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Showing posts with label party. Show all posts
Showing posts with label party. Show all posts
Ugly Christmas Sweater Party Guide
Want to see some Ugly Christmas Sweater Parties in action? These can help show you how it's done!
The 2006 holiday season marked the fifth anniversary of the Ugly Christmas Sweater Party at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver, BC. From my extensive research, it appears that this is the earliest known sighting of this phenomenon, which is reaching epic proportions.
A popular theme for parties these days is to make an ugly sweater mandatory for entry. One invitation reads, "The uglier the sweater, the better the party." Check out Craigslist and you'll find posters desperate for cheesy Christmas sweaters.
Whether it started in Vancouver or elsewhere, we applaud this tradition, which epitomizes hellishness. Want to throw an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party yourself? Or maybe you've been invited to one and don't know what to do--after all, your holiday clothes are so tasteful that you don't have anything appropriate! (Yeah, right.) Here's a helpful guide.
1. Think Ironic. You probably have fond memories of your older female relatives at holiday gatherings wearing sweaters with Christmas trees and Santa Claus. The Ugly Christmas Sweater Party pokes fun at these wardrobe choices, and no one wants to be mean to Grandma. So mentally separate the Grandma sweater from the Party sweater. Pretend she wouldn't be hurt by the concept. And for God's sake, don't tell her about it.
2. Think Thrift Shop. Whether going or throwing, you might want to pick up some special specimens, and you won't find a better source than Goodwill. And you can't beat the prices. Just plan on spending a little extra for dry cleaning.
3. Think with a Twist. Move beyond the sweater. Add in a turtleneck,
jewelry
or a tie.
4. Think Regional. Florida, Hawaii...not the right spots for this concept. Compromise! Hold an Ugly Christmas Tights, Sunglasses or a Hawaiian or T Shirt Party instead so no one passes out unless it's for the right reason: eggnog overdose.
5. Think Unsexy. There's nothing hot about a Christmas sweater, unless you're wearing it in Hawaii (against our excellent advice). No bare midriffs, especially on guys.
6. Think Prizes. Kick it up a notch and add a contest to the mix. And what do you give the partygoer with the uglist, tackiest, most heinous Christmas sweater? How about Christmas socks ? Or everyone's favorite: Fruitcake!
Originally published on Friday, December 15, 2006
The 2006 holiday season marked the fifth anniversary of the Ugly Christmas Sweater Party at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver, BC. From my extensive research, it appears that this is the earliest known sighting of this phenomenon, which is reaching epic proportions.
A popular theme for parties these days is to make an ugly sweater mandatory for entry. One invitation reads, "The uglier the sweater, the better the party." Check out Craigslist and you'll find posters desperate for cheesy Christmas sweaters.
Whether it started in Vancouver or elsewhere, we applaud this tradition, which epitomizes hellishness. Want to throw an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party yourself? Or maybe you've been invited to one and don't know what to do--after all, your holiday clothes are so tasteful that you don't have anything appropriate! (Yeah, right.) Here's a helpful guide.
1. Think Ironic. You probably have fond memories of your older female relatives at holiday gatherings wearing sweaters with Christmas trees and Santa Claus. The Ugly Christmas Sweater Party pokes fun at these wardrobe choices, and no one wants to be mean to Grandma. So mentally separate the Grandma sweater from the Party sweater. Pretend she wouldn't be hurt by the concept. And for God's sake, don't tell her about it.
2. Think Thrift Shop. Whether going or throwing, you might want to pick up some special specimens, and you won't find a better source than Goodwill. And you can't beat the prices. Just plan on spending a little extra for dry cleaning.
3. Think with a Twist. Move beyond the sweater. Add in a turtleneck,
jewelry
or a tie.
4. Think Regional. Florida, Hawaii...not the right spots for this concept. Compromise! Hold an Ugly Christmas Tights, Sunglasses or a Hawaiian or T Shirt Party instead so no one passes out unless it's for the right reason: eggnog overdose.
5. Think Unsexy. There's nothing hot about a Christmas sweater, unless you're wearing it in Hawaii (against our excellent advice). No bare midriffs, especially on guys.
6. Think Prizes. Kick it up a notch and add a contest to the mix. And what do you give the partygoer with the uglist, tackiest, most heinous Christmas sweater? How about Christmas socks ? Or everyone's favorite: Fruitcake!
Originally published on Friday, December 15, 2006
How to Behave at the Office Holiday Party
Don't end up in a YouTube video after your office holiday party! For more examples of office party "don'ts" check out these.
