I'm watching a video by Safiya Nygaard about the ZozoSuit and I wrote about that thing in my trend forecasting class this year and now I feel really advanced.

Anyways, there's one thing on my mind basically at all times these days, and to the surprise of many, it's not a hopeless scheme to get a guy to text me back but something of way more existential substance: My hair.

It's new, I bought it about two months ago, and I'm still absolutely fascinated by it. As you can probably see, it's not like I got a full-on Baywatch weave now, but it's the little things about it that make me so happy:

I can feel it in other places than my face. Recently, I used to only ever really consciously notice my hair when a) it was so windy it clung to my face like a climbing plant or b) when I breathed in too powerfully and almost choked on a strand being vacuumed into my mouth with the air. At all other times, it was just floating around my head like a lightweight ball of cotton candy. Now, right this moment as I am writing this, some of it is stuck in the back of my sweater, covering my neck and the place between my shoulder blades, while some of it - yes, there is so much that there is still something left - hangs down over my shoulders and upper arms. When I wore a sleeveless top the other day for the first time in a while, I could feel it graze my back and elbows constantly. I remember that sensation from back when I was a child, leaning forward with my knees pulled to my chest and covering my legs with my hair. This probably reads really creepily, but you have to understand that I almost forgot what that feels like.

Consequently, I don't freeze my head off anymore. One fun fact about having really thin hair that gets lifted off into space as soon as there is the echo of a breeze is that it does not have any warming function whatsoever, and that is actually the whole purpose of having hair on your body. Now, I don't get a burning pain in my ear everytime I have to spend time in the cold anymore, which is lovely. However, I've been out dancing the other day and I gotta say this is gonna be interesting when it gets hot outside, because I can't just throw all this up in a bun as casually as I could - I have to flip the tapes over and try to hide them with my own material because there's nothing less attractive than what looks like ten sticky tapes exposed all over your scalp. Oh well, you pay a price for everything.

When it gets tangled (and it likes to do that a lot), I can brush it thoroughly and feel like a princess. Do you know what happens when you brush my natural hair? It basically blow up into a cloud of nothingness that goes absolutely electric as soon as touched. New hair? Falls into soft, big waves that fan out over my shoulders. I still can't quite grasp the magic here.

When I wear a hoodie, (which I don't, but think early Nicole Scherzinger in PCD) I can actually pull out some hair from underneath it. When I look at pictures, I'm not shocked by the ends of my hair resembling a frayed carpet. When I lean forward, it actually hides my face (like in that scene in Twilight when Bella watched Edward in Biology class in secret, the book, not the movie, don't ask why that's on my mind). If a guy was ever to romantically tuck a strand of my hair back, he could do so without suddenly holding half of it (by the way, I have a lot to say about the whole "living with extentions while talking to guys"-topic so let me know if you'd like to hear it).

What I'm saying is, it gives me so much and asks for so little (leave-in conditioner, half an hour of blowdrying, some gorgeously smooth oil and a ponytail to bed, what a sacrifice. Oh and money, right, almost forgot about that) - what's not to love?

Love,

Rosy Smith

So, that was over in a blink, wasn't it? What did we even do all this time?

Started a new internship and got mean-tweeted in the process. You know, the main struggle in the life of a women's magazine reporter is finding real women to write about. Like, I was given the assignment to look for women who don't fit society's image of a perfect body and feel good about themselves, you know the drill. So I found a woman who has a blog where she's already written about her personal body love history and I thought she was really funny, and she made me think about maybe going to university some more once I finished this course, and I thought oh, maybe we'll have this inspiring conversation and she'll mention me in her blog, and then I hit her up with my interview request and she said "no". Well, she said "thanks for the offer but I'm not interested". Which is pretty close to plain "no". And since I had been reading her blog for days and therefore felt like she would usually have responded in a different tone, I was taken aback a bit. Didn't seem like she was gonna write about the aspiring young journalist who approached her ever so lovely. Seemed more like she was gonna write something about how I had the sheer nerve to even contact her. Let's check her twitter, just for fu-oh.

She actually did tweet about me. Two minutes after sending me her one-sentence blow-off, and not in a nice way. She called me a bunny. At first, I penned out a draft of an email where I'd tell her just how much of a misunderstaning this is and that I had all the best motives in asking her to participate and that I am just an intern with a dream and can't help the fact that these magazines advertise diets....and then she sub-tweeted herself with even more personal critique on my email, and I thought: No way, josé. Not gonna apologize for very politely asking a question that can be easily declined in an equally polite, less public way. I mean, did she think I wasn't gonna read this? Or did she want me to see it but thought it would spice things up a little to go cross-social-media? Who knows. I guess these things are to be expected when part of your work is to drag people out of the corners of the internet and into your weekly. Bunny out.



