My lovelies, it's Christmas Eve again and me and my family are off to our holiday getaway! I've had my massage (I always spend about half the time thinking that I should saviour how relaxed I am and then I realize I'm not focusing on the relaxation and then it all starts again but the other half of the time I'm truly relaxed and it's all wonderful). Also, I now smell like a human honeypot.

Well made tofu is so rare in this world!

There's soup in there, though you can't see it

I think I got steam on my lense by this point

My loveliest friend wrote me a beautiful letter today - we had been reminiscing about our teenage years (I know, seeing how I look like I'm twelve most of the time that doesn't seem so far away, but trust me, I'm old) recently and decided to write a little something about that to each other for Christmas. It's a bit like trying to catch a moment in a jar, so you can save it for later (who knows where I stole that expression?). I think that's one of the things I love most about the power of words, the ability to save and saviour and keep and create forevers.


Speaking of keeping, I brought my camera, as I've told you - I sincerely hope that I'm not messing up the film, because it really takes some time to get used to not being able to see your picture directly after taking it, so you can't really tell wether you're choosing good lighting and things. But I do love the fact that I'll be looking at Christmas photographs again in a few weeks time, once I get this baby developed!

Oh but back to the writing, I got a book called "The Best of Everything", and it sounds absolutely fabulous; it's from the 50's and its main characters are women working in publishing in New York City and the plot follows their personal and professional ups and downs and I've only read a few pages but I feel so spoken to already! Maybe it'll hold some sort of fateful revelations for me, who knows.

I hope you are having a sparkling time with your loved ones right now.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I know, I know, Christmas is not about the food, but come on, it's pretty high up there on the list of nice side effects. I got three non-Christmassy comfort dishes listed for you, if you're getting tired of mashed potatoes.

Gingerbread 

I am writing this while munching half a packet of Aldi gingerbread (and I'm so specific because it is only that kind that I could live off of). Correction, now it's two thirds. But it's the day before Christmas Eve and I still have to wrap some gifts, prepare some surprises, choose my heels for the hotel (do we go for full-on sparkle or subtle black chic?) and try to get the gingerbread out of my skin system. So obviously, I'm watching himym reruns and reading random files of writing on my laptop instead of doing all these things.

Mac and Cheese

I just realized that I have not had this since living in Hamburg! I took four packets of the blue Kraft mix there and whenever I was really cold from wearing sandals in the northern fall storms, or really tired from packing boxes of clothes and sending them to the wrong places all day, I would just get out the hot water and enjoy the homely cheesiness. I should really get some.

 Red Wine and Pizza

Have you ever had it? The perfect combination. No matter if you're having a party and need a quick snack to soak up the vino, or your car broke down two hours ago and you haven't eaten all day and need the carbs, the calories and the slight head fuzziness, this is what you should have. In fact, since that need arises about four times a week, that's how often you should have it. Heart condition preventing and all.



'tis a short one but as I said, the gift wrapping etc. See you tomorrow!

Love,

Rosy Smith

So apparently, I am so well prepared for my business plan setup that I forgot how to count and somehow left out Day 19. Oh well, one has to give every year I guess.

While I am on the train back into the city after attending a family affair yesterday night, let me tell you about the fun two friends and I got up to. See, my bestest friend has lovely long hair in a more light brunette color than me, but also with reddish undertones. And while I could never fulfill my childhood dream of copper highlights because my hair is of such poor health it would probably fall out with shock, she decided to really go for it and put some fierce color to it. It was all very boheme art student on a Friday night like, except we didn't smoke and it was a Wednesday. But we did lay out newspapers in her parents' bathroom, put on sweats and band shirts, got a Magnum mini and put a Zeitgeisty songwriter band on the speakers. My other friend got her hands a bloody red (it all resembled a very messy birthing situation) while covering my bestest friends head in the dye and I was super helpful with little wet handkerchiefs to wipe the worst of her neck and ears, while being the annoying aunt who films everything for good memory (If I'm ever short on gifts, it'll be this home video, made with love). I mean, isn't this what dreams of independence are made of? Now we will be able to look back to "that time when we sat on the bathroom floor laughing with red dye everywhere, and worrying a bit while she washes out her hair that it's going to come out too bloody, and her excited shrieks when she realizes she is now a redhead (even though only for eight washing turns)"

Good times, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith

What does she think I gather from this information? An impulse to take it down? To start a conversation about "these pictures"? What, apart from stirring uncertainty about my choice, could this message possibly bring into my life? I am honestly so baffled. Am I supposed to debate with her now? To advocate my picture? To say thank you for your feedback, like I'm sampling a hair color and not my face?