Excellent advice!
Elaine Benes alert! This boss doesn’t seem to notice she has lost her co-workers’ support.
Back to the cubicle for you!
Handy Office Party Tips
Excellent advice!
Dancing With Myself
Elaine Benes alert! This boss doesn’t seem to notice she has lost her co-workers’ support.
Loss of R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Back to the cubicle for you!
Hellish Holiday Office Parties (Videos)
Self-Employed Office Christmas Party
The Secret Santa just isn't so secret...
Buried Alive at the Office Christmas Party
You might embarrass yourself, but it could always be worse. Make sure you behave at your office Christmas Party.
Apartment Christmas Party Gone Wrong
Proving you don't have to be blonde to act like a dumb blonde.
Sexy Single Ready to Mingle at Christmas Party
She's taking a cab and planning to overdo--plus on a manhunt at the office Christmas party. Sounds like quite the career-killing night. But at least no DUI.
What Are You Planning for New Year's Eve? (Videos)
Dateless New Year's Eve Plans
New Year's schedule for girls without dates. Anyone up for some Extreme Jenga?
New Year's Eve Party with Drunks
There's nothing more amusing than drunk straight guys joking about being gay.
New Year's Eve in a Deli
Looks like the girls are trying to locate a more interesting group to spend their New Year's Eve with.
The 2008 Ugly Christmas Sweater...Winners? (Videos)
"Best Homemade Sweater"
Nothing mass-produced could match the hellishness of Bear Jesus ascending to heaven - with lights!
"Best Group"
They cared enough to wear the very...best.
"Best Party Invitation"
It's an invitation and a shopping guide all in one!
"Best College Edition"
This isn't the way I remember college parties, thank goodness.
Ugly Christmas Sweaters: It's Always the Season (Videos)
Tis the season! Check out our Ugly Christmas Sweater Party Guide here.
Like it says, a rap about ugly sweaters. Is nothing sacred?
Drunken dance at a theme Christmas party: When the Christmas Sweaters go on, the inhibitions drop away.
About the video: Marshmallows, Ugly Sweaters, and Karaoke. What more is there to life?
Ugly Sweater Rap
Like it says, a rap about ugly sweaters. Is nothing sacred?
Drunk and Ugly Christmas Sweater Party
Drunken dance at a theme Christmas party: When the Christmas Sweaters go on, the inhibitions drop away.
S'More Christmas Sweaters
About the video: Marshmallows, Ugly Sweaters, and Karaoke. What more is there to life?
Christmas Sweater Party with Live Music
Hellish Song and Dance at the Holiday Office Party (Videos)
Karaoke at the Office Christmas Party
How much do you have to drink for this to sound good?
Office Christmas Party Dance
You should loosen up at your office party. Just not this loose.
Christmas Office Party Gone Karaoke Krazy
He can't help himself, but we can. Stop now, please!
Silly Dancing at the Office Christmas Party
It's amazing how alien the concept of videotaping is to many people.
Old Fashioned Piano Party
At this Christmas "party" she's "playing the piano" while her friends "sing."
Can't Get Enough Ugly Christmas Sweaters! (Videos)
Christmas Sweater Documentary
A documentary on the "Life of a Christmas Sweater" gives you some insight to the joys and pains of being a Christmas Sweater.
Christmas Sweater Party and Sing-Along
Alaskan Ugly Holiday Sweater Party
One cold and dark wintery night in Homer, Alaska, several friends gathered together to share the horrifying holiday sweaters they had locked away in forbidden places. This is their story.
Annotated Ugly Christmas Sweater Party
Where'd you get that ugly sweater?
The Office Party
Office holiday parties are fraught affairs. According to a survey by the website Vault.com, 15% of employees have either been disciplined or fired because of their actions at a holiday party, presumably related to overindulging in some way. Another 18% get romantic at these parties--drinking is up, inhibitions down, and warm holiday feelings encourage hugs that can turn, shall we say, inappropriate.
My favorite hellish office party memory isn't quite so debauched, and after all these years it still makes me laugh. It was circa 1992. My boss had just had a whirlwind romance and married a woman he'd dated for only a few weeks. She was quite the package: statuesque, blonde, and oozing charm, she made us worker bees feel frumpy and inarticulate. She had a background in television, radio, Vegas...she'd done it all. And oh, the stories she told! Long, detailed epics with herself as the centerpiece, not really bragging but not exactly humble either. You were left wondering why these things never happened to you--or indeed if they actually happened at all.
