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....I got so soaking wet, I could easily pretend to have fallen into the Hudson. My hair is at its absolute worst - there're like seven streaks of rain-curled frizz on my head right now. See, we were forced to walk practically a hundred blocks in a constant drizzle to examine current fashion (meaning we touched stuff and mumbled "Oh, velvet" in the tone of a tv cook critically tasting someone's apple pie) and I had not considered that when I chose my teddy coat (that's not supposed to get wet), my boots (that are not supposed to be worn for hours of walking) and my bag (that's giving me a reason to go to the orthopedic) this morning. After reluctantly shuffling through Barney's with our over-excited teacher, a lady in running shoes bearing a linnen bag who has no fear of sales people asking if we need help (eg "buy something or I'll throw your lot out"), total doom followed.

"Let's go to Chanel", she chirped, and we all stood there on Madison Avenue like abandonded dogs, muffled into our coats, faces frozen in a frightened mask. She was serious. We trot in behind her, and I become urgently aware of my chapped boots, my non-existing makeup and the subsequent resemblance of a traumatized twelve-year old I am and my hunchbag walk due to my bag that's feeling more and more like a sack with cobbles every minute. Still, I try to remain dignified and haughtily let my gaze wander over the sparkling items, as if I was actually contemplating what I think is desirable. Same game at Gucci. Even though the carpet there is an actual dream - I wanted to lie down and sink into it so badly but that kind of behaviour, may be acceptable in an overcrowded Forever 21, not here, obviously. However, my teacher hasn't gotten the memo (I always thought that it was sent to everyone as soon as they touched an issue of Vogue. My bad) and tucks on everything and stretches the fine Italian fabric to the core - does she mistrust the legacy of good ol' Guccio? How dare she? We blinked hectically, morsing "We don't know her" to the security people hovering behind us (Gosh, they never trust anyone, but this time I kind of understood).

For the grande finale, we all tumbled into the sterile white glass castle of Dior. This time, our baggage didn't even make it to the stairs, because a young woman clutching a walkie-talkie threw herself in front of us, called something French to another employee (probably "I got them! womenswear is secure, repeat, womenswear is secure") and very kindly informed us that we weren't supposed to disturb the customers 'cause shopping is such an intimate experience and would we like to see the men's collection (where no one would be offended by the pitiable sight we are) instead?

You know, it is a bit demeaning that no one considered us customers. That's mostly our teacher's fault, who always darted into the store yelling "Hello, we're students from fashion school and just want to look around". If that hadn't been the situation and if I had only washed my hair and put on shiny shoes, I would've gladly wandered through all the shops I plan on raiding as soon as I have an adult job/marry rich (Joking. Mostly.).

The only great thing about my rank look has been that come that day, no one there will recognize me.

Love.

Rosy Smith
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....This is the life: My train is actually on time and I won't die of hypothermia (there is always a draft on the platform, even at 90 degrees. I'd like to request a scientific investigation for that phenomenon) today for a change. And I have some take-out in my bag which will make for my dinner if it doesn't spill all over my stuff, that is. All I have to manage now is getting through the door without being crushed by other aggressive commuters. Goodness, back off - great, now my bag is stuck between the door and who-knows-whom and they're not gonna stop for me. I fear for my life and shrimps, so I tuck and pull and when I finally get free, I brush over a dog that's trying to enter and he stumbles over the gap but makes it into the wagon safely. Thank God I didn't kill a dog. I turn to find a seat, when the dog owning lady screams at me "Hey you! Cant'cha pay attention?" and I shiver with fear and apologize faintly, to which she just blows some steam from her nostrils and takes off. The humiliation. Who doesn't love to be accused of being cruel to poor little furballs in front of a diverse crowd of traingoers? Not me.

Previously on fashion school floors: We're all mad here, lovelies. I don't want to exclude my snotty self, but some more than others. I'm not dropping names, of course, but you can imagine, the usual stereotypes. The hysteric prof who reacts to desperate we-need-help-messages with "I'm out!" (note the exclamation mark, because subtle clearly isn't our style) and just ghosts you like you've been on two bad dates together. Which is out of the realm of possibilities on so many levels. The student who stresses everyone out in a passive-aggressive manner and then just kinda....leaves when everybody else has a different opinion. Like, poof, deal with it. Oh, I'll be just fine. 

