Behold, I am wearing a sweatshirt, for the first time in years. I will not keep it on when I'm leaving the house tonight. That would be sheer madness.

So, it is the first real day of the year (because really, who gets anything done on January 1st?) and it's time to start wrapping our heads around what that means....

'Tis the year I'll graduate. Huh. I almost wanna say I wasn't prepared for this, but who would believe me, after I've practically been counting down the hours since my first semester. Do I have to start looking for a job now? Do I feel capable of doing one of those? Lots of amusing things to think about at night. But honestly - if I did get one, I could finally buy myself a microwave and display all the candle holders and cakestands from my dowry box (you'd think I was kidding, but na-ah).

'Tis the year my loveliest friend goes off to Milano for four months. Tonight's the last time I see her before we both leave for our respective places abroad - that is, until I go visit sometime in between moving home and starting the semester. I'm so gonna do it. We'll be back to being belle ragazze in bella Italia, just like the summer before last (throwback here), and it'll be fantastico.

'Tis the year I started with an accidental mini-fringe. Let's just say that I have developed an understanding of that urge to clip off your hair with some nail scissors, and that got mixed with a sudden admiration for the hairstyle that Leah Remini sports in the first season of The King Of Queens that I've been rewatching. I have some sort of semi-permanent hair dye left from the office, too, so we shall see what we're gonna make of that.

Sounds like the plan is a very loose one this time around - leaves more space for imagination, though.  So it's really up to what we come up with.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I actually got myself an internship for next semester! Shoot the applause! I mean, not getting one would have been very bad, seeing as it's compulsary and there's nothing else to do, but hey, it's still good news!

Moreover, and I expect a drumroll for this, the internship is far far away from where I live, so I am going to M O V E to....Hamburg, Germany, kind of really in the north (so I'll be freezing cold from September to February, but that's nothing new, really)! Now you may be rolling your eyes and yawning and asking yourself when the fun part is going to start, but let me assure you that it is indeed going to be an entertaining sight to watch me try and handle life aaaall byyyyy myyyyseeeelf, for the following reasons:

I have no clue as to how to operate a washing machine, nor a dishwasher, nor those sci-fi vacuumers that creep around the floor doing they're own thing. I'm actually a bit scared of the latter (it's moving! It's beeping! It's getting stuck under stuff!) It may sound bratty, but it's the undeniable truth.

I don't think I ever slept a single night in a house or apartment by myself. Even at summer camp, when I had a single room, there were kids I knew right behind the wall. Again, roll away, I just never happened to be alone at night. Woops.

I hate complete silence when I am alone; even when I was little, I would put on children's tapes on my cassette player, not neccessarily to listen to them, but to make for some background noise. I still do that with music, or YouTube videos about the manufacturing of ballet shoes or whatever, and sometimes, I'll even chatter to myself (I'm sorry you had to learn this) or, more sensibly, I'll sing. Like really training my chords. I wonder if the neighbours are gonna like my taste in songs. The best possible case would be a producer living down the hall who's gonna whisk me away to the studio, stat. The worst case, however, would be if said producer (or anyone, really) feels I insult their musical ear and votes to throw me out.

I'm always scared of being late when there's no one around to confirm my timing's right, so whenever that happens, I end up getting up at the crack of dawn, arriving so early that the doors won't be opened and I'll be awkwardly camping in front of the building on my third coffee when the editors arrive, and they'll throw a dime into my empty cups, and then we'll meet again when I'll get introduced as the intern, and we won't make eye contact, ever.

These are the points I can think of off the top of my head, but I'm sure that we'll discover some more while we're at it. Still, I can't help being really excited about this drastic turn of events - let me count the ways of that excitement another time.

Until then, join me on my level of psychedness!

Love,

Rosy Smith

....while juggling January duties. It's final's month for me and I'm going to the printer's tomorrow for the first booklet, then dart back home to study for my written exams next week and write an essay, a report, an interview (for which I need actual people to interview and I haven't asked anyone yet. Good luck finding someone who lets you watch them perform a body modification when you're not sure you wouldn't puke) and an article as fast as I can. I'm sorry for going into so much detail, but listing things makes me calmer about them. Or more hysteric, depending which time of the day it is. I found out that none of my classmates has really done anything more than I have, and even though you shouldn't measure your success in comparision to others not being more successful, it does help a bit. Fuels the fire (what?).

But through all that, I can see February twinkling at me in bright, hopeful colors! There's so much to do, I get these ideas all the time but keep putting them off until I'm done with all that stuff. Let me get a grasp.

I've been reading a biography about F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda and I'm intruiged and heartbroken (which is probably not a rare effect their story has on people). I went right on to reading about the fabulous yet sad Dorothy Parker, and all that reading about brilliantly creative people who led these rapid, extravagant lives and still lost at happiness no matter how hard they tried makes me want to book into the Plaza and let everybody visit me for Martinis, kiss the wrong man and pour my feelings into a typewriter. However, I prefer to write chipper endings to all the stories concerning myself. Maybe that's why I wasn't born into the Round Table.

What I really want is to figure out my hair, which is not in a good place at the moment, let me tell ya. I just realized, horrified, that it must have been miscut for approximately the last five years now. I'm alarmingly tempted to just grab some scissors and cut it right off. But that sort of behaviour doesn't have the sanest reputation, I hear.

I also postponed getting worked up about finding an internship for the fall - but hey, if you got a cozy, paid creative writing spot for me, hit me up! At a newspaper, not your couch, obviously.