She swept into that year's office party in a tall mink hat, announcing, "Don't blame me! It was dead when I bought it!" We all gathered 'round because she was a startling new addition to our corporate family and we were still trying to determine whether she was the wicked stepmother or benevolent aunt. And she regaled us. She told a story of giving a voiceover audition in her convertible on the 405 freeway, doing the voice of a parrot in stop-and-go traffic. She squawked while young men in nearby cars gawked. (She got the job, of course.)
Then came the main event, a long tale about her days as a helicopter traffic reporter. It was somewhere around the time that a U.S. rescue attempt of the Iran hostages had ended in tragedy, when the helicopter went down in the desert. On the air, she said that if she had been there, it would have ended differently: she would have made sure to get those men out.
Apparently the CIA was listening because she was contacted shortly thereafter and asked if she would be willing to serve her country on a top secret mission. Her expertise was needed in El Salvador to help extricate some CIA agents caught up in civil war there. She described the situation, which of course was extremely dangerous, as well as her arduous decision-making process. Yes, she knew she could make a difference. Yes, her government had recognized her abilities and attempted to recruit a qualified citizen to help out in a troubled region. But she was single mother to a young boy and ultimately she chose to put his needs first. She regretfully declined--not out of fear, since she would have had no hesitation to do whatever was necessary. She simply couldn't take the chance of leaving her son without a mother.
She finished this tale to dead silence and dropped jaws. We were literally speechless. Except for one person: my husband. Not employed by this woman's new husband, he was unencumbered by the decorum that prevented the employees among us from reacting honestly. After a long pause he asked, "Are you sure they didn't say El Segundo?"
For those not from southern California, I should point out that El Segundo is a relatively small area within Los Angeles near LAX best known for its excellent school system. It was, in fact, just down the street from the restaurant where our office party was being held.
The expression on her face at this deflating comment was almost more painful than the story itself had been. She may have been an egomaniac, but she was no fool, and she knew she had been dissed. I felt my heart stop. Involuntarily, I started to back away from the group, trying to escape a) before I burst into laughter and b) before she connected me to my husband. If she didn't know he was with me, maybe I could continue to climb the corporate ladder.
Getting drunk and publicly making out with one of the company's many engineers wouldn't have been half as career-ending as knocking the wind out of the puffed-up sails of the boss' wife. In fact, given the choice between making a drunken fool out of yourself at the office party and just making a fool out of yourself, go for the booze. At least you'll have an excuse the next day when HR comes calling. I know that's what I was prepared to do. But this heroine endeared herself to me forever by sloughing off my husband's comment and moving on to the next story. She never spoke of El Salvador again.
Or El Segundo.
My favorite hellish office party memory isn't quite so debauched, and after all these years it still makes me laugh. It was circa 1992. My boss had just had a whirlwind romance and married a woman he'd dated for only a few weeks. She was quite the package: statuesque, blonde, and oozing charm, she made us worker bees feel frumpy and inarticulate. She had a background in television, radio, Vegas...she'd done it all. And oh, the stories she told! Long, detailed epics with herself as the centerpiece, not really bragging but not exactly humble either. You were left wondering why these things never happened to you--or indeed if they actually happened at all.
She swept into that year's office party in a tall mink hat, announcing, "Don't blame me! It was dead when I bought it!" We all gathered 'round because she was a startling new addition to our corporate family and we were still trying to determine whether she was the wicked stepmother or benevolent aunt. And she regaled us. She told a story of giving a voiceover audition in her convertible on the 405 freeway, doing the voice of a parrot in stop-and-go traffic. She squawked while young men in nearby cars gawked. (She got the job, of course.)
Then came the main event, a long tale about her days as a helicopter traffic reporter. It was somewhere around the time that a U.S. rescue attempt of the Iran hostages had ended in tragedy, when the helicopter went down in the desert. On the air, she said that if she had been there, it would have ended differently: she would have made sure to get those men out.
Apparently the CIA was listening because she was contacted shortly thereafter and asked if she would be willing to serve her country on a top secret mission. Her expertise was needed in El Salvador to help extricate some CIA agents caught up in civil war there. She described the situation, which of course was extremely dangerous, as well as her arduous decision-making process. Yes, she knew she could make a difference. Yes, her government had recognized her abilities and attempted to recruit a qualified citizen to help out in a troubled region. But she was single mother to a young boy and ultimately she chose to put his needs first. She regretfully declined--not out of fear, since she would have had no hesitation to do whatever was necessary. She simply couldn't take the chance of leaving her son without a mother.
