Oh, here we are again, imagining the classic "he drops by because he was in the area or something equally random" - situation, which would of course be great, and it's always such a shame when another day goes by and he didn't appear on your doorstep - but it is really a stupid thing to get fed up with since it would have to be a very random situation indeed for that to actually happen, so why get worked up about it?
Just keep reminding yourself of this as I continue now. A lot.

The problem is, when you find someone simply interesting - and by that, I don't mean the "interesting" in inverted commas, in that certain tone of voice, hell, I mean sincerely wanting to get to know a person - usually, nothing ever happens to follow up that decision, so you get no chance to find out if you'd, just possibly, find them more than interesting: Your thoughts get ahead of you and obsessively recreate the little memory that you have of that person you once found interesting until you've turned them upside down, worn them out, the picture in your head is faded and frayed at the sides and you're so, so lovesick without ever having actually fallen in love with them.

That's usually the point where I call for someone to throw a brick at my head to clear it up.

The question here is: Why do we even do that?

I guess, at first, we'd like to see that interesting person again, because, duh, people tend to enjoy each others company. So, naturally, in keen anticipation, you simply wait for a call. To entertain yourself while waiting, you already think of said call, how it will go, how you'll say hello, if he'd rather go to dinner or see a movie with you, whatever, and BOOM, you're having a conversation in your head and by that, a classic imaginary scenario.
The days pass by and you've had time to prep for every single version of a call-yet there hasn't been one, but you're sure there will be (how else are you going to schedule a date to spend time together?) and you decide that it won't hurt to get in the mood for an outing. It could be at the fun fair. It could be at a restaurant. You could wear that new dress. Which shoes would suit that? Oh, and since it's just in your head, why not plan his outfit too?
See? You think you are just "thinking about it" until it really happens, because you are so convinced that it is going to happen, that it would all make sense. But, in reality, he hasn't even called, and since he hasn't done that in a long time - such a long time that you naturally got bored with the call-fantasy and moved on to outer space - honey, chances that he ever will are drastically decreasing, I'm sorry to say. However, when you finally realize that yourself, you'll be way more disappointed than you would have been if you'd never thought about him and what could, probably, maybe, possibly, happen between the two of you, because you guys already got a long and passionate history - at least in your head. But it feels at least a little as if it really happened, since you've lived through it, and now you're reaaally frustrated about multiple things:

All those detailed, movie-worthy scenarios - first date, kiss, fight, possibly child - you've gotten honestly excited about are gone with a poof and you might have even bought new shoes you won't get to wear now;

You seem to only have a love life in your fantasy, which is weird enough on its own;

You probably thought of him a lot more than he did in reverse (I mean, he might have the same issue as you do, but who knows for sure? WHO DOES?) and that's just humiliating;

You really, really wanted him to call you.

So, lovelies, in order to stay sane, hold on to the fact that people do get together and coincidences do happen and some boys do call and those are usually the ones that matter.
Keep reminding yourself. A lot.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Ps: And try not to listen to He is We in that kinda mood, it makes you want things.

Oh, August, you've been good to me. Starting of with that beautiful Sunday I described as "joie de vivre" (my favorite phrase this month), my calendar was filled with nice and pretty things such as meeting friends, doing Ballet, shopping, going to the movies, getting a haircut....and with this summer of freedom, a certain sense of nostalgia came upon us, especially after rewatching "High School Musical 3- Senior Year" and lying under the stars, reminiscing. Not of the bad kind, though - don't worry, lovelies, we'll continue to be fabulous together. Life will just get even more exciting (even if it means getting up at a certain time and going out will be for weekends again):

Since I am starting Fashion School this fall (you'll find out more soon. But I like how omniscient it sounds) I am currently preparing for it, both mentally (meaning imaginary scenarios of either a fabulous bunch of girls and academic as well as everything-else-success or, on days I'm clinging to my sweet life of independence, terrifying visions of rainy days spent studying alone on the train) as well as materalisticly. I've been shopping for a bag to fit my laptop in (as well as my filofax, make-up supply as I'll probably be doing my make up on the ride cause I don't know if I'll be able to get ready this early, hand sanitizer and other life savers) and I finally decided on one after irritating the sales assistants at every single store with a ruler my mom and I bought after getting the paranoia that the bag might not be big enough. In fact, they were so happy to check us out that they apparently forgot to undo the bulky security thing, which is why we caused the alarm system to angrily beep at us as we went out  - that has happened to me only recently, and it was a mistake back then, so I urged my mom to "just keep on walking", which, looking back, will probably make us look even more suspicious on the security tape.



