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Rosy Smith
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Just a picture of a lovely waffle at "HappyWaffel" to kick this off.

So, first of all, hold your breath 'cause my loveliest friend is coming into town this weekend!
I'm SO excited. It's gonna be a full-blown long weekend (I took Monday off - the things I do these days) and oh, there's so much to do around here. And I'll be able to pull off my proud-hostess thing again, even though my fridge is currently empty except for half a can of kidney beans and a garlic bread, and I have not vacuumed in a long time (who knew that that was such an essential task in life) and  I still need to figure out how to get her from the airport and what to wear so that it feels like a proper episode of a fun girls sitcom, but I'll get there. Most importantly, I'm excited.

Right, so the main thing this month has been me moving and starting at the internship and I think I'm doing okay with it - you know all that, I've mentioned my great ability to keep myself alive before, it's all fun and fireworks, blabla. I even went out (once) and had drinks (thrice; twice at the office. The perks of the creative industries). Props to me for that. 

My parents came and we went to the restaurant of a German TV cook (I think he's pretty well-known 'cause he's also got a new TV show that's not even about food). It's actually supposed to be a good place for seafood (this city is, like, all about the seafood) but I went crazy and had a burger and it
was one of the best burgers I've had in a while, especially compared to my new diet of rice noodles and shrimps. Look at it: 




Also, I went to my first ballet class in about a year (kicking myself for letting it slide so long every time I realize how long it's actually been) and I loved it. One of the many great things about dance is that you go there, you say hi, you try not to hit anyone while you're doing your thing (when you're doing turns across the room and have forgotten that you need to focus and suddenly don't remember how to stop twirling, for instance), you clap for your teacher at the end and then you smile and go home. No need to awkwardly socialise with a group of random people who just happened to go to ballet class at the same time. I mean, they get to see my out-of-control turns, which is quite embarrassing by itself, so they don't need to know my name and connect those two things with each other. 

Does that make me sound really weird or is there some silent agreement to this kind of behaviour out there? Tell a-me.

What else? I had something. I forgot. I started Christmas cookie season at the start of September, by the way, so you can do, too. Because I give out the official permissions this year. 

I need to go to bed now.

Love,

Rosy Smith




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Can I just say that

a) I've been logged out of my google and twitter and everything account for some reason.
b) I never log out, mostly because I'm lazy and also because I always forget my passwords.
c) I remembered the Google one but it failed me on Twitter.
d) My regular email account did not receive Twitter's link mails.
e) My other account did, though. A miracle is upon us.
d) The mails suggested I use my Twitter app to reset my password. Which does not sound like such a bad idea.
e) HOWEVER, the app requests me to type in my OLD password in order to reset it.
f) Why the hell would anyone want to reset their password if they freaking remember it?
g) Oh, now those emails work, huh.

Okay, now that is out of the way. Thus (I should've studied English), the past half hour was evidently not spent cleaning this place up. Which is a shame, considering that I 

a) Felt gross when I came home so I hopped in and out of the shower without looking back (eg. wipe).
b) Got hungry because I spent ages doing a) so I stumbled out to the store across the street where I bought overpriced breakfast bars, shrimps and juice (the clerk has to be used to my weird eating habits by now. He even helped me carry my juice sixpack to the register. But he kept the change, which wasn't what I meant by "that'll do" when I handed him a larger sum. I meant "sorry but you'll have to calculate my change". I'll speak in full sentences next time). By nine pm, I finally ate, but I didn't get around to load the dishwasher yet 'cause I started my nighttime routine of Friends and chocolate.
c) Have not put any clothes back into the closets all week. Interestingly enough, all my closet doors are wide open, though.

I'm thinking about getting a grip right now and tidy, but I have to get up at seven tomorrow (in journalism, no one really starts working before half past nine usually (I'll get back on that in another story), so this is gruesome for me) because we're doing a shoot somewhere in town. I'll have to try and remember how to assist at that kinda thing. Last time, I was mostly sat on the sofa trying on pointy boots and zipping skirts open and closed. I'm guessing it won't be quite the same. 