And I need two things desperately: Shopping and dance class. The latter because I feel like my muscles are gradually vanishing, I might have increased my candy consume, and I miss dancing with every fiber of my being, so there's that. And I can't quite remember the last time I really went shopping and I crave new material things intensely. Isn't it almost spring? That's as good as any excuse to be brand new.

Then, when I'm wrapped in fresh clothes, have great hair, stretched fingers, and lots of time on my hands, I'll sit down and write and write and go out at night. It'll be just fantastic.

20 days to go.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....and I'd cry if I wanted to, but I most certainly and decisively don't. I had a marvelous birthday yesterday and today I'm having my soiree with friends and it'll be just lovely, too.

The last but not least present I got yesterday: After dinner with my parents ("Is there anything that'd make me more happy than shrimp pasta?", I asked in delight), my certain someone and I made our way to his car in the absolutely freezing cold - I couldn't stop chattering my teeth (turns out it was pretty brave of me to go outside in sheer nylons and velours heels), so when he handed me a card and a walnut - yes, a walnut of all things -, I didn't even express any surprise, I just took it like it was the most common item you'd expect to be gifted. My brain cells defrosted noteably in the relative warmth of the car and I shook the nut (forgive me, I didn't mean to be punny); ah yes, there's definitely something in there, and capably judging, I think it's jewellry. "How should I open it?", I ask, getting aware that my nails aren't meant to crack nuts open (especially not if someone glued them together). "You don't happen to have a nutcracker with you, do you?" He doesn't (it's like when people bring cake to school and always forget the knife), but he hands me a golf ball and I press both things in my hands until I hear the satisfying crunch. It's a necklace. Golden, with a....an angel, well, an outright putto dangling from it....I'm still searching for a valid reason why he'd choose this particular pendant when he laughs and offers me something else to exchange it for. I jump at the chance (Thank God. I got a bit scared there for a second) and he breaks out a different necklace from his pocket, again golden but with an amulet pendant, embellished with a hypnotic embossment. It looks like something you'd find at an antique market, slightly bent but not dusty. It fits my birthday dress perfectly and it feels warm and smooth between my hands. My very own pirate gold.

My vintagy - attic - Age of Adaline - party ist about to start in a few hours and I still look like a mess (what's new). But take a look at a bit of the decor, if you will:





Now imagine a bit of Glen Miller and some champagne and you're getting where we're going here.

Have the sparkliest night, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....Remember middle school? Yeah, I know you don't want to, but remember that guy who's new in class and the other boys don't really like him and he's trying really hard to be funny and you just can't bear that sad sight so you decide to be nice to him and flash him some smiles? Big mistake, as you find out when he develops a (thankfully not long lasting, since you're actually pretty mean) crush on you and starts to text you things like "What's for homework" and won't shut up when you answer. After a while, even his neverending chipperness and brazen-faced confidence faded away and he moved on to people more willing to put up with him. Everything's just fine, right?

Until one random morning in May he hits me up again without a warning and I feel like I'm back in 2011. Obviously, I screenshot (something I wasn't able to do then, I'm just realizing) our awkward "so, what are you doing with your life" (as if I really care) chat and send it to my loveliest friend (a witness of time who doesn't recall his name at first, that's how memorable he is).

Oh, now he's asking me to a party at his sorority's house. I'm not that familiar with sororities due to me going to a school where everything's done differently because that's so much cooler, and I'm not excited to see this guy again, so I don't break into grateful applause. Instead, I take a trip down memory lane and consider lying to him about having a boyfriend just to get him off my back, the way I stupidly did a long time ago, but then it hits me: I don't technically have to lie about that one. I mean, someone certain and I are not keen on discussing these sorts of terms exactly, but he exists (didn't I mention?), and he won't find out, so I demonstratingly ask "Can I bring my boyfriend?" - and he turns into a proud aunt/ totally annoying brat, saying "awwww" and stuff that makes it pretty obvious that a), he still thinks we're 14, and b), doesn't have anything fun to bring into the conversation. I'll have to lay this into someone else's hands....

Now, to make the throwing back scenario perfect, my loveliest friend and I are lying on her bed, team-texting. Team-texting is a word I just coined and the way almost every chat with any guy I've been friendly with has happened. The great thing about it is that your part of the talking benefits from the wittiness of not only one but two people, and it's way more objective. Meaning that if you're biased and feel like your perfectly funny response could be too far-fetched, someone else virtually (or literally) presses send on your behalf. Also, if you're with your loveliest friend, she'll bring out the humor in you and you'll be trying to get her laughs, so you'll be much braver. Anyways, it's just like good old times  - the noisy guy is becoming unnerving, asking for details about someone certain which I don't care to tell him about, so we reply criptically: "Green eyes, brown hair, it was a golden day in September when I first laid eyes on him...." I think that sounds much prettier than blahblah about a name and a college course. It's not even half-true, of course (tricked ya!), but that's not the point, is it?

However, even though it's very good fun sometimes to have a nice little play-pretend chat, it comes to an end, too. That is, when the guy gets irrationally stuck up about his sorority, I stop replying, he asks about that weird party, I see it but can't answer (I swear I couldn't), when I do (tell him no, I need to catch up on my schoolwork), he accuses me of lying (just because I wasn't behind when we were in school together. I'll admit I exaggerated a and could probably have made it, but doesn't he know that I tried to kindly blow him off?), and when I ignore that (I mean, that was plainly impolite), he goes "Well, goodbye Rosy" - seriously?

So obviously, ignoring someone's WhatsApp message equals breaking contact forever and ever and not on good terms, either.

Well, I didn't know that. But it's okay by me.

I'm busy, anyways. Stay curious!