She finished this tale to dead silence and dropped jaws. We were literally speechless. Except for one person: my husband. Not employed by this woman's new husband, he was unencumbered by the decorum that prevented the employees among us from reacting honestly. After a long pause he asked, "Are you sure they didn't say El Segundo?"
For those not from southern California, I should point out that El Segundo is a relatively small area within Los Angeles near LAX best known for its excellent school system. It was, in fact, just down the street from the restaurant where our office party was being held.
The expression on her face at this deflating comment was almost more painful than the story itself had been. She may have been an egomaniac, but she was no fool, and she knew she had been dissed. I felt my heart stop. Involuntarily, I started to back away from the group, trying to escape a) before I burst into laughter and b) before she connected me to my husband. If she didn't know he was with me, maybe I could continue to climb the corporate ladder.
Getting drunk and publicly making out with one of the company's many engineers wouldn't have been half as career-ending as knocking the wind out of the puffed-up sails of the boss' wife. In fact, given the choice between making a drunken fool out of yourself at the office party and just making a fool out of yourself, go for the booze. At least you'll have an excuse the next day when HR comes calling. I know that's what I was prepared to do. But this heroine endeared herself to me forever by sloughing off my husband's comment and moving on to the next story. She never spoke of El Salvador again.
Or El Segundo.
Party Planning
I love giving Christmas parties--to be specific, tree-trimming parties. I started having them right after college, when I was living in Manhattan and buying a Christmas tree for the first time on my own. And every year when we decorate the tree, I remember who gave me each ornament, the apartment I lived in, the person I was at the time. (I also remember the after-Christmas sales where I bought plenty of ornaments at half off.)
I love being with a group I have personally curated: people who mean a lot to me, with a few I want to know better mixed in for freshness. I love the aha moments when friends of mine who haven't met each other discover something they have in common. I love the way a party flows, from welcoming the first arrivals and assuring them they're not too early, to the crunch time in the middle, to the quality time spent with the last to leave.
For the most part, I also love the planning: invitations, menu, baking plan, shopping. It's the last few days before the event when everything takes an inevitably hellish turn. It doesn't matter how far in advance I've started or how airtight my plan. Party panic comes over me like a fever and I'm convinced it will all come crashing down.
Here are my main areas of pre-party anguish:
Number to plan for. How many to expect? It's always a moving target:
Those who don't RSVP. Do I call them and ask if they're coming, or just try to figure out who'll show and who won't?
Cancellations. Some percentage of those who said they were coming call to cancel (a better offer?).
Extras. The flip side: Guests ask if they can bring extra people (usually visiting relatives or houseguests). I used to worry that these extras, who always seem to be women, would throw off the male-female ratio. Now I just worry about having enough chairs.
The Great Unknown. They say "maybe" and never follow up. Will they or won't they?
No Shows. Anywhere from 10 to 25 percent of expected guests--people who actually took the trouble to RSVP--don't show up. Maybe half of these will call and explain themselves. The others, who knows?
The final crowd at any party always contains some surprises, whether the person I couldn't wait to see who mysteriously never made it, or the friend of a friend who pitches in and helps when things get busiest. Besides, in Los Angeles, or maybe just in the times in which we live, you can't expect even a simple commitment without second-guessing. This is the area I worry about the least because I usually have too much food anyway.
Food. I like to do everything myself (except the Honeybaked ham), so I start early and cook all week. Since I don't bake too often during the other 11 months of the year, I have to adjust to the issues that arise anew:
Over- and Under-Cooking. Recipe-given baking times with no basis in reality ("It's still not done?" or "How can it be burned?").
Tedium. How long it really takes to roll out dough and cut out shapes and then roll out more dough and cut out more shapes and then decorate the shapes...I usually end up with at least one or two Ziplock bags of dough in the refrigerator at the end of the week because I just couldn't face the rolling pin again.
The Time Suck. Discovering part of a recipe I hadn't noticed before that keeps me up past midnight. For Christmas, I mostly make old familiar things, but even those are not without pitfalls. It's amazing how I can block out the time-consuming parts.
Running out of Ingredients. Shocking how this happens despite the best planning efforts. Can I substitute yogurt for sour cream? What if I only have vanilla yogurt?
Dishwashing. There's something about washing the same things over and over again that gets to me after a while.
