How to Throw an Ugly Sweater Party

Oh come all ye ugly!

Last weekend, I thew a f’ugly sweater Christmas party for my lady friends (no boys allowed, as my mini manse isn’t yet large enough to accommodate both sexes). This was one of the easiest themed parties I’ve ever put together, as everything can be gaudy (my MO), trashy and anything but classy.

So here are my rules for throwing a CBXB style fucking ugly sweater party.

Rule #1: Create a photo op.

Luckily for me, my friend Camo is pretty handy when it comes to hardware and he agreed to build a place where us gals could capture all of our ugliness.

World’s best assistant.

Testing out the goods.

F’ugly overhaul.

Mission accomplished.

Rule #2: Have a hostess with the mostess outfit.

My mom and I morphed into Nashville’s version of Tina Knowles and Beyonce, as she handcrafted my outfit with bows, velcro and a helluva lot of spandex.

The white trash version of House of Dereon in my mini manse.

CBXBey outfit complete.

Rule #3: Put the finishing touches on your gaudy decor.

My mini manse is pretty sparkly even when it’s not the holidays but naturally I add more shit when it’s time to par-tay. And you should too.

Glamingo got gussied up.

Even my skull hearts Santa.

Door prizes wrapped, ready and under the tree.

Mismatched tablecloths from Gma, Mama CBXB and Target add extra gaudiness.

Themed napkins thanks to my gal pal Podunk.

Hobby Lobby knew what kind of party I was hosting this year.

Truth.

Rule #4: Prep the most important of the party – the bar.

Always offer a signature cocktail to guests.  This year I featured a grape martini accompanied by snazzy boxed wine, Jell-O shots (you know, keeping it classy) and beer.

Grape martinis for everyone!

Fancy wine wrapped.

Whipping up the Jell-O shots.

Open all bottles before guests arrive so you don’t find yourself grabbing the nearest kitchen tool with an audience watching you fail miserably.

Classy lady cans in a clean, classy sink cooler.

Rule #5: Force every guest to down a Jell-O shot (or five).

This will increase the fun that everyone thinks they’re already having.

You will do a shot and you WILL LOVE IT.

Down the hatch ladies!

Jell-O to go for a husband that wasn’t invited.

Rule #6: Put the photo op to good use.

Be the first to enter the finely decorated piece de resistance and then never leave so you’re sure to be in every single photo.

Single shot requires jazz hands.

The double up works nicely with moms and daughters.

Or have a threesome in a frame.

Rule #7: Invite a Mad Hatter for party entertainment.

Everyone knows a person who will up the ante of party fun and you need to be sure they’re available to come to your shindig.

A Mad Hatter will manhandle the only dude allowed in the mini manse, Dada CBXB.

A Mad Hatter will go through your closet and appear in some of your finest threads.

A Mad Hatter will also help accessorize your outfit with a throw of an ugly vest.

Not amused.

Rule #8: Have a contest with prizes.

No costume party is complete without a contest. In this case there was a prize for Pretty F’ugly, Kinda F’ugly and SO F’ugly.

Prize time!

Pretty f’ugly.

Kinda f’ugly.

The grand champion of fucking ugly.

Not only did my gal pal wear a vest crafted from kitty cat material, she gussied up her face with the most gigantic glasses on the planet and did a throw back to late ’80s hair.

Details matter.

Rule #9: Take a wild photo with guests and the party will REALLY begin.

Jell-O shots consumed, three martinis in and women were ready to rock my mini manse.

Party time!

Drunk jazz hands showed up to ruin photos.

Half naked couch surfing began.

And the after party raged on to the wee hours of the night.

Rule #10: Beware of any party food topped with dark blue frosting.

Too much food coloring and your guests may wake up the next morning like this…

Blue Christmas indeed.

And that my friends is how you throw an ultra non-classy fucking ugly sweater party.

Now go get your f’ugly on!

CBXB

 

 

How to Make an Ass of Yourself at the Iowa State Fair

Believe me, it isn’t hard (I know you agree if you read this blog regularly) to make a complete asshole of myself.  Especially while thoroughly enjoying everything the great state fair of Iowa has to offer every August. It’s my favorite day of the year (aside from Christmas and my birthday, naturally) and I will be gracing the fairgrounds with my presence the day after tomorrow. Look out!

Wanna make an ass of yourself, too? Here’s how…

First start the morning off right with a freshly grease soaked corn dog.

Breakfast of champions.