Love,

Rosy Smith

April started of with a party I didn't go to because I had been having this weird fever I probably complained about before - I don't usually keep my complaints to myself. I heard it wasn't good, anyhow, so I'm not very sad I didn't go; I feel like I'm doing the college thing wrong 'cause I'm way too exhausted to get excited about partying. All I want to do by the end of the day is curl up in front of some cinematic masterpiece like "John Tucker Must Die" and eat a Mars bar. Despite this attitude, I actually did go some places this month....

Silk is a lovely fabric. But I never wanted to know that much about it. Still, we went to about a zillion exhibitions dealing with the topic and I don't want to hear a thing about it ever again except for a shop assistant at Chanel describing the inside of a purse to me.

Wearing 5 inch heels and patterned tights for a pizza run isn't the brightest idea I've ever had. See, my friend and I had been to a shop opening and had gotten all glammed up, since it was supposed to go a cool two hours and be inside and everything. But after squeezing through loads of people who may or may not have been important, not able to hear a single spoken word over the sound of a Tove Lo mashup (I really don't like mashups. I'm over here looking forward to my fave part of a song and the DJ totally ruins it for me by changing the pace, leaving me struggling to get back into the rhythm. Don't get the point of that), we realized we really wanted a pizza. And there's this place in NoLita where they do a nice one, and we took the subway but got off too late (I guess we were talking about boys and why they can't text properly. Speaking of that, I was so impatient that I sent a message first (I absolutely need to stop doing that because I'm the first to tell you you shouldn't) and it's been an hour and I haven't got a reply yet so yeah, where was I?) so we had to walk. You should've seen me. People were staring, but as it goes, no one was worried enough to call an ambulance even though I must have looked as if I was in great pain, 'cause I was indeed. I could't stretch my legs because that would've been too much pressure on my feet, so I bent my knees and set foot in front of foot like a pregnant model/hooker, making labor-like noises. Très chic. The pizza guy didn't care though, he seemed to like my tights, so even though we practically fell through the door (I did. My friend could walk like an adult) thirty minutes before closing time, they served us. At some point outside, I'd taken my heels off and gone barefoot, until I noticed that was actually as painful due to concrete being hard and my feet being tortured, so it didn't matter. As I pointed out repeatedly that night, no pain, no gain (of beauty).

Now my loveliest friend isn't texting me back, either. She's working though, so she's got an excuse. But what is it, am I in a bad service area? That might be it, seeing as how I'm sitting on the lower floor where there's never any wifi when you need it. Gosh, the sight of my innocent message sitting alone in the chat is tragic. I'm never doing this again. It's not even that I really believe I'm getting ignored, but as no one's proving the opposite, I'm kinda irritated.
Oh, I'm getting tired of talking about that already. (See?)

Let's get a little more uplifting, shall we? 

A sweet boy I met last summer turned 18 last week and even though I'm just about a year older than him, I use that as an excuse to call him little and ruffle his hair (he's about two heads taller than me but who isn't these days). So he had a party at his house and I put a black dress on, teased my hair to the point it looked ridiculous, patted it down until I looked like a Rock n Roll groupie, and got my car keys. Parking in front of a sign that said "no waste here"; my car isn't waste, is it? I mean, it might not exactly be new, and it's green (now I got a text and it was a girl from my class and I got way too mad at her for a second), but this is such a lovely parking spot I won't give it up. Two kids walk past me and I'm not sure I want to go where they're going because they look like people in school did senior year (a total coincidence, seeing as they are seniors) and I feel fine without a throwback experience. I waited for about five minutes, redoing my lipstick and sending voice memos ("Is my car waste? I don't like to meet strangers"). Then I went, and honestly? It really was a throwback to high school parties, complete with sitting in a bedroom full of weird smoke (my poor dress reeks of the stuff. My hair didn't, surprisingly. I'm talking nonsense here), paper cups (I drove, but I clutched a cup just to have something to do with my hands) and the guests fumbling around on the stereo. Nice in a weird way. Weird in a nice way. I got totally lost on the way back home and already saw myself asking for directions at a gas station while hiding my navigation system (we're not often on the same page of things), but I made it on my own (on my oooown).

Details to come. Stay curious.

Love,

Rosy Smith

.....Coming to you from the hair stylist's because I'm officially done with finals and free to do whatever I please! I made it without burning something (that was really within the range of possibilities and I still don't know why)! And what better way to celebrate my return to the living than by looking the part?

As for styling, today, I'm channeling Ally from The Notebook, 'cause tomorrow, I actually get to show off at a fashion show plus after party - I heard this one gets especially good, so let's hope I find an outfit since I had to throw all of my plans over....I needed those boots and I'm not sure if I make it to the faraway mall where I've tracked them down to in time. I'd need to drive there and that's so exhausting - so my very last resort is hitting some fancy boutiques in the hopes for either a substitute or a miracle.

It's the final breakdown - what a pun. Sadly, most of January has been spent studying/pretending to study while online shopping. However, in between randomly falling asleep around 7 pm and unpacking packages of high-waisted jeans, I managed to scribble down a highly inspirational list to guide me through the next semester so I don't end up watching Friends in my PJs every single night but only on weeknights or something; Honestly, I've been seeing that show on TV ever since I was little and then hadn't for a couple years, and now I'm binge-watching it and it's contributing so much to my emotional state - it makes me cry like it was the saddest thing ever when you have to give away your monkey(does that word look weird to you? It looks weird to me) and it makes me laugh out loud, but really, which is something not many TV series can do. It's a mixture of fond memories and a whole new level of understanding. If you don't know it, drop everything to see it now and thank me later.