Went out every weekend and hurt my foot in the process. Funnily enough, what killed me wasn't the dancing until 4 am part, but the long healthy walk alongside the beach. Halfway through, I had to put a tissue into my shoe to stabilize my foot, and some little girl just stood there staring at me taking my boot off like I was performing a sketch. Her father couldn't get her to move until I got up and limped away like a pirate. I am obviously mesmerizing. Anyways, after telling everyone who listened how badly it hurt for two days, I went to the doctor, and he was lecturing me for wearing two year old inlays and high heels everyday, and I got out of there knowing that I didn't have that really bad condition I google-diagnosed myself with, but with no relief of pain at all, as you do.

Did Yin-Yoga and quit the studio. Okay that was misleading, I didn't quit because of the yoga, because I actually loved that - an hour of stretching really intensely and lying on your back with your eyes closed most of the time, how much better can exercise get? - but because I only have two weeks left here. I have not yet figured out how I feel about that, but I know I'm gonna miss that studio. 

Went home for 48 hours and ate my body weight in New York cheesecake. Good stuff. Nothing left to add.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Being in a new city means being lost on generally all information valid to daily life whatsoever, but there's lots of advice and top-tens and tripadvisor reviews out there to make sure you stay alive and get a picture of the oldest chapel around. However, there's not so much wise words for those of you who are interested in the, um, locals, but do not wish to take the drastic measure of swiping your phone screen dirty. Well, I'm here to help y'all out with suggestions.

Of course without granting any guarantee or use from this.

Platform chat. I saw living proof of this fairytale unraveling the other morning. A security guard used his morning shift for good, flirting with a blonde college student and escorting her into the train like a public transport VIP (I wish that was a thing). He wasn't my kind of sexy, but I guess almost every guy who does not have some kind of hideous feature, strong body odor or fangs for teeth will appear attractive to some girl out there. You know, every pot has its lid and all. Is that a condescending statement, a philosophical questioning of beauty definitions or just a snarky comment? Your decision. So anyways, if you see a guard that floats your boat, linger by the tracks.
Conversation starter: "So, do you have a car?"

Deliver y guy. Don't get too excited, 'cause I don't, if you know what I mean. It's just essentially the only straight male figure showing up at the office (apart from the middle-aged lunch cashier that I paid in pennies today. Which he was actually pretty nice about) so it's all I got for you. I never did so much as uttering a "thanks" and guessing his cigarette brand from the smell while giving him crappy signatures up until now, but I guess you could seize those close-up moments to their full potential if you wanted to.

Conversation starter: "So, that your package?" (Oh no she did not)

Plane person. That guy you've chosen when you scanned the seats around you for someone you could force to help you get your carry-on down from the storage shelf. He doesn't like kids, judging from the looks he gives the toddler behind him who dares to make noises, and is a light sleeper, since he doesn't manage to actually sleep even though he has headphones in, but he holds his crotch even while not-sleeping as if he had to protect himself from all the girls that get too giddy when there's turbulences. He's not exactly your best catch, I'd say. Though he, for one, is conversatively attractive.

Conversation starter: "So, how'd you get stuck in economy?"

Try these and tell me what happened.

Love,

Rosy Smith

"Sorry about that", says the ticket control lady as I confidently open my bag just to realize I left my purse in the car. "Yeah, I'm sorry too", I say. Sorry for myself, of course. In fact, it's 10 am and I am ready to pronounce the day to be over. I fiddle with the trash in my bag (like, actual trash. I'm one of those persons who are too ashamed to ever allow you to fetch something out of their bag because you might get old popcorn on your hands and never speak to us again), searching for something to confirm my name with. "I'll take anything", says the lady. Little does she know she's in to prove it, 'cause the effed-up paper I hold out to hear is an info brochure on STDs that has my name on it because my gyn seems to think it's somehow neccessary to personalize these things even though she routinely gives them to everyone. However, that this is pretty misleading and the control lady is even more sorry for me now because she not only thinks of me as a criminal but is also concerned about my sexual health, did not occur to her, I suppose. Now I'm crouching on some one-horse train platform in the middle of nowhere waiting for the next train back home to fetch my purse, 'cause no way am I gonna go through this again today. Plus, I'm going out tonight and you can't do much fun stuff without money. Like, eat.

