Hello, welcome, hi, so good to see you here! Lovelies, it's been a while. Last time we talked, I was still figuring out my hair and freezing in my nylons, now I am on my second round of tapes and cannot bear to wear anything other than a bikini because my Gosh it's hot. So we got a lot of catching up to do....

I am sososo close to being done with university altogether - I have handed in my dissertation yesterday (and found a spelling mistake on the very front page two hours before the deadline, so we swerved that bump in the road that would've haunted me for the rest of my life; by the way, the title is '"I choose my choice" - Portrayals of "The Housewife" and "The Working Girl" in "Sex and the City" versus "The Best of Everything"', if you wanna add me on researchgate or whatever) and the only thing left for me to overcome is the viva voce in two weeks. I'm very pleased with myself, thank you very much - getting my BA is sort of a passion project of mine (I know, I have wild passions) in order for me to feel better about myself, and I need to capture that feeling, because....

Now I am job hunting and I hate it already. Please refrain from telling me how lucky I am that my parents aren't throwing me out as soon as the ink on my diploma has dried. If that wasn't the case, I would've started freaking out in January, okay? So far, I am waiting for five feedbacks, four of which are unsolicited applications to publishing houses that have a bunch of magazines each, so technically it's many, many offices I've covered. The problem with unsolicited applications is that no one wants you to call and ask, since they didn't ask you to apply in the first place (which is probably already bothering them, so pestering everyone answering the phone with my fear of failure = not bound to be helpful). It's just that the sheer uncertainty of whatever is gonna happen within the next few months - will I move somewhere? get a job? an unpaid internship that'll force me to live at home and take the train everyday? - is bothering ME very, very much. So the bottom line is, if you know someone who'd pay me a living wage to write stuff for them, you got my email.

Let's not think of that too much, though, 'cause it is summer, after all! I went to Rome to see my bestest friend and it was wonderful and way too short - I didn't even eat any pasta, there was just too much to devour in such little time. The weather! The sights! The scenic streets with bars in front of which you can drink! No Italians for me though; their curly hair and general tendency to be short in height rules out most of the locals for me. My friend, however, is basically in a country filled with her type, and the fact that she can speak more Italian than my "Ciao, studio giornalismo di moda, e tu?" and is obviously gorgeous should rev up her chances pretty high.

This just to get you up to speed - since I have loads of free time now, between scanning job offers and crying about them, I'll talk to you very soon about the truly exciting stuff.

Stay tuned!

Love,

Rosy Smith

LinkedIn is the new Instastalking. For reasons I'd rather not mention, I avoid Facebook and Instagram pages of boys that I talk to (oh screw it, it's because I don't like seeing the lovey-dovey couple shots the fitness guy posted while texting me about his morning, um, cravings), but since having been to Cambridge, I love checking out their LinkedIn profiles. Instead of mood-killing pictures of beer pong tournaments back in 2014 and bad skin phases, the profile pic on here usually entails a suit (good), a fresh haircut (good) and a neutral expression that doesn't make me uncomfortable (what else could you ask for?). Instead of a list of the stupid games they play on their phone, there's one of actually useful, maybe even impressing skills that they have (or are confident about being able to fake in case an employer asks to see them). Instead of the vacation they've been on with their parents and the club they hit every weekend, you get a nice rundown of the schools they went to, and, very essential, where they work(ed). Not saying this in a gold-digging kinda way, but it never hurts to look at education/ambition/situation, does it? I find this a million times more interesting than shirtless pictures, because honestly, I can get that view other ways. Also, I think it's pretty neat when a guy has his professional presence down, but that might be my personal thing (though I'm too superficial to be a true sapiosexual, I want it all: The looks and the brains).

What the hell happened to taking it slow? I think we all got into a grand misunderstanding, relationship-definition-wise, because lately, it either seems to be "Totally unattached, plainly sexual, but still hurtful if ended" or "Let's get married a month from the first day we kissed and don't you dare reject one of my calls while you are having friends over or I'll think you hate me now". I don't know about you, but if that's the options, I'm choosing the hurtful sex thing because honestly, at least that's drama free until you really have something to be crushed about. Have people forgotten about the wonderful, carefree, first few weeks or even months of not having to worry about next summer, but not having to worry about one of you sleeping with your best mate on the side, either? The magical time when yes, you can be completely sure of one another at the moment because you are in a blissful state of getting to know each other during long sofa talks and weekends of staying in bed and getting yourself the best muscle ache ever, but do not yet have to figure out the logistics of your job abroad and his family hating you for not wanting kids or whatever, because why the hell would you do that at this point? I get it, we're all getting older and those topics gotta come up sooner rather than later nowadays because screwing around for two years before thinking about maybe sometime moving in together isn't so cute anymore when you're nearing the end of your twenties, but give it a few weeks before naming your children, goddammit.