Injuries. It happens to me all the time: I cut open a finger. The most recent time, I was slicing bread right before a party and cut right into my thumb. It wouldn't stop bleeding, and bled right through the band-aid to put a drop of blood on a dress that had only had the tags cut off minutes earlier.
Cleaning. Here we have the crux of my party-planning problem. I know many people who say they like to give parties because it gives them an excuse to clean up the house. Well, my situation is to that as full-blown pneumonia is to the common cold. I live in a house where the word "clutter" is not just an understatement but a distant memory. What we have are teetering piles, the kind of excess that makes news when it buries the packrat who wasn't able to let go of anything and was crushed by his own newspapers. As much as I'd love to pull a dumpster up to the driveway, I have to be satisfied with hiding stuff in closets. Sometimes I hide things so well that they disappear for years.
I love the post-party honeymoon period when the clutter is still hidden away and the dishes are all clean. Just don't get me started on the next phase: back to normal.
I love being with a group I have personally curated: people who mean a lot to me, with a few I want to know better mixed in for freshness. I love the aha moments when friends of mine who haven't met each other discover something they have in common. I love the way a party flows, from welcoming the first arrivals and assuring them they're not too early, to the crunch time in the middle, to the quality time spent with the last to leave.
For the most part, I also love the planning: invitations, menu, baking plan, shopping. It's the last few days before the event when everything takes an inevitably hellish turn. It doesn't matter how far in advance I've started or how airtight my plan. Party panic comes over me like a fever and I'm convinced it will all come crashing down.
Here are my main areas of pre-party anguish:
Number to plan for. How many to expect? It's always a moving target:
Those who don't RSVP. Do I call them and ask if they're coming, or just try to figure out who'll show and who won't?
Cancellations. Some percentage of those who said they were coming call to cancel (a better offer?).
Extras. The flip side: Guests ask if they can bring extra people (usually visiting relatives or houseguests). I used to worry that these extras, who always seem to be women, would throw off the male-female ratio. Now I just worry about having enough chairs.
The Great Unknown. They say "maybe" and never follow up. Will they or won't they?
No Shows. Anywhere from 10 to 25 percent of expected guests--people who actually took the trouble to RSVP--don't show up. Maybe half of these will call and explain themselves. The others, who knows?
The final crowd at any party always contains some surprises, whether the person I couldn't wait to see who mysteriously never made it, or the friend of a friend who pitches in and helps when things get busiest. Besides, in Los Angeles, or maybe just in the times in which we live, you can't expect even a simple commitment without second-guessing. This is the area I worry about the least because I usually have too much food anyway.
Food. I like to do everything myself (except the Honeybaked ham), so I start early and cook all week. Since I don't bake too often during the other 11 months of the year, I have to adjust to the issues that arise anew:
Over- and Under-Cooking. Recipe-given baking times with no basis in reality ("It's still not done?" or "How can it be burned?").
Tedium. How long it really takes to roll out dough and cut out shapes and then roll out more dough and cut out more shapes and then decorate the shapes...I usually end up with at least one or two Ziplock bags of dough in the refrigerator at the end of the week because I just couldn't face the rolling pin again.
The Time Suck. Discovering part of a recipe I hadn't noticed before that keeps me up past midnight. For Christmas, I mostly make old familiar things, but even those are not without pitfalls. It's amazing how I can block out the time-consuming parts.
Running out of Ingredients. Shocking how this happens despite the best planning efforts. Can I substitute yogurt for sour cream? What if I only have vanilla yogurt?
Dishwashing. There's something about washing the same things over and over again that gets to me after a while.
Injuries. It happens to me all the time: I cut open a finger. The most recent time, I was slicing bread right before a party and cut right into my thumb. It wouldn't stop bleeding, and bled right through the band-aid to put a drop of blood on a dress that had only had the tags cut off minutes earlier.
Cleaning. Here we have the crux of my party-planning problem. I know many people who say they like to give parties because it gives them an excuse to clean up the house. Well, my situation is to that as full-blown pneumonia is to the common cold. I live in a house where the word "clutter" is not just an understatement but a distant memory. What we have are teetering piles, the kind of excess that makes news when it buries the packrat who wasn't able to let go of anything and was crushed by his own newspapers. As much as I'd love to pull a dumpster up to the driveway, I have to be satisfied with hiding stuff in closets. Sometimes I hide things so well that they disappear for years.
I love the post-party honeymoon period when the clutter is still hidden away and the dishes are all clean. Just don't get me started on the next phase: back to normal.
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