Go on, do it.

Compliment of the day: The stylist just told me I have nice handwriting. This is the first time ever somebody said that to me. I'm flattered, but baffled. As you can see above, it's not always the first thing coming to mind. In fact, I hope my professors can take it - they might be spoiled by all the design students with their cute colorful markers.

Can I just state again how much I hate graphic design. I may have gotten some kind of finished result, but I'm so never ever going to design the magazine page I'm writing on - aren't there seperate jobs for that? I mean, yeah, I think it's pretty when a headline represents the topic or whatever, but I really couldn't care less about how it's done.

Self-discovery so far: I did one of those online job profile tests and it turns out I should either be a singer, a composer, or a musical theatre performer. I wouldn't mind doing either of those things, they  do sound lovely; however, I'm not too sure how the multiple choice test has been judging my musical abilities. But it's nice to have options, you know.

Sometimes I think I should write about hard-hitting things such as alcoholism. Not that I'm an alcoholic, but that's one of those prime examples for hitting hard. But then, I'm having so much fun writing about my problem with scarves - should I feel bad? I don't want to feel bad, to be honest, 'cause that's so stressful.

Anything special, you may ask? There's a plan. Actually, my loveliest friend came up with it. Our missions are bound to set off some sort of reaction - let's hope it's the favored one this particular time.

Watch it.

Love,

Rosy Smith

PS: Goodness, almost forgot to mention my January soundtrack obsession with Meghan Trainor! She's so fun. She makes me less tired. And she's got a dang good voice. 

....it's currently 4 pm on New Year's Eve and it just came to my mind that I have to put some rollers in my hair now or it won't ever be fixed this year (ain't I so original). I'd love to do that and try on my outfit for tonight while I'm at it (I'm cultivating the dangerous lifestyle of picking out outfits without knowing what they look like on), but I also really need to revise my Italian vocab as quickly as possible. Furthermore, I just remembered I'm supposed to write into a friend's scrapbook, and I'm currently juggling the installation of a (hopefully) free trial of Adobe's InDesign, which is stressing me out so badly, 'cause I'm honestly frightened of the Creative Cloud (I kinda hate it right now, to be honest. Why don't you tell me what you're doing? Why do you keep opening tabs and little windows? I didn't give you my credit information, did I?). What in Heaven's name is happening? This is taking so much longer than the commercial. And I feel like I'm clicking the same three buttons all the time.

Putting curling mousse in my hair while sitting at my desk probably wasn't my best idea ever. Thank God it fizzles away.

New Year's resolution idea: Write in my diary every single day. Yes, I keep a diary. Been doing so more or less every day since 2011, and pledged to erase the "more or less" part probably all four years long, but it's a nice, harmless, disappointment-risk-free resolution, and those are the best.

Okay, so I've made a deal with myself: If I revise my word list well, I can start preparing myself, and if time's left, I'll do some more. I'd probably have to stop writing about what I have to do now, in order to actually do it, so that I can write about what I want to do, and then do that.
Everyone still with me?

Alright. InDesign's at 81% (good) for the third time (bad).
Starting again at 42%. WHY.

Anyways, onto the important stuff. Scrapbook is done. Outfit planning is on the agenda.

Excuse the lighting and look at the pretty sheerness of the sleeves instead!



 Alright, lovelies, I'm off to a friend's house now where we'll watch Dinner For One, eat until we've got something to make resolutions about, and enjoy our little selves. I hope you have a miraculous, sparkling, and above all, fun night. See you next year.

Love,

Rosy Smith

PS: Thank you so much for reading, even if you're only here once. x

Now before you back off in annoyance, thinking you've already gotten enough insight this month via Blogmas, thank you very much, I'm not going to repeat myself, no worries! I rarely do, even in real life, though I have to sometimes because people insist I speak really quietly (in my opinion, they just need to listen more closely).

So let's just start twirling, shall we?

First of all, I know I've already virtually screamed out #twoyearsofrosysmith about 6 months ago; however, that was about Rosy Smith in general, meaning my blogging debut on tumblr 
, and today it's all about this very URL you're at right now! This day a year ago, I just threw a bunch of my already-written posts on there, which is why they're all dated the same, and received about 25 views that months which were all me being vain and looking at my own stuff because I like to see it online so much. Anyways, whoever it is that's doing so today, have a drink on me! (Metaphorically, of course.)

Shopping list: velours pants. Could be fake, doesn't matter, but I tried on some cool ones on Christmas day and they were too wide at the waist and now I'm aching to find a replacement. I'm actually going shopping tomorrow, because I haven't done that in absolutely ages (since the summer! Again, no winter pieces! Not that it's very wintery outside, but a girl's got needs, and they include velvet tops and tight black leather pants)! There's not much time left in the shopping year....

....which brings me to the real end of the year, New Year's Eve. Isn't it funny how many people seem to have a love/hate attitude towards this particular evening? Most of them say it's because they feel pressured to have a good time that night and then be totally hungover-free and ready to become a health guru by 1st of January. Take my advice, lovelies: Think of it as a regular night out - you'll have the same old fun as always - and then, at midnight, allow yourself to have a fairytale moment in which you get all dazed and enchanted by all the fireworks and glitter and champagne and feel the special haze of opportunity. Don't draw comparisions to confetti (thrown generously and then lying uselessly around the floor with the dirt), but screw your sceptical frown and wave your paper streamer in the air! That's what they're talking about when they say New Year's Eve is special. You can go on worrying about the same old things as yesterday on the 1st of January and no one will judge you for it. Personally, I believe that's why the 1st is a holiday, anyway. You're supposed to cure yourself, properly remove all of that mascara, and then, on the 2nd, you may proceed with being your fabulous self.