I just perfectly wasted an hour of my life and I'm enormously late for class, and as expected no one else will be there on time so we're making a grand impression once again, and I bet not everyone has had a morning as unfortunate as I had to excuse themselves with. See, when I'm late, I usually don't have fun during the delay. That's why I don't cut, 'cause it always backfires at me. When I got my purse out of my care, I was very tempted to crawl in there and cry and let school be itself for the day (why did this man not sit in the empty space across from me but had to get right next here and is now inadvertetly touching my coat with his backpack? Why do bad things happen to good people?) but let's face it, I'm too goody goody to do that. Or rather, I would love to, but I kinda cut the same class last time to cook dinner for a certain someone so I already had my shot there. God, now this man put his freaking lunch next to me and is starting to munch on it and I can't even form my thoughts on that into a sentence 'cause, ew.

So it's the afternoon now and we were lunching with one of our teachers, one who nonchalantly tells you about their cheating husband while ordering a panino and a gay interior designer who's a man on the street but likes to be treated more like a lady between the sheets, if you get my notsosubtle drift, while we're innocently slurping our juice cartons. Anyways, at the table people wrinkled their noses about something hideous other people do, as usual, and this time, it was like "ugh, these days all everyone cares about is the label, and like, if it looks pretty. Like, sometimes, people are not even in season" and I was glad I had a mouthful of mozarella because I'd have loved to ask what's so wrong about wanting my clothes to look pretty instead of resembling abstract art / something the dog spit out but hey, it's "In-season" spit.

I hope your week didn't feel like your personal series of unfortunate events (love that movie, thinking about it. Weird but good).

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 far, I burned my tongue (I was seduced by a Dunkin Donuts X-Mas offer, mainly because I wanted a caramel latte for less, and now I'm also stuck with a donut I didn't need. Now I'll have to eat it. Life's hard.) and almost got hit by a cab. Good morning, lovelies.

News of the day: No, you cannot delete a sent message if the other person didn't get it yet. Not even when it's a screenshot of your chat with that exact same person. Never. It's one of the greatest miseries of our time. My condolence.

Woah, no reason to throw aluminium foil at the prof (I wish I was kidding).

Some carbs to brighten the mood (by that time I had forgotten about the Boston Cream)

I should increase my coffeine intake again.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....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

Now I know that in this day and age, not everyone feels the need for an introduction like this. You yourself might be a defendant of the easy going, laissez-faire style of texting culture which implies that "it's not a big deal, you text whenever you want and answer whenever you see it. What rules?"

In that case, bless your innocent heart.

Obviously I don't know what your exact arrangment with your significant other is on that part of your relationship - it might not even be relevant. You might exchange romantic hand-written loveletters sprizzed with perfume, for all I know. However, for everyone who simply does not have a clue what their partner expects, this is how you definitely don't disappoint:

Emoticons: Do use them. It just looks more lively and lets me know you like me enough to make the effort to choose a smiley face that enhances your message for me and that's reassuring and I like to be reassured. But if you use them, do it continously. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than a single emoticon-free message in a sea of blushy cheeks and winks. Even if it's a simple "Okay" it'll sound like "Okay! God, you're annoying/I'm not exactly okay with this but I don't want to deal with you headcase" to me, because only a "Okay :))" will give me the fuzzy feeling I need when conversing with you.

Still, you shouldn't solely and exessively use emoticons or I'll get the feeling you're either too lazy to actually phrase an answer or you don't have anything to say to me.

Timing: To be on the safe side, reply when you see it. Except when you're actually busy (driving, dying, in a million dollar conference count as "busy", for example) or need to check something in order to have an adequate answer (movie tickets, hotels, your mom's birthday). Consequently, be aware of the fact that I'm likely to re-reply again so you need to check your phone from time to time (daily would be a good minimum- so I know you're not dead/have not stopped liking me within the last 24 hours, whatever seems more likely).

Emotional Level: I get it, not everyone likes to express their undying adoration for somebody through 144 characters (need to google how many characters it really is but you get me). But a "Can't wait to see you" already makes so many of us happy and takes our mind off the fact that there were no empty seats on the train - it's not that hard. No one asks you to propose via text. No one wants you to do that, actually.

Golden Rule: Two or more days of not texting are considered rude since it's in some people's genes (mine) to start getting absolutely irrational deamings about the relationship and the meaning of life and listen to "Forever and Always" by Taylor Swift while solemny staring out of the train window and therefore your fault, not theirs. Don't be that guy.

