Here we are again! I feel like it was yesterday that I was writing the August insight from last year. It might have something to do with my slight obsession with last year's summer months, when I was freshly out of school, not yet in college, and had all the time in the world on my hands. The weather was great, too. So this year I was eagerly awaiting these months and pledged to make the most of them. Let's see if/how I suceeded with that within the last 30 days....

I have a ton of stuff to write that actually needs to be finished but I have postponed it for so long that I'm now juggling those assignments like raw eggs and pray that I'll have the darn discipline to get them done before the 12th of September. Which is when school starts for me. Two of these writing things are meant for school, so that would be a reason. The third one is way more cool  (not that I don't like writing for school as I enjoy it in general and should be, since I'm over here pretending I'm a writer) because someone else asked me to do it and you'll know all about it VERY SOON (the capitals are meant to demonstrate urgency. To myself.).

Fun Fact: Someone I wanted to see last August and I spent about 33 hours together during 11th/12th. It wasn't because of the fact that we've been seeing each other for six months that date, but I noticed it (he probably didn't but no sane person would if they didn't share my fixation on their calendar). So, this is the biggest amount of hours we've ever spent within 5 feet of each other and I'm pleased to state that none of us seemed to want to kill the other person.
I also met a friend of his for the first time. An excerpt of our conversation, during which I surely impressed the friend immensly: Him -"So, do you like motor sports?" (we were at a race car event, so that made sense) "My dad does." "Well....what about you?" "Oh. Me? Hm."
It was raining, too, so my hair made it impossible for me to at least blind him with beauty. Hm.

To tell or not to tell someone there's still a price tag on their clothes? Please, do tell me when I am in the safety of your home, trying to put together an interview on social anxiety with you, dolled up in a navy shift dress with white polka dots and heeled sandals and red lipstick to appear professional in a 30s kind of way, probably failing to do so because of  the bright red sales stamp dangling from my back zipper. Please, don't tell me when I am parking my car really badly in a public parking lot, leaving the windows rolled down because it's super hot and I'm wearing an autumn dress, ready to sprint over to the ice cream parlor, while you are driving by and I have no idea who you are but I'm already determined to never see you again because of the humiliation. That's my take on this.

I need to stop telling people all about my college identity crisis as soon as they utter the phrase "And how's school?". The girl who used to sit next to me in math and served me at the ice cream parlor - I bet she didn't care that much. The friend of his whom I already discussed my lack of passion for motor sports with - I bet he thinks I'm crazy now. The thing is, I can't vaguely say "It's okay" or lie for the sake of it and say "It's great". No, I have to look away as if in deep inner pain, make non-identifiable sounds and sigh "Oooh....weeellll...." and wait for people to be sympathetic. Note to self: People aren't sympathetic, they're irritated. It irritates me. Please talk to me about unsignificant stuff, like price tags.I can handle that with more grace.

I also met up with friends I'm not constantly sharing my deepest thoughts with in 4 minute voice memos consisting of my plans for the day when I really have none anyways. It's nice, too. I made approximately 100 bowls of noodle soup (I have a specific way of making it and I intend to pretend it's something extraordinary. It's the only dish I enjoy making, partly because it takes 5 minutes), went to the beach, read a book that makes me want to be the main character, just without the sadness and the tragedy - The Jewel Box by Anna Davis. I also bought a stack of new clothes and sewed (fantastic, if I may say so myself) darts into a skirt to have something to do while watching four seasons of 2 Broke Girls and 1 1/2 of New Girl.

Good times, lovelies. I got about two weeks left, and I'm sure that between being good and working on my assignments I'll squeeze in some fun.

Love,

Rosy Smith

First Evening Photoshoot - The Hair Flip

....scandalous questions usually follow this start of a sentence, and most of the time, you'd rather burn your mouth than answer them, because there's no way you can keep your decency no matter what you choose to respond. I'll demonstrate quickly:


Having stated that, I was recently asked a "would you rather"- question that actually made some sense to me. It might be of use to you, too, if you're as vague as me about decisions and can't ever just say yes or no (especially no) to something. I like to use weird metaphors instead, so in the end, people are even more confused about my opinion than they already were.

