If you know me you'll know that I like to talk about myself a lot, hence me being on here devoting an entire space of the web to that pasttime. And I like to wallow and blow things out of proportion and generally drag my current states of emotion into the spotlight. But sometimes, it's actually other people's life changes that make you feel things. Seeing your friends mourn, for instance, is one of the strangest experiences of that kind and definitely on the worse side. Or watching them go through break-ups, seeing it coming, witnessing the aftermath. And see, now we're back at my point of view and my own baggage that's only waiting to be triggered by such an unwelcome echo of extra-bubbly-texting-to-check-in-conversation and late-night phone calls with heartwrenching tears on one end and desperately-searching-for-something-soothing-to-say-silence on the other. I remind myself that no part I play in this is going to earn me time-traveling points. That my focus this time is that of an innocent bystander providing first aid, that I'm not stuck in the burning wreck. But still, there's the same sense of sadness and hovering smoke in the air and my fingers are getting itchy again, still holding my phone.

Ha, I bet you're thinking that I'm doing something really stupid now, but before you get mad, let me explain. I told someone I'm probably not gonna see anytime soon, if there's no incredible coincidence, what the time I spent with them made me feel like. In a non-romantic way. I paid them a compliment, like you would in a thank-you-note. It doesn't matter if they're not gonna reply, it doesn't matter if they didn't have the same experience. It doesn't matter that they're highly unlikely to whisk me away and solve all my outstanding life decisions for me, because truthfully, that was highly unlikely before as well. But maybe they're gonna be flattered, or glad that their presence had that effect on me, or relieved because they weren't the only ones feeling some type of way. And I think anyone would like to hear something like that, so why not tell them? It's not gonna change anything in retrospective, neither in a good nor in a bad way. There's no shame in having had a nice time with someone.

So if you ever feel a bit sad and delusional and helpless, tell them. Tell your friend that you are thankful to have them in your life. Tell you parents you love them. Tell a stranger you like their dress. Write a letter to your favorite author, they might read it. Tell me to shut up with the emotional outbreaks already, but also tell me if you liked them.

Love,

Rosy Smith

It's been a while, my lovelies! But here I am, and so much has happened, and so much WILL happen that I am very very excited to totally blow out of proportion and share with you in my usual biased way....

I kinda sorta somehow graduated fashion college! Have not gotten my diploma yet because honestly, the administration is not exactly known for speed, but it's done, it's over and I will never ever have to worry about my pictures not being 300 dpi or a font I like seeming not modern enough to my professor's sacred taste. I am ecstatic. Even though it means that....

I kinda sorta somehow have to get a job this coming year. I'm still studying for my bachelor's degree until June for my own academic satisfaction but meanwhile, I'd like to change out of my sweats and get off my study sofa, put on some pretty shoes and earn some money writing (oh, I sound so goshdarn optimistic about that, it's lovely). Let's hope this time the magazine doesn't shut down as soon as I get there like the last one did (better not mention that coincidence on my resume, I guess)!

I kinda sorta somehow make up texting games that only I know the rules to, so I'm not sure if it's working or if I should lay out the rules more openly. Don't get it? See, me neither!

I kinda sorta somehow turn another year older tomorrow! I'm having my 22nd birthday party tonight and it'll be a blur of silver, Cosmos and cake. I got myself a flippin' flapper dress and I intend to shake it all night long. I gotta run and do my make-up, so this is a short one, but it feels good to be back!

See you tomorrow,

Love,

Rosy Smith

I get struck by motivation around nine pm usually and can't possibly fit all of the very commendable things I'd like to get done now into the evening. Very frustrating. However, I'm working now, aren't I? Look at what I've done today:

I've transformed so many runway pictures for my fashion design booklet into CMYK and 300 dpi, I can do it blindfoldedly now. Photoshop's only thrown itself off a cliff in the process three times, too. I swear I won't take as long for the whole writing part, which is the important one (I think. You never know with my school), as I did for the transformation stuff just because we're supposed to get our work printed like it was gonna be published in 12 languages when really, it's just going to molder away in the cellar, only to be brought out into daylight for some scared third-semesters to frantically photograph and then never look at it again while doing their own thing.

I've  - shoot, I have not called my teacher like I was due to. Oh my goodness, I'll have to write him an apologetic email with a well-formulated concept to show him I wouldn't have needed to call him in the first place. That's probably what I wanted to do when I sat in front of my laptop two hours ago. Dang it.

Okay, but I have written one of the letters I need to write to people I'm gifting something they don't neccessarily get the sense of. I do that a lot. Needs to be done. Success.

I have chosen the outfits I'm gonna wear for the photoshoot I have tomorrow. I hope there aren't any stains on there. I have to do my make-up and hair myself, so I hope I won't get any stains on there then.

I have set a date for friday (goating does work after all, people!)

I have told my friend the guy doesn't deserve her and she can do so much better because nobody as fabulous as her needs to put up with dumb boys who ghost, or bench, or whatever the hell the newest word for being a douche might be these days, her. Nobody else needs that, either.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Now I know that in this day and age, not everyone feels the need for an introduction like this. You yourself might be a defendant of the easy going, laissez-faire style of texting culture which implies that "it's not a big deal, you text whenever you want and answer whenever you see it. What rules?"

In that case, bless your innocent heart.

Obviously I don't know what your exact arrangment with your significant other is on that part of your relationship - it might not even be relevant. You might exchange romantic hand-written loveletters sprizzed with perfume, for all I know. However, for everyone who simply does not have a clue what their partner expects, this is how you definitely don't disappoint:

Emoticons: Do use them. It just looks more lively and lets me know you like me enough to make the effort to choose a smiley face that enhances your message for me and that's reassuring and I like to be reassured. But if you use them, do it continously. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than a single emoticon-free message in a sea of blushy cheeks and winks. Even if it's a simple "Okay" it'll sound like "Okay! God, you're annoying/I'm not exactly okay with this but I don't want to deal with you headcase" to me, because only a "Okay :))" will give me the fuzzy feeling I need when conversing with you.

