So the holidays have brought with them both a fogy haze and a certain amount of clarity. The haze of a multitude of jumbled thoughts and emotions drummed up in no small part to being back home, at the end of the year among the ghosts of Scarlett past. The clarity - comes with time, space and love.

No doubt the incoherent ramblings written in my caffeine diary over the past week will find their way onto the pages of this beloved site – now over a year old (a surreal little fact in itself).

What can I tell you now before jumping in the shower for a Sunday night out? The cynical and bitter Scarlett that you know and love is feeling a bit more optimistic these days – with the help of heavy pharmaceuticals, endorphins, retail therapy and several guardian angels of course.

I’m looking forward to saying ‘hello’ to 2008 with a great big kiss at midnight and the hopes that I’ll be able to contribute something more substantive to the blogosphere in short order.

Frankly,

So my grand idea to survive the holidays as a single woman … (wait for it…) take full advantage of the situation and always have plenty mistletoe on hand…ya know, just in case some tall dark and handsome friend of the family who’s been secretly pining away for you for years happens to show up at your aunt’s Christmas party because he heard you were newly available. Yes, I still believe in Santa! 

So that lead me to thinking – what makes this little plant so ….aphrodisiatic? (yes, I made up that word). (And please keep in mind that this is one of those posts written after about three glasses of Zin, so please bear with me…(after all – how else do you propose I get through the holidays in one piece?)

What are the origins of the mistletoe? Why have generations of us either been trapped or ensnared others to succumb to our own physical affections because of a little plant? Either willingly or begrudgingly? Where did it all start? And could we perhaps extend this tradition throughout the year with say….daisies or roses, or shrubberies (if you’re a Monty Python fan) any common garden variety plant would work, really – anything you may conveniently hang and dry in your homes. I mean, a girl should be kissed regularly regardless of the season!

But sadly, ‘tis not the case. And ‘tis the season for this little plant (which, is actually a parasite – ironic and somehow fitting, isn’t it?). And so, without further ado, for your edification and education – and just because I’ve been celebrating a bit too much at the office Christmas party – here are there origins of the mistletoe tradition – spreading mononucleosis the world over.

Merry Christmas, my dear, dear readers. And a big mistletoe kiss to all, and to all a good night.

Frankly,

KISSING UNDER THE MISTLETOE

Nowadays, mistletoe is commonly used as a Christmas decoration, though allusions to mistletoe as a Christmas green were rare into the eighteenth century. Viscum album is used in Europe whereas Phoradendron serotinum is used in North America. According to a custom of Christmas cheer, any two people who meet under a hanging of mistletoe are obliged to kiss. The custom is British rather than Scandinavian in origin.

According to custom, the mistletoe must not touch the ground between its cutting and its removal as the last of Christmas greens at Candlemas; mistletoe might remain hung through the year, often to preserve the house from lightning or fire, until it was replaced the following Christmas Eve.The tradition has spread throughout the English-speaking world but is largely unknown in the rest of Europe. The appearance and nature of the fruit's content (viscin) is very similar or suggestive of human semen and this has strengthened its pagan connections.

Using the mistletoe to kiss under has even become incorporated into various holiday songs. The 1943 song I'll Be Home for Christmas tells the story of a lonely traveler looking forward to coming home and seeing, among other things, mistletoe. The Mistletoe is mentioned in the song "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire" ("The Christmas Song"), made famous by Nat King Cole, and written by Mel Torme. The song "A Holly Jolly Christmas" sung by Burl Ives, and used for the TV special "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer", features the line, "Ho Ho, the Mistletoe", and the line, "Kiss her once for me". In 1961 singer Aretha Franklin released a Christmas song called Kissin' by the Mistletoe. In 1971 singer Lynn Anderson recorded the song Mr. Mistletoe on her holiday album The Christmas Album. The song talks about an elf who hangs mistletoe in homes so that people can "steal a kiss from someone that they know". In 2001 Barbra Streisand released the song It Must Have Been the Mistletoe.

IN CULTURE AND MYTHOLOGY

Mistletoe figured prominently in Norse mythology: the god Baldur was killed with a weapon made of mistletoe. Mistletoe bears fruit at the time of the Winter Solstice, the birth of the new year, and may have been used in solstitial rites in Druidic Britain.

In Celtic mythology and in Druid rituals, it was considered an antidote to poison, but it is now known that the fruits of many mistletoes are poisonous if ingested, as they contain viscotoxins.

A Christian tradition says that mistletoe was once a tree, and furnished the wood of the Cross. After the Crucifixion, the plant shriveled and became dwarfed to a parasitic vine.

In Romanian traditions, mistletoe (vâsc in Romanian) is considered a source of good fortune. The medical and the supposed magical properties of the plant are still used, especially in rural areas.

Mistletoe has sometimes been nicknamed the vampire plant because it can probe beneath the tree bark to drain water and minerals, enabling it to survive during a drought. William Shakespeare gives it an unflattering reference in Titus Andronicus, Act II, Scene I: "Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe".

Mistletoe is the state floral emblem for the State of Oklahoma. The state did not have an official flower, leaving the Mistletoe as the assumed state flower until the Oklahoma Rose was designated as such in 2004.

In a popular myth, confusing Mistletoe and the Holly 'holy' Tree, the most sacred tree of the Druids, it is said that Mistletoe was cut with a gold sickle and it lost its power if it fell and touched the ground. The confusion arises from both plants being green all year and both having colorful fruits as well as sharing similar history concerning the winter months.