Reminds me that I just made plans for the 2nd and I'm already eagerly looking forward to that, for multiple reasons. One of them is that I won't have too much time to study that day, and that makes me really happy 'cause honestly, I have seriously thought about drafting a petition that requires the government to pass a law to forbid exams right after Christmas break, because while that might not exactly violate human rights, it definitely would be a step into the right direction regarding this "Heal the World" mission to ban them. Small effort is still worth something, lovelies.

Writing this has made me quite excited for the rest of December, and I hope you are, too! If I'm overwhelmed by all the studying I still have to do, like, now, and won't be able to elaborate on my precious opinion on the end of the year and all that blahblah, take this suggestion: Get yourself a nice sparkly dress, get together with your closest friends and store a lot of food to get through while you're waiting for that Cinderella moment. Just don't lose your shoe!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Sooo it's Christmas Eve everyone! This is what we've been waiting for all along, so I thought instead of simply telling you what my Christmas is like, and how the food tasted and if the waiter was cute (he wasn't, sadly), I'd just show you....

Takes more effort than one thinks, these leg pics. But look at my dressing gown!

Quiet morning except for some christmassy tunes

Red, of course

Driving home for Christmas....not exactly

Everything's so pretty!

Quick look at the shops and sparkly lights

See, they've got the fluffy robes covered

Getting settled

No Christmas w/out fairytales

Just insert the scenic snow in your head

My absolute fave!

Now put all of this on....

....and this lovely thing....

....as well as these

Dinner. Obviously.

I hope you're all having a marvelous time with your family, or friends, or your cat, whomever you love, and that it's been a red ribbon day for y'all!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Two days before we leave and I still don't have a clue what I'm gonna wear. It's not always that way - in fact, when we're gone for the whole summer, it's fairly easy for me to decide what to bring; everything.
However, since we're only staying out for two nights, I struggle with every piece of clothing I own. Is this really what I want to wear to Dinner on Christmas Eve? Are those PJs the right level of coziness?  Don't I have something even more appropriate for a tea party? What do people even wear to tea partys these days?

I have even tried googling "packing for three days", mostly out of curiosity, and was astonished that there were countless tips for people who are going on a six week adventure trip through the jungle ('cause that's obviously the majority of America, if you'll believe the internet) but not a single one suited for my specific dilemma (I'll admit that my research didn't go further than the first page of suggestions -hey, this isn't my dissertation). So, I decided to enlighten others, who are desperately looking for a similar instruction, with my realizations.

Open your closet. Don't be overwhelmed by all these racks of clothes and let them lead you to think that this is gonna be easy. About eighty percent of those are probably either summer dresses or plain shirts you never wear in your daily life and you're most certainly not going to start now, when there's only three days to dress.

Systematically go through them. Throw everything that doesn't scream "nice christmassy hotel, casually groomed, okay with flat shoes" into one corner and the rest into another. I suggest putting on Lady Antebellum's album "Own The Night" in the background, so you can put all of your past-crushes-passion into the task at hand while getting really emotional 'cause that music makes you want to have a romantic but sad country-song relationship so that you can smash out those lines with real pathos.

 You said you'd be there....you said we'd last forever....oooooh back when you were mine....

Now, concentrate and select all items that are long sleeved. If  you're anything like me, that's a good trick to get rid of about half of everything in any situation. I have just found out that I didn't buy a single long-sleeved shirt this year. That sounds so wrong to me. I need to go shopping before New Year's Eve or else I won't feel like I have done this winter-thing right. When you're on a winter holiday, you wear long-sleeved. Otherwise, how would that look, if you were sporting some three quarter length frilly blouse in front of the picturesque fireplace at the lodge.

Anyways, after that, look at all Christmas pictures from last year and ban everything you've been wearing on there. Sadly, I seem to choose the same three items over and over (another reason why I need to go shopping so badly), 'cause I feel like they're the most appropriate of all my things to wear for breakfast buffet, lunch in the lounge (sounds stupid) and a nice walk around the estate.

Personally, I think it's important to bring jazzpants to wear underneath those big fluffy robes for when you're plastered all over the bed watching festive TV and consuming your weight in chocolate. And some good thighs that suck in your belly for dinner.

Oh, right, that's actually the best part: For dinner, think of the prettiest cocktail dress you own at the moment: that's Christmas Eve. The second prettiest one, probably the one you wore on C.E. last year, is Christmas Day. There you go.

Yeah, I know, now we have to stress about the shoes, which are indeed a crucial and complicated part of the whole process. You'll need one pair for the previously mentioned walk outside, some chelsea boots maybe, then some flats for inside the hotel, as it's pretty warm in there and "real" outside boots would be way too harsh, and of course, lovely heels for dinner. I'd like to take one pair for each dress respectively, but I guess I'll have to settle on one so that we won't have to leave some gifts at home for my shoes' sake. Even though I hope that's pretty safely not gonna happen.

I hope I was helpful. If you're still in a mess, there's lots of  time left to figure it out. Or, to put it differently, a whole day to hit the boutiques!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Hence, another strike for my love of alliterations.

We are having a gathering today which basically is the yearly round-up of all December events, such as my birthday, other people's birthdays, Christmas etc. That might be the reason why I am feeling so holiday-spirity today; My term break started yesterday, but since I am supposed to study obsessively and then fell into bed, it didn't feel quite as jolly as expected - but today, what with the fancy food and decorations and presents everywhere, I'm ready for Christmas!

