed-hopeful-ass by the pool, I also studied pics of my niece and nephew practicing their favorite poses.

Happy Baby.

Plank.

Not only do they look cuter doing yoga than I do, it seems as if they have better form too. Show-offs!

Here’s a big cheers to a great week!

CBXB

March 19, 2013 by Cowboys and Crossbones

Nashville’s 90210 St. Patio Party

Remember this piece of shit umbrella that helped add ambiance to the 90210 neighborhood of Nashville in which I reside? If not, do yourself a favor and click here to read about it.

The once khaki, now a nice shade of mold green umbrella.

After reading about my contribution to trashiness last week, my dad decided to give me a pre-birthday gift (PBGs are THE BEST, as I celebrate my upcoming birthday the entire month of March) in the form of a little patio makeover (my dad initially helped me complete my patio wing, which took an entire year to complete – read about the loooooong process here) on St. Patty’s Day.

First, “we” started by blowing the ugly out of the yard (I contributed by snapping pics).

Leprechaun lawn boy.

Then to spruce up the corner of my sidewalk, “we” prepped the area for a trio of daffodils.

Dig faster!

Spring has sprung in my corner of Nashville

Spring has sprung in my tiny corner of Nashville.

I served as the Project Manager as my folks worked on filling the umbrella base with sand.

I served as the Project Manager. Jewels, not tools.

Remember my nails are jewels, not tools. Therefore I was forced to drink my cocktail instead of touch sand.

Blonde moment 4,325 – did you know that by putting sand in the umbrella base you can avert disasters like this? Me either.

Maybe sand would have prolonged the short life of my previous umbrella….oops.

Blonde moment 4,326 – did you know that when you put sand in this contraption, you put it in the smaller opening? Me either.

The large hole is for the umbrella…

While I was having all kinds of light bulbs go off in my blonde brain outside, Ted was desperately seeking attention trying to claw his way through my storm door.

LET. ME. OUT.

When I went to fawn all over him, this is what I was welcomed by…

A ruined rug.

And as I went to capture his ‘guilty’ mug, this is what I got…

When I came in to scold, this is all I got.

A tongue in my face. THE NERVE.

But I’ll take a ruined rug for a spruced up party wing!

I wonder if this will look like Christmas decor when I start growing mold on it with my green thumbs?

And as we did the year before, we christened the patio with cocktails (duh, how else do would I do it?).

All of the last year’s hard work commenced with vodka lemonades…

And this year we clinked our glasses with Irish green dream drinks during our St. Patio Party.

Making the ‘hood a tad classier with my spruced up party patio back in action due to my PBG (can you tell I hate my birthday?).

Neighbors, you’re welcome.

CBXB

March 14, 2013 by Cowboys and Crossbones

How to Trash Up the 90210 of Nashville

What’s in a zip code? Everything (especially for shallow folks like me).

Since moving to Nashville, I longed to claim residence on the posh West side. After searching for a place to call home a few years ago on a very strict budget, I fell in love with a little duplex in the highly coveted area. And the two top selling points – the fancy zip code and the fact that it was two miles away from my own personal Cheers (that delivers food to my front door, might I add) – a classy lady like yours truly has standards, you know. So in a leap of faith and in hopes with my fingers, toes and legs crossed that I could always make rent, I went for it.

Now I currently live in the 90210 of Nashville. Oh, snap!

How does one live only a few miles away from this house and keep it classy?

Share the same zip…not the same lifestyle.

Well, I don’t. There’s not much class (not surprised are you?) in my neck of the ‘hood (which is more Skid Row than Beverly Hills – but I STILL HAVE THAT DAMN ZIP CODE!) Especially with the help of my neighbor.

When you pull into my drive and park your vehicle, this is the view of my neighbor’s gorgeous shed that might literally blow down if someone came by and huffed and puffed.

The beautifully rusted shed, damaged in a flood three years ago.