Hence the occasion, I'm really into the song "International Smile" by Katy Perry, because it's the vibe I wanna radiate when I'm out and about - You know, since a lot of strangers are going to see me every day (on the above mentioned train; you might have realized by now that I'm not sure how I feel about that yet and cope by inserting it into all my sentences), I've been thinking about the way I'd like to be noticed and these lyrics just came in handy (always would have, actually):




Style-goals: Hard to say since I feel like taking a late summer spin on Lana Del Reys 60's lady/pin-up vibe right now, but for fall, I'm picturing myself in a sorta glamorous, sorta easy-breezy (can't believe I wrote that, but it's late, so bear with me) stack of clothes in colors such as tan, grey, the never disappointing black, deep red, berry red (there's a difference), maybe some emerald, oh, and beige, but only pieces which don't have a beigey attitude. Well, the usual fall colors- for shapes think pencils skirts, cropped sweaters with 3/4 length sleeves, vintagy camis with cozy cardigans, short shift dresses and some really finely knitted, nicely fitting shirts, because they go with anything and look like you actually groomed yourself. That might even be the point of all these items which, even if only randomly thrown together, speak for themselves. The gist of it all, I guess, is to look like I'm busy but elegant with a personal spin. Since that sounds a little obscure on its own, a fashion post might be coming your way....

My current obsession: The Meaning of Sunglasses: A Guide to (Almost) All Things Fashionable by Hadley Freeman. “Logos are the bleating of the insecure, desperate for acceptance by the chronically shallow. ” - What I've been trying to tell my high school class mates for four years straight in one phrase. The part about clutches?  Had me in stitches. The part about Fashionspeak? Made me feel like I was geniuely prepared for fashion school. In fact, the whole book gave me a more cheerful attitude towards starting soon because it reminded me of why I love fashion journalism so much (It's got a lot to do with being able to use pretty words and sarcasm in one sentence).

Anyways, what about boys? Summer's been pretty good in that respect, 'swell, and I'll tell you why exactly: Because I've not been hung-up on somebody so badly I couldn't think of anything else. Of course, I have thought about one or another of them for their respective share of time, but right now, I'm in that state in which anything could happen but I'm quite alright imagining it all. Who knows how long I'll be this content, so I'll treasure my carefreeness while it lasts.

I hope your August was as gorgeous as mine was. And keep in mind, it's not over yet.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Maybe you know these meetings with friends you've known for a long time-so long that you still wore braces back then- that turn into a trip down memory lane....Opening boxes and looking at pictures and generally discussing long bygone events like anybody besides you two would still remember them. That recently happened to me and with all the "we should have been more...." and a look into my old diaries, I decided to make some points clear to my young and foolish self.

You are NOT in love with him. You have absolutely no idea what love is. I must know, because I probably still don't have much of a clue about it, but you're most certainly not in love with this self-absorbed, arrogant, ordinary, stupid, weak, crooked-nosed, mean, absolutely uninteresting boy. So stop fussing around and getting frustrated when you could be so happy about the fact that you're not together with him, and forced to get near that gruesome person and spend time with his dumb friends.
He wears scarves in all honesty- how naive are you, lovely?
And STOP writing these pathetic song lines about him, 'cause they're no good and they're only making me cringe SO much because I never think about him at all now, and if I do, it's in complete astonishment (why? WHY?).

Anyways, you just might be a little in lust with this senior guy in the band, but you'll be fine. I mean, you're not gonna get any closer to him within the next four years (sadly), and you'll still loose all your senses whenever you see him and wish you could be happily ever after (badly), but you'll be fine. There will be someone else, someone you actually know something more about than that "he's so gorgeous".

Be mean when you have to. Tell your best friend to tell that psychotic person to screw himself, because really, he doesn't deserve a single second of her thought and he's got some serious mental problems - I guess it's got something to do with self-esteem/sex drive issues and someone has to tell him he needn't worry so much about his tiny....co mmon sense since nobody would want to know more about it after hearing him talk, anyway. Say that. Don't be sorry about it. Don't be polite, because in three years from now, you'll read those messages and see that he's been a douche at all times and you've been way to nice to him. So be more mean.