Did I mention we're away for the actual holidays? I told you about my love for hotels a while ago
so that's covered, and I'm only getting really excited just now! That's the only good thing about all that stress with college and whatsoever, that all the excitement gets bottled up and then explodes in colorful Christmas jingle fireworks once you can concentrate on it properly.

I should probably find my camera charger sometime soon - in fact, let's make that another New Year's resolution. Cause I can't take decent pictures with my phone since I hate to ask others to do it 'cause it seems a little egocentric to always want a picture of yourself; and if you tell them "it's for my blog", it doesn't help at all. Anyways, I got a lovely Maybelline 965 Siren in Scarlet Matte from my secret Santa this year, which really helps with the festivity mood once that's on your lips. These sweet dangly earrings have been a birthday present and the dress is one of these cute looking yet comfortable enough for consuming a full meal ones. As always, in utmost professional quality.

Tomorrow, one of my favorite Christ
mas movies is on: It's Miracle on 34th street and I am totally and irrevocably in love with it. The city looks perfect in it, the story is beyond miraculous and I am infatuated with the ninties vibe - it's barely noticably, it's not like that was a completely different time, but I feel like there's some sort of dreamy haze over everything from then - I see that in Friends, too, which is full of childhood memories for me, and even in the pictures from my parent's honeymoon all over the country, which are hanging on our walls. I find that haze so pretty, I wouldn't mind having it over all of my pictures, too.

Well, isn't it so lovely to indulge in memories and traditions and lots of red lipstick? I hope your holidays are being wonderful.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Eavesdropping while losing all feeling in my arm....
Cause I'm standing on the train (New Year's resolution: Talk less about trains!) and a groomed lady comes in, in a beige trenchcoat and pointy heels and lots of massive jewelry. She meets an accquaintance and soon begins to tell her all about rekindling with her divorced husband. They'd been together for 19 years, which is an awful long time to overlook all those horrible traits he supposedly has, if you ask me. But the other lady agrees, revealing that she, too, is of course no longer married. However her husband still lived with her while he's looking for an apartment. That must be weird. Even worse, he didn't even bother to help with the kids while being there! He sounds like a douche. Poor woman. I feel like it's a good thing they split. Crossing my thumbs for the other couple to get back on, though - tomorrow they'll attend a fundraising together. That's your cue, George! (no idea what his name is, but he sounds like a George)

Class was good so far- the guy in our class did my make-up. He wants to be a stylist one day, so hit me up if you like what he's done (20 percent agency fee. Just kidding). If you're asking yourself now, what the hell do they do in class at this school, well, I have no idea. But I got perfectly blended eyes.

What I discovered about myself today : I can't take a selfie with someone else's phone. I did that horrendous smile you do when everyone's looking at you and you don't wanna put on your poised face. So I had to take a new one even though someone was so kind and edited the one with the stupid smirk for me.

When you're reading this I just might be at a karaoke bar, either making an absolute fool out of myself or rocking the stage. In the latter case I hope someone's filming. But we'll see!

Everything's possible, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Ps: Didn't end up in a karaoke bar, sadly. But we sang quite a lot at the restaurant, so it kinda made up for that.
Pps: I'm home until New Year's! I'll take the car everywhere and eat three meals a day. It'll be fabulous.

Thoughts on college-very deep

I wonder if I could possibly be more bored. I am seriously reflecting this question. To what point can a person be bored? Is there the possibility of some kind of a boredom-implosion? Do people get hysteric or sad when they're on the verge of possible boredom? These are things we should be discussing here.

Citations, however, are definitely not a subject that should be drawn over two hours of lecture. I get it, I'm not supposed to copy someone else's work. Big news.

Right now, 3:15 pm, I can't decide if I'm really that bored (I'm actually doing something, so it's a little weird) or if I'm just tired. I'm really hungry, too - but I'm not sure if I want something sweet or hot pasta, or maybe chinese….I might just be craving something. Not sure if that's someone who'll watch Grease with me tonight and looks best in a suit or someone who rolls their skinny bleached jeans up their ankles and rocks a beanie without looking like a child.

See, I'm not in a very decisive mood today.

I'm one of these persons who has some sort of range of imaginary scenarious to choose from whenever I don't have anything else to think of, especially when I'm zoning out in class. However; and I wonder if others have this problem as well;  sometimes I even get bored of my personal fantasies. It's bad, isn't it, but I get picky with the products of my very own mind, going like "No, he keeps looking weird, I can't picture his face anymore and now he reminds me of that guy from middle school who was positively disgusting and I can't deal with the thought of that so nah, let me think of something else". It's not very calming.

My screen just did something weird.

Anyways, on those kinda days, I'm surprised I could string two thoughts together at all, apart from "I'm so bored" and "I wanna go home". And I was so happy about the last lecture being canceled (well, the cancelling was kinda student-initiated if you know what I mean) and getting home early and being able to listen to some music and writing some melancholic song lines....

If only I had known it would take me 4 hours to get home. But that's another story, lovelies, and I'm gonna tell you about it in all its shining tragic and hidden humoristic elements....tomorrow.

So stay curious.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I love my birthday. I'm so excited for it that I, in fact, didn't even take the unique chance to sleep in until nine am, but chose to wake up at eight and spend an hour happily sitting up in bed, answering texts.