If everyone did this the world would be a much less hysterical place.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....Let me start off by saying that all those things I told you to worry about might not necessarily have been a problem when I went away last weekend - but hey, how could I have known?

Well, lovelies, I had a pretty good time. So good that I was sincerely sad when we had to leave. Not that I expected not to be sad (I don't think I've ever been anywhere I was glad to leave from, so either my standards are really low or my vacations really good), but again, am I a future teller? As much as I didn't know about that, I didn't know that the city we've been to is an island (it feels so much cooler to go to an island, more exotic, than - not to go to an island, I guess), or that we'd live in a street where all houses were made out of bricks and full of small boutiques, one of them being in our building (could there be anything more suiting for me), or that there would be a big farmer's market in the central square every day (small town people have so much celebration stamina it's amazing), or that we'd go out to eat in this fancy historical restaurant with chairs in the powder room and then walk home in the freezing cold and write stupid things on sidewalks with chalk (don't even ask, I feel juveline already). However, those things turned out to be some of the best parts - there's a reason I like to be surprised.

A surprise of the bad kind, though, was the fact that I had to sprint through a museum they had mischievously constructed like a labyrinth so you may never find your way to the restroom twice and later run past the lovely powder room chairs repeatedly during the meal, irritating the staff and probably my company, although both parties were too polite to bring it up. Just marvelous. You might think there's no stigma around the topic of UTIs, but I have personally created one just for myself so I feel as bad as I would were I to have chlamydia WHICH I DON'T. Do I sound overreacting? I MIGHT AS WELL BE.

Let's change the topic to make me feel better about myself. Right now I'm unpacking my suitcase (only a week after I packed it, good score for me) and it takes SO much longer than randomly throwing in stuff, it's already annoying me. And I only took out two pieces.

Anyways, I proudly present to you Hoodies From Hell, the newest installment in our daily fashion school dramedy soap. Let's not be too dramatizing here (seriously, who am I trying to kid). However, I need to explain my general problem with hoodies to you. I bought the first black hoodie of my life when my English Lit class went on a field trip to Scotland and we all traveled in uniform. Our printed-on motto was "You can't repeat the past, old sport", which I actually found pretty witty ('cause Gatsby), and my friends and I sewed little Edinburgh themed patches on them. Still, as much as I - well, loved would be a strong expression, but let's say I'm fond of that sweater, and I've never worn it again. The second hoodie I bought was to match my whole grad class and it has our graduation motto (which was so bad I'm not telling you) as well as every single name of every single person I ever went to school with on it and that, my friends, is not something you want. Not at all. The best part about it was that on the day we were supposed to stand on our school's rooftop together and tearfully (and for the mostpart, hungover) wave our goodbyes, I wasn't even there. In fact, I was in the city applying to fashion college instead of wearing a stupid black sweater along with a ton of people I don't like who were doing the same. Looking at it from that angle, I might have even made the right decision that day! Oh well. Worth a try.
See, apart from the obvious - the fact that a black hoodie is in no way conform to my idea of a good look (or any look at all) and I do not care to spend money on clothing that I already know I'll never, ever in my life wear again, especially not if the word "hell" is printed on it, ruining it forever just like my former classmates' names -, those things are warm. Way too warm to be worn on the inside. I actually get a bit claustrophobic in them, somewhat menopausal. Why would I want to test that phase of my life I already dread right now, voluntarily?

The answer is, I wouldn't want that. So, when some of my current school peers suggested that we all buy a black hoodie and print our magazine's title "hell", on it in a gothic font and wear it for the editorial shoot, I flinched. I exchanged glances with another girl who didn't look quite ready to run out to the Dollar Store and get one, too. We said "Let's discuss it with the whole group", hoping that the absent ones are totally against that plan and help us outvote it. "It might be too expensive for some", we said, perfectly aware that there might be really, really cheap black hoodies out there. We're grabbing straws here, lovelies. Uniting forces. "But we're also wearing them at the magazine launch", said one of the hoodie supporters. "We are?", I gasped. WE ARE?
I guess I won't be making an effort to bond these days, either. Cause I'm definitely not wearing something I get hot, eg frizzy haired in, to a magazine launch. That's the final drawstring.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....One of my bestest friends turns 19 today (a week ago, cause I was organized once and pre-wrote this)! So yesterday (you get it), she had her big birthday bash and it was absolutely everything a good party has to be:

There weren't enough glasses. This morning, the living room resembled a "don't step into the water" prank scene. People kept losing track of their glasses and getting new ones for every new drink and when I wanted some water by the end of the night my choice of cup consisted of some beer mug and something that looked like a tiny vase.