My neighbor can also grow mushrooms (that stand out like eye sores next to our crew a few miles over with their pristine yards) in our lawn like he’s Papa Smurf.

La-la-la-la-la-la! Sing a happy song!

I tried to spruce up our joint yard by adding an outside porch wing to my mini manse. Click here to read about the building ordeal.

Kinda classy, right?

90210 cocktails – in trashy attire.

And after all of my efforts, this happened….

Gone with the wind, not so fabulous.

A Nashville 90210 nightmare.

And then another storm blew through, further trashing up the joint…

Mother nature could give an F what zip code this umbrella resides in.

And now, I’m adding to the lovely trashiness with my now ultra unfabulous umbrella.

Damaged goods.

I’ve even managed to grow mold with my green thumb on top of my snazzy shade protector.

Green with envy, are you?

But nothing quite tops what I came home to yesterday (on my neighbor’s side of the yard, FYI). A couch. In case you get tired while you’re driving by and want to stop, lay down and take a nap. Hell, I might even bring out a Skinny Pirate for you.

Naps for sale.

Keepin’ it classy in the 90210 of Nashville ‘hood. Someone’s gotta do it.

CBXB

August 21, 2012 by Cowboys and Crossbones

The One Year Patio Project

It’s true. My patio took one year to complete.

Not because I live on sprawling acres with a mansion’s worth of outdoor space to spruce up. But because I was waiting on a man (when will I learn my lesson?) to help me complete it.

When I first moved into my place, the landlord had set trash cans on a perfectly fabulous stone nook by my entryway. I really didn’t want garbage to be the first impression left upon folks when pulling into my mini-manse. I moved the trash to the side of my house and a small patio set took its place. Being greedy, I wanted to expand my patio real estate to give a very impressive impression to my friends who always come over (so what if they are usually the mail carrier, UPS or the water meter reader?! Don’t judge me. My friends are very busy procreating).

Upon hearing me whine for more patio space, my dad suggested purchasing square stone and if I did, he would level and install (and some other fancy handy man vocab) them for me. My mom bought the additional stone for me as a house warming gift and we unloaded them and there they sat…and sat…and sat. Because it was too hot outside, the ground was too wet, the ground was frozen, or it was too cold to tolerate to work on the patio, etc…the stones sat all by their lonesome. Until this past summer when the stars were aligned perfectly in the sky and my dad came in to finish the hard work he suggested starting.

The stones getting settled into their new home. Red, brickface patio stone, $4.07. Lowe’s.

But with all of the digging and leveling, the area looked like a place Joe Dirt would be proud to call his own. Anticipating the whine calf I was about to become, my dad (who is apparently psychic) suggested we invest in some decorative rock.

We found this rock on sale the Home Depot for $1.00 a bag. And promptly bought all of the bags because now, I could have a rock empire since it was something I could afford to purchase.

Upon saving so much loot in the clearance rock, Dad thought he should plant some hostas to add as the cherries on top of my sprawling patio kingdom.

And of course a few hostas were not going to do the trick for this Queen of the Rock Pile, so I commissioned the planting of more! more! more! crowned jewels.

With the addition of six more hostas, my perfect patio plans were executed (by my dad, as I directed placement and kept cool with a cocktail).

The Patio Palace in all of its glory!

And when I think about the nearly 365 day construction phase of this patio, I must thank the project manager, Dad, for making me realize that good things do come to those who wait. And wait. And wait. And wait (sometimes not so patiently). Now I have a patio, complete with a side wing for a fire pit, hostas for atmosphere and plenty of room to rub elbows. All for under $60.

The beauty and the brains (you can decide who’s who) of patio perfecting.

CBXB

Cowboys and Crossbones

All things that kick ass!

Tag Archives: patio

Weekend Whatever Week You’re On Winks

GOOD NEWS?

Weekend Winks – Titans Style

Nashville’s 90210 St. Patio Party

How to Trash Up the 90210 of Nashville

The One Year Patio Project