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

When I was graduating and supposed to be studying for my final, final exams, I once procrastinated by sketching out my dream loft in New York City. I have the draft somewhere but it's not exactly gonna win me an architecture prize; still, I can tell you exactly what I pictured drawing that. You're supposed to come into the main part of the loft, a wide space with windows to the floor all across the wall and wooden tiles. There is nothing in it, except for long, fluffy white curtains and a concert piano in the center, with a single rose on it (judging from experience, that rose is probably dead and there are about a million pieces of sheetmusic clattered around). As you turn left, you realize I actually thought of living amenities and have a sofa (no leather 'cause that's cold and slippery), a coffee table and some cupboards with a TV set. Oh and by the window, I have my desk to sit and write at. The kitchen is a bit hidden by a half-wall (what a word). In it, there's a free standing counter as well as a long table for dinners with other people, and everything will look sparkling new because I can't cook. On the right side of the main part, there is a more cozy corner with armchairs and a fuzzy rug where you sink in, and lots of bookshelves and a side window. In that corner, there also is the only door of the room that leads to the bedroom. Inside, there is a vanity table and one of these sunk-in window seats and a really high four poster bed and more shelves with personal things. Another door opens to the bathroom and the door next to that will get you to the heart of everything: The closet.
When I discovered the New York based storage service MakeSpace (they pick up everything you'd like to store, provide the storage location and bring your items back to you if you wish; all in all, it costs less than self-storage, I hear) I got the idea to describe that place in more detail, and since talking about myself and clothes is obviously a pleasure for me, here we go:

First of all, my dream closet takes up a whole room, about 24 square yards big. There's cream colored, soft carpet on the floor and a cream leather chaiselounge as well as one of these leather bean bags but formed like a cylinder (get it?) to lounge on while picking out what to wear: I always sit down in front of my closet because it can take me a while to scan everything. There is a small coffee table in here as well, with a glass top and sort of vintage-y legs, to scatter magazines and pictures onto.

On the wall across from the door, there is a huge mirror covering the whole middle part of the wall. On each side of it, there are lightly polished wooden racks (they might even be soft white) where all of my shoes, which will hopefully be plenty and luxurious, have a place. There are small glass doors every two lines, though, to avoid all that dusting.

All images are from Pinterest, none of them are mine (sadly)

Okay, onto the side walls of the room. On the left one, there are two grand wardrobes out of the same wood as the shoe racks. Between them, there is a rack of the same kind but with handbags instead (I'm not that into bags so one rack will do). Inside the left wardrobe there is a row of pants, a row of shirts and sweaters and tops and blouses and a long row of dresses and skirts (I'd say that 66% of the time I wear thights).

The right wardrobe is reserved for evening gowns, jackets and coats (those things tend to take up much room, hence the own closet). Turning to the right wall of the room, there are two cupboards. Above them, there are framed magazines and artsy ballet and fashion pictures. The cupboards hold drawers full of thights, lingerie, dance wear and lounge stuff such as teddy pants and fuzzy socks. When you go through the door and take a sharp turn right, there is a piece of wall leaving just enough space for a third wardrobe but with drawers instead of double doors. When it's summer, the winter clothes are kept there, and when the seasons start changing I gradually exchange the wardrobe's contents, too.

Oh, and there's a mini fridge as well for when my friends and I dress up together in my closet before going to a fancy event: I'll put sparkling wine and Oreos (cookies don't smudge) in there. And some loudspeakers need to be installed onto the walls and connected to the stereo in the living room area; Dressing is way more fun with good music to prance around to in front of the mirror.

Goodness, now I want to live in my hypothetical closet right away.

What would yours look like? Just imagining it could make you happy!

Also, check out MakeSpace's website
and their nationwide locations
for more info on their service as well as dream closets!

Love,

Rosy Smith

....as you probably guessed by my waffling on about imaginary scenarios and the likes, I fantasize a lot. About everything. Going out for dinner tonight, dressing for parties - I even imagined the way I'd flick my eyeliner up the day before I met up with my ride or die. It's either an OCD or an overboarding fantasy induced by reading countless novels since forever. I like to think it's the latter.

Anyways, I actually experienced one of those scenarios yesterday, on my way to meeting her - I ran into a guy from high school at the station whom I used to think was cute. He still is; I just don't think about him anymore. So the situation turned up a little too late for me and instead of trying to convince him of my fabulous self, I was kinda distracted and "hm"d and "ah"d in reaction to him telling me news probably worth more than the occasional mouth sound and beaming smile. It was mainly because he'd blogged about the whole "year abroad gone wrong" thing and I'd read it because that's what I do, I read other people's blogs, too. Didn't mention that to him, though, 'cause this isn't the time to make him think I like him and it would be just my luck to give that impression now, when I have other people, I mean things, on my mind.

