I will not rest until I walk around wearing all of this at once: Tie-up shoes with a block heel, net tights (I'm late to the party but it was way too cold for them, wasn't it) and a denim pinafore dress. That's the March call.

It's time for spring, lovelies! I'm so excited about every bit of sunlight I can get these days; there's few things better than not being uncomfortably freezing everytime you leave a building and being able to wear one pair of tights instead of three, don't you think so? And wearing sunglasses finally makes sense again; I love to slip them on not only to cover my eyes from the sun but also to look like I am on some kind of important fashion business-y mission, which I'm essentially not (unless you call snatching the last frozen Latte at the Deli a mission).

Break has been over for a month now and my calendar has started to fill up with assignments and things to do again and while some of them I could do without, I actually sorta like the main event this semester, which is to put together our own version of a known fashion trade magazine. My function includes chasing people down if they miss their deadlines and that is something that suits me well, I feel like. Also, I'm taking lots of notes which is what I do all the time anyways so it's not too much trouble. I still need to find a story to cover, though.

The internship thing is moving forward quite a bit but I'm pretending that it's not so I don't get freaked out about the job/ the move / the feeding-myself part before it's absolutely necessary. But we'll get back on that  - It's always nice to have something to look forward to!

What else? I have watched PS: I Love You yesterday for the first time in eleven years, and my friend and I noted a couple things; Firstly, we never seem to meet hot guys while disorientedly standing around in the midst of gorgeous landscape, let alone guys that are so enchanted by said disorientation that they propose to marry us at 19 (well, that ship has sailed already anyway, I'd say). Secondly, why is everyone so pushy on Holly to go and get over it already? Have some empathy, people. Especially you, Daniel. Hitting on her at her husbands funeral service, for crying out loud.
Oh and I have finally read Michael Ende's The NeverEnding Story (I've been meaning to since, like, fourteen years) and I loved it. It's a thoroughly good story, and those are scaringly rare. It's a children's book that also works for adults because it's just, it's so full of imagination, made-up things from scratch, and that reminded me that that is actually what makes books and fiction so marvelous, the fact that they can be a place in this world that has absolutely nothing to do with it.

Be all happy and jumpy in April, lovelies. That's what I'm planning on.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I actually haven't been to that many big concerts in my life yet which is something I need to change, because I absolutely adore everything about them: The mess of wires and obscure constructions on the ceiling (I know they all do stuff but I like being oblivious), the lights, the people-filled floor, the adrenaline radiating from the people on stage....I went to one of my favorite nostalgic artists this friday; my loveliest friend and I discovered a long time ago that we shared an undying passion for a certain singer since, like, primary school, and we vowed to go see her in concert someday and unlike many "somedays", this one actually worked out! 

What to note before entering a concert: "Okay everyone LISTEN If one of us gets lost...." "Yeah?" "....we'll have to find each other"

Unexpected downer: When you don't realize that there's a no-food policy (why oh why?) and your loveliest friend has to throw her chocolate rolls away at the door and feels bad about the food waste and general world hunger for the rest of the night ("I told you we should have just stuffed them in our mouth right before we went in! Dare them to touch us!)


Unexpected upper (in the most literal sense): The DJ who supported the opening act was either supposed to be a pantomime and illustrate the songs or his,um, strong body movement was the result of a couple colorful coins....at one point he was so estatically waving, I was scared he might put out a shoulder joint. And the whole time he had the enchanted smile of one of these bald monks from Asia. It was awesome.

Obviously we managed to stand behind two of the tallest people I've ever seen, but good for them that they each found a partner their height. I could still see fine, though, and that brings us to the next point:

I crush way too easily on people on stages. The opening act would probably also look nice if you met him on the street, but as I saw him up there, he had the most incredible cheekbones, his squinty eyed expression was a sign of concentrated passion and his comfy clothes expressed not his laziness but the nonchalance of a true artist. I don't know, I can't help myself. The guitarist of the actual act didn't fail to make me swoon, as well, because of his serious skill - later, I saw a picture of him that didn't impress me at all. Maybe it's cause I see them all a bit slurry from far away. You know, airbrushed.

The main event itself, seeing that singer live, was just wonderful: She has such an amazing,jazzy voice and still manages to be all bubbly and jumpy and sweet. Kinda wanns go again.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Do you ever text something feeling like you really got your point across, congratulating yourself on being so spot-on and eloquent and not at all whiny? And do you ever press "send" thinking well, this is so greatly phrased it's no big deal at all? And then, do you stare at your lock screen while waiting for the reply and start to doubt the fact that your message was your very own glad tiding to the person who received it? I did all these things. Truth be told, I'm sitting cross legged on my bed as I'm writing this and I'm nervously glancing at my phone every thirty seconds because actually, I'm not too sure as to what I wrote anymore. I mean, I really don't remember my supposedly excellent wording. So the possibility of it not being so excellent but rather totally not reasonable in relation to what I was replying to does come up (oh my God now it's buzzing with Twitter notifications and it's making me crazy). I swear I don't realize the sheer amount of possible accusations hidden within my cheery messages until I actively make them up. It's a thin line between "perfectly calm and alright" and "

DANG IT now a WhatsApp notification comes up and it's this sweet boy whose birthday I went to last year and he is inviting me again and now I feel a) old and b) uncomfortably reminded of that one guy whose jacket I was accidentally wearing (read up on that here).