Why, hello there

Then, I got dressed in a vintage red velvet slip-on, clipped my hair back in curls which had miraculously appeared during the night for once, smothered on Manhattan's Bite My Lip lipstick and my jewelry which I've had since I was born - just in time to rush down the stairs to open the door to my loveliest friend.
As you may gather, I like to dress up on my birthdays (any other day as well, but today I can justify it) - I always have. Actually, on my 3rd one, I've worn a pretty similar red velvet dress, to be honest.

Anyways, we had breakfast and cake (it was good, if I do say so myself, and I'm relieved 'cause it was basically all I'd planned on eating till dinner) and I unpacked my presents, which is my favorite part. I didn't regocnize my surprise present instantly (my loveliest friend guessed it to be an apron - thank God she was wrong), but it's a tremendously cute dressing gown, something I've been wanting a long time, and it makes me look like I'm straight outta the fifties (which I like).
I also got a Sleek contouring kit which I tried out on my loveliest friend. I'm not sure I've gotten the hang of it yet, but that's what friends are for, right?

Random Birthday Thought
I just really enjoy the thought of being brand new each year with this day: for some it's New years eve, but I feel like my birthday is the start of a new chapter. My loveliest friend send me this today:

I also pretend I don't have any obligations at all when it's my birthday. Today, for instance, after my friends had left, I sat with my family and read and watched Say Yes To The Dress and basically had the time of my life on the sofa. Soon we'll go out for dinner to one of my favorite places and then I'll sit next to my gift table and be pleased with the world....

I hope you had a fabulous day as well.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....it is actually, as a quick Twitter search has revealed! Here's how it works (well, how I'm gonna do it): On each day of December, I'll do my very best to post a teeny tiny snapshot of my day, in words, obviously, but pictures are welcome, too. Of course, I'll also be posting my regular stuff, so be super excited to hear a lot from me this month!

Enough with the administrative blah blah, here we go!

Last year, my mom had made the unauthorized decision that I was too old to need an advent calendar anymore. I, however, did not share that opinion, and when I didn't see a calendar on the morning of 1st of December, I was understandably unamused. I might have acted like a grumpy five year old, but my memory of that isn't very specific. Anyways, call me spoiled, but when I came home that day, guess what was hanging on the kitchen wall. It really only takes 24 small pieces of chocolate to make me happy.
So this year, I made it very clear yet again that I would be very sad (warning stare as a reminder how much of a five year old I can be) if I didn't get an advent calendar, and this morning I was pleased to see I got a fancy Milka one! Again, doesn't take much to satisfy me.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out if I should splurge on a mani today. The weather is positively awful, but so are my nails, and it is my birthday tomorrow (in case you've been living under a rock you haven't thrown at me yet for being so annoying about it)....

To stay on that lovely subject, I am going to bake a cake today! I can count the number of cakes I have made myself in my whole life on one hand. So wish me luck.

What else you do on the day before your birthday: Paint your nails, fan out your dress, hope for a good movie that'll make the time  till bed go by faster and giggle yourself to sleep.
I've got a tight schedule. See you tomorrow.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Ps: 18's been beautiful.

....in November I didn't take any notes for this episode (as if it were some new TV show or something), so that's a good start.

Let's see, lovelies, the first thing that's always on my mind during November is my upcoming birthday. It's next Wednesday (3 days, everyone!) and I get SO psyched about it, I start a marathon of telling people about it multiple times a day on the 21st of November, precisely. That's because my oldest close friend was born ten days before me and her birthday rings in the festive season for me. Now, I get to plan out a lovely brunch, a relaxed day at home (I'm so sick of trains), a nice dinner with friends....Thinking about it, I still didn't make neither my reservations nor my nail appointment. And I have yet to pin down an outfit. Oh my....

Random Fashion Fear: If it gets way too cold outside, I will have to find some super power thighs so that I can continue to wear nothing but skirts and dresses to school and feel great about what I'm wearing and therefore myself. Also, how do you prevent your nose from getting Rudolph-Red from the cold?

I'll be repeating myself, but Christmas is right around the corner and couples do seem to go even more cozy and cuddly and cutesy and co-dependent and annoying (sorry, couldn't think of a negative word with c, except for carnage and that seemed a bit too harsh in this context). Do I sound like a crazy old cat lady (crazy wouldv'e been one I guess)? Maybe, but I can assure you I don't look like one, I just subscribe to some (just one or two) of their principles. The one with the cats. And the one with the "I don't need a man to ever be happy" thing.
Honestly, I think they're taking all of that a bit too far, 'cause once you've made that clear, it's totally fine to fall in love and spend your life with a special someone, because everyone knows you're not sacrificing your identity and all that, so why not get a nice white dress and enjoy yourself forever? Just don't be as obnoxious about it as those people who take a perfectly lovely literary quote and then completely ruin it with a duck face pic and a tagged douche who comments something illiterate such as "your mine" (It hurts to write that). Thanks.

You know what's become evident about my current college situation (having a class of 11, 'cause 3 already quit, and being away from your social circle 4 days a week)? There's rarely any gossip. I just realized it thinking about what juicy insight I could provide you with. Isn't that sad? I don't even mean scandalous, friendship-tearing gossip, just something small to blow out of proportion behind well-manicured hands. I feel like I haven't talked about anything but projects and delays and stupid booklets I have to produce without a clue on how to do that in AGES. Where is the college chatter? The spice of studies? See, I can't stop making ridiculous puns about it! Tell me something sparkly, won't you?

I bet you will.

