Weekend Winks – Sun and Summer Fun!

Oh, hello there! Long time no talk. I’ve been dealing with a cyberstalker of sorts for 16 months and it requires me to be hyper vigilant about what I post on all social media accounts and especially this blog. But since there isn’t anything I can do about it (until I end up on Forensic Files, my fave true crime show), I’m gonna start blogging my brains out again. Fuck it.

You know I love the shit outta my pool and the Music City weather was gorgeous this weekend to make it a two day extravaganza! Sleepy joined in on the sun fun all weekend. So did the man behind my shoulder, casually photobombing our selfie.

Sleepy gifted me a new magnet but while you’re trying to read it, please also enjoy the view of my homegrown boobs. The one and only positive of gaining 50 lbs after Rapegate (I’ve since lost 20!) but I really, really, really, really don’t wanna lose my trauma tits because I’ve never had anything other than an A cup since fourth grade. And I didn’t have to buy them! Whoop.

NO SHAME IN MY GAME.

While I was sipping away in the sun, my Iowa twins were having a foam partay. I wanna get one of these and throw The Pussy Posse in it just to see what happens. The machine brand is FOAMO and you can find it here on Amazon if you wanna support billionaire Jeff Bezos’s next penis shaped rocket ship. (Full disclosure I have an Amazon Prime membership). You can also get it at Target but it’s a bit pricier.

Princess B was pretty pumped about her new back to school kicks and who can blame her? Oh the joy of loving the last of summer vacay days before school (if Rona lets it be in person, which might I remind you to WEAR A FUCKING MASK even if you’re vaccinated. Asymptomatic, vaccinated folks can still transmit the virus to others including KIDS).

I got to FaceTime with one of my goddogs, Maxie Saturday. His mama, Boston Barbie was also allowed to talk – some. I mean, does he love his Auntie Captain or what?!

Speaking of love, this little shithead has tried to escape the bounties of endless spoiling granted to her at the Mini Manse twice recently. I lost my big toenail in one of the instances. She thinks it’s all fun and fucking games to see me schlep behind her, while my sciatica screams at me to stop. She’s lucky she’s so goddamn k-ute.

Sunday was certainly a fun day! Dada CBXB came in for a fab day at a mostly quiet pool. We’re greasing up our livers for family tradition Hawkeye touchdown shots that are gonna be down our hatches in less than a month. YeeHAW!

He also loves when I fetch him drinks and when he switched from rot gut (lowest end vodka possible mixed with Coke) to beer, he said it was in a koozie already.

Save Big Money at Menards! He also sported his fave t-shirt gifted to him forever ago by Miss Mt. Ayr. Red, White and Brew, Baby.

Dada CBXB left before I was ready to head back to the Mini Manse, so I was again, called upon to fetch something for him. Can you tell whose shoes are whose?

Sleepy stayed to hang and keep the drinks endlessly flowing, so I never quite know what number of cocktail I’m on. She’s sneaky good like that and in the pic below, I think I’m still on libation number one even though we’d been at the pool for four hours already.

When we retired from the pool, my Big Three needed their own happy hour out of my bathroom sink. Even thought I have six water bowls and a goddamn cat fountain, they need to drink out of a faucet. Jesus fuck. My vet always says she wants to come back in another life as one of my Pussy Posse. Can we blame her?

While Rocky, Fabio and Ruby Sue were sipping away, Prissy wanted to remind me how sorry she was about scrambling out the door (I think she can collapse her rib cage like a mouse and squeeze through any opening). She is highly aware that wrapping herself around me like a scarf is a sure way to ease my hate/love her to like/love her again.

She’s also aware that today is a BIG day for us. It’s our two year anniversary and I honestly don’t know how either of us ever lived without the other before we met. Happy Gotcha Day bébé.

It’s always a pile on when the white noise machine hits play. The Big Three come in this order: Rocky, Fabio, Ruby Sue. And they all want to sit in the same spot by my head. It’s really fabulous for my neck. Prissy sleeps on the other side butt-to-butt with me. When the lights go out The Little Three make their way into my queen size bed for a fun snooze fest.

As the numbers of Rona climb – AfuckingGAIN – please know that I will be using my Irish accent anytime I see Tennessee’s piss poor governor, Bill Lee, or my very unfavorite Senator Marsha Motherfucking Eat Shit and Die Blackburn. These two ding dongs are highly responsible for the lack of unvaccinated Tennesseans, Lee fired our state’s Dr. Fauci for trying to create better vaccine outreach last month and Nashville’s Rona numbers were up 400% in July. Nashville’s unofficial slogan is “love thy neighbor” so lets FUCKING DO BETTER.

