The guy at the reception desk is kinda cute. His name is Brady (hi, Brady!), he has narrow set hips and nice hands (everybody should know by now that I have a thing for hands - one of my bling-blings), and this, in combination with some sweet blushing, is enough to make me feel flirty towards him. It’s gotten bad, I know.
Other than that, Salt Lake City is a very pretty city - not in the sense of being beautifully made-up and colored, but in being hot and dusty and reflecting the sunlight with large mirrored windows on skyscrapers next to white and grey sandstone buildings with gardens full of flowers and waterplaces next to busy concrete streets filled with head radiating, big, bulky cars and endless red and white lights.

I’ll leave it at that, taken straight from my diary.
Love,
Rosy Smith

….I feel like I haven’t talked to you about boys for way too long. Just to get the facts straight: Boys are stupid and nobody needs them, unless the sexual frustration sets in, then I recommend putting up with some hot exemplars of the species until you are nice and good again.
Having said that, let’s just ramble for a bit.
They obviously can’t read minds
Firstly, I am thouroughly upset about my personal loss of the cute construction worker. Apparently, the works are already done, and I won’t get to be the creepy lady in the window who sometimes brings coffee in way too flimsy clothes for the weather anymore. Goodbye to that working-man-meets-aristocratic-daughter-fantasy (aka The Notebook, just without the feels). Not that my parents are aristocrats, but you get my drift. More often than sometimes, I immediately associate a guy-interest with a certain plot or story I make up and am pretty disappointed if it kinda really doesn’t play out along those lines. And this one would have made a damn great story, so that’s especially sad.
What’s also sad is that the range of emotions went from “He’s so freaking hot I can’t stand it I have to have him” to “His hair looks kinda stupid and we probably have nothing to talk about but I still want him” so now I’m not even in awe, I’m just totally frustrated.
Some can’t keep their composure
Something weird happened to me today: The friend of a friend walked up the stairs with me and mentioned friend today, but that only occured to me when my friend laughed at him because he was acting rather strangely. The person didn’t say a word and kept looking straight ahead, even though I curiously glanced at them. He seemed to be bedazzled for reasons I am unaware of. Which is fine with me. Not so fine was I, however, when he ran into me at the turn of the stairs and then just went on not saying anything and blushing and not looking at me. Was that supposed to be a pick-up? Because if so, I am sorry, but I still don’t know you’re name and I think you’re a little clumsy, so that didn’t work out at all, darling.
Still, that was more effort than the construction worker made, so technically….I want to cry a little bit. If forced to choose between abs and shy affection there is only one possible answer, don’t you think?
Others would be attractive if they weren’t so obnoxious
Do you know that guy who’s preppy-polished and snickers out totally useless comments all the time? The one who’s always around somehow even though you definitely cannot remember to have asked him for his company? I don’t know about you, but I actually kinda like him. I think, if he could shut up for five seconds and didn’t dress like he was a Harvard Prof ( I never got the hang of how that’s hot), he might be exactly the type I’d want to be friends with. And if he wasn’t such a babyface, we could even negotiate some benefits. ‘Cause smart-assery can be sexy, if you’re a little like that yourself. Just think of all the fights you two could have!
See, there’s a lot of trouble to choose from if you’re in the mood. Surround yourself with the right kind of it and it’ll provide you with some fun as well.

Promise.

Love,

Rosy Smith

…. I’m being a busy little bee buying dresses, writing letters and throwing together last-minute Power-Points,  but I’d not forget to give you a sneak-peak on what’s going on right now.

• Halloween was pumpkin pie soup, PLL fun and a nightly muddy walk through the park followed by more soup, all with my lovely ladies.
• My sweet band guy’s band has split because most of them are off to college. My problem with this: If the band guy’s without his band….what’s left of him?
• Uh oh, I’ve heard a rumor about that girl on top of the class who’s recently shed her long-term boyfriend (understandably, since he wasn’t the greatest catch) and seems to be rushing through the waters instead of just testing them. That “study session” with one of the jocks looked pretty cozy, if you ask me….
• To the black-clad girl from my English class- I hear you’ve been talking about me. I also hear it wasn’t very flattering. No offense, but can you spell j-e-a-l-o-us? Cause if you could, you wouldn’t have to gossip about people who can.
• My loveliest friend had had this guy crushing on her in May. She didn’t return his adoration in more than a playful way, so he arranged himself and found a substitute. She appears to be sitting next to my friend in her art class, and she also appears to have advised her not to go out with him because he’d not be “good enough” for her. So I guess it’s an act of charity, this newly blossomed relationship? Because the only other word coming to my mind would be manipulation, but then again, what do I know.
• There are some construction workers doing something to our house. One of them’s 20. Today, he lifted his shirt. I’ve shown astonishingly cliché stalkeresque behaviour. Someone stop me.

That’s it for today’s dishing the dirt, lovelies! But there’ll be more, I promise.
Stay curious.
Love,
Rosy Smith

I’m always endlessly endeared by those classic 50’s diners that pop up in the middle of nowhere, in infinite seeming deserts and landscapes which make you feel so unbelievably free as an individual human being, bound to nothing but your own spirit and needs (and those traveling with you, I guess. And your gas tank). I’m overwhelmed by the feeling that there are places you cannot direct anyone to or locate anyone from, where you simply are and other people, long gone or still somewhere in the world, have simply been.
And every hundred, maybe thousand miles there are these diners, looking timeless, filled with all kinds of people, warm-hearted staff (my question is, where do all those people even live?) who treat you with delicious homemade food, lightly said courtesies and an honest smile. When they “wow” at the trip you’re doing and wish you a great vacation and a safe trip, I know they mean it, and I don’t ever want to forget all those kind people.
Side note, I am not intoxicated, despite my philosophical tone. I was on vacation, which is basically the same.
Love,
Rosy Smith