Still, you shouldn't solely and exessively use emoticons or I'll get the feeling you're either too lazy to actually phrase an answer or you don't have anything to say to me.

Timing: To be on the safe side, reply when you see it. Except when you're actually busy (driving, dying, in a million dollar conference count as "busy", for example) or need to check something in order to have an adequate answer (movie tickets, hotels, your mom's birthday). Consequently, be aware of the fact that I'm likely to re-reply again so you need to check your phone from time to time (daily would be a good minimum- so I know you're not dead/have not stopped liking me within the last 24 hours, whatever seems more likely).

Emotional Level: I get it, not everyone likes to express their undying adoration for somebody through 144 characters (need to google how many characters it really is but you get me). But a "Can't wait to see you" already makes so many of us happy and takes our mind off the fact that there were no empty seats on the train - it's not that hard. No one asks you to propose via text. No one wants you to do that, actually.

Golden Rule: Two or more days of not texting are considered rude since it's in some people's genes (mine) to start getting absolutely irrational deamings about the relationship and the meaning of life and listen to "Forever and Always" by Taylor Swift while solemny staring out of the train window and therefore your fault, not theirs. Don't be that guy.

If everyone did this the world would be a much less hysterical place.

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

....See, I was going through my post drafts just now and everything I've written in the last couple weeks and didn't want to publish right away is semi serious (you know I don't do full on serious by principle) and I'm not in the mood to try and carefully formulate catchy phrases, so here I am, improvising.

This weird inner peace I wanted to tell you about but didn't because I'm so damn peaceful seemed like a good thing to talk about just a second ago. You might have realized by now that I get hysteric when a person I don't even like doesn't text me back within 12 hours. However, when a person I have some sort of dating thing going on with doesn't text me after 24 hours since we last saw each other, I'm like "Well. He wouldn't just suddenly stop liking me. I mean, why would he." It's irritating and unlike me and it's freaking out my friends, but I'm good, I really am.

I'm just applying a peel off mask - I decided that a 2013 expiration date is completely fine to use. It's an emergency, really; I have to leave the house tomorrow and do not feel capable of doing so if this mask doesn't drastically change things, like, right now. I should also redo my nails. It's a shame I'm so awfully tired even though I'm not doing anything particulary exhausting (except for ripping off that mask without ripping off my skin). One of my closest friends is a pre-med. I don't even want to know how she feels because it makes me feel bad (aren't I understanding).

Since I have chosen to prentend to be a fashion victim instead of saving lives, I can brag about going shopping and consider it work experience. At least, that's my definition of things. I got some lovely items I have been longing for, such as a fake leather jacket without a collar ('cause those make me feel icky). Finally I can wear T-shirts and jeans and make it look cool 'cause of my jacket. A red velours dress 'cause I'm a nineties kid who would wear her velours leggins and velvet top and choker together and not give a damn. A little black dress with shoulder cut-outs 'cause there's no such thing as too many black dresses. And a lacey top in that emerald color I like to think makes my eyes look greener. It's scandalous how these things satisfy me, but on the other hand, it's never hard to buy me presents, and that's something to work with, isn't it?

Another note on collars: Please, if you must wear them, don't fold them upwards. I can't be with anyone who does. Just saying.

Love,

Rosy Smith

.... that I'm gonna have to spend my single evening off school traveling to some hotel I've never been to  and interview two people I've never heard of all by myself. So that's cool.

I ended up choosing a second day outfit last night without actually looking at my clothes, which is something you really shouldn't do if you want to feel comfortable in them. I, for instance, ended up with pants which traveled up my ankle boots all the time which made me CRAZY, but we're learning here. I'll definitely wear a skirt tomorrow.

On the train, Why Can't I by Liz Phair came on on my Ipod, and that's my ultimate Scotland soundtrack from last September, so I obviously wished I was going to Scotland instead, but that's a normal reaction to vacation music, isn't it? Anyways, it's very uplifting and inspiring. It inspired me to check out the guy opposite from me, who was cute in his way of blondish curls, grey hoodie, black jacket, faded jeans and these glasses with the patterned frames - I hate that this makes you think of side parts and greasy hair since in that case, believe me, I wouldn't call it cute in a way (or at all).
The song also inspired me to jot down a few things regarding my mental state yesterday night:

Get a grip!

• Choose clothes for whole week on weekends
• Take a book on the train
• And a freaking hair tie
• Blow out your hair no matter what.

The schoolday in itself was not that much listening today- in fact, this time we weren't told that much at all, we were flipping through magazines and drawing bad portraits of each other, and if you say it that way, it sounds easy breezy, which it probably was, but it took six hours and about a three hour train journey so I guess I'm reasonably exhausted and deserved that Pizza Hut I shamelessly treated myself to at the train station, eating very unladylike and glamourously getting crumbles all over my blindfoldedly chosen outfit, not giving a damn.

Stay with me, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Say you met at a party. He was nice, you were reserved as you always are but flashed him some smiles, and soon you caught him looking at you with what he probably thinks is flirtation. Someone should tell him that these half-opened eyes might seem a little creepy to girls. Anyways, he followed you outside when you left and asked for your number and you thought it was only polite to give it to him.
So far, so simple.
The next morning, you woke up to a late text, saying : Have a good night and sweet dreams!
You screenshot the text and send it to your best friend. You respond. And that’s when the trouble begins.