If anyone else I know gets Rona and dies from what could have been EASILY prevented I may spontaneously combust. You are not a super hero. You are not immune. Wear a mask for others and just be a good human.

I really don’t prefer the way I look on fire anyhow.

Stay safe. Mask up.

Love ya, Mean it.

CBXB

BUY ME A DRINK

Weekend Winks IS BACK

Well, well, well life seems to be falling into a sort of ‘normal’ now that the Rona vaccines are out and available. It seems like f-o-r-e-v-e-r but yet justlikeyesterday all of the shit hit the proverbial fan. Who could have foreseen the division created by political so-called leaders in fighting what could have saved hundreds of thousands of American lives by refusing to wear a fucking cloth over one’s face.

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Anyhoo, I hope you and yours are well and on the hunt for the vaccine if you haven’t already been shot with the Fauci Ouchie. I’m pumped to say both of my folks are vaccinated and hugs will soon be shared by all of the CBXB clan! WHOOP!

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My weekend kicked off with birthday festivities for the second time during Rona. There was nothing that was gonna stand in my way of celebrating this year. I have a full bday recap coming because I’m literally celebrating every.single.day. in March.

Bday Rona Round 2

Oh hi Rona round two.

I rang in my birthday Wednesday night talking with two of my girls – Miss Bella outta Chicago and A3 outta Duluth.

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I’d stopped to get myself some bubbly on my birthday and splurged on a fancy (for me because it was above my typical $6.99 budget) frugal bottle.

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I was beyond spoiled to say the very least upon my arrival back to the Mini Manse. This doesn’t include all of the loving I got before, during and still after my day (don’t forget we’re celebrating ALL month and there are three days left in March).

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Wondering what was in the tall box, I contemplated if it could possibly be a tent delivered to the wrong address.

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Turns out it was delivered to the correct Mini Manse AND was filled with the best treats a girl with Celiac Disease could wish for – a case of GLUTEN FREE DOUBLE STUFFED OREOS that just hit the market and have been impossible to find!

Double Stuffed Delight

Double Stuffed DELIGHT.

I laid in bed all birthday morning eating Oreos and read all of my messages over and over and over and over. To the point my pussies were trying to claw the device from my hands for some attention.

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But Mama’s got some claws of her own. My gal Lash Goddess has been in my Rona bubble and started practicing her talon magic on me much to my delight.

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I won the claw fight over the phone, masked up and headed to my fave watering hole on the planet in almost a year…Dalts. Annual birthday Skinny Pirates galore (not unlike a preRona Friday night) for me.

Skinny Pirate

Due to the INSANE amount of rain, it was the purrfect Saturday to stay in bed and binge watch Schitt’s Creek (the show the rest of the world watched at the beginning of the pandemic).

Netflix and Chill

I Netflixed and chilled. Prissy whimpered and whined for a bite.

Nashville has been hit so hard the last 365 days, it’s almost impossible to comprehend everything that has happened. Starting last March with a tornado that ripped through all of Middle Tennessee, a bombing downtown on Christmas morning and ass clown tourists passing Rona around to our citizens because…bachelorette parties are more important than grandma’s life.

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GO. THE. FUCK. AWAY. @musicshitty

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Insanity poured down on Music City once again. South Nashville was hit especially hard and its demographic of citizens heartbreakingly aren’t typically the type to keep the news in cycle.

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Bridge of debris in South Nashville. @musicshitty

Another fun reason I lollygagged in bed was due to being triggered by a rape case in Minnesota. The state Supreme Court of the Land of 10,000 Lakes really knocked the wind outta this survivor’s sails.  A woman was raped while she was drunk in 2017. The rapist was convicted and sentenced in 2019 BUT his smarmy (like for real, who defends rapists?) lawyers appealed to the Minnesota Supreme Court with absolute credibility because IT IS LAW.

Minnesota Rape ShitThis is victim blaming at its fucking highest level. It made me physically ill. Not only because of the similarities to my case but holy fucking shit. A rapist never rapes just once and he’s being given a new trial.Minnesota Rape Shit

This is absolutely infuriating. ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. It tore me to pieces and I cannot imagine what the victim must be feeling – reeling from – after having come forward, her case making it to court, her rapist found guilty and sentenced, only to be given a new trial UNANIMOUSLY by the state Supreme Court because SHE was drunk. Folks, this is rape culture.

Minnesota Rape Shit

This is why who you vote for matters. It matters a FUCK ton because judicial positions such as these are appointed by politicians in which citizens vote. You know, like how former president Covita stacked federal courts and the Supreme Court with lifetime nominees. THIS. SHIT. MATTERS.

Minnesota Rape SHIT

Needless to say, I spent much more of the weekend holding space for myself, while Prissy and The Pussy Posse wallowed in bed with me.