And while you're at it, don't be so annoyingly kind to that one girl- I know you secretly start to dislike her and hon, it won't get better, so cut the act and ignore her.

Please don't part your hair so deeply to the side. And don't you dare pair that parting with black clothes and pink lipgloss and call it punk-rock chic. It's hideous and I know you mean well and feel super fashion forward, but it's embarrassing to this day and makes you look like the awkward teen you never really were. And why would one want to voluntary dress like that?

Don't feel the need to invite boys to your 15th birthday. Trust me.

Don't filter. Simply make those fabulous sarcastic remarks you have in mind all the time. They're seriously funny and the people who are put off or worse, don't get them, are people you don't need in your life. Don't think so much - or rather, do think out loud, in front of everyone. It'll be fun.

I have to get back on that sidepart again. It's just so wrong. Also, get some heeled boots for winter and wear more skirts, because they look dang good on you. Take Anna Wintour's advice and don't ever put together an all black outfit until you know how to be elegant in it. Oh, and don't clip your hair up in that little curly wannabe-an-updo. Get a curling iron and use it, for God's sake. Your split ends won't get better, no matter what you do, so you might as well put heat on them as much as you need to get nice and soft curls.

I think I'll stop here, 'cause really, you're already doing pretty well. Write every day. Play the piano and sing all the time. And dance, always dance.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....There are a lot of them, actually. One very specific characteristic of this past two generations or so has been the breaking of taboos and the newfound tolerance towards speaking about subjects which had been banned by society for a long time. Which is great, really, since it helps certain groups of citiziens such as homosexuals, transgenders (very cu
rrently) and also women or pregnant teens to raise their voices and stride towards the equality they deserve. Consequently, it is definitely awesome that nowadays, a lot more people are able to say "I'm gay" or 'I'd rather have a women's body" or "I forgot the pill but I want to have this baby and go to college" without being chased by a mob of mads with pitchforks or something (at least, not as certainly as they would have been a hundred years ago).

However (and here comes my superficial point), I do think that there are subjects which do not neccessarily have to be publicly discussed by anyone at any point of their lives. By publicly, I mean with love interests. By anyone, I mean stupid boys, and by any point of their lives, I mean when talking to me.
I just don't get why I need to be all casual about things as, mhm, let's see, genitals. In which way, I ask you in all honest curiosity, does my refusing to name them, or talk about them at all, negatively affect our relationship? And in which way does it positively enrich our conversation? See, such things might be part of the reproductive system, but I'm fairly sure that we'll find our way around that without a detailed description via text. In fact, another thing I'm sure of, is that I'll never let you get this far if you don't stop harrassing me with your bad-mouthed expressions.
This is the point where I wish people would still have some of the spirit of bygone times. I betcha, in the fifties, no decent guy would have dared to speak like a guttersnipe in order to seduce the girl they liked.
And then there's stuff such as going to the bathroom. I don't care if you have to go to the bathroom. I don't care if you didn't take the Chinese we ordered well. If I'm completely honest, I don't even care that much if you get food poisoning. It'll do if you say you're sick. I'm sorry about that. But don't tell me about it, because it grosses me out, I'll be scarred by the images in my head for the rest of my life and therefore won't be able to continue our relationship. I'm not sorry about that.

Generally, I feel like we should remind ourselves that there are things in this world which have absolutely no effect on human progress or tolerance level but rather make this generation look as if we do not have any conversation standards at all.

I hope that like poufy skirts and Mary-Janes, appropriate language will make a trend comeback soon.
Until then, I'll be over here, passionately pleading for it.


Love,

Rosy Smith

....So, it's summer, the days are hot and the nights are long and perfect for going out. This is why this time of the year is also called dating season (not sure that's official, but it should be). But, as it is a cruel, cruel world which is so unlike The Notebook most of the time, it's not all fun and games. In fact, my loveliest friend and I came to the conclusion that in between all the horrible scenarios and faux-pas that could happen, it is a very rare phenomenom if a date actually isn't bad. However, a girl can dream, right? That's why I am going to tell you about a truly perfect date and you are going to sit back and relax and enjoy the story like a nice little fairytale and imagine that you're the main character....