And now I've told everyone important about that, which is something I usually put off until I don't need to do so anymore, and it's such a weird feeling to actually be a grown-up, actively-taking-things-in-hands-person for once. It's nice, I feel like. It opens up so many more possibilities. And so many more "could-be"s. It could work out. It could be amazing. It could also be terribly disappointing. But I guess you'll have to take that risk in order to find out what exactly it will be.

Well, if that wasn't a perfectly philosophical start of February then I don't know what is. Don't worry, we'll still have a ball this month.

Let's see what we come up with.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....and there's me on the street listening to Sparks Fly VERY loudly and pretending to walk down a T-stage, only that it's 8 am and way too dark to see anything resembling a spark.

I swear, I was on lovesong-level zero a few nights ago, seeing as somebody changing his hair can make me loose all interest I ever had in being the love of their lives (proving once again my unbelievable personal depth). At least I thought so for about three hours, and the worst thing is, I was actually fine with it. Usually, as you might know, I get seriously disappointed when I realize that my latest affections were given to the way somebody carries their jeans and quickly disappear as soon as they change into a bermuda. It's always a little sad to find out it obviously wasn't the real deal, once again. However, this time I just thought: Alright, saves me some complications during finals (what have they done to me, here I am, being reasonable).

I mean, it's not okay that your hair grows longer than mine does within three months. (Relative to one another of course. I can't tolerate long long hair, that's just....no.) It's not only unfair, it's against the rules. The rules, if you're wondering, include not getting a tattoo, nose job, or new haircut while I'm crushing on you, 'cause that's interfering with my imaginary feelings. Sorry if this isn't very comprehensible, but it all made sense to me around 4 am that night.

The thing is - and here goes my issue - that I actually think I got over the hair. Devastating, isn't it? Me, the girl who will scratch your name from her diary if you blow your nose in her presence. I know. My loveliest friend suggested that there is always some kind of backleash after you've not seen somebody for a while and went totally crazy for them in your head. Because after the first shock, you remember why you sorta kinda liked them in the first place, and remember how sweet they were, looking down at you and making sure you find a seat and smiling that little smile that can keep you up for hours wondering if they're an annoyingly, adorably polite person or if they like you just a little, little bit in a way that makes them, too, go....

....well, damn.

Not much to add here.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I got up quite early, actually, but it goes to show that it's not about how you start your day, it's about how sleepy you get by noon and how good your YouTube feed's looking this morning. There. Life lesson. Ha.

I printed out about a hundred pages of lecture and decided that I couldn't possibly go on printing ALL of my subjects in one day so I made a very subtle effort to get dressed and rushed downtown to buy some Christmas presents- I love the feeling of being out there with all those busy people running around looking for something, be it pretty things or the right ingredients for something or love or a bench to sit on....and I'm in the middle of it all, having a mission (can't tell you what or I'll ruin the surprise). I even made a nail appointment; if that's not proof of me being fully organized, I don't know what is.

Just so that you can picture it, on my little spontanous trip I wore a grey cozy sweater with a simple black skirt and tights (see, minimal thought went into this - if you want to be on the save side, wear a skirt and no colors, you'll do fine), but actually all one could see were my legs peeking out from underneath my furry coat (fake, if you must ask) and ending in some heeled boots. All of this was supposed to distract from the fact that my hair's on its third day. Gladly, the one person I talked to was the clerk in an interior store who didn't seem to mind. Guys don't notice chipped nail polish. Another lesson, but I guess deep down we all know that - nobody wears their polish for guys, though, so it doesn't really make a difference, does it, lovelies?

The good kind of yearning
Kind of changing attitudes here, but I felt that today, maybe in the middle of a piano session or during dinner; Missing someone or something but not being frustrated over not seeing them, just kind of looking forward to seeing them again, one day, you know, hopefully soon of course, but that's not the point of this feeling. The point is that you might be waiting for something, but you're still happy in the process of doing so. Well, at least content. If you've been in this state, hold on to it, before you walk down the dark lane of chocolate marathons and annoying your best friend with nonsense about how you thought this could be something. Not that chocolate marathons are a bad thing. But you get me in this context, right?

Dang it. I always end up losing track of time after dinner and around 11 pm I remember that I need to shower and I'd wanted to watch a movie in peace for once and oh, I have to get that chipped polish off. Then again, I'm getting cold and tired.

Well. I don't want to spend half of Sunday in the shower, so I guess hair is the winning prority here. Screw the rest. After all, I already planned to get things done tomorrow!

Love,

Rosy Smith