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After being fired up for two days straight, it was fitting to start my Monday with the gang who quite literally carried me virtually through the pandemic on Instagram. A workout crew, the Clams, started by Body By Trainor is almost always my saving grace.

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Is there any better way usher in a week than with a swift one-two to the face?

I think not.

Love ya, mean it.

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BUY ME A DRINK!

The Yule Blog of 2020 Year in Review

What in the actual fuck 20fucking20?

Who could have predicted the surprising mess you would be? In honor of the longest, shortest, most eventful, confusing, defining, emotional, true color revealing, nothing surprises anyone anymore shitshow of a time, I’m doing a yule blog year in review. Starting with this overview, I’ll be breaking my “what-fucking-day-is-it-do-I-have-enough-toilet-paper-do-you-care-enough-about-others-to-follow-three-simple-rules-an-alarmingly-large-portion-of-Americans-are-in-a-cult-like-state-when-did-we-become-so-divided-did-that-just-really-happen-where-have-you-been-maskless-how-is-it-already-december” year down month by month in upcoming posts.

The eve of the new year, December 31, 2019…how the start of a brand new decade – let alone fresh year – felt exhilarating! 

New decade prep.

The years between 2010 and 2020 were beyond rough. I started that decade leaving an emotionally and mentally taxing relationship where I wasn’t appreciated for me being me, moved in with my parents as an independent adult for almost 365 days and sandwiched in between those years, my immediate family crumbled before my eyes, I was sexually harassed at work and lost a career that took years to build, I was raped by my best friend’s boyfriend, I gained half of my pre-Rapegate bodyweight in the following four years, found myself abandoned by what I thought was a tight circle of girlfriends, the electoral college system in America yet again granted a victory to a person who didn’t win the popular vote, THE furball love of my life, Ted E. Bear (and star of this blog) passed away three weeks before I lost my Aunt Crazy Pants to fucking cancer.

Ted. Teddy Bear. Mr. Ted E. Bear. Tedstar. Teddy Krueger. How I miss you.

Fuck, during that decade I was ALWAYS ready for a motherfucking new year.

So young. So innocent. Not knowing the fuckery that was to come a knocking.

Byeeee 2014!

GTFO 2016. Worst.Year.of.My.Life.

…looking toward 2018?

You get the (literal) picture(s). Of course fabulous happenstances were included in the shit sandwich of a decade. The absolute best was the grand appearance of the two not-so-little anymore loves of my life. Sister CBXB and my BIL gifted our family with twins!

The introduction of a lifetime.

I lost my goddamned mind in 2016 after Rapegate one day at PetSmart and adopted three cats at one time.

The Pussy Posse was born that very day.

Princess Elsa Pants of the Mini Manse, Ruby Sue and Rocky.

We’ve since added three more pussies and a Pomeranian.

Fabio, Scooch, Prissy and Girlie Girl have rounded out The Pussy Posse nicely.

Yes. Yes I do realize I will be single forever and I’m OK with it. I also love candles, reading and watch The Bachelor franchise in a wedding veil I found in my dumpster. I’m just living my best life authentically, OK?



This decade, I found my true ride or die people. In person – and virtually. I’ve never “met” some of my most cherished friends who live all over the world. The outpouring of solid, lasting support after sharing my Rapegate story and its profoundly life altering aftermath is what kept me breathing and why I’m alive to type this today.

I sent out the S.O.S. and you answered in droves.

Another reason I still live and breathe is Superhero Sheila. My therapist. My literal lifesaver. We met days after I was raped and she will always be in my life. Thankful isn’t a strong enough word but then again, there isn’t one that exists to describe how grateful I am for her. I can’t take a picture of Superhero Sheila for confidentiality reasons but I named my new car after her. No. I’m not kidding.

OK, so I may be more excited about my Sheila than the actual Sheila but how many peeps can say they have a car named after them?

The excitement of a new decade dawning was cause for fabulous celebrating on my leopard couch December 31, 2019. Out with the awful old and in with all of the brand new!

It’s finally here!

Little did I know the entire world would soon collectively feel like…

The start of THE shitshow of all shitshows was just around the corner.

What kind of badassery do you think January 2020 bestowed to me? We shall soon see.

Cheers!

CBXB

CBXB!

Buy Me a Drink

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nashville Strong

There is strength in numbers.

As many of you are aware, a tornado ripped through Middle Tennessee just last week. Its reign of terror was 50 miles wide and remained on the ground for 60 minutes, hitting in the dark of the night while many residents were asleep.

Strength in numbers.

I had gone to a Nashville Predators game the prior evening and upon returning to the Mini Manse, realized I left my phone in Mama CBXB’s car. I texted her via my iWatch to let her know.