Okay this might have sounded a little too mad to be festive, but seriously.

Love.

Rosy Smith

Day 13

So the shoes I bought look lovely and all, especially the overknee-sweater combination I got going on, but I'm kinda already limping with pain and we haven't even made it to my oldest friend's house. But hey, I'm here, the sun is out, the town looks like a made-for-TV British Christmas special and I so absolutely love to finally see my friend again. She takes me to a coffee shop for a jetlag-fighting brownie and extremely expensive macchiato (hi, Pound) and I meet her Asian housemate, who studies linguistics (am I already violating data protection? Oh well) and seemed very sweet. I'm sleeping on a military style futon in my friend's dorm, but having never lived in a dorm myself, even that excites me. As does the town itself - there are so so many different colleges, and they all are built like small separate castles, with a square yard, lots of bricks, old chapels and romantic bridges - oh, and the cutest bridge is the one we have to cross on our way home, which goes right over the Cam (if you ever wondered how that name came to be, it's quite obvious) and is so narrow that you have to watch your step instead of watching the traditional Punting boats in order not to trip in front of a bus. Adorable, really. The Christmas lights are out and we make plans to do all our gift shopping in one go, maximising our luggage limit and credit card bills for good fun.


In the evening, you go sit in the college's own bar (everyone who regularly goes to college is probably yawning by now, but to me, a commuting, fashion-school-where-everything-is-different alumni who had nowhere to go at school but to the basement to enjoy not having phone service and/or food, everything I'll be describing has made an everlasting impression on me), which we did with another girl who's from India and doing economics. She's also really funny, even though I'm not sure she means to be, but whatever. Another guy comes in, gets a drink and asks to sit with us, so I assume he's also part of the group (he wasn't - apparently at other schools, you can dare to sit with strangers without getting stare-daggered) and introduce myself. We end up playing Activity and he compares me to Snow White, which I like to hear. He has curls, though (I've said it before and I'll say it again, can't take those seriously on a man).



Day 14

Receipts everywhere, gifts on the floor, my futon and stuffed into bags, all mixed with my pajamas, hair extensions and clothes I'm changing into for tonight. I got my whole family covered for Christmas, even members I've never met before. My feet are killing me, although I skipped my unnecessarily polished fashion sense and put on some of my friend's sneakers that are two sizes too big for me for the day. We are asked to watch a movie with some people, and then they put on a Netflix show that is way too scary for me so I try to blend that out and think of something warm, such as my new Cambridge sweater that I could not resist getting, even though it is a bit hypocritical of me, because I never had one of my own (see, getting overly excited again).



Day 15

There's supposedly brunch available at some colleges, but since most students are gone for the holidays and there are formal parties going out every day, my friend and I spent the better part of the morning touring the town on the lookout for some English Breakfast (not gonna lie, I like those tomato beans) and then "settling" for authentic Indian food instead. "Settling" is not the right word though - I have no idea what I had but it was amazing. I got no food pictures from this trip by the way 'cause I always dove right in. Then it started pouring and we did the cultural part duty with some museum-hopping (they were all free, which I like since I sometimes really don't get the art and slouch around aimlessly for hours to get my money's worth, searching for a chair to sit on that's not ancient. These ones were more entertaining, though).



Now we're back at the bar, I got a glass of red and have been playfully interrogating one of the guys in the group. He's a nice boy, younger than me and already looking into his Phd, and usually, as he claims, not very talkative. But I am somehow struck by the urge to share my every random thought with him and, in turn, ask him all sorts of inappropriate questions (not that sort, I'm not completely useless in social settings). He doesn't seem to mind too much, though; I think he has taken to the idea to open up to a stranger with purple wine stains on her lips, which are sealed, obviously. My attention shifts now, however, as the guy from the first night has shown up again and is talking to me, leaning in quite closely. He did that before, as well as watching me a bit too intently. At one point he takes my ring to show me some reflecting light, and I am a bit bemused when he slides it back onto my finger (I'm so influenced by romantic comedies, it's a serious condition). He proposes (haha) to show me and my friend a place where they actually serve brunch the next morning, and we agree to go.



Day 16

There's no brunch, and my friend decides to go to the library (everyone but me is shooting for a Phd around here, it seems), but he suggests that brownie serving place and somehow, I am on my way to meet him. Alone. Now I don't know about the cultural differences (British or college related respectively), but in my book that's a bit of a situation. Wish me enough poise to not let this turn awkward.