In other news: Everything's better in person, The Accountant wasn't half-bad even though Christmas with the Coopers is still winning this time of the year (It was as awesome as last December (remember this?) when me and my loveliest friend rewatched it this weekend), and I love being brought home in a car (I'm a living, walking 50s movie cliché) and it's my birthday in 9 days - only a photoshoot and a magazine launch away.

Get excited.

Love,

Rosy Smith

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Big excitement on the fashion school floors yesterday! A package was dropped off at the premises for a girl in my class, delivered by an unknown individual. "Maybe it's flowers", I said. "Don't go get it alone", the others said. Like a possible explosive wouldn't go off as long as two people touched it. Anyways, they got it and the girl returned so bright red that I began to suspect a certain kind of toy to be in there – but it was so much more romantic than that! Still, everyone behaved as if we still had to call the police, even though there was nothing offensive about the contents: It was a bottle of wine, a red rose, a long letter (feeling the creep yet?) and, I kid you not, a self-burned CD. It was like the sender had gotten the whole list of "Sweet gifts to get someone into getting some" all in one take. I thought it was funny. And kinda cute. I certainly wouldn't mind someone certain to send me free stuff in a Prada shoebox (how thoughtful). However, this girl didn't like it so much, probably because the guy who did the deeds and she had only gone out two times and she'd had ended it after that, as she didn't like him that way and he was, surprisingly, a bit clingy. So him showering her with a variation of "I love you"-items didn't exactly feel comfortable to her. Such a shame, but I guess it would send the wrong signals to accept. Maybe drink the wine and fill it with water? No? Goodness, I get it, you don't have to smash the CD on the floor.

Too bad he's the barkeeper of her favorite dive – I see a lot of unsolicited free drinks coming her way. 

I'll have to go now because we have only today left to get our magazine ready and everyone is freaking out and I'm afraid they'll lapidate me with mac books if I don't seem stressed enough. My teacher is planning to give notice already. Oh, well.

Love,

Rosy Smith
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....for I don't know what they're doing. They means most of this generation, possibly, and therefore most of my acquaintances, definitely. I'm talking about romantic complications, of course. Except that I am very confused about how little people seem to care about the romance part of it all.

See, I'll admit that I come from a fairytale, Jane Austen reading, Katherine Heigl movie watching mindset without much grasp on reality whatsoever which has shown a lot in my dating history. However, even given the fact that not all love stories are forever and that not every crush is mutual, let's determine a certain concept here.

Certain Concept: You meet a guy. Let's say he's in your anatomy class, or in your brother's band (still not over that), or a friend of a friend you see at social gatherings. You think he's cute. You have a conversation. He asks for your number (or you ask for his, doesn't matter, I'm not that girl but equality and all that) and you text a bit and then he says that you should check out this bar together cause you said you like jazz music and there's a live band there tonight. That's a date. The intention of this is to find out if you like each other as a person of the opposite sex (or whatever sex you're into).

Having a couple of dates, you realize you really do and vice versa and you continue to go on dates but after a while you feel comfortable enough to also meet him after classes and whine about how you hate everyone and he gets you dinner and strokes your hair. Both of you are aware of the fact that you are NOT "friends", nor are you just two people who happen to meet in the Costco checkout line. You're star crossed lovers. Okay, dramatically phrased, but at least you're dating.

Because it doesn't make sense to 

a) genuinely like a person because they're funny and kind and make you feel great about yourself and eternity
b) genuinely find that person smokin' hot and melt into a puddle when they touch you
c) be liked back in the same way by that person
d) see them regularly once a week if not more often to do the aforementioned things as well as make out

and still not get that you essentially gotchaself a mate (it is biology after all! We're meant to get together with someone else to have someone to love and not to mechanically hop in and out of contact with people we don't even like) and that you two will naturally become a couple and hope, even if only for a month, to not change that status anytime (ever) soon.

