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.

Time To Get Tacky!

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.

Amazonian Update.

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.

‘Tis the Season.

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.


I love wine, and if you don’t love wine… well I’m not sure there is much hope for you. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but someone had to do it. I read this quote on the menu at Earl’s a few weeks ago and, honestly, it’s the best justification I’ve heard yet:

Drink wine, and you will sleep well. Sleep, and you will not sin. Avoid sin, and you will be saved. Ergo, drink wine and be saved. – Medieval German saying

Makes perfect sense to me.


Let’s play a game. Just a little friendly competition. Maybe Sorry or Farkle or Five Crowns? Not your cup of tea? How about Monopoly or Apples to Apples or Risk… maybe Capture the Flag or Red Rover? I personally love games… well the majority that is. I’m sure there are some out there that are clearly not worth my while.

But… I have a competitive streak. A very competitive streak. Nothing can or will frustrate me more than losing time and time again. A family favorite can turn into the game I despise in the drop of hat if I can’t win. (Cough, cough… Apples to Apples on Thanksgiving). Some call this a “poor sport”, but we’re not in second grade again and you can’t pull my hair so maybe we should call it what it really is… Ambition without the streak of stupidity. If you’re not winning, it’s time to get out. Right? Good business sense. When you’re down in poker maybe you should fold and save your cash for a better day. So why is it so wrong that all I want to do is win.

I’m not a gracious winner either. If I win, I’ll let you know. “See that, see that right there? That’s what some call me winning. Yeah, I’m the winner. How does it feel to sit next to such a great _____________ (fill in blank with game name, i.e. Monopoly, poker, etc.) player?”. Well you get the picture. Just as I’m not a gracious winner, I’m also not a gracious loser. The first few rounds I’ll assume it was a fluke, the universe wouldn’t let me continually lose, right? Right? I can joke about it… insert awkward giggle… build myself up. After a few hands, rounds, or the moment I don’t dominate Park Place and the Boardwalk my frustration builds to an almost intolerable level. I get quiet, irritated and am no longer having fun. I know, I should lighten up. But well, when I’m losing, I can’t.

So this here is a warning to all of you out there that are thinking of playing a game with me. If I don’t know you… I’ll probably be polite the first few times. Appear to let it go, but after that I’ll toss caution into the wind and cause a rucus about six points early on in the game. Consider yourself warned. I’ll work on building up my “grace”, but if it’s anything like my klutziness we’re in for a long battle.

Long Term Commitment.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m not on a husband hunt and I’m not in any rush to get married or start popping out little sticky, screaming children. Don’t get me wrong… I like other people’s children (well most of them) but I, in no way, want my own anytime soon. I have lots of friends that are well on their way to getting engaged, friends that were married (past tense), friends that live together, and friends that ARE on the husband hunt every single day of their lives. I often feel entirely too young to be considering marriage. I’m not mature enough to actually be married, am I? Are you kidding? I have to commit to someone for the REST OF MY LIFE? Haha, no thanks. I can barely commit to a restaurant for dinner let alone a lifelong “partner in crime”.

I don’t understand the rush, really. Why would I want to speed things up. This is the first time in my life where I’m making money, where I can be completely selfish, where I get to figure out who I am and what I want. When I can go out, answer to no one and do as I please. Why would anyone want to ruin that?

I love being single. LOVE IT. I also don’t understand girls that have to have boyfriends. You know who I’m talking about. They bounce from one guy to another with little to no time between. They just can’t be alone. I on the other hand revel in not having a boyfriend or significant other. More time for me and what I want to do. Sometimes I think I’m alone in this thinking. As we get older and the proverbial clock continues to tick, my friends shift their perspectives. They no longer want to be single, but on their way to the American dream. Husband, kids, house, boredom. Again with the original question, what’s the rush?

I may be naive in what I’m about to say… but on top of not being in a rush, marriage doesn’t sound all that appealing. You have to share a bed, which we all know from previous posts (here) that I am not a fan of, you have to share everything (no more secrets), things get routine, you have to make decisions “together”, you have to split your family time at the holidays… the list goes on and on. Oh, and eventually you develop the responsibility of not permanently scarring your children. Who wouldn’t just jump on this golden opportunity?

And yet again I’ve convinced myself that my commitment phobia and lack of desire for long term commitment isn’t an”issue” that needs to be addressed, but a God given gift for happiness. Don’t you love when that happens…

All Done.

Today is the official end of Nablopomo. THE END, the very end. I can now enjoy 11 months of posting whenever I want and seriously reduce the amount of swear words that come out of my mouth at about 10:00 each night. Serious freedom. I honestly can’t believe I made it. I’m impressed with myself and anyone else that managed to complete 30 days of posting joy. I would have a glass of wine, or four, but I’m in Louisville for work and I think that my incessant chatter and giggling might be frowned upon. Go figure.

This is exactly how I feel:


Wishing I was here.













Lately all I’ve been able to day dream of is sitting on a beach. Somewhere warm and humid… with beaches and waves. Somewhere I can stick my butt in the sand and relax for a week. It’s all I want. Instead I’m heading to Louisville, KY… which has it’s perks, but is a far cry from a tropical locale. Bon Voyage.







You know what has always baffled me. Maybe not baffled, but I’ve definitely wondered. Why is it that you can leave butter out at room temperature? For days? In my experience milk products stay in the fridge, end of story… so why the exception a few times a year with the butter? Officially stumped.

My family takes the butter out of the fridge, puts it on a butter tray, uses it at dinner, then leaves it out. Is it “right” to leave butter out for days or does it go bad? I’m always hesitant to use it, one because getting sick doesn’t really float my boat, that and it usually takes on the flavor of whatever is in the spice cabinet with it. Butter flavored with garlic, cinnamon, cardamom, and thyme just isn’t made for me.

Any thoughts on this? Does your family do this too?