Mayday Mayday (I just like to say that) and without further ado....

I want a tulle skirt and chunky heeled sandals. Just throwing it out there. See, I just realized that I could have made all my Carrie Bradshaw fueled desires come true way before this season seeing as it would have just been a totally trend-setting thing to do. It does make sense - why wouldn't anyone want to wear as much tulle as possible? As for the sandals, I originally wanted to get some simple stilettos with a heel that wouldn't kill me quite as soon as other pairs of mine do - but then I recognized that I completely lack a pair of heeled summer shoes which aren't evening wear, and that simply can't stay this way; so I went online shopping eg put a dozen similar pairs in my virtual cart and am now slowly throwing them out one by one, until I find the one I want most. Who says I don't have a system.

I'm halfway through Gilmore Girl's final season and I can see where this is heading and I'm not going to spoil anything but I'm a little upset (though not as much that I wouldn't still love it passionately) because it has me thinking how sad it is that two people can be so in love, and not just any kind of love, but real, true, meant-to-be love, and then....break up. Not be together anymore. And worse; be with other people and starting from the beginning and telling your jokes and stories all over again, but to a different person who has different eyes and a different reaction - and you love them, you really do, but you've told that other person you loved them, too, and you meant it as well. I know this happens again and again and to almost everyone at some point of their lives - but I still find it unbelievably tragic to think about. 

I need to stop trying to paint my nails and doubletexting when I know better. In no specific order. I mean, usually no one is hurt in either process, but it would just look better if I avoided both.

Summer gets me very sunny-minded most of the time - don't you just love the feeling of bare feet on sun warmed stone terraces? Going places is good too; it can be the simplest (is that the right form? This will be bothering me) thing such as the cinema thrice, the riverside, to a backyard - as long as it holds lovely people, great conversation, and much appreciatedly, some food, all is well.

Just don't forget you have a bunch of projects due you didn't even start yet. Or rather, remember it some other day.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....okay, so I have this class in college which is called something like "visual communication" and I always call it graphic design which is probably totally wrong terminology because I'm obviously an ignorant who doesn't really care. And that's basically the essence of this. But I'll be more specific on here 'cause yesterday, when a discussion with my teacher took place, I didn't have the energy to do so (and I'm too scared that I might cry out of frustration)....

I really like Monotype Corsiva and you can't stop me. That's actually the main reason for this excursion into the sad world of fonts and photoshop. I have chosen it for writing my name in this project - see, I wanted something "handwritten" and playful and I have spent eternity scrolling through dafont.com and I absolutely hated everything on there (okay, I might not hate it all, but nothing was quite right) and when I came back to good ol' monotype, the font I've used to write my first novel in (don't ask), it just fit. I am perfectly aware of the fact it's neither "modern" nor "cool", but what the hell does a "cool" font look like and who decides that, anyway? I am about a hundred percent positive that I don't have the same taste in coolness my 50-year old, gay, male, Folkwang-schooled teacher has. Because that would be some weird coincidence. This lovely font, however, is very much me. It's supposed to say "yeah, as my classmate unneccessarily suggested, I've chosen one of the ten Microsoft fonts that happen to be on my laptop and that had the most flourishes because I honestly don't give a fling if this has already been used by a bakery in 1950". Also, it says "I like flourishes", as well as "Alright, so I am trying to become a journalist here, and I actually doubt that I would even want to work for some publisher who doesn't hire me because he's opposed to Microsoft fonts and not because of my ability to write but if you say it is so....I'll probably hire someone to help me. A graphic designer, for instance. Not you, though"

 I can't help it, fonts don't "speak to me". They don't ring a bell in my inner soul, nor do they light any kind of fire, if you catch my drift. Some please my eye, though, and that's usually the reason I use them. Oh, yes, I'm not as insensitive as that I wouldn't be able to see the difference between feminine and male, or frilly and bold, stuff like that. And I appreciate a good design. I'm just not the one doing it. And don't come at me like "oh, but if you want to work in the creative field you need to be passionate about design". I'm a writer. I need to be passionate about words and things words can describe. Design is a whole other language and honey, I'm not fluent. 

My teacher said one valid thing (I guess. I'm not sure. Thinking about it, I have a few questions, but I'll leave it alone for now); that designers have to be able to explain themselves and artists don't. I'd consider myself, or writers, or even journalists, artists rather than designers anytime. I'm sure it could've fueled a big discussion if I'd only stated that yesterday (it's always fun when my class has discussions. You should've seen the rage when we looked at pictures of the Met Gala. I'm surprised no one was hurt).

