Rosy Smith: romance

....One of my bestest friends said recently, while we were talking about the guy she likes, who seems to like her back but hasn't made plans to see her in a while, which leads to some confusion about if he likes her the way she likes him (a well-known confusion that always sets in whenever one doesn't see each other in a while); she said "See, you don't have to worry about that anymore, because you know." And well, she's right - I know because he told me so just two nights ago. And believe me, I'm as amazed by that incident as anyone should be, breaking into dazed expressions with stupid little grins several times a day, whenever the memory hits me and my brain is like woah, that happened. I'd also like to tell everyone including my church paper editing team (six 40-Somethings and a priest), but I don't because I don't want to be one of those people. So instead I tell my two ride or dies several times a day.

So, I'm over the moon and everything, but I think, regarding the worrying about his state of affection for me - I guess deep down I knew for a while now. I mean, I hoped as well, and I worried a little for the sake of it, but I still believed, judging from the way he is when I'm with him, and the things he tells me and the fact that he watched the new Bridget Jones movie with me, that there must be a reason that's sorta coming from that direction.

And please, ignore me if you like for I'm sliding a bit along the lines of those people now, but I feel that in a "thing between people" (not to say relationship, 'cause that sounds like I'm giving psychological advice and I would be annoyed with myself if I did that) it would be great if both of these people would make each other feel like they know. Not from the beginning, 'cause that would be creepy and honestly, who even knows anything themselves at that point, but you get it. Sometime.

Because the whole texting-game is so tiring and time-consuming and we all have much better things to do, such as painting our nails (something I never seem to get around to).

Love,

Rosy Smith

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Yes, I have timing issues, but after my loveliest friend told me that she cried with disappointment when my last post wasn't this one (we are very much hung up on that vacation, so it's not that surprising), it only took me six days to come around to it....

First things first, on our first morning in Santa Marinella, we went grocery shopping which felt like such an adult thing to do; however, we seem to not have yet mastered the art of coming out of the supermarket with a basket full of things that actually make up for a whole meal together. But we got iced tea that's really cold and will satisfy my unusual thirst throughout the whole week. And some lettuce. And Mozarella. And, of course, frozen pizza (the native cooking version of a tourist - a tourist who can't cook).

On we went to the beach - we found a pretty cliff to sit on ( if you want to have a good beach day, always go for a pretty cliff) and draped ourselves over it for ten beautiful minutes in the plain sunlight until we realized we'd be beautifully burned if that went on much longer so we bought our very own parasol like my parents used to do back when they went to the Canaries in the 90s - I have this weird complex about the 90s being cool even though I only spent the first four years of my life there, so I have the need to mention that. After a while of sunbathing and flipping through Italian Elle without understanding a word (funny how we didn't cover any fashion terms in fashion school yet), we sliddered down the cliff to try and find a safe spot to go into the water without jumping on a riff and ripping our new bikinis / our limbs.

"You know, I really don't like that people think I'm such a girly gi-iiih" - my loveliest friend, screaming in unisono with me as a wave crashed onto the cliff we were standing on and wet our feet (Always a surprise, no matter how close the sea is).

And as we stood there, making guinea pig sounds and clinging onto each other in desperate fear of slipping and just for general support in the quest of entering the water, I turned to face the other people on the cliff, you know, to see if they were already handing out popcorn in order to make it an even better show, when I spotted this man looking right at us, and I don't remember if I smiled but I probably did because I'm a nice person, and suddenly, he was standing next to us offering my friend a hand to step onto a different stone. In our desperation, it seemed like the right thing to do, so she took it, and he kinda lifted her above the gap, and then he took my hand and pointed to a presumably better spot to get into the water. "Is it safe?", my friend asked. "We're not so good at swimming", I said, pointing out our best features in front of strangers as it is my custom. "Yeah, (oh, he was Italian, but he spoke English in a soft, slurred voice) all you need is a bit of courage." I laughed. "We're not so good at that either" (See, pointing it all out). He looked a bit confused but he must have realized the burden he'd loaded onto himself and got into the water, just jumping right in. "I'm not jumping anywhere", I declared to my friend. "Come on", the man said, holding out his hands. My friend crouched down on the cliff, leaned forward, and fell-jumped into his arms. Me, already crouching behind her, decided that anything better than ripping my limbs is fine with me, and did the same.

I think I made it without screaming.

Needless to say, since my loveliest friend and I have issues, we were mortified already that we needed a stranger to basically carry us into the water, so we swam away quickly, and my God, I forget how good and calm and velvety the sea feels every time. It's been over a year since I've been it it and that, lovelies, is definitely too long. The sun was glittering and blinding and behind us, the pretty cliffs and the castello rose above the ground, covered in pines and flowers, looking like a real-life postcard motive (guess what, it is), and everything felt as light as it's only possible when you're just a small body moving in the endless sea.