While having a conversation with a not so total stranger last night I was told “wow. you are seriously gorgeous.”

“And apparently the perfect girlfriend - and yet still single.”

How does this happen? Your guess is as good as mine.

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There's something to be said about a glass half full, about knowing when to say when. I think it's more of a floating line, a barometer of need. Of desire. It's entirely up to the individual, and it depends what's being poured. Sometimes all we want is a taste. Other times there's no such thing as enough, the glass is bottomless... all we want is more.

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So today – need to finish the Christmas shopping for the mom – have no idea how much time I’ll have to spend with Sue Ellen this week, but best be prepared and start stocking up on the alcohol.

The Russian left for California yesterday – to spend the holidays. His birthday is today. I promised to call. While talking to him on Thursday, the conversation winded down thusly:

Russian: I don’t know what to say to you.

Scarlett: You know me better than anyone. How can you not know what to say to me.

Russian: I want to tell you, ‘I love you’, but I don’t want to lead you on

Scarlett: Do you love me?

Russian: Yes

Scarlett: Then it’s not leading me on.

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If I see one more happy couple kissing on a jewlrey commercial - I think I'll be ill. Diamonds are a girl's best friend - EXCEPT WHEN THEY'RE MOCKING YOU ON TV!!!!

And so it begins. Date #3 post Russian (trust me - #2 is NOT worth the mention)

Ironically, I enrolled in a French class last month. The impetus for reliving my high school language experience, you ask? A pending trip to Paris with…you guessed it, the Russian. Silly me, had the brilliant idea of impressing and surprising him on said getaway with a newfound knowledge of all things Frog-ish. Fear not, dear readers. My fabulous, ever-shrinking, French-speaking ass will still be jumping across the pond later this year (my travel companion just remains….undetermined at this time. Any takers?).  

Well, if nothing else, the class has proven a useful diversion over the past few weeks, deflecting thoughts of the impending holiday and the fact I will be spending Christmas and by extension, New Years, alone for roughly the 8^th year in a row (yes, do the math boys and girls – Scarlett has not had a NYE date THIS MILLENIUM). Incroyable, je sais!

The twist: one of the class tutors is rather cute (in a 33 but could still pass for 21, boy next door way) and has asked moi to a wine tasting this evening. Before you gasp in horror with visions of a European in too short pants, wafting questionable body odor with a political superiority complex yet a dire need to be rescued at the first sight of Lederhosen, let me assure you that this man is 100% American. A Midwestern boy, as a matter of fact, with a passion for Big 10 football who happens to have lived in a variety of French-speaking countries (hence the linguistic dexterity).

So another welcomed distraction – even if my thoughts will inevitably return to a certain slovak as soon as its over.

Franchement,

As it appears I am not opposed to taking my newfound freedom out for a spin, while awaiting the Russian’s return from emotional Siberia, Barbie #3 has found and adapted the following questionnaire for any prospective suitors of your Scarlett. We have found the following quiz most hillarious and effective, lest we unwittingly agree to be seen in public with any of the following:

"Asshat, asshole, dickhead, alcoholic, workaholic, sexaholic (unless...), commitment phobic, person with girlfriend or wife, misogynist, megalomaniac, chauvinist, emotional fuckwit, freeloader or pervert."

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1. What makes you think you're good enough for our Scarlett?

By way of an update for you: The Russian has chosen to ignore the communication sanctions put in place two weeks ago. He txted me last Friday night to say….I’m not sure what he had to say actually. Something along the lines of ….he had read my blog (I think he was mildly irritated at the new date entry, though he may claim otherwise*), and that I shouldn’t feel obligated to call him but that he hopes I’m doing well and he still doesn’t know what he wants.

Clear as the face of a 13 year old with chronic acne, right?

So we are communicating, albeit sporadically, again.

And I honestly can’t tell you how I feel about it or him or anything really at the moment.** But there's actually been far too much going on to dwell on this particular situation all THAT much. (Attention to one's own head injuries tend to come first apparently).

So here we are, …not sure where HERE is, or where I’m supposed to go now, but hopefully if I keep putting one foot in front of the other,  and don’t get mugged along the way…I’ll get there eventually.

Ever so frankly,

** Well, that’s not entirely true, and those non-soviets wishing to read the gory details, should email me if you’d like.

Dear Russian:

I love you. Words cannot say how much. I loved you enough to let you go when you asked me to. Please love me enough now to do the same.

I’m sorry, but I’m just not strong enough to live in this limbo – to be your friend when I want a life together. I can no longer pretend to be on your side when I have such anger, bitterness and hate to swallow.

And I can’t wait here for you to figure out what’s right when I already have the answer. And I refuse to be your rehab center – to cushion your fall. To be there whenever you need a ‘fix’ because you selfishly miss me.

Ignoring my request to not speak to you until your birthday…and contacting me a 1 a.m. the morning before I had to go to work…selfish. Having sex with me and immediately after, breaking up with me, the day before Thanksgiving…at your PARENTS house, when I had no way back to DC until SUNDAY!? Selfish. Telling me about the girl you asked out on a date to make yourself feel better, selfish. And now turning to me whenever you need your ‘best friend’. Selfish.

I’m done. And you can be selfish all on your own.

Goodbye,