An Evening Out.

I wish there were more nights like the one I just had. Glamorous occasions out in which I present myself with my best pointy-toed foot forward, vintage 60's lame dress showcased for the world to view, an inviting cocktail in one hand and a (fake) ciggy in the other.

There used to be more nights like these, some sixty years ago.

Unfortunately, we live in an age where dressing up is no longer a priority, where styles like street casual and indie hipster reign over the runways and elegance and classic glamor are remembered from an era that no longer exists.

Not in my world. 

If there is even the remotest possibility of dressing up in my fineries, I take it.

And luckily, I have one such occasion that permits me to do so every year without fail: Heidi's Cocktail Party.

You may remember posts from before, nights spent in theme relating to Mad Men, or like last year, the opulent twenties. 

This year, it was simply glamor. Pick your own fabulous famous decade, show up, and be prepared to be taken back in time, with nothing but lipstick and cocktails as your only suits of armor. 

It's not even just the party that excites me too, but the preparation leading up to it. After careful browsing through my closet, I slip into my Marilyn robe, turn up my "shoobop" playlist, and dance around whilst doing my makeup and styling my hair. It's like the opening animation scene out of Grease, me as Sandra Dee.

It feels simply marvelous.

And then I arrive at the party, scene so chicly set, pick up my choice of cocktail (usually containing Heidi's favorite St. Germain liquor), then socializing in style commences. It's an evening of entertainment, to say the least.

It came at such an opportune time too. After a week streak of working, nothing sounded better to me than to dress up, down a few classy cocktails, and have an evening out.

See, it not only took me back in time, but it took me out of my time: getting lost in the booze, the (fake) ciggy smoke, the heavily perfumed blanket of glamor, and the sweet treats displayed on antique plates.

Until next January though, I'll tuck my (fake) ciggys away, continue to develop my pallet for cocktails, and proceed with dressing up for any occasion that presents itself.

And of course bring Mom along as my date!

Cold Hands, Warm Cup.

There's the kind of cold that's cosy and beautiful, the type of chill that's just present and totally bearable. You can play in the snow, go without mittens and hats, and you can actually breathe in the fine winter air.

And then there's the Alaskan cold that comes on every winter, the kind of cold that quite literally freezes your boogers, ices your hair, and feels like prickly needles on bare skin.

This week, we've had the latter of the two, and while its expected every year that we go through the below zero cold spell, it nonetheless surprises me and takes its toll on my unhappy (and often underdressed) body.

I bolt from car to building, layer my skin in fur, cashmere, and merino wool, and suffer the few seconds I'm forced to breathe in the frigid air, thinking of all the things that could possibly warm me up.

A dip in the hot tub (an evening tradition as of late), wrapping myself in the bison or bear blanket when I get home, curling up in front of the fire, or my favorite: enjoying a hot cup of coffee.

See, the magic with coffee is that it not only warms up your hands, but it warms up your heart. The second that hot liquid enters my system, my body flushes with heat and the goosebumps slowly disappear. 

It reminds me of the olden days when my mom used to pick me up from school. I would get in the car after another day spent inside the classroom, like ten years old, and I would say to her: I'm cold.... on the inside. And that was her cue to take me to the nearest coffee shop!

It's the same to this day.

My mom and I were running errands in town, sprinting from place to place, and when the cold became too much for me, I hinted around that I needed something to warm up my insides (ie coffee).

Some things just never change!