It starts with him calling you unexpectedly. You have met before, but he didn't say he was gonna call, and you didn't really think he was gonna call, and you were perfectly fine with having spent some time with such a nice person without having to wonder when he is gonna call or if he is ever going to do so or if he just said it to be polite or if you shouldn't dare to think somebody's actually gonna call you. No, you are contently sitting at home doing something irrelevant, when the phone rings and he's there and he says that he was wondering if you wanted to go out with him some time. He knows this lovely small restaurant down by the river you've never been to and you say that you'd like that, because of course, you're very happy that he asks 'cause honestly, deep down you have hoped that he'd call- you do want to see him again, as soon as possible. Tomorrow?, he asks, which is flattering. You pretend to check your calender, though ("never be needy" has basically been etched into your brain forever) and he says he'll pick you up in his car (I'm warning you, I'm a sucker for the old-school act) and that he's looking forward to it and after you hang up, you call your best friend, because duh. Let the outfit choosing begin....

Cut to the next day. You're looking effortlessly pretty in your favorite new red summer dress (choose your own color) and some light heeled sandals. Your hair has been totally cooporative and smoothly flows past your shoulders, you have not put out your eyeball with the mascara wand and your lipstick doesn't make you look like a total slut. He's there at 6 sharp and you're ready on time (this is the point where it gets utopic), so you just grab your bag and float out the door. If he's a real gentleman, he's brought some simple white flowers, but that's not a must seeing as it might be a bit too much thought for a first date with somebody you haven't known for long. Anyways, to speed it up a little, you have a fun drive out of the city and the restaurant lies next to a sparkling river and has a terrasse with a table for two under a scenic pavillon and there's fresh flowers in simple glass vases and candles on the table, but they don't get in the way while you're eating your rice which doesn't get everywhere and is easy to swallow and you are having a truly inspiring conversation about literature highlighted with some funny anectodes from your childhoods, but not the emberrassing ones which involve nudity, but the cute ones which show how bright you've always been. The topic of food is not being brought up (see, N?) and when the check comes, he takes it before you can even think about the right way to ask who is gonna pay how much.

You leave the restaurant but it's still so beautiful outside what with the obligatory sunset and everything and you both still want to enjoy each other's company (although none of you has to ask if the other one would rather go home, that would be too awkward) so you take a stroll along the river and talk about really existential things, but so jolly and freely that it isn't too weird and involves a lot of laughter, and somehow, he takes your hand without you even really noticing. Scratch that, you obviously notice and get way too excited about it, but no sweaty hands occur, you just smile up at him in that "I know you like  me but I'll pretend I don't know but just so you know, I know, and I like it, I might even like you too"- way, and you'll both be confident in your mutual affection and able to relax and have fun. Then, you'll drive home in some kind of giddily tenseness, because when you're home, the well-known question is going to come up....Is he going to kiss you?

But since this is THE perfect date, you're not fussing over it, you simply let him walk you up to your front door, there'll be an epicilly romantic/funny, whatever you prefer, two-liner and he'll lean in to kiss you, and it'll be awesome and lovely and passionate but not slobbery, heaven forbid. After you finally untangel, he'll ask you when he might see you again and you say, soon, and he'll say he'll call you and he will, this time expectedly, and you'll go to sleep in a daze of amazement, bearing the knowledge you just experienced a honestly perfect date.

Sweet dating dreams, lovelies,

Love,

Rosy Smith

....you know, these summer days that just feel so perfectly well-spent; when you meet up with friends you love and stay up very late talking and take the time to prepare a nice dinner or a surprise which you know will make them smile; when you drive all the way out of the city and get very comfortably lost three times until you finally get to the seaside, where you'll then simply relax on a blanket and read a good book next to each other, occasionally taking trips into the water together; when you drive home and the lighting is just so beautiful and everybody is tired but happy. These are the days that I feel I've truly lived and I have to promise myself that I'll try to shove as many of these in between my college hours, or, later on, working hours, since I think it is unbelievably important to just enjoy the colorful possibilities there are, even if it is just a trip to the beach- you'll feel like you've achieved something great, because, in fact, you did: Joie de vivre, the joy of living.



I hope you have lots of these days in your life, mes amours.

Love,

Rosy Smith