Ignorance is bliss.

Mama CBXB came by around 6am on Tuesday morning to return my phone and told me there’d been a tornado and to turn on the TV. The images being shown were inconceivable.

I sat in silence. I sat in shock. I sat in sadness. I started freaking the fuck out when I saw the areas where the tornado reportedly touched down because I know people from every area. I checked my email. The CEO of our company sent a message at 6am to stay home until further notice. Our office building had survived the attack from Mother Nature but this is the view of damage from our parking lot, across the street at Tennessee State University.

The magnitude of damage was hard to comprehend via the television screen. The scariness of unknown lurked within every thought. My phone started dinging with messages, DMs, and calls that were concerned peeps checking on me, my friends and family.

None of the local stations broke for the national morning news programs and fresh information kept flooding in. Missing persons lists started circulating, the mayors of areas affected were conducting press conferences, advising residents of what to do. By 10am, the city of Nashville declared a state of emergency. Twenty-two people were confirmed dead and 50,000 people were without power.

The feeling of helplessness subsided when by finding out those loved ones in the areas hit the hardest, historic East Nashville, Germantown and North Nashville were alive. My girlfriend and her family lost their house but they were able to take cover with seconds to spare at 1:45am.

After seeing the above photos of her house, we spoke on the phone. You know what she said? “It could have been so much worse.”

She’s right. It could have been worse. And for some of our residents, it was as the death toll from the storm grew to 25 lives lost. The city went to bed Tuesday night with an uncertainty of what to do and how to help our neighbors while staying out of the way of first responders and city maintenance crews.

Strength in numbers.

The next day, local news showed the droves of volunteers answering calls from organiztions.

My office was able to open and operate off of a generator. We were the only business able to open in about an eight-block radius.

Friends, acquaintances and loved ones kept checking on me and all things Nashville that I love and adore.

Open for business, baby.

I poured over the news while at work, seeking ways we could help. That is the damndest feeling – knowing people need help, but having to stay away because you’d create more havoc. While I was scrolling through Huffington Post, I notice a familiar stature.

No big deal first day.

The Silent Indian’s first day at Edley’s BBQ in East Nashville ended up being a training in tornado clean-up instead of how to be a General Manager of the restaurant.

Before and after images started circulating on social media, creating awareness of the damage done to the heart of the affected areas.

Then, the names of victims started to trickle out. Mike and Albree were leaving an East Nashville speakeasy, Attaboy, headed to their car when they were struck by debris. Albree died on the scene, Mike later at the hospital.

Putnam County saw the most lives lost to the tornado.

With all of the devastating emotions reeling around, the communities stepped the fuck up, showing the world why Tennessee is known as The Volunteer State.

Tide rolled into East Nashville with their Loads of Hope program, helping first responders and those displaced by the tornado wash their clothes.

Animals were displaced from their families and heartbreakingly wondering the streets. The Nashville Human Association, along with numerous other animal rescues and organizations were on hand collecting donations, taking in stranded animals and spearheading social media sharing to get fur babies back to their loved ones.

Local companies started donating 100% of proceeds from merchandise to the tornado relief efforts. In four hours, an Instagram account, @nashvilletn, raised $50k. In a little over a week, they’ve raised $450,000 and counting. They hope to break $1 million by the end of March.

Anything on their website is 100% donated to the relief efforts. CLICK HERE to visit their online store.

Project 615 is a local business that only does good and creates awareness through their tee shirts. All of the profits from the shirt below go toward the Middle Tennessee tornado fund. CLICK HERE to visit their online store.

There are numerous colors and variations of the shirt below from local Nashvillian, Love and Lion. Again 100% of proceeds from sales are headed to relief efforts. CLICK HERE to visit the online store.

The couple, Albree and Mike, were both service industry workers in East Nashville. The Fox Bar & Cocktail Club, where Albree worked, is selling pins in honor of the couple.  All proceeds will benefit service industry workers without employment due to the tornados.

CLICK HERE to purchase a “Pancho” pin, named after their cat.

Witnessing the outpouring of love, support and efforts made by friends and complete strangers alike have been beyond heartwarming. Those who have reached out questioning how to help, please invest in a product above as Nashville is now in the rebuilding stage.

The response for calls of supplies, volunteers, organizing, recovery efforts, etc. has been enormous.

After four full days of volunteers, many organizations pressed pause over the weekend. More than 30,000 people volunteered in Middle Tennessee during that time span.

Strength in numbers.

The cleanup efforts are ongoing, the rebuilding will take months and years but one thing I know is true about the city I love so madly…we’re always open.

See you all on Broadway soon.

There is strength in numbers.

CBXB

CBXB!

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!