Then take every photo opportunity that you possibly can.

Who needs a milk mustache when you can carry a calf?

Yes. I’m a grown ass woman. Consider yourself mooooooned.

Once your cheeks are tired from all of the smiling, stop and get a snack. Like cheese curds. And make it two orders because if you decide to share one, they’ll be gone in 32 seconds flat and you’ll be pissed but still go back and stand in the 24 person line for the second order. So just get two to start with, OK?

Two curds are better than one.

After gaining the first three of thirty pounds you’ll be packing on during the day, chase (rather, waddle) after the Fair Queen and beg for a picture with the beauty. All I could think about in the photo was how fresh and clean the Queen smelled, while she probably wondered why I practically had my head on her shoulder (I was trying to knock her crown off and dethrone her – because let’s be real. There’s nothing sexier than a bloated, short, blonde wanna be fair queen, is there?).

First stalker experience for the newly crowned Queen.

Because your crew chased after you while running down the Queen, they’ll be all hot and bothered. Instead of carrying a personal fan around the hot fairgrounds, just dump cold water down your back. This is especially a nice trick if you are wearing a white t-shirt (smarts run in my family).

Personal air conditioning by dumping water down one’s back. Now where’s the wet t-shirt contest?

Next up, drag your crew to the line longer than the opening of a Southern Chik-fil-A restaurant. Seriously, there will be about 231 people lined up to see a statue of a cow. Made out of butter. And it’s fantastic. But when you roll with me, you end up sneaking (maybe rather acting like you’re on the phone, looking for your buddy who’s in the front – oh, hey you!) your way up into the middle of the line for the one picture you’re going to snap but without having to wait the 35 minutes to do so.

This would be so good melted.

The butter cow sighting will throw your appetite into a frenzy.  So the next stop on the face stuffing train is a gigantic pork tenderloin (which is the equivalent to heavenly greasy goodness here on Earth).

The three pigs. Porking out on pork tenderloins.

Upon consuming the 42,657th calorie of the day, you need to sit on your ass and ride the Ye Old Mill, which is the Iowa State Fair’s oldest (you will immediately see why, as it seriously goes about .001 mph around in a circle) permanent amusement ride, which is intended for dating couples but I always like to be the third wheel and spoil the romance.

Most. Romantic. Ride. Ever.

After ruining the romance on the Ye Old Mill, I find it enchanting to pose with the leftovers of what I have been consuming all day.

You are what you eat.

Which means I will most likely leave the fair looking like the largest boar in the state of Iowa.

CBXB at the end of a long day at the fair.

What cures the “I’m getting fat blues?” An icy cold cocktail and a bedazzled cowgirl hat of course.

Lifting a pinky will immediately lift your heavy spirits.

Once you’re back to feeling like your foxy self, it’s time to hit up the Midway full of carnies and rides that you’re not sure you should get on once you lay eyes on the dude who put it together upon arriving at the fairgrounds two hours prior.

Tah Dah!

But since you’ve had a cocktail (or three) you throw caution to the wind and hop on the double ferris wheel.

Double wheels of fun.

Except that after every member of your group turns you down as a tandem rider, you have to go alone and wait for another single rider. Which in my case is always the embarrassed 12-year-old boy who wants the world to swallow him up whole on the spot when I whip out my camera and start snapping pictures.

First date for the youngster. I’ve scarred him for life.

The whirl of the wheel and carrying your buckets of loot throughout the enormous fairgrounds will make your stomach start screaming for food again (duh).

Heavy lifting requires severe caloric intake.

Perusing for the last snack of the day may take a toll on you, realizing that the day of fun is coming to a close.

Last dog of the day? Say it ain’t so.

But once you’ve settled on a last meal of a corn dog, donuts, lemonade and a fried Snickers, life doesn’t seem so bad after all.

Caution: the bench may break if one more fried food is added to the mix.

On the (what seems like a 65 mile) walk to the car, stop and gaze at the fireworks (like you didn’t just seem them a month prior for the Fourth of July) that end each day of the fair.

Parting is such sorrow.

And with a tear in the corner of your eye, hang out of the sun roof and snap a blurry shot of the double ferris wheel you just rode, while ruining a 12 year old’s dating life for the next six years.

I have to wait 364 more days ’til next year!

And that my classy friends is how you show your ass (or make yourself memorable – however you want to look at it) at the Iowa State Fair.

I’m available for tour guiding – but it will cost you. Probably a corn dog.

Or six.

CBXB