There was some emotional roller coaster trips. "It's my party and I cry if I want to" would have been a great gift for the lovely Birthday Girl who started to fear mortality about half an hour before her actual birthday (aren't we all a pack of drama queens. But I love her for that). 30 seconds before midnight, she went into the kitchen to get herself a drink and wouldn't listen when we told her to get herself back into our reach so we ended up trailing after her and congratulating her at the sink. Thankfully after that, she wasn't so sad anymore, because....

There was some unexpected kissing. I'm not entirely sure, but as far as I can reconstruct this night-changing event, it took place in the kitchen as well (everything important happens in the kitchen). Birthday gal was taken by surprise, but my (unqualified as usual) advice to deal with it would be: If it's fun, and he's nice (I think he is - I had my five minutes of unsolicited crushing already over with), is there really a problem? I don't think so. After we all reassured her that there was absolutely nothing to reconsider, we all sat outside, him bringing her a cup of coffee (aww) and holding her hand while she thoughtfully gazed into distance; it was very much like a scene from a music video, especially me trying to catch his attention to telepathically ask him about his intentions by meaningfully staring at him whenever she wasn't looking. Suddenly she stood up, let her hand linger in his while she did that and went on inside, facing him through the glass door. He got up immediately to follow her, which is when I realized that her getting up was meant as a sign for him to do that. I honestly thought he was just being clingy. Oh, well. I got all the insight after most people left, and us girls had locked ourselves in, yes, the kitchen: She had asked him what exactly he wanted from her and he cleverly responded "I only want you"(awww) and they'd kissed some more and he wants to see her again on Wednesday (tomorrow, as I'm writing this). That sounds good, doesn't it? I'm truly excited. He better continue doing so well or I'll be very cross with him and you know that I can be a lot more unflattering with my descriptions than I just was. But don't be disheartened, for that I'm quite fond of him as of now for making my friend smile so much that night....

Things broke. Some girl had made a special candy flavored Schnapps which the Birthday Girl accidentally dropped (on the kitchen floor, obviously). She felt so bad about it, but I took a tiny sip of it before it happened and in all kindness I have to say that it was absolutely disgusting. And the floor got unbelievably sticky. But at the same time, it was slick - so one time, when I leaned on the counter, I wanted to relieve my feet by leaning back onto my heels (to make use of the stickiness), and I slipped so badly I almost broke my back/neck/arms. Someone caught me, thankfully. Jeez.

There was dancing on tables. I didn't join in, but at some point two guys took the honors and did some weird choreography to a song that went a bit like "tadamm ta daaa tadamm dum dum tadaa", with a lot of snipping. Two grown men in dress shirts. Hitting the ceiling with their heads and snipping. I just....I don't know what to make of that, really.

There was climbing on roofs. No one actually got up there, but it sure was fun to watch them try. Oh, one of the guys who made an attempt is an IT student who fits the type, with glasses and a red tee (I once mentioned him as nice guy. He really is, just to clarify). "Look", I said to my loveliest friend, "that one's got some good abs". "Really?", she said, her eyes wide with astonishment. She clearly didn't believe me, but I know that for a fact as I've been to the beach with him a couple of weeks ago. "He does! Do you think I could ask him to lift his shirt for a second?" She shook her head. "I don't think so", she said reluctantly. I wish I'd have done it anyways, because it would've been fun to set the two of them up. Just kidding, N! I'm proud of the fact that I haven't become one of those absolutely unnerving people who need to see everyone around them in a relationship just because....

....I got to go home with the one I really wanted to see at this very occasion a year ago.   

Stay sparkly.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....in a conversation with my mom about applying for internships, my mind took an interesting turn to face this important question: When planning a wedding, does one determine the seating arrangments before or after getting everyone's RSVPs (I always forget what that means. It's French, 'cause apparently it was decided that invitation confirmations weren't cool enough and therefore needed some je ne sais quoi to them, and says répondez s'il vous plaît)?
If one does it before knowing who will actually attend (though I heard recently it's bad luck to cancel on a wedding. Or was it just bad manners? I'll have to check on that), the danger of either having to rearrange at the last minute or, even worse, having half-empty tables (in that case, I feel like that's the appropriate answer to the half-full/half-empty discussion). However, if one does it afterwards, you'll definitely have to have time left in the last quarter of your probably already busy planning process to make up some kind of decent seating arrangement and curse everyone who decides to show up anyways/forbid them to stay for dinner, because no way are you touching that seating chart on your freaking wedding day. You probably burned it already, anyways.

