....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

....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

Just think, halfway through this month I realized that I didn't do a proper insight in September. Oops. Take this instead (the link is in the "this" in case that isn't clear).

However, here we are, at the end of October, otherwise known as Halloween! When you're reading this I'll be out and about in a ruffled skirt I've been wearing for this occasion since I was ten and a little witch-hat-tiara, following the invitation of a couple as - gasp - part of a couple myself.
I think I need a paper bag.
See, I really like to go out dancing, but I've never actually went with, well, a guy. I don't know how to dance around a guy. Or rather, I do, but that would be weird since we're already kind of involved so there wouldn't be much of a point in sparking his interest in me via my dancing - Gosh, that was probably the most unfeminist thing I've ever said. Scratch that. I'll just dance by myself, for myself only. I am my own happy place and all that.

Now that's settled, I'd like to formerly announce that it will be my birthday in 36 days (as of now, the 27th) and that I'll be 20 years old (oh, dear Lord) and that I have absolutely no clue how to savor this grand event adequately. Cocktails? Might be too noisy and dark to chat with more than the two people next to me. Dinner? Same thing because long tables. And a full mouth. A get-together at home? Not dressy enough. If people ignore my outfit guidelines, that is. It's a tough decision, lovelies.

Realization of the month: I was so much funnier in February to June WhatsApp conversations than I feel like I am in my current ones. My previous moments of inspired remarks actually made me laugh in hindsight like the self-invested person I am, whereas nowadays, I like to start dialogues by sending an unsolicited picture of a box of gum. That reminds me that I haven't gotten an answer to that yet. I guess I can't blame anyone here, though - I'd have a hard time to figure out a) how to respond at all and b) what's wrong with someone who doesn't have anything more profound to say than "Look, it's Mentos' bubblegum". Takes some time.

Anyhow, victory has struck in the hoodie harness! I'm free to show up to the shoot in something pretty as long as it's all-black. I'm overflown with joy. But more stupid decisions are threatening to be made regarding other projects: I don't yellingly interrupt the girl briefing our make-up artist for one second and she's already asking her to smear gel all over the model's face and buy red mascara out of nowhere. I swear that's how these things end up happening in editorials. The only sane person in the room probably sneezed and closed their eyes for a blink and suddenly, the stylists cut off all the pants in a fit of creativity and now we all have to deal with finding the right shoes to go with "culottes".

Fashion formula: Freezing before heating. Doesn't work as a rhyme but you get where I'm coming from; I need to remember every morning that I generally feel better in sheer nylons and heeled shiny boots than I do in thermo tights that catch all the cat hair and flat muddy shoes. Even though my body tries to convince me otherwise when I'm shivering in front of my closet at 6am, urging me to reach for the sweater I've been wearing around the house for five days, because it feels so much like my blanket. I'll regret that thought as soon as I run into the first person I know who hasn't seen me since high school and will now remember me forever as the short girl who suffered from a heatstroke on a train, rattling out "I have so much nicer clothes!" before collapsing in a huddle of stone colored wool and worn-out black jeans.
No, thanks. I'll take silk blouses and slit-up skirts over that anytime. The cold never bothered me aaaaanyway....

Stay warm by being hot stuff, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....Frankly, I think I lost my battle against the hoodies. For now. They're not in stock at the moment and I'm crossing every finger I have that the hideousness gets dropped.

Also, I'm cold, I just missed my next connection, I haven't eaten all day (I tried to have some strawberry yoghurt but they put bits of fruit in it  - how could they?) and there are way too many people on this platform. I'm also elegantly carrying an open bag with my sleep shirt stuffed in for everyone to see, clenching my laptop so I don't get a hunchback from my other bag I've swung over my shoulder. I just hope I fit through the train door if it ever shows up.

There's a mom in here, standing with a baby strapped onto her body that is dressed in an adorable striped suit with a hood (the only time they're cute) with ears. The baby's not making a whimp, either, so I allow myself to consider it sweet. However, the mom has a toddler with her as well, with blonde ringlets and more hair volume than I currently have. The girl wants to sit down, so it crouches onto the single stair between compartments. "Don't put your hands on there or people will step on you", the mom says. And she says it many, many times - I'm afraid for my fingers by this point. The train stops, people come in, walking up the stairs, scooting past the little girl, but one unlucky man with Beats on his head ever so slightly puts down his foot inches too far on the left and brushes the girl's tiny fingernails - I see everything in slow motion, thinking "Nooooooo for God's sake" - and needless to say, disaster strikes. The girl says "Ow.". And starts bawling. Cue to the mom to begin going "Oh, no, I told you not to put your hands on there" again, and again, and again, and the girl changes it up by alternating between "Ow" and "Mommy" and I think I'm having a nervous breakdown. I have so much respect for mothers who mildly endure their children not ever shutting up.

Finally! I'm breathing the fresh Connectictut air, I can see the car that's supposed to pick me up, I get into it without a word, my bags a mess in the legroom, he turns the key - nothing. Just a weird, stuttering sound with slight similaritiy to what an engine should sound like. "We have a problem", he says. I burst into a fit of (okay, hysteric) giggles. "No, we really do", he says. "I know", I chuckle, "Sorry". I can't help it, it's such a classic "Can this day get any worse?" and the day being like "Oh yeah, I actually can" situation that it's starting to get funny (excruciatingly so, but still funny). It's hard to explain though, so I understand why he's not laughing with me. I mean, it's his car that appears to be breaking down. And I'm not exactly helpful crisis company, as you can imagine. Neither do I have a clue on what to do when a car doesn't start (Except calling my Dad) nor do I have calming things to say or constructive comments to make ("We could walk away and never return"). Oh well. He doesn't seem to mind that much / is too sweet to say "Damn, I really wish my friend who likes motor sports was here with me instead". Anyways, help is coming (He called his Dad, so technically, my approach has been pretty sensible after all) and all I can concentrate on is the pizza I'm gonna stuff my face with as soon as we get home so I'll leave it at that.

Hope you had a sparkly weekend that didn't involve anything on wheels.

Love,

Rosy Smith