What am I gonna wear, by the way? I had my comfortable outfit on today already (leggins, but pretending they're those hip joggers, and my slouchy feelgood sweater, and ballet flats in a desperate attempt to look Audrey Hepburn perky), so it's gonna be a skirt. 

Figured it out, thanks to the open closet. It's half past eleven now and I'm tired and I still have to memorize my train times for tomorrow. And wipe the shower, 'cause I can practically hear my parents telling me to do so from back home. 

Nighty night, then.

Love,

Rosy Smith

PS: No, I don't speak Chinese. But I can look at the pictures.
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Face Mapping. So, according to this, I'm stressed, my digestive system is all wrong, I'm either dehydrated or an alcoholic and definitely stuffing my face with greasy food. The latter might be true as I have developed an obsession with mini mozarella balls, but stressed? Okay, I'm not used to being in an office all day long, but whenever there's not much to do for me, I'm free to browse fashion-related websites for face mapping advice and call it research. That's the life, right?
 
Speaking of websites, I just read that cords are back in style on the-pool.com. I think I'm scared. Having had to wear cord pants since childhood, I've only recently (probably about ten years ago, though. I'm old.) escaped the order to wear them to "keep warm" and got to deliberately enjoy myself getting cold in my nylons. Cords make me feel boyish (when I was little I sometimes wore hand-me-downs from my older brother. Also, in the nineties, pants were not meant to have a shape. Whoever put shapeless pants on the runway - why, oh why?) and warm (duh, they served their purpose alright. But in school, we had a thing called heating. Well, most of the time) and slightly childish later on when all the cool kids started wearing jeans. Nowadays, I have to think hard about the last time I wore those, so maybe I should take a second thought on the cords as well? I mean, I own cord skirts. They're cute and seventy-sy. And I know I have some grey pants in that style, somewhere in the back of my closet at home. I could get them shortened (nothing compares to the dread of too-long pants against my shoes) and pretend they're velour. It might work. I'll keep you posted....

Oh great, now my desktop froze and on a window that is not work stuff (work stuff - that sounds like such a weird thing out of my ink). I just hit reset, probably losing publishing data in the width of the internet in the process. Oh, well.

Anyways, I have taken a special liking to the "Parenting Honestly" posts on the-pool.com. Even though I have no reason to read about parenting experience whatsoever, I enjoy the writing styles of the authors, I like cute stories about toddlers (that sounds so bad if you wanna hear it the wrong way) and I tear up constantly when all the motherly love hits me through the lines. Oh and my other discovery is a lipstick column on there ("Sometimes it's the little things" - it's over now I think but there's loads of posts to catch up on). It's actually touching on some quite tough subjects but it does it well, y'know what I mean?

By the way, this is not a paid for advertisment for The Pool. I wish. Ha.

Last but not least, I bought new shoes. They're brown, and when I saw them in the store and they didn't have them in my size in black, I asked myself: Don't I need a pair of brown shoes? Because you see, the only ones I own are my cowboy boots, and they're not exactly everyday-wear (but I should get them out more often, thinking about it). And I am a firm believer in the theory that you should have a list of staples that you're sure you'll be needing in your life so that you won't feel bad when you splurge on them because you have valid arguments that support your decision.

Boom. Bought 'em.

Love,

Rosy Smith




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The chief editor just told another editor her hair looks good in a sidepart. "Less fluffy than usual". Fashion, baby.

The hours. They're long. I mean, they start pretty late - I need to adjust my system to having time at home before nine am that is not spent sleeping. Otherwise, I'm so early that it doesn't even matter when I miss my subway stop due to composing risky texts. I even had time for a quick picture of the picturesque water situation at the wrong station. And today I got let out early because the editors were having prosecco anyways and were so kind to not make me work either.


The work. The first day, I was only packing boxes of specific clothes I had to find off racks of stuff that is hung in absolutely no apparent or even hidden kind of order. I swear I have had every single one of those items in my hand and I still can't remember where anything is. I'm itching to flipping reorganize that whole room in every way possible. Alphabetically, by use, length and color. Just give me a week. That day, I seriously wondered whether I am making enough of a difference in this world by doing this, but I blame those thoughts on my aching feet and back (a bit of existencial pleading never hurts. It makes your skin glow). Anyways, my tasks get more fun each day and right now I'm happily cutting out little purses and hats to go with some flatlays. If only the phone would never ring - I don't have my phone voice on spot yet, so I refuse to answer even though that's probably something an intern would do. But seriously, how do some people sound like they've been trained in a calming callcenter for years when they're speaking on the phone? It must be a God-given gift.

The desk. It's big and it's next to a huge window and there's all the good stuff on it (magic scotch tape and markers and little post its of which I use twelve a day just because I can). And a mac computer - when did those take over the world? And most importantly, why? Nothing follows intuition and everything's on the wrong side. The only positive thing about it is the giant screen behind which no one sees me checking my texts while I chat to the editors about annoying people who are on their phone all of the time.

I wish I could show you a picture of my precious paper cutting work but I believe I signed something like "I won't publish anything I see or hear" that sounded pretty serious.
Good thing I'm not a vlogger then.

Did I just laugh out loud to the TV or was I just thinking laughter? Is this what living alone feels like?

Hope you're good.

Love,

Rosy Smith






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I'm here! I moved! I have six doors and countless cleaning agents that sit pretty in the supply closet (yeah, that I have too) until I figure out what to do with them. But let's go back a little before getting right into the dirt-dishing, shall we?

My bestest friend and I met up on Sunday and went on a walk (how does getting back always go so much faster than getting there? On a walk, I mean) and we decided on the following: When we meet up in a couple years, we're gonna be so fabulously busy that the waiters in the cute secret-hotspot-café will be wondering why no one's at the reserved corner table yet, and then, a charming ten minutes late, we'll both arrive in front of the door and hug and tell each other about the important-but-fun things that held us up and then we'll sit and talk and drink coffee like the Gilmores.

My loveliest friend and another friend and I tried to go out salsa dancing, but unexpectedly (I'm serious - I mean, there has to be a demand if even us wanted to go), Monday night isn't exactly prime time for latin parties. What a gap in the market. Anyways, we ended up doing the next-best thing to dancing, which is, obviously, eating. Gosh, it's so good. There's this small tapas bar by a kind of designated square where college students seem to go hang out (even on Monday nights, I may add) and we sat outside and watched them. It's a bit like a high school playground, only that you never know if the guy you have a crush on will be there the next day. Ah, the joy of adulthood.

And then I went off to Hamburg - such a pretty city! There's lots of brick and glass and water, and yesterday we ran right into some sort of food festival going on around the river, and today we drove out to the beach and walked some very steep stairways (sometimes I realize just how long I haven't exercised. Then I usually sit down and forget all about it). See for yourself (only the beach part though, 'cause I forgot to bring my camera transfer cable):




Did I mention I have two wardrobes now? The guy who usually lives here is a) amazingly clean and b) thankfully chose nicely sterile, white Ikea closets. Since I only brought the more wintery half of my clothes, I have so much space that I can do little flatlays inside the drawers. Arranging my pantyhose by color is so satisfying. Tomorrow I'll set up makeup and office stuff in the spare room. It's gonna be a blast.

And on Labor Day I'll start working - the irony! Be still, my beating heart. Stay tuned, lovelies....

Love,

Rosy Smith






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Call Me Rosy

That's not really my name, but we'll just go with it. Mostly everything else on here is true, though. As for the rest - enjoy the mystery.

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