Even better, if I'd just stomped on the floor with my heels and screamed "I'm not a designer, I don't want to be a designer, I won't ever design things!"

Well, now you know.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....you know, the kind guys wear to parties to make it look like they tried at least a bit to get dressed up even though they're essentially only wearing a jeans and a tshirt. But let's face it, it's not a bad style. Unless you're bad looking. In that case a leather jacket probably wouldn't change that. But let's not get judgy and off-topic.

Those jackets do not only spice up a guy's outfit, they also serve in the process of picking up girls. Imagine this: A party in the middle of a chilly April with fireworks at midnight, you wearing a short black dress with bare shoulders and a boy who's been the only one left sitting with you having that obligatory jacket on. He's walking behind you as you step into the breathtakingly cold air and in the corners of your eyes, you notice him taking off his jacket; good for you, as he's now about to wrap it around your shoulders.
What you think: Great, at least I won't be freezing to death.
What he thinks: Great, now she and I are an item for the night.

So, when you hug the birthday boy you're holding on to that jacket so it doesn't slide down, and its owner is standing next to you as you watch the fireworks, and when the cake is cut you walk up the stairs together and sit down with your legs touching, and when he has his arm 'round your back you're beginning to think it might have been crucial to mention that you kinda, almost, sorta are in a relationship. And that it might be a bit awkward if you go "well that's funny 'cause my boyfriend said the same thing the other night" when you're standing outside while he has a cigarette, wearing his jacket again. So you try not to stray too far from the crowd in order to not technically be alone with him because in a movie, he would try to kiss you, and movies are evidentially a reliable source for all things concerning boys.

See how that damn leather jacket blew everything out of proportion? You were simply trying to have a good time and a nice chat with someone who happened to sit next to you because you didn't know anyone else at that party, and suddenly the girls are giving you suggestive looks and the guys are closing doors behind you "to leave you alone". It's like he's put a button in your ear or a brand sign on your butt or something. It's not very feminist. And it's definitely annoying.

After living with that realization for about an hour filled with conscious scooting to the side and keeping your eyes on the floor, it's time to go home. So you leave and decide to avoid every body contact by clumsily waving at everyone within a five mile radius and basically running out of the room, your heels way too loud on the wooden stairs. Then, you bump into your host, and you hug him goodbye because he is the sweetest, and then he's all like "Let's do something soon" and you're all happy, and then he clears his throat and looks a bit uncomfortable and asks: "What was going on between the two of you, anyways? Is there something going on?" And you want the floor to open beneath your feet, because the only thing more embarrassing than getting accused of hooking up with a random stranger who's also a friend of the host whose birthday it is is actually being guilty of doing so. And it doesn't really make things better when you state that the reason why you're demonstratively saying "NO NOTHING AT ALL" is that you kinda, almost, sorta, are in a relationship. Because now, people aren't only confused but also alienated. And you really liked that birthday boy.

Take my advice, lovelies, and refuse to take the leather jacket. Except if you're trying to get the guy (or, at least, wouldn't mind it too much).

Love,

Rosy  Smith

....that the class I'm in right now actually takes more than two hours. Someone come and get me please. Although I'm very picky about company right now so maybe don't do that. I can see myself in the screen of the school's Mac, which is a dangerous thing because I get distracted. Not necessarily by my image but more specifically, my hair. It's not as unruly as usually today - you'll have to excuse my astonishment.

Today was an early one, so my outfit of the day is one of these "I woke up and was cold so I grabbed something black and some jeans and something warm, oh, that pink cardigan, and this is as good as it's gonna get" kinda looks.

I'm so tired I can't think of my thoughts if you get what I mean - Gosh I sound stoned. I'm not stoned, that I know.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder; what do you think, how true is that? I usually totally fall for it. I used to have crushes on wildly unattractive people but if I didn't see them for a whole school day I would've gotten annoyingly frustrated. Whenever I saw that band guy, however, I was in a state of joy it would have been beautiful if it hadn't been so tragically unnoticed - then I wouldn't see him for months and not be as obsessed any more, but imagine him as the great love affair I was dying to have. Now I haven't seen him in ages and I still like to think that it could be a marvelous thing between him and me (no facts to base this thesis on, I know I'm attracted to him so it's set on my part). Is that enough proof to deem that catchphrase to be right?

Because I am aware of the fact that I, for one, really, really tend to fantasize regular guys into handsome gentlemen who get my jokes all the time. And I usually do something like that when I don't see 'em for a while, 'cause duh. A girl can dream, they said. So are those special feelings we develop when missing our chosen ones only products of our overworking fantasy?

Something to dwell on.

Love,

Rosy Smith