Last but not least, Instagram is so much fun - I know that I'm probably the last person on earth to discover my Insta-vibe, but see, the app is always crashing on me and I have not photo-artistic talent whatsoever, so I've always been more of a stalker-y bystander in this game. However, after getting my geek on and researching sneaky ways to keep it running smoothly, I am now happily annoying people with overexposed pictures of pasta and dirty mirror selfies. And I've started to get DMs -not those icky ones from strangers who are trying to sell blue pills, but from people I actually know in that weird state of not exactly being friends but apparently still having a reason to talk to each other. Now me, being relatively new to this conversation style, I wonder: Is this just a messaging service you use on the side for your "we would probably never see each other in real life"-friends, like tumblr messages? Or is it the wagon to WhatsApp, testing out if the other person is worth putting into your phone book, just as Facebook Messenger? I would actually prefer the latter, because the DMs are still regularly making my phone kill itself and it's exhausting.

I'm currently stuck at home avoiding writing what I actually have to write, but fun times lie ahead next week!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Me Shamelessly Cropping People Out Of Photos

Is it just me or does this month feel like it is never ever ending? Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, 'cause I have spent the last week doing absolutely nothing productive whatsoever and have a deadline coming up in February, so I could use a little timelapse, because lately I have been....

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

Let's not even talk about ghosting in (sorta-)relationships. That's unnecessary, childish demeanour and we all know it. But I'm afraid that this sort of misbehavior has latched over to plain, platonic, friendly conversations, and to that I quote the great Stephanie Tanner: How RUDE!

See, sometimes in a girl's life, one feels a bit lonely, especially on certain holidays that are otherwise known as "celebration of love". And in that case, one evaluates their possibilities: Whom to text to get a little pick-me-up? Not every guy in the phone book is suitable for this occasion. The ones with real emotional attachment are too dangerous, as that might lead to further confusion of the heart and a great big case of the Christmas blues. The ones who have ghosted before simply do not deserve to be honored with an outreach at this mushy time of the year. Which leaves us with the one category you hadn't managed to screw up yet: The Friendly Platonic.

The Friendly Platonic is someone who maybe sorta likes you in a non-platonic way but never did anything about it, and whom you like enough to not be totally appaled by the thought of him doing so sometime in the future. It is totally innocently fine to text him first, 'cause you haven't become involved in any texting games yet, and it provides just the dash of excitement and attention you need during this gloomy patch of yours.

It's nice. It's harmless. It's a bit awkward, for that matter, but it's only smalltalk.
Until he asks a nice, harmless, slightly awkward question and then fails to respond to your answer. He reads it, but the day goes by without a follow-up, and then another day, and by now the conversation is basically slandered forever and you are fuming and cursing this poor, friendly guy. And that's because basic rules of common courtesy have been set out of works by all the millenial-textinggame-crap that's out there. It has clogged our natural reaction pipes and fogged our minds and tricked us into thinking we have to have the upper hand in every last two-line exchange. I hate it with passion and fury and at the same time I know that it only affects me so much because I'm getting such a kick out of it myself, when it's playing out nicely for me, that is.

So here I am, a week or so later, in my kid's pyjama's at eleven pm, reading Dolly Alderton's "Everything I know about love" (which, by the way, is another work I'll add to the names I confusingly drop when trying to paint a picture of what I want to do with my newfound graduate status, all while talking so fast no one can follow along so they just assume I have a plan), annoyed with all guys and myself while I'm at it. See, New Year's went by as of today, and I am pausing my read to reevaluate the "Whom can I text on Christmas Day"-question that has turned into the "All the boys who did not wish me a happy new year and why"-saga. Obviously, I did not worry about that at the appropriate time of midnight on the 31st because I was in lovely company in a velvet nineties dress and sparkly tights, looking forward to mousse au chocolat. No, this is for the gloomy first days of January when your new year new me plan is not exactly kicking off to a quick start because you're still binging Christmas candy.

