Yeah. This was a repeated nightmare for me every time I went to sleep at night and had a temp gig the next day. I thought I was going to be throttled by my boss. I was the PA from hell and all I could say was "Fuck!"

Dear Ether,

“Errrrm, can you repeat that for me again?”  I think I must have said that at least 15 times a day when I answered the phone. I was working as a temp for a very important VP for a marketing firm in London.  I had enough trouble pronouncing HIS surname (and was too afraid to ask him for the 100^th time to correct me) and felt like I should be wearing the tallest dunce cap in the building.

I began temping while I was writing my dissertation for my Master’s.  I didn’t need to travel into Uni any longer so I was able to work during the day and write at night.  PA work paid the best and because of my typing speed and my “lovely disposition” I was the perfect candidate for the gig.  The only problem was I stank at it.

I couldn’t make coffee (instant included) for the life of me.  My hand trembled so much when I presented the java to the folks in meetings there was more of the stuff on the saucers than there was in their cups.  And tea!  Forget it!  I would always turn crimson with an apology saying that we Yanks were rubbish at making the stuff and beware of the hemlock that was to come.  I couldn’t figure out the phone systems and would disconnect people—like the CEO.  I couldn’t even get tasks like photocopying right.  The damned thing would always jam when I tried to use it and it would take me 20 minutes to make one Xerox which I’m sure made my boss wonder where the hell I’d been.  Oh, and forget ever booking a meeting room correctly.  Ha!  If you wanted Room A, you’d always get Room B at the wrong time and in the year 2013.  And as I wrote above, not only could I never understand anyone on the phone, I was so flustered to get their name correct, I often forgot to take down their details.  I was the temp from hell.  Every Friday I would, with a huge lump in my throat, go into the office of whomever I was working for, and ask them to sign my timesheet.  I knew I didn’t deserve the cash—except that I had shown up on time and sat there for 8 hours.  I caused far more calamity than I did calm.

One time a gentleman called and I asked his name.  Forgive my spelling (I’ll do my best) but he said, “Rude Wank.”  I couldn’t believe it.  There was silence on the phone.  How was I going to tell my boss that a guy named Rude Wank needed to chat with him? I was so worried that I got the name wrong AGAIN and was going to go in there and make a fool of myself that I was almost inclined to forget about the message, but Mr. Wank said it was urgent.  This was the piest de la resistance.  I knew that fucking this up would be my utter downfall.  I walked into his office, and bless him, the poor bloke never gave me a hideous glare (though he was pleased to hear that I didn’t intend on making a career out of being a PA) and being the immature idiot that I was, entered like a bumbling schmuck.  “Uhh…yeah..