So, yeah, I'd really like to know what's the way to go here.
And no, I'm nowhere near getting married, as I already ensured my mom when I blurted this out at dinner.

Love,

Rosy Smith 

First Evening Photoshoot - The Hair Flip

....scandalous questions usually follow this start of a sentence, and most of the time, you'd rather burn your mouth than answer them, because there's no way you can keep your decency no matter what you choose to respond. I'll demonstrate quickly:


Having stated that, I was recently asked a "would you rather"- question that actually made some sense to me. It might be of use to you, too, if you're as vague as me about decisions and can't ever just say yes or no (especially no) to something. I like to use weird metaphors instead, so in the end, people are even more confused about my opinion than they already were.

My close friend, knowing this and therefore trying to empathize with my untellable vibe, asked me in reference to my almost kinda sorta relationship:


The key to figuring out your status, really! I mean, if you're kinda sorta almost together with someone, you probably wouldn't call it quits just out of the blue for no reason at all. But going on vacation with each other takes some serious trust, devotion, and a minimal amount of fondness. You don't realize how much there is to be embarrassed about simply existing while on vacation until you share a room with someone who's neither your silbling nor your best friend who has as many spleens as you do. Let me just throw two things out there: Sharing a bathroom and a blanket. There's a good chance I'd break up with somebody before making that sort of a commitment - if I didn't like him a good bit, that is. So much, in fact, that I'd have started to toy with the idea of a vacation being really romantic and picturesque and all red roses and Paris skylines, and have forgotten all about the risky parts/chosen to ignore them until I have to deal with them for real.

In conclusion, when you're not sure whether you like somebody you're involved with or like, really like them (oh the differentiation and accuracy of this sentence), just ask yourself if you'd be willing to let them see the amount of skin cleansers you need in order to not break out or if, thinking about it, you could easily live your life without their presence in it.

My pleasure.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....Just to get you placed, I'm done with finals (apart from some kind of summer writing thing we'll ignore for now) and need to regenerate by squeezing as many exciting things as possible into the next two months! Today I was supposed to meet one of my bestest friends in the city and be all fabulous together, but she has a toothache, poor thing, so I won't start on the excitement as soon as calculated, but I'll be fine. Here's the plan so far:

I'm honestly considering cleaning my room. 
You have no idea of the cluttering mess that my room has magically turned into during this semester. It's so bad that even I have detected the irritation factor it has and that says something. It's not dirty - let's just say there's a lot of stuff on the floor that originally had a place somewhere else, like in a cupboard, or in folders, or in an entirely different room. My parents are off to Spain for my mom's birthday (which is today! Congrats, mommy!) and I remember saying something like "Everything will be tidy when I'm done with school", so, well, trapped myself there. But it's all good! I always feel -

Oh, my friend called - we'll do a cozy night in instead of girl's out and about. I'll be back.

It's the next day now, and I have decided to make brownies today, for several reasons. One of them is that I always wanted to be that kind of person who'll just get up and make a batch of brownies. I just looked up recipes, though, 'cause I'm not yet that kind of person who knows her brownie recipe by heart, and what came out of that is that I think I'll get a baking mix to spare myself some trouble.

When I clacked past the cheese bar, everyone looked up to see me stopping dead in my tracks to make a u-turn wondering where the hell they've hidden the instant mix boxes, because weirdly enough, I was the only girl under 43 strolling the baking section first thing on a Saturday morning in floral kitten heels, a sky-blue ruffled skirt and an oversized Calvin Klein promo T-Shirt.

Standing in a supermarket full of food and checking out Dr.Oetker's Fine Brownies for 2.99 as my only item actually pretty accurately describes me making life choices.
You know, keeps more money left for shoes.

Baking tip: Don't try to be extra savy and slowly add all ingredients one by one to have them melt together gradually. Just throw everything in at once. This way, you won't forget the eggs and therefore won't have to try really hard with the egg whip (a name that makes so much sense now) and doubt your (already minimal) arm strength and you also won't need to search the kitchen for the mixer, set it up and get it dirty. Furthermore, there won't be an occasion for you to clean the egg whip by stabbing it with a knife and getting that dirty, too.

Life tip: When there's no food in the house you're able to turn into an edible meal (except for brownies), order chinese. I know someone who's never ordered chinese. Can you believe that? I'll make him do it because we're commiting now and sharing my love for chinese at home is basically a commitment requirement for me.