Anyways, see, now, not only do the "attached emotion" and the "currently not talking to me" options fail to surprise. The Friendly Platonic has not redeemed himself by saying "oh wow I got sidetracked, but happy new year doll, maybe we shall meet again soon, would certainly hope so" (please note my oh so visible attempt of a British accent). Well, his loss. I would have dead-on swooned about that for weeks to come.

Get this, lovelies. After getting worked up about the swooning I missed out on I was just over here scrolling through particularly nice messages from the "currently not talking to me" guy, reminiscing about a time when I would stay up until two chatting, get up at six, not eat all day and then meet him in my skimpiest workout clothes to make him text me again after hours (honestly, I know how that sounds, but I assure you it was fun), and whose name pops up as soon as I switch back into online mode (I don't like to see people online while I'm stalking my own conversation with them)? Yeah, indeed.

Am I supposed to wish him a happy new year back or call him out on how firstly, it's the second day of the year so really, it's old news to me, and secondly, how dare he ignore my "you up" text for the whole of  December and then try and slide that past me with a half-effed smiley face and a little fireworks emoji? Or does he want to make a move on me again?

Okay, maybe it isn't a clear indication that he wants to make a move on me again. It's not the "you have every right to be mad" speech he pulled off last time. But it's not like you have to wish someone you ghosted a happy new year. I certainly wouldn't do that. It's a bit much on the false sense of moral, even for him. Also, today is probably the last day you could use new year's wishes as an excuse to randomly contact someone (and ignoring their "you up" text in an elegant fashion): Not doing it around midnight could be due to heavy drinking and other people priorities, not doing it on the 1st due to the hangover and other people priorities still being at your place. So.

 It's been 45 minutes and I still haven't decided if/when/what to text him. Two of my friends are dealing with January troubles of sorts that do not call for unsolicited screenshots and me retelling my whole tale of why I still think it's a good idea to talk to someone they repeatedly claimed to despise. My loveliest friend is probably working and not looking at her phone; also, she very definitely despises him as well. Still, I can't be left unsupervised with this.

I hope you've had lots of cute texts from people you actually love, and if not, here's mine to you: Have a magical new year!!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Day 13

So the shoes I bought look lovely and all, especially the overknee-sweater combination I got going on, but I'm kinda already limping with pain and we haven't even made it to my oldest friend's house. But hey, I'm here, the sun is out, the town looks like a made-for-TV British Christmas special and I so absolutely love to finally see my friend again. She takes me to a coffee shop for a jetlag-fighting brownie and extremely expensive macchiato (hi, Pound) and I meet her Asian housemate, who studies linguistics (am I already violating data protection? Oh well) and seemed very sweet. I'm sleeping on a military style futon in my friend's dorm, but having never lived in a dorm myself, even that excites me. As does the town itself - there are so so many different colleges, and they all are built like small separate castles, with a square yard, lots of bricks, old chapels and romantic bridges - oh, and the cutest bridge is the one we have to cross on our way home, which goes right over the Cam (if you ever wondered how that name came to be, it's quite obvious) and is so narrow that you have to watch your step instead of watching the traditional Punting boats in order not to trip in front of a bus. Adorable, really. The Christmas lights are out and we make plans to do all our gift shopping in one go, maximising our luggage limit and credit card bills for good fun.


In the evening, you go sit in the college's own bar (everyone who regularly goes to college is probably yawning by now, but to me, a commuting, fashion-school-where-everything-is-different alumni who had nowhere to go at school but to the basement to enjoy not having phone service and/or food, everything I'll be describing has made an everlasting impression on me), which we did with another girl who's from India and doing economics. She's also really funny, even though I'm not sure she means to be, but whatever. Another guy comes in, gets a drink and asks to sit with us, so I assume he's also part of the group (he wasn't - apparently at other schools, you can dare to sit with strangers without getting stare-daggered) and introduce myself. We end up playing Activity and he compares me to Snow White, which I like to hear. He has curls, though (I've said it before and I'll say it again, can't take those seriously on a man).



Day 14

Receipts everywhere, gifts on the floor, my futon and stuffed into bags, all mixed with my pajamas, hair extensions and clothes I'm changing into for tonight. I got my whole family covered for Christmas, even members I've never met before. My feet are killing me, although I skipped my unnecessarily polished fashion sense and put on some of my friend's sneakers that are two sizes too big for me for the day. We are asked to watch a movie with some people, and then they put on a Netflix show that is way too scary for me so I try to blend that out and think of something warm, such as my new Cambridge sweater that I could not resist getting, even though it is a bit hypocritical of me, because I never had one of my own (see, getting overly excited again).



