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

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

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