Love,

Rosy Smith


PS: Oh, there's something exciting- not my usual style to talk about this, but this month I've had over 1000 views and that made me very very happy and I just wanted to say thanks so much and come again, it's fun here x

   

I think it's not vain of me to say that I have pretty nice lashes. See, I do have dark hair and brown/green eyes (is that hazel or not? I deem that expression to be very confusing), so dark lashes just suit my type. That being sad, I remember how all of my friends who started out with make-up a few years ago began by using some concealer (or rather, these sticks to smear over red pimples to make them look like skin-colored pimples instead), lightly tinted lipbalm and, you'll guess, mascara. I went in on the pimple sticks, but I didn't really feel the need to darken my lashes, so I didn't. I was more intruiged by putting on lots and lots of pink and soon enough red lipgloss. Black lashes I had, but lips can't be red enough, can they?

Of course I own mascara. I'm not one to withstand material wealth. I'm on my third one (you may gather I don't exactly observe expiration dates); I've had a very cheap one for Halloween, a KIKO one afterwards 'cause I heard they were good, and right now I'm the proud possessor of the Roller Lash Mascara by Benefit. Proud, because it really does make my lashes look lovely, if I do say so myself. But, ugh, I just hate the fuss neccessary to take it off at night! To come home late, go to the bathroom and rub around on my eyes with some remover pads for what feels like hours, and yet it never fully vanishes and I get all paranoid about my lashes breaking at the tips or falling out for good and I either don't rest until there's not a particle of mascara left and my eyes are all red and irritated or I resignate and wake up the next day looking like I'm still in full make-up, with black-rimmed eyes like a groupie on the day after. It can be a good look at times, but I live in deathly fear of wrinkles. I shudder at the thought of them at this very moment.

Moreover, no matter what quality, as the day goes by I always freak out over lashes sticking together or itching or anything like that and I just want it off me. I'm not able to rub my eyes without having half of my face in a black mark on my hand afterwards and I don't always remember not to. So charming.

I also have this horrible fear of waking up one day and refusing to leave the house without mascara on. I know people whom I honestly wouldn't recognize without it and that's scary, don't you think? For once, it's a shame that people get so dependent and insecure, and secondly, who has the patience to apply mascara every single time they step in front of their door? It's so stressful. And probably gets expensive, going through so much product. I guess it's the same with cigarettes. The amount of times I've heard "of course I could live without it"....

Actually, no, no one ever says that. You don't joke about mascara.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....Tomorrow I'll start fashion school and I still have to

• put together a decent outfit
• use that gorgeous body scrub
• blow-out my hair so that I can curl it tomorrow
• lay out my make-up (in case I'll be running late, because otherwise I'd have to skip on that and I'm not going to do so on the 1# day)
• throw things in my bag that make me feel prepared, such as cereal bars
• and then I'll go lie down and binge-watch Gilmore Girls to distract myself. 

It's hard to say goodbye to the days when all I ever had to do was grooming myself and doing something fun, starting at about 12 o'clock and sleeping ten hours a day, but we saw that coming, didn't we? And I'm sure (or at least being told so by all of my friends and telling myself, so that I feel better) that:

• my train won't be late
• the others will be a bunch of sweet, interesting people (as long as they're sweet they don't even have to be that interesting but of course that's always a bonus) 
• my hair won't get all frizzy on the way there. 

For as long as I can remember, I've been doing a lot of things at once -  or at least, I tried. I wrote To-Do lists in class so I wouldn't miss a hundred assignments as well as forgetting to practice the piano while still not buying a birthday present for my friend. Trust me, all of this could happen, since even though I make notes all of the time, they're usually all over the place on pieces of paper I find 5 years later, in books I never open again, on the back of my hand where they fade away....Knowing myself, I often made these lists so that I had everything in one place. Hence my longing for a filofax (see here). I also multitask in that I try to read while doing my make-up, do my homework while participating in class, text while blow-drying, etc. I like to know I can get it aaaall done in a particular time and day, that everything is somehow going to fit in, no matter how late I am, or how much time it supposedly takes. It might mean I'm a control-freak. But it might as well simply mean I'm late a lot.

This Thursday for instance, I was getting ready to attend a musical show with my dad and was putting on blusher when he called for us to go - I hadn't had dinner yet and my mom insisted I ate some before the show. However, I refused to do so since I hadn't even come to eye shadow and we were running late already (see?), so she made me take food with me to eat in the car, which is something I've done so many times before (hence the introduction): Picture me sitting in a car, all dolled up, with my curls clipped back and getting crumbles all over my dress. Such glamour!
Having gone through with that, the critical part is on: Applying my lipstick,

Lovelies, you might remember that my choice of color is usually some kind of red. On Thursday, it was the Manhattan All In One Lipstick in 660 Bite My Lip .


So I waited until we were driving a straight line, whipped out my brush and started to outline my lips, keeping a tight grip on the brush and hoping there wouldn't be a sharp stop because then, I just might stab myself in the throat and I guess that wouldn't have looked so pretty. I discovered that when you firmly place the brush against your lips, you can just go with the flow (of driving) and somehow, your lips get filled in - it's like with one of these magic pens that draw circles by themselves. Also, you should really use the rearview mirror instead of the one in the sunshade, because if you have to look up you won't be able to keep your arm as still and are more likely to mess up. I am proud to say that I got a decent result withour looking like I put on warpaint in form of red streaks all over my face. However, I did kinda ruin my tights when my dad asked for his phone and I dropped the lipstick and it fell into the space between my hemline and my legs. But hey, good score, don't you think so?

I feel like applying lipstick in a moving vehicle should be considered a professional skill - actually, to me, it is a perfect verbalism of a the modern-day independent woman who has a lot going on but manages it all with a beaming, slightly breathless, lipstick smile.

And, you know, is late a lot.

Love,

Rosy Smith