Day 15

There's supposedly brunch available at some colleges, but since most students are gone for the holidays and there are formal parties going out every day, my friend and I spent the better part of the morning touring the town on the lookout for some English Breakfast (not gonna lie, I like those tomato beans) and then "settling" for authentic Indian food instead. "Settling" is not the right word though - I have no idea what I had but it was amazing. I got no food pictures from this trip by the way 'cause I always dove right in. Then it started pouring and we did the cultural part duty with some museum-hopping (they were all free, which I like since I sometimes really don't get the art and slouch around aimlessly for hours to get my money's worth, searching for a chair to sit on that's not ancient. These ones were more entertaining, though).



Now we're back at the bar, I got a glass of red and have been playfully interrogating one of the guys in the group. He's a nice boy, younger than me and already looking into his Phd, and usually, as he claims, not very talkative. But I am somehow struck by the urge to share my every random thought with him and, in turn, ask him all sorts of inappropriate questions (not that sort, I'm not completely useless in social settings). He doesn't seem to mind too much, though; I think he has taken to the idea to open up to a stranger with purple wine stains on her lips, which are sealed, obviously. My attention shifts now, however, as the guy from the first night has shown up again and is talking to me, leaning in quite closely. He did that before, as well as watching me a bit too intently. At one point he takes my ring to show me some reflecting light, and I am a bit bemused when he slides it back onto my finger (I'm so influenced by romantic comedies, it's a serious condition). He proposes (haha) to show me and my friend a place where they actually serve brunch the next morning, and we agree to go.



Day 16

There's no brunch, and my friend decides to go to the library (everyone but me is shooting for a Phd around here, it seems), but he suggests that brownie serving place and somehow, I am on my way to meet him. Alone. Now I don't know about the cultural differences (British or college related respectively), but in my book that's a bit of a situation. Wish me enough poise to not let this turn awkward.

I think I'm doing fine - I have not brought up anything romance /heartbreak/ textationship related, neither asked inappropriate questions, so that's good so far. We're on safe territory, talking family, careers (well, his), New Year's resolutions. Location changes to a gallery and I still can't tell if he just lacks a sense of personal space or is purposefully getting closer to me. I don't really mind either way - I'm not exactly overcome with desire, but I'm nice and comfortable. We're walking around town and he's got all these anectodes and knows every special corner, showing me a lovely spot near the bridge, and I wonder if he's trying to set a mood. I'm too busy congratulating myself for being so comfortable to notice, anyways. I also forget to watch the clock and we turn up at my friend's house when it's already getting dark (I have shown an alarming sense for poor priorities when it comes to guys), where he joins us for tea. While the others are discussing their uni system, I play with my hair elastic and he absentmindedly pulls it away from me like we're holding a bow between us (as in bow and arrow). He keeps asking what we should do for my last night, but my friend and I are invited to dinner and have to keep it pretty vague. (Though me, with my bad priorities, would totally sneak away from a group thing to see a guy. Too bad I'm too polite to actually suggest that)

Dinner is just lovely, still. We're at a Chinese place and my friend's roomate has chosen all these dishes that look fabulous and I'm non-stop refilling my plate. Good thing I was so busy being comfortable I forgot to eat all day.

Eventually we end up in a common room, where I further bond with the shy guy from before (and spam him with my confusion over the other guy's intentions, to which he only says "well, do you need anything from him?". He's so much more self-actualized than me in some ways, bless his heart). Then the other guy drops by and we share some fruity cider (I wasn't aware that there was alcohol in that until I asked, and that's the good stuff), but since we're all playing a game that does not allow much talking, no scandalous whispering in dark corners happens, and the evening fades out in a somewhat anti-climaxing fashion. Meaning I am wearing a rain-soaked fur coat and my teeth are uncontrollably rattling from the cold when we hug goodbye in breathing distance to my friend.

Day 17 

On my flight back home. Very tired, very sad to be leaving this marvelous place where everyone is nice and chatty to (and maybe even hitting on) you, there's books everywhere (the libraries are so pretty I could cry) and I am completely cut loose from all responsibility while walking that narrow bridge and breathing in the cold December air.