The only problem was the Getting Out Of It.

See, I have a lifelong fear of being crashed against the cliffs while swimming towards them. I don't know anybody whom that happend to, neither has it ever happened to me, but humans are irrational beings. My loveliest friend, for instance, is very scared of stepping into a sea urchin, so we had all the worst case scenarios covered and reluctantly swam back, examining the situation. Could we climb up there? Would we fall and make a fool of ourselves/hit our heads and bleed to death, whatever came first? "Let's just stay in here for a while longer", I said, "like we voluntarily choose to relax in this place exactly." We turned to face the cliffs, but our casual "We really just want to hang in here, it's all good" expression must have failed to convince, and it changed into "What the hell is this guy doing" the moment we saw that man who helped us earlier run, (yes, in my memory he was running like a baywatch cast member) down the cliffs, thankfully not holding a red float but shamefully a stick; you heard right, a stick like the ones on the trees where the leaves are - out to my loveliest friend, and in that moment of panic and helplessness regarding any other possibility to get out of the water, she reached for the stick. Turns out that a stick would work great if you wanted to poke a dead cat floating in the water for three weeks to see if it might be alive; it would also be the right device to pick up a piece of trash, like maybe a Coke can, that someone lost on the other side of the coast a couple of days ago; however, I hate to say it, but my friend and I aren't the same weight as the aforementioned items, even if we're as low in dignity as they are. So, our knight in brownish bermudas threw it away in a grand gesture and tried with his hands instead and pulled my friend up in a standing position. I was so stunned that I reached for him eagerly and he, not having found a great stand on the wet stone again, and I, not finding a great stand on there at all, fell back into the water. That's the moment when I get full on irrational and my biggest worry is "Am I too heavy for him?". After that split-second thought, I look at him, he looks at me, and my loveliest friend describes that sight as hilarious 'cause we both looked utterly bewildered, gazing up at her with that same expression (as if she could help us) before he gets into action again, grabbed my waist and pushed me onto the stone. I pray til this day that my bikini bottoms didn't slip too much when the water pulled at them while I was getting out, because I need a little something of my body this man hasn't touched or seen within the first 30 minutes of us knowing each other.

Our plan was to hide under our parasol and never see him again, but his plan was to place his towel next to ours and tell us his name - we'll call him A here - and that he lived in America in his teens and that he was waiting on a friend with whom he was starting a rap/electro music career that was about to blow up soon. Of course. He couldn't be working in an office or something, he had to be a budding musician. We "mmhm"d a lot and said "Wow that's cool" while trying to shove his dog (a small white....I have no clue about dog breeds but he looked like the one from The Adventures Of Tintin) off our stuff. He (the dog) really had it for my loveliest friend and cuddled up closely to her, forcing us to almost fall off our cliff because we tried to get as far away from him as possible. We're not really dog people (aka she's totally scared and I'm not exactly brave with them either and we have absolutely no desire at all to change that). A took him away some times, but not often, and when he went swimming, this dog stayed with us like we adopted him. A did, too. So I'll give you a better picture of him: His head is closely shaved, he's mid-height and very skinny arm and leg wise but still has pretty broad shoulders (I don't know how that's possible either) and pretty good abs, and he is covered in scars and cuts, the most recent one resulting from me being clumsy enough to make him fall off a cliff. Makes you think he's professionally rescuing girls out of the sea - either that or a drug dealer or something.

We met him again at the cafe at the end of our street; turns out he's our next door neighbour. His friend, B (I'm just noticing they're like Chip'n'Dale), had arrived and they asked if they could sit with us - "No they can't". I hissed to my friend. "Yeah, sure", my friend said with an uncertain smile (we're too polite/socially awkward to tell off strangers, which is probably a dangerous quality to have). We ended up spending the afternoon sitting there, letting them play us some of their music ("It's....interesting. I mean, I don't like that kind of music, but someone who does would think it's good, right?" - me, not liking it at all) and declining their offers to play it live for us "up in the apartment". It's not even that we thought they would do something to us, but even the idea of sitting in this guy's home, when we just met him in the weirdest situation ever and them playing bad music to us and us having to pretend to like it, when we could be out and about that gorgeous town eating gelato in the sun by ourselves.....it honestly didn't appeal to me as something I had any interest in doing.

First Evening Photoshoot - The Hair Flip

"But why don't you trust us", B said. I think he was offended 'cause he thought we thought he was in the Mafia (how did that even come up?). Italian men, lovelies! "They're young girls, in a strange country...." A got me better there. Well, he does have a daughter, so I guess he thought about her being 19 and hanging out with two men in their thirties - yes, they were that old, even though A looks younger due to his 90's rapper style in cut-off jeans and plaid button down shirts. All in all, a strange situation. Not neccessarily bad, but indeed very strange. We kept saying that after we finally left and got some ice cream. In heels, 'cause in Italy, it's never too early to wear heels.

Remember the piazza? Me and my loveliest friend just sat there again, on our usual bench, like two extras on a movie set, and watched the magic happen around us: By ten o'clock, the people came and started to have dinner (unthinkable for us, being hungry at six sharp) and the kids were running around again (don't the Italian kids have to go to sleep, ever? It's like being in Neverland) and the air was still warm and the old-fashioned streetlights gave everything a dreamy radiance.

"I like how I am here - I feel like I can't be this way at home", she said thoughtfully. "Maybe that's the way we are when we're in Italy", I said.

And then, the buskers appeared. And they played a beautiful, beautiful version of Sinatra's "My Way". I swear, that moment sitting there, with that tune hovering around mixed with the children's playing and the people laughing and the silverware and the glasses clinking and the knowledge I'd be there for a week, I was so in love. With everything. And I was serious when I said to my loveliest friend: "I want to get married right now. I'd marry anyone".

Love,

Rosy Smith

PS: I changed my mind about the marriage thing by now, but you know, the mood was right at the time.

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....a couple of weeks ago, my precious classmates had a discussion that involved body fluids (in the literal sense. No one exchanged any. We're all into boys here). I like to keep quiet during those kinds of conversations, because ew, did I not need to hear that water bottle comparasion (please put it down. Also, that can't be true). Okay, so I was listening, but I can keep my thoughts to myself - most of the time. In person. But they started on such an interesting topic, I just have to share my views on that:

Is it okay to hook up (I mean sleep but that's not something I'd say) with your ex?

Well, that's not nicely phrased, 'cause of course it's okay. You do you, and everything. Is it advisable, though? Probably not. I think its confusing; just like staying friends with your ex (I'm not a big supporter of that phenomenom, either), the action is so familiar and closely tied with your bygone relationship that you're not really out of it. 50% of you (the physical part) still treats him the same - so how are you over? Why break up if you're still willing to make time for him? Sure, you might not be on the same page emotionally, or generally. But isn't it hard to remember that when your body has full access to and is getting response by his?

On the other hand, I never tried, and I'm willing to believe that, if you're emotionally unattached, such an arrangment may at least be easier than "staying friends". Thinking "I hate that guy but he's hot so why not" doesn't sound totally healthy, but I guess that way, you won't have so much trouble stopping. When staying friends, it's just this weird "we talk on the couch like we used to, but we're not making out - and then there's this silence when we'd be supposed to make out and it's so creepy because I'm so used to this part being about making out that I don't know what to do next and it's really hard to just go home now and I think I still want him BOOM that friendship thing doesn't work" situation.

Oh, I'm talking about regulary throwbacks, just to make that clear. A one time thing is just a messy way of one last hooray.

Questions left?

Love,

Rosy Smith

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Def: “The table drummers, the fitting jeans-carriers, the ones with the nice haircut and headphones dangling from their shirtnecks, the ones with the guitarist wrists and lullaby voice and the kind of thoughtfulness that’s necessary to write a song but also enough self-confidence and humor to be thrilling onstage. Easy to fall for, hard to catch alone (and single).”

So, I wrote this totally validable definition of band guys for the world to treasure and teach their children back in 2013. The reason for that's been that I'd been crushing on one of them at that time....and reminiscing about it, almost all of the boys I've ever been into have been members of that species.

No.1, front man of this group which was, like, the rock band of our school. He was the designated hearthrob and I've mentioned him quite a few times 'cause hell I had it bad for him. The first time I've ever seen him, without surprise, had been on stage, when he sang his heart out to a cover version of "Through Glass" by Stone Sour. I'm still in love with that song. You should've seen how he held on to the mic holder when he hit the high notes. Isn't that what a girl's dreams are made of?

No.2, somebody who wasn't even in a band, nor was he especially attractive (putting it the nice way), but he played the piano sometimes and I was always "coincidentally" hanging around there, trying to share deep glances with him to classical music. It was so awful.

No.3, a cute boy-next-door type who was nice and thoughtful and jokey and probably wouldn't have been of any interest to me at all if he hadn't had his own band and wrote his own songs and recorded this demo and stuff. I was infatuated with - or let's call it fascinated by - his passion for words and music, just like mine, and he had some pretty good tunes, and when he played the guitar and got all absent-minded, I thought we shared something deep.
Gosh, we would've been SO BAD together.

No.4, a lovely, lovely guy I've met this summer. He was so right about so many things. And he was not right for me in so many ways. But he had a guitar, and he had such a great taste in music, and we could talk about it for so long, and he took such great interest in my taste in music, and we made music together, and something about the way he looked at me when he played just made me very happy.

That's it so far. Let's see if there'll be more band guys crossing my path. Until then, tell me about the ones you met!

Love,

Rosy Smith

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....So, it's summer, the days are hot and the nights are long and perfect for going out. This is why this time of the year is also called dating season (not sure that's official, but it should be). But, as it is a cruel, cruel world which is so unlike The Notebook most of the time, it's not all fun and games. In fact, my loveliest friend and I came to the conclusion that in between all the horrible scenarios and faux-pas that could happen, it is a very rare phenomenom if a date actually isn't bad. However, a girl can dream, right? That's why I am going to tell you about a truly perfect date and you are going to sit back and relax and enjoy the story like a nice little fairytale and imagine that you're the main character....

It starts with him calling you unexpectedly. You have met before, but he didn't say he was gonna call, and you didn't really think he was gonna call, and you were perfectly fine with having spent some time with such a nice person without having to wonder when he is gonna call or if he is ever going to do so or if he just said it to be polite or if you shouldn't dare to think somebody's actually gonna call you. No, you are contently sitting at home doing something irrelevant, when the phone rings and he's there and he says that he was wondering if you wanted to go out with him some time. He knows this lovely small restaurant down by the river you've never been to and you say that you'd like that, because of course, you're very happy that he asks 'cause honestly, deep down you have hoped that he'd call- you do want to see him again, as soon as possible. Tomorrow?, he asks, which is flattering. You pretend to check your calender, though ("never be needy" has basically been etched into your brain forever) and he says he'll pick you up in his car (I'm warning you, I'm a sucker for the old-school act) and that he's looking forward to it and after you hang up, you call your best friend, because duh. Let the outfit choosing begin....

Cut to the next day. You're looking effortlessly pretty in your favorite new red summer dress (choose your own color) and some light heeled sandals. Your hair has been totally cooporative and smoothly flows past your shoulders, you have not put out your eyeball with the mascara wand and your lipstick doesn't make you look like a total slut. He's there at 6 sharp and you're ready on time (this is the point where it gets utopic), so you just grab your bag and float out the door. If he's a real gentleman, he's brought some simple white flowers, but that's not a must seeing as it might be a bit too much thought for a first date with somebody you haven't known for long. Anyways, to speed it up a little, you have a fun drive out of the city and the restaurant lies next to a sparkling river and has a terrasse with a table for two under a scenic pavillon and there's fresh flowers in simple glass vases and candles on the table, but they don't get in the way while you're eating your rice which doesn't get everywhere and is easy to swallow and you are having a truly inspiring conversation about literature highlighted with some funny anectodes from your childhoods, but not the emberrassing ones which involve nudity, but the cute ones which show how bright you've always been. The topic of food is not being brought up (see, N?) and when the check comes, he takes it before you can even think about the right way to ask who is gonna pay how much.

You leave the restaurant but it's still so beautiful outside what with the obligatory sunset and everything and you both still want to enjoy each other's company (although none of you has to ask if the other one would rather go home, that would be too awkward) so you take a stroll along the river and talk about really existential things, but so jolly and freely that it isn't too weird and involves a lot of laughter, and somehow, he takes your hand without you even really noticing. Scratch that, you obviously notice and get way too excited about it, but no sweaty hands occur, you just smile up at him in that "I know you like me but I'll pretend I don't know but just so you know, I know, and I like it, I might even like you too"- way, and you'll both be confident in your mutual affection and able to relax and have fun. Then, you'll drive home in some kind of giddily tenseness, because when you're home, the well-known question is going to come up....Is he going to kiss you?

But since this is THE perfect date, you're not fussing over it, you simply let him walk you up to your front door, there'll be an epicilly romantic/funny, whatever you prefer, two-liner and he'll lean in to kiss you, and it'll be awesome and lovely and passionate but not slobbery, heaven forbid. After you finally untangel, he'll ask you when he might see you again and you say, soon, and he'll say he'll call you and he will, this time expectedly, and you'll go to sleep in a daze of amazement, bearing the knowledge you just experienced a honestly perfect date.

Sweet dating dreams, lovelies,

Love,

Rosy Smith

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