My close friend, knowing this and therefore trying to empathize with my untellable vibe, asked me in reference to my almost kinda sorta relationship:


The key to figuring out your status, really! I mean, if you're kinda sorta almost together with someone, you probably wouldn't call it quits just out of the blue for no reason at all. But going on vacation with each other takes some serious trust, devotion, and a minimal amount of fondness. You don't realize how much there is to be embarrassed about simply existing while on vacation until you share a room with someone who's neither your silbling nor your best friend who has as many spleens as you do. Let me just throw two things out there: Sharing a bathroom and a blanket. There's a good chance I'd break up with somebody before making that sort of a commitment - if I didn't like him a good bit, that is. So much, in fact, that I'd have started to toy with the idea of a vacation being really romantic and picturesque and all red roses and Paris skylines, and have forgotten all about the risky parts/chosen to ignore them until I have to deal with them for real.

In conclusion, when you're not sure whether you like somebody you're involved with or like, really like them (oh the differentiation and accuracy of this sentence), just ask yourself if you'd be willing to let them see the amount of skin cleansers you need in order to not break out or if, thinking about it, you could easily live your life without their presence in it.

My pleasure.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Summer has always been the most inspirational season for me. It's that time of the year when you make plans to blow everyone away the first day of school, with your new Converse sneakers and skater skirt and the makeup you bought at Sephora's and the tan you got while lounging around the pool, always hoping for the boy playing Volleyball (or....some sort of game that involves a ball) in the water to notice you in time for you to have a quick summer fling 'cause it would be a good story to tell. Summer means not eating out of boredom but nice meals in chic dresses at night; it means balancing on the small line between beach hair and dreadlocks but not caring; looking like an apple glazed in sun lotion but having a healthy glow at all times; see, there's no bad things happening in summer, and I feel like the sun makes me so light and healthy and the warm breeze hugging my body and the hot stones between my fingers when I'm at the beach are just so real, in the most satisfying way.

Sounds pretty desirable, doesn't it? So this year, my loveliest friend and I have chosen to go to Italy; to a small town named Santa Marinella, just outside Rome, to be exact. We arrived after a flight on which we've probably painfully entertained the people three rows around us with our overly excited chatter (we can't help it, we're just not blessed with a ladylike, low laughter) and a short train scare ( because obviously the employees of Trenitalia had to speak up for their rights by putting down work just the one day we come to this country and have us seriously consider sleeping at the Trastevere train station, as if we didn't spend half our lives stuck at stations), walked three blocks only guided by me memorizing what I'd seen on Google maps....And there we were!

Tried to not get people in and that's the best I did with that

The door we blissfully skipped in and out of all week

As were about fifty other people, on the piazza (I just found out I spelled that wrong on approx. five postcards, oh well) lying between four streets of slightly run down but impossibly European stone houses. They were sitting on the steps, at the green and yellow tables of the lit-up restaurant, on the benches under the glow of the old-fashioned street lamps....Running after their children, babies as well, all up and wide-eyed at ten o'clock at night, or singing "I will always love you" very enthustiastically, and very out of tune, with the karaoke set-up by a small cafe right on the corner, and everyone was talking to somebody, and my friend and I were walking through all of this, mouthes hanging open as we took in the vividness of the scene we stumbled into - then, somebody talked to us. It was our landlady, who showed us into one of the stone buildings, up two flights of stairs (I almost died tugging my bag up there), and into a thoroughly cute living room. Most of the furniture might be Ikea, but Ikea is great, because everything in there was white and wooden and minimal and we could drop our bags right in the middle of the room to catch our breath and for our landlady, a sweet gal named Georgia, to guide us through the apartment. She turned on the gas stove for a second, and we'd nod, 'cause it seemed simple enough even though none of us ever uses a gas anything. Once she was gone, we did what everyone (I suppose?) does when they move into a perfect little space - hysterically laugh and tell each other how great it is, and how you're not tired at all, which is notably enough since you'd collapse into bed after being awake for that long at any other given day, and then we got into shaggy sundresses to match our undone hair (and face) and ran out to get right in the middle of the fun that seemed to go down at the piazza (just to warn you, I'll be talking about that piazza a lot). We sat in front of a new looking bar with the umm poetic name "Jekyll&Hyde - Healthy and Cocktail" (a look in the menu gives reason to assume the "Healthy" equals the salad choices in opposition to the Cocktails speaking for themselves) and ordered, wait for it, two Cokes. Aren't we sophisticated yet? However, it was worth the eight Euros we spent on that (though we didn't do it again - I mean, four Euros for a kids sized bottle of Coke!). An hour or so, we happily sat there soaking in the fact that we were really, absolutely there.

Our street, aka Hotspot of Santa Marinella

Does that count as a first day? I'd say it does. Don't worry, there's so much more to come.

Turning off the lights in Italy for now - mind the bugs!

Love,

Rosy Smith