Well, that's what I thought, but it turns out that this route is too mainstream for most people these days. I mean, that one could end up actually being happy (or get torn into a million pieces like some expensive glass vase, but no risk - no fun, I'd say). How old-fashioned. Better stay away from everyone I know and like and real life (so as to not lose "friends" - who needs friends if you can have sex, ain't it so?) and poke random people under the Tinder stone with a stick and have meaningless Messenger conversations for weeks before ever meeting them. Apart from the fact that I would be scared to death of meeting up with a stranger who has my full name, I'm pretty sure it's already wrong to not physically know the person you're looking to fall in love with. I mean, I know I'm superficial, but come on. It's always a bit about the looks for sure. And then, if one does find someone through these twisted ways (what happened to meeting people at bars? Is that too 90s?), nothing's clearing up. There's movies and hooking up and texting but it's forbidden to beam at your friends when you talk about him. Because that would be too tied up and anyways, this thing is already doomed. Why? Oh, no one really knows. And that's not coming from people who are really just looking for something to spend those long cold nights with but from people who would love to be loved at the moment.

A different setting: My friend has told me that she overheard a random guy telling someone that he'd really like to, um, get close (oh we all know what I mean) to this girl he knows, but the problem is, she's actually pretty cool so he would probably like her (my bad) and he really doesn't have time for anything like that at the moment.

I'm sorry, say that again?

Since when is true love such a splendored thing that one can afford to just shrug it off and kick it under your bed and maybe find it one day when you drop your remote and think "Oh, I could call her sometime, see if she spent the last ten years waiting around for me to get in the right mood"? Who would do that? And why for God's sake? 

I'm telling you, these guys are the reason girls go "I don't like him that much anyways". Because how do you know if he is acting date-y with actual dating intentions in mind, like I would assume, or if he's acting the same way but wakes up one morning thinking "Actually I just flicked through my calendar and I really don't have time for anything like that". That's why girls act like they don't care - so they can pretend not to care about him not caring, either, and be convincing doing so.

I don't know about you but I'm getting quite confused with my own argumentation here, and those are only the facts. God knows we all know it gets way more complicated in practice. The takeaway (is that an expression or just fast food?) from my deep analysis is that everyone should stop being so damn dramatic and just accept that human beings tend to fall in love with other human beings and that they simply won't find what they're looking for without admitting they like that person one day or another.


Now let me try to remember what I actually wanted to get across and check if I did; yeah, kind of. Oh well. And for everyone who realized they're acting that way, think about if your chosen one might have a different vision than you, and if that's the case, just get yourself together and tell him/her, so they can drop you like a hot potato and move on with their lives. People are busy, after all.

Love,

Rosy Smith
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....One of my bestest friends said recently, while we were talking about the guy she likes, who seems to like her back but hasn't made plans to see her in a while, which leads to some confusion about if he likes her the way she likes him (a well-known confusion that always sets in whenever one doesn't see each other in a while); she said "See, you don't have to worry about that anymore, because you know." And well, she's right - I know because he told me so just two nights ago. And believe me, I'm as amazed by that incident as anyone should be, breaking into dazed expressions with stupid little grins several times a day, whenever the memory hits me and my brain is like woah, that happened. I'd also like to tell everyone including my church paper editing team (six 40-Somethings and a priest), but I don't because I don't want to be one of those people. So instead I tell my two ride or dies several times a day.

So, I'm over the moon and everything, but I think, regarding the worrying about his state of affection for me - I guess deep down I knew for a while now. I mean, I hoped as well, and I worried a little for the sake of it, but I still believed, judging from the way he is when I'm with him, and the things he tells me and the fact that he watched the new Bridget Jones movie with me, that there must be a reason that's sorta coming from that direction.

And please, ignore me if you like for I'm sliding a bit along the lines of those people now, but I feel that in a "thing between people" (not to say relationship, 'cause that sounds like I'm giving psychological advice and I would be annoyed with myself if I did that) it would be great if both of these people would make each other feel like they know. Not from the beginning, 'cause that would be creepy and honestly, who even knows anything themselves at that point, but you get it. Sometime.

Because the whole texting-game is so tiring and time-consuming and we all have much better things to do, such as painting our nails (something I never seem to get around to).

Love,

Rosy Smith
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Call Me Rosy

That's not really my name, but we'll just go with it. Mostly everything else on here is true, though. As for the rest - enjoy the mystery.

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