Oh, here comes the real reply. Get ready.

TWO LAUGHING SMILEYS. Is he kidding me? Is that all he has to say to my passionate, censored, explosive speech? It wasn't even meant to be funny, except for the last sentence I put there to kinda buff things out. Maybe I shouldn't waste time on inventing buffers when clearly, they ruin the purpose of everything they're supposed to buff out.

Now, what do I respond to that.

I started to write "my inability to do capital letters with the new phone or my interpretation of the destiny of messenger services, what's so funny?" but I settled for "what?" instead. Obviously, my lovingly constructed puns are not getting us anywhere here.

Oooh he's typing. Why can't I ANOTHER FREAKING GROUP CHAT

Love,

Rosy Smith

So I need to get going in an hour which means I gotta get ready in about twenty minutes 'cause I celebrate that process as much as the going-out part. I'm done with the first week of the semester and it was....endurable, even though it took some strength.

See, the one good thing that could be said about our private school, where white Apple products are a religion and ootd instagram posts the prayer, was the fact that we had free wifi and a mirror in the elevator. This week, however, both these gifts were cruelly taken from us, all at once. I had been in for barely thirty seconds when I realized that and got ready to turn around and leave. But I'm a good girl, so I stayed and tried to make the most of it, which wasn't much; the workshop I had was about local journalism and we were supposed to find something interesting going on in the city (pick the one thing. Goodness)  to write about. A connection to the internet would've surely helped us there.

I just had to google the third Jonas Brothers's name. Kevin it is. Like the one in Home Alone, he seems to be easily forgotten.

In other news, I got a new phone, and I tried to download Twitter (also, where can I sign that petition for Snapchat for Windows? Tell me it's not just a myth!) and I think I got to a point in my life where I need to write down my passwords. Just when I think of one for the Microsoft account I have to confirm that by checking my googlemail and I obviously don't remember how to get in there so I have to reset that by clicking on the link in another email in a different account....Let's say it took me  a while. Now I got the four apps that I actually use, but I still have to get used to the sheer size of the phone; I'm still in that phase where dropping it seems like dropping a newborn baby, because it is still so, well, unbroken. That will pass, too, I know.

It's a beautifully sunny Sunday,the first flowers of the year are out and my eyes are watering with the first cold of the year, just in time. Along with my hair proteins, my iron supplements and my dose of cranberry, I have three cold fighters nicely lined up in a pile on the table, reminding me of my late grandparents (except they were in their eighties when they had aquired this level of pills. Well.). I'm not a defender of the "meds don't help when you have a cold" theory, unlike some people. People who will, since they never take stuff to make them feel better and end up feeling like crap when they're sick, certainly avoid me if they find out that I am, so one more reason to eliminate this nuisance as fast as I can.

Hope your weekend runs smoothly and without the need for a tissue.

Love,

Rosy Smith

That's what I want right now. See, school starts on Tuesday, so I'm not having the Monday Blues yet; Today, instead, I am craving excitement to feel like I really made use of the free time that I had. Problem is, it's half past one in the afternoon already and I haven't done more than have breakfast, read a shallow Irish novel (I have about fourteen of them and they all start a bit boring by introducing about five different women, get a little better once you get into the story, then take a dramatic turn in the form of someone getting very sick, someone cheating/being cheated on, and someone's dark past catching up to them. Just when you think everyone's finally back on track, another life-changing event befalls at least one woman and the others, who didn't know each other before but are now a close circle of friends, help her get through it once more. The end) and send off another unsolicited application into the cyberspace. Not exactly an unforgettable morning.

I'm so restless, lovelies - Quick, tell me what there is to do to except painting my nails a horrid color? I have strived for a self-care pamper day and ended up unsatisfied, in leggins, and with the smell of acetone up my nostrils, often enough in an attempt to spice up the day without plans, thank you very much.

Okay it's 4 pm and I have made the heavy decision of letting go of the perfect tie-up boots I saw on ebay because sometimes in life, you just have to face the hard facts and accept that they are never gonna be in stock in my size again. Plus, I just saw that there's a 30 percent shipping fee and that is just plain rude. So I went and looked for another kind of tie-ups, namely those which remind me of the heroine of an old Western (or a Lucky Luke comic), and I found some that actually look pretty comfortable and shiny and I want those now. Tragically, I also want the same ones with a more pointy, uncomfortable seeming heel, but I thought to myself "When I'm a real grown-up with my own money, I'm gonna buy every single version of every beautiful shoe I want and fill a room with them" and that comforted me a bit. I wouldn't describe myself as especially greedy, but impractical footwear somehow has me voraciously stack my belongings and growl at everyone who dares to touch them. It's quite a charming quality of mine.

That's it, I'm going to buy myself those shoes as a Back To School gift for myself and I might even get a new phone while I'm at it and then I'm gonna unpaint my nails because they are sheer travesty and then I'm going to set up a date to have something to look forward to. No, not the one my certain someone just suggested. See, he asked for Tuesday which is when I have the only responsibility I have managed to carry out so far, church magazine. In fact, I'm pretty sure I missed the last meeting without excuse, so I sent them an apologetic email yesterday asking to come to the next one, and cancelling this time, I fear, wouldn't exactly redeem my impression.

Sounds like a plan, doesn't it?

Love,

Rosy Smith

....First of all, I'm inconsolable about the fact how weak I let my promoting game become this past month; I mean, I'm back at school now, but I managed that just fine before so let's not even try to get to the bottom of this. I'll be better next month!

Currently, it's the first day of school after Easter - however, I've stayed at home today due to a weird case of feeling feverish. I can hardly remember the last time I took a sick day from class; I believe it was after that horrible Sunday night in 2012 when I got rushed to the hospital to get some fluids into me. I tend to not be able to do that on my own. Reminds me, I should probably have some water.
Yeah, right.

Anyway, onto more interesting stuff, such as spring: Where is it and does it plan on swinging by sometime this year? There's a party on friday and I don't know how I'm supposed to combine 30° Fahrenheit and "trying not to get sick, like, for real" with my usual attire of pantyhose and open toe sandals. That is a problem we have here, lovelies.
Two days ago, my loveliest friend and I actually took a chance onto forcing the season to change by acting as if it was and rode our bikes. Outside. Voluntarily (maybe the fever had been onto me already). And see, there were quite a few small hills crossing our way, but my bike was in fifth gear for some reason, and I don't claim to be the most accomplished biking person, so those hills really got me, and while my friend lightly rolled up there, blonde hair swishing behind, I made some attractive oof-sounds and half-hearted efforts to push the pedals down which seemed to suddenly be set in the stone that boy drew that sword from. Then, got down to walk. Meanwhile, an older couple was walking by, and as I gave up the man said to me "your friend could do it better". Can you believe it. This is how far it's come, people on the street advising me on how to live my life. I attempted some kind of dignified comeback and laughed, chirpily "oh I'm not in shape right now". Which could have worked if he'd laughed back and gotten on with whatever he was doing. But no, he had to be all like "well, now you have the chance to get back into it" and make me feel bad about never having meant the stupid shape thing at all.
Then again, it seemed to be the day for people to put their nose into strangers' businesses; about an hour later, some strollers came by, one of them pointed to my friend's feet and said, and I'm quoting here: "give that girl five dollars, she's not wearing any socks". Seriously. We just stared after them in disbelief for a good five minutes. Isn't America the country with the biggest amount of People Who Don't Wear Socks In Sneakers? Isn't there a real PWDWSIS community?

Two books I read and loved for different reasons: First, there's a true classic for you, namely Kathleen E. Woodiwiss' (isn't that a swooshy name) "Shanna". It's basically a romance novel set in 1750 during which an outstandingly pretty, rich girl marries a convict to not have to disobey her father's choice of a husband for her, because she is, naturally, outstandingly stubborn. That convict was supposed to get hanged and therefore not be any trouble for her, but as it goes, he's shipped off to, yes, her father's island where she meets him again and is furied with rage but can't help noticing his special charm and, erm, hotness. There's some plot twists including pirates and murder and such, but all in all, you get the drift. Why I loved it? Shanna herself is pretty cool most of the time, and Ruark (the designated hot convict) - he'll make you despise every poor dating choice of yours a little more than you already do. Who cares if it's cliché? They have those for a reason; most of them sound quite nice to live in.
Secondly, I finally got my hands on "It's not Me, it's You" by Mhairi McFarlane. She explained how to pronounce her, quote "unnecessarily confusing name" at the very beginning, making me like her already. The book itself is written so beautifully non-fussy that you actually enjoy reading about the break up of a couple that has been together for ten years. I mean, of course it is painful, but you feel the pain of the characters instead of artifically-added-through-words-pain, and I think that's just such good writing.

So, I'm back on track (a round of applause for the bad pun) and once again, I was reminded of the fact that children - while they can be cute, under certain circumstances - can also be incredibly annoying. They're fighting, five of them squeezing onto two seats, they're giggling way too loudly and the poor guy in front of them does look quite unhappy to me, resting his face in his palms. He's not bad-looking, either, so I try to make eye-contact and throw him a sympathic smile. If we get married, we'll have one kid, tops. Now he's leaving. What a shame. It's hard to find a man with the same opinion on children as mine these days.

I'd love to talk about the juicy stuff right now, but I'm afraid I took a look at the time and I have successfully avoided all schoolwork I had over Easter so I figure you'll have to be patient with me on this....it'll be worth the wait.

That sounded so doomful.

Love,

Rosy Smith