Rosy Smith: June 2017

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"Sorry about that", says the ticket control lady as I confidently open my bag just to realize I left my purse in the car. "Yeah, I'm sorry too", I say. Sorry for myself, of course. In fact, it's 10 am and I am ready to pronounce the day to be over. I fiddle with the trash in my bag (like, actual trash. I'm one of those persons who are too ashamed to ever allow you to fetch something out of their bag because you might get old popcorn on your hands and never speak to us again), searching for something to confirm my name with. "I'll take anything", says the lady. Little does she know she's in to prove it, 'cause the effed-up paper I hold out to hear is an info brochure on STDs that has my name on it because my gyn seems to think it's somehow neccessary to personalize these things even though she routinely gives them to everyone. However, that this is pretty misleading and the control lady is even more sorry for me now because she not only thinks of me as a criminal but is also concerned about my sexual health, did not occur to her, I suppose. Now I'm crouching on some one-horse train platform in the middle of nowhere waiting for the next train back home to fetch my purse, 'cause no way am I gonna go through this again today. Plus, I'm going out tonight and you can't do much fun stuff without money. Like, eat.

I just perfectly wasted an hour of my life and I'm enormously late for class, and as expected no one else will be there on time so we're making a grand impression once again, and I bet not everyone has had a morning as unfortunate as I had to excuse themselves with. See, when I'm late, I usually don't have fun during the delay. That's why I don't cut, 'cause it always backfires at me. When I got my purse out of my care, I was very tempted to crawl in there and cry and let school be itself for the day (why did this man not sit in the empty space across from me but had to get right next here and is now inadvertetly touching my coat with his backpack? Why do bad things happen to good people?) but let's face it, I'm too goody goody to do that. Or rather, I would love to, but I kinda cut the same class last time to cook dinner for a certain someone so I already had my shot there. God, now this man put his freaking lunch next to me and is starting to munch on it and I can't even form my thoughts on that into a sentence 'cause, ew.

So it's the afternoon now and we were lunching with one of our teachers, one who nonchalantly tells you about their cheating husband while ordering a panino and a gay interior designer who's a man on the street but likes to be treated more like a lady between the sheets, if you get my notsosubtle drift, while we're innocently slurping our juice cartons. Anyways, at the table people wrinkled their noses about something hideous other people do, as usual, and this time, it was like "ugh, these days all everyone cares about is the label, and like, if it looks pretty. Like, sometimes, people are not even in season" and I was glad I had a mouthful of mozarella because I'd have loved to ask what's so wrong about wanting my clothes to look pretty instead of resembling abstract art / something the dog spit out but hey, it's "In-season" spit.

I hope your week didn't feel like your personal series of unfortunate events (love that movie, thinking about it. Weird but good).

Love,

Rosy Smith

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Ew. The guy across from me is blowing his nose and then kind of cleaning out his nostrils and it's plain disgusting. Why do good-looking people have to have nasty habits?

Anyway, onto the important notions, one of them being that

Groupwork sucks. Always. I'm at a student body meeting and since I have vowed to keep my mouth shut because my class has been way too vocal about our needs in the past (whiny like fussy newborns also says it), I can change my hairstyle while listening to the two second-semester guys (two boys in one room at this school – can you believe it? I don't even think they're gay. How strange, ain't it) that seem to not yet have lost their motivational spirit. "Let's do something to improve communication between the different courses", they say. Everyone nods cheerily. "Let's get to know each other", they say. Polite smiles. "Let's do interdisciplinary group projects", they say, and while some are still nodding along, others' smiles get a bit shaky. Even more groupwork? Between people who don't even know each other? You can't really yell at people you don't know for messing up. Does that really sound like a fun idea to anyone? Two girls in the back start to tell us about a project between them and the design students, including whole groups of four who never showed up, ever. "How can anyone not show up to class?", the guys ask. I laugh a little and they smile at me. Bless their innocent hearts. I'm overjoyed if anyone else of my regular class graces the halls with their presence in the morning, but their optimism oughn't be crushed. Just please don't make me do a project with you.

Fun fact, I now have three black summer skirts that vary only in details. See, the first one is a very light, very suited-for-hot-days crinkly version. Then I got the plissée one I talked about, for a more formal mood when it is not appropriate that your skirt flies up Monroe-style at every breeze. And the other day, I finally found a tulle skirt (remember how I wanted one back in last year's May? It's true shopper's dedication) that's not too long, so I had to buy it, because it would've been rude to reject it just because I happened to discover it so shortly after the last one. However, now I'm all set. No more black skirts for me for a long time.

The second one I wore to that party, and well; it was a pleasant night. The birthday boy is really the cutest thing, hugging me like a long lost sister even though we didn't exactly see each other much all through last year. At one point, we jammed in the living room, me on piano and him with a guitar and a surprisingly wide vocal range. If that's not cute, I don't know what is. But when he wasn't around, I needed a fix point to hang out with, because I can't stand being left alone at a party. So I got talking to a nice girl, and then a guy joined us, and he had just finished school (I was basically ancient there) and we all talked for a bit, and sometimes the girl would go and say hi to people she knew, so I kinda lingered around the guy so that I wouldn't lose my pack, and that's when I began having these weird flashback moments. For example, just like last time, girls started watching us very intently and kept winking at the guy and asking stuff like "so you wanna score tonight" and I got very awkward because how do you react to that; Saying "In your dreams" is sometimes perceived as mean, you know. It would be pretty accurate, though. Not wanting to ruin my impression on everyone, I settled for rolling my eyes and thinking very bad thoughts. That worked well for the rest of the night, just like ignoring him every time he suggested we go somewhere alone and saying "See, I don't want to actually have that picture" when he asked for my number to send me a hideous photo he took of me (I find that silly boys still think it's funny to take your picture, just like in 2010. It still isn't).

Anyways, the next day, I went to a tiny beach with a certain someone and read Jane Austen's Persuasion and listened to the water and watched the ducks (they're so adorable when they duck headfirst into the water, I want one) and got my feet wet and sandy and everything was so sunny, it felt like a little mini-vacation. You should do that more often, just drive for whatever watery spot is nearest and just spend an hour.

I hope you're all sunny, too.

Love,

Rosy Smith

PS: The title? Just go with it.

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