I think I'm doing fine - I have not brought up anything romance /heartbreak/ textationship related, neither asked inappropriate questions, so that's good so far. We're on safe territory, talking family, careers (well, his), New Year's resolutions. Location changes to a gallery and I still can't tell if he just lacks a sense of personal space or is purposefully getting closer to me. I don't really mind either way - I'm not exactly overcome with desire, but I'm nice and comfortable. We're walking around town and he's got all these anectodes and knows every special corner, showing me a lovely spot near the bridge, and I wonder if he's trying to set a mood. I'm too busy congratulating myself for being so comfortable to notice, anyways. I also forget to watch the clock and we turn up at my friend's house when it's already getting dark (I have shown an alarming sense for poor priorities when it comes to guys), where he joins us for tea. While the others are discussing their uni system, I play with my hair elastic and he absentmindedly pulls it away from me like we're holding a bow between us (as in bow and arrow). He keeps asking what we should do for my last night, but my friend and I are invited to dinner and have to keep it pretty vague. (Though me, with my bad priorities, would totally sneak away from a group thing to see a guy. Too bad I'm too polite to actually suggest that)

Dinner is just lovely, still. We're at a Chinese place and my friend's roomate has chosen all these dishes that look fabulous and I'm non-stop refilling my plate. Good thing I was so busy being comfortable I forgot to eat all day.

Eventually we end up in a common room, where I further bond with the shy guy from before (and spam him with my confusion over the other guy's intentions, to which he only says "well, do you need anything from him?". He's so much more self-actualized than me in some ways, bless his heart). Then the other guy drops by and we share some fruity cider (I wasn't aware that there was alcohol in that until I asked, and that's the good stuff), but since we're all playing a game that does not allow much talking, no scandalous whispering in dark corners happens, and the evening fades out in a somewhat anti-climaxing fashion. Meaning I am wearing a rain-soaked fur coat and my teeth are uncontrollably rattling from the cold when we hug goodbye in breathing distance to my friend.

Day 17 

On my flight back home. Very tired, very sad to be leaving this marvelous place where everyone is nice and chatty to (and maybe even hitting on) you, there's books everywhere (the libraries are so pretty I could cry) and I am completely cut loose from all responsibility while walking that narrow bridge and breathing in the cold December air.

If you've known me for a while, you'll have heard me talking about my love for high heels in all shapes and seizes. And that I do not really care for anything flat at all, because honestly: Heels make my legs longer, my strut sassier, my skirts jumpier. Sometimes I forget how short I actually am in public, because I usually don't step out being my "real" height. Heels substitute my preference for tall boys and compliment my love for dress-coded events. When I was working at a magazine last year, not only did I wear block-heeled boots, I changed into outright stilettos to feel important when I twirled around in my stool to sign the postman's notepad. But I also went on a walk along the beach and had to limp to the doctor's the next day who got very mad at me for doing all of the above.

So, let's note here: For activities that entail more than occasional walks to the kitchen/printer/cafeteria/car to restaurant/cinema/tall boy's apartment (I sure walk a lot, thinking about it), I shall own some flat shoes that do not make me feel emotionally short (that's a phrase I just coined and it should be self-explanatory). On my search today, I found a pair of chelsea style boots with tiny silver studs that fit well and basically go with everything if needed, but also some soft suede overknees just a size down so that they are tight enough around the legs (if there's something I hate more than slouchy jeans it's slouchy boots). In a deep conflict of consciousness, I opted for more fabric for my money and went to pay up front, where something truly marvelous happened: The boots, despite not being marked off anywhere, showed to qualify for a thirty percent discount! Thirty percent! I wisely held my mouth shut about my surprise and, after calculating what I'd save for a minute outside the store, went right back in and bagged myself the chelsea boots as well, also for thirty percent less than originally thought.

What a buy! Now I only have to figure out how to fit all these versions of shoes into my carry-on bag for tomorrow. After just having shrug off my jetlag, I'm headed to Cambridge tomorrow to visit my oldest friend at her dorm. I'm very excited, obviously 'cause I love to see her, but also 'cause I imagine it to be a bit like Hogwarts at Christmas. We'll see how accurate I was, but first I gotta actually pack something to wear (I'm thinking cozy sweaters, flippy skirts and my new acquisitions). Oh, and I won't have my laptop, so Blogmas will resume again on Day 18! Europe, I'm coming for you. Maybe I'll get myself a lil' British accent.

See you on Tuesday (but do check my Twitter, if you miss me too much),

Love,

Rosy Smith