He likes my brownies, though, and that's sweet, too.
The ones I said I baked. Get over yourself.

Since I'm going on vacation in a week I don't dare to wear any of my summer clothes fearing I might need them to be freshly washed and ironed (like I take EVERYTHING I own on a week-long trip. But you never know what you might decide to bring the day before flying). However, it is very summery over here as well so I dugged around in my closet and found a long wrap-around skirt I never wore before and paired it with a lacy top and my beloved strappy sandals. Heeled shoes might not be everyone's first choice for a walk and a picnic outside but hello, I can't wear a long skirt with flats or I'll look like a dwarf, and my company is pretty damn tall, too, so we'll just have to disregard pragmatism like we always do when it comes to fashion. What else would be the point?

The rest of the weekend went with cake for breakfast (once I polished off all the brownies I needed to fulfill my desire for baked things otherwise) and some midday sleeping - I don't particularly like to do that because I desperately want to relish every second of summer, but sometimes I just....kinda lie in bed and.....next thing I know I feel like it's 3 in the morning and I didn't just have lunch and watched four episodes of 2 Broke Girls. Anyways, there's still enough time to get ready for evening engagements - and by the time they come around, I'll be fresh as a daisy again.

I truly am now.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....a couple of weeks ago, my precious classmates had a discussion that involved body fluids (in the literal sense. No one exchanged any. We're all into boys here). I like to keep quiet during those kinds of conversations, because ew, did I not need to hear that water bottle comparasion (please put it down. Also, that can't be true). Okay, so I was listening, but I can keep my thoughts to myself - most of the time. In person. But they started on such an interesting topic, I just have to share my views on that:

Is it okay to hook up (I mean sleep but that's not something I'd say) with your ex?

Well, that's not nicely phrased, 'cause of course it's okay. You do you, and everything. Is it advisable, though? Probably not. I think its confusing; just like staying friends with your ex (I'm not a big supporter of that phenomenom, either), the action is so familiar and closely tied with your bygone relationship that you're not really out of it. 50% of you (the physical part) still treats him the same - so how are you over? Why break up if you're still willing to make time for him? Sure, you might not be on the same page emotionally, or generally. But isn't it hard to remember that when your body has full access to and is getting response by his?

On the other hand, I never tried, and I'm willing to believe that, if you're emotionally unattached, such an arrangment may at least be easier than  "staying friends". Thinking "I hate that guy but he's hot so why not" doesn't sound totally healthy, but I guess that way, you won't have so much trouble stopping. When staying friends, it's just this weird "we talk on the couch like we used to, but we're not making out - and then there's this silence when we'd be supposed to make out and it's so creepy because I'm so used to this part being about making out that I don't know what to do next and it's really hard to just go home now and I think I still want him BOOM that friendship thing doesn't work" situation.

Oh, I'm talking about regulary throwbacks, just to make that clear. A one time thing is just a messy way of one last hooray. 

Questions left?

Love,

Rosy Smith

....doesn't this sentence alone sound all gloomy to you? Like I'm going to say something that's going to hurt you? Like I'm going to break up with you? Then you remember that you don't know me and therefore I couldn't do that. But the thought came to your mind, didn't it?

Well, that's not where I'm going with this. Not exactly.

It's just this: When two people come together, there seem to be a few different categories my loveliest friend summed up today:
 
Friends

Friends with benefits

Affairs

People dating

People in a relationship

Strangers

Choose one of those and you're good. Or, at least, defined. However, I feel like I understand every category mentioned, except for "people in a relationship". What exactly do those people do that makes them different from those dating? Is it the ability to confide their love for each other? Does that change so much? Can't one be in a relationship with somebody one isn't in love with?

Or is it the reassurance of knowing the person you're with isn't going to bail on you as soon as they get bored? Not having to plan every single date, not having to fear they aren't gonna want to see you, or won't like what you suggest? It's stressful, this dating thing. If you care enough, that is.

But when does that turning point arrive? Is "I love you" the pass to relaxation? Shouldn't one make an effort even when you're officially in an relationship?

Also, it's not like you'd suddenly be married and separating is not in option, as it might have been in the 1940s. People do break up.

So I'm asking again, what is the big difference?

Love,

Rosy Smith

....there's a cute blonde guy next to me, reading "The Physicists" by Duerrenmatt, and he's reading every single page until it's over, which leads me to the following conclusions:

1) He's probably younger than me ('cause I read that book in school). What a shame.

2) If he's not reading it for school, he's got an unusual literary taste. I kinda like that.

3) He doesn't just skim books but truly reads, which is always lovely. I hate when people don't read.

4) Actually, he has too much of a stubble to be in 9th grade. So he's either reading the book for fun OR for college, and that seems cool, if he was doing something with literature there....why am I not doing that? I'd have met cute guys like him! Could've said "bless you" when he sneezed just now. Didn't have the guts to do so. There goes my chance on true love.

5) I honestly don't get why they all think wearing blue suede shoes with a pointy tip like they were some trendy idol is a good idea.

6) Trying to figure out the kind of music he's listening to. The reflection of sunlight on his screen is making it a little hard. It's no familiar title, so I can't even guess it.

7) He's got really small hands. Or rather, small fingers. That's interesting, 'cause they're not chubby at all, just some good hands in miniature form.

8) Now he's really getting into his music. He's jiggling his knees and moving his fingers to a rhythm, raising his attractiveness factor noticably, in my opinion. Does he play the guitar? I love when guys enjoy music. I can't fathom guys who don't.

9) He probably won't realize that I've been obsessed with him for a good ten minutes of my life.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....I'm proud to announce that after crampy, sleepy January, these last weeks have actually been quite eventful....

First things first, I finally found my camera charger! The second month of the year is not even over yet and I already fulfilled one of my (about three) New Years Resolutions! It was hidden in one of the jewellry boxes I keep all my cable stuff in. Who'd have thought. So, maybe there's a chance for me to improve my picture quality on here. Oh, and now there's always the option of becoming a vlogger. So many possibilities evolving....

My second resolution's been to talk less about trains, and I believe I've been doing quite well with that, too: However, I'll mention them now, since I'm currently sitting in one of  'em on my way to meet someone I wanted to see: remember me telling everyone important about how much I wanted that? I guess that did the trick, since he seems to be wanting to see me too. Anyways, I'm sitting here and getting really paranoid about my lips being dry - see, I've had lots and lots of balm on them this afternoon and when I took it off, it must have worked like a scrub as my lips basically fell apart in the process. So I did another scrub and now I fear I've missed a spot. My loveliest friend is texting me I should do a sugar scrub. If only I had a packet of that on me. I don't usually carry edible things in my purse, apart from gummi bears.
Furthermore, I need to press my lipstick down on a handkerchief which I, of course, never carry, either....I'd have an old tramp stamp, I guess that will do - what I actually was on about before starting to write anything is that this guy stared at me through the window and his shoes, studded black high-tops, are honestly the most hideous thing I've ever seen.

Staying at home on break is honestly a fabulous thing to do. I went skiing with my parents and everything (college, people whose messages I need to google half the time, etc.) nicely faded into the snow while I was doing my rounds and all I had to think about was what there's for dinner and if the ski rent guy would ask me out. He didn't, 'cause I only met him for about three minutes, but that's the point - I didn't really care. Now I'm back but still, I'm doing my papers, I'll scream if I need to read through another pet-related thread (my topic is clothing for pets. Feel free to share your opinion, I'll feel free to interpretate it so it fits my argumentation), but at the same time I love the feeling of making sense with my writing. I feel like it's gonna be great to be a freelancer - I might waste 3/4 of the day by looking at every single one of the 43 "Then and now" red carpet looks seventeen.com has put together and rediscovering Kelly Clarkson's "Already Gone", but by 6 pm I'll frantically be scribbling down designer labels for dogs 'cause I just had a great idea for an outro.

I also managed to get a new calendar for my beloved Filofax (yeah, I do adore my planner) - two months into the year, that ain't so bad, is it? I feel like I'm in control of things again, and I like it. I already filled it with lots of fun things before freedom as we (I) know it is changed again in exactly a week from now; shopping tomorrow, cinema twice, lots of the loveliest friend, oh and Ballet! I almost forgot, but I went to class for the first time in almost a year, and it was beautiful. I wasn't, during the length of it, 'cause I didn't have a good bun day and my cheeks seem to turn red after half an hour of exercise these days, but it's ballet - earthly things don't matter. I felt like I strained about ten different muscles afterwards, but I twirled around in the kitchen when I got home.

Where was I?

Right, my plans. Did you see Brooklyn, by the way? I did. Twice. Felt sick both times so that was good, but I loved the outfits. Give me a full skirt and oversized sunglasses and send me to Coney Island. Isn't it almost time for spring?

Stay sparkly, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith