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My friend Kaitlyn lives in Indiana… and she has brought to my attention the art of Wassailing. Now, I live in Colorado and have never heard of such, Wassailing, in all my years (except in a few select Christmas numbers). Ahem:

Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green,
Here we come a-wand’ring
So fair to be seen.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail, too,
And God bless you, and send you
A Happy New Year,
And God send you a Happy New Year.

- Here We Come A-Wassailing

For those of you that don’t know (I was one of you only a day ago), how Wassailing works , according to Kaitlyn is “we go to a house, sing and then go in for an hour and eat/drink/socialize before moving to the next”. This may not be the “classic” definition, but it’s there’s and I like it. Kaitlyn’s night went a little something like this:

House 1: Wine! Good Start!

House 2: Singing “Deck the Halls” and shaking Jingle Bells. Lots of food, Lindt chocolate and bubbly or beer!

House 3: Singing “Jingle Bells”… more food and a variety of alcohol.

– Updates sent via text message throughout the night for the sole purpose of making me insanely jealous.

Seeing as the Christmas spirit has all together skipped me this year, I think the one thing that could have saved me was Wassailing. I mean, really, I’m not so into public singing, as dogs are the only ones that can hear me and occassionally a window shatters. But really, on Christmas, who cares about the details. I’m sure I could be persuaded with a glass of wine and some Lindt chocolate to do just about anything, including sing. And, if by chance I won’t sing at the first house… a glass of wine will surely have me singing by the second. Right? Then a glass of bubbly and I’ll be belting out “All I Want For Christmas Is You” by the third.

Now, don’t go getting all crazy here. I’m not planning or dreaming of  singing songs about Christmas intoxicated. Not cool, being Christmas and all. But you know a glass of wine here, a hot toddy there, can’t hurt.

So, here’s to Wassailing, the lost art form at Christmas that I believe needs to be re-instated. Looks like I have a WHOLE year to plan. Food, drink, social festivities and singing like an idiot. All things I enjoy. Wassailing 2010 here I come.

I’m a big fan of comfort. I could live in sweatpants, shorts, pajamas, running skirts amongst a few other things. So soft, flowy, amazing. Now imagine my delight when I discovered that Christmas 2009 was going to involve a tacky sweater party. Because who doesn’t love a party that is based solely on comfort and tackiness? I have been elated and probably overly excited for the past month and a half. Part of this joy came from knowing my tacky sweater was going to put many others to shame. Shame I tell you. Not only was it tacky (because tacky it was), but it also played an array of Christmas tunes. I made everyone listen… which apparently looked like I was making them smell my sweater. Not awkward at all.

I decided that if you’re going to a tacky sweater party you have to do it right. No half-assing it for me. I decided to let Christmas throw up on me for a night and call it sexy. I’ve personally never been so attracted to myself. Amidst the madness and mayhem I forgot to get a full body shot… so you’ll have to do with the top half. In addition to the upper body amazingness I also had on knee high red/green striped socks with pom poms hanging down the side and fuzzy Christmas slippers. I realize that my description may cause some to feel intense feelings of attraction, but please try to restrain yourself. Check me out:

Ashlyn, Me and Jacqui (Schmacqui) getting tackified!

There was also a white elephant  and a plethora of wine to be had. At one point “Mr. Wee Wee” or whatever he is really called made an appearance. I surprised more than a few people and entertained comments about face peeing for the next several hours…

It was one amazing night all the way around.

Update! (original here)

Last weekend I attended a “classy” Christmas party… involving a cocktail-ish dress and some big ‘ol heels. I was totally rocking it. Didn’t feel like a half-naked beast one bit. BUT, last night at my friend’s tacky sweater party someone made this comment about my height to my littlest sister. Now he may have been hitting on her, and she does have a boyfriend who was present, but nonetheless:

Random Guy: Your sister is a giant. <pause> Last week she was wearing heels and WHOA she was just staring down a the top of my head. <pause> <pause> Now, you… you’re just the right size.

For starters, what guy in the right mind starts hitting on one sister by insulting the other? Anyone, anyone? And two, I’m a giant? Rude. Maybe next time I’m staring down at the top of his head I’ll conveniently mention his need for a moisturizing scalp shampoo, because whatever he was using surely wasn’t doing the trick.

P.S. Tacky sweater photos coming soon.

The holiday season is upon (or up-on) us. Depending on whether you choose to clothe yourself in festive wear or not. I love the Christmas decorations, yule tide tunes, garland and twinkle lights. It doesn’t bother me one bit that KOSI 101.1 starts with the carols on November 1. I like it. I also thoroughly enjoy the cheesy songs that blast through every retailer’s speakers for the month of December. And maybe, just maybe, I aspire to like the mistletoe. We’re not there yet, but someday there may be hope.

Plus, with the holidays comes holiday food. Spiced nuts, peanut brittle, cookies, rum cake, snowman dip, kolaches, kringla, spiced cider, pumpkin spice coffee creamer, pies, and everything else.  YUM. Is it weird that I’m so focused on food? How some people think pay check to pay check… I think meal to meal. And the holidays just amplify that by a hundred.

All this being said, I’m having a little trouble boosting myself into the holiday season. I feel like giving, but shopping not so much. How blasphemous right? A girl, that doesn’t want to shop. The crowds and feeling like a herd of livestock in the mall is what is keeping me away. There is something not all that appealing about feeling like one of the herd in a stuffy, germ infested shopping mall around Christmas. I’m often tempted to squat down on my hands and knees and begin mooing – a cow costume would only add to the effect. If I wasn’t afraid people would think I was either 1.) giving birth or 2.) having some sort of episode I just might try it.

Maybe I need to make cookies and decorate them with festive sprinkles, or sleep with Christmas songs playing so they are engrained in my mind. Maybe I need to pay a visit to santa… though I’m not sure how high on the creeper scale that would rate. Maybe I need to buy a leotard and dance around to the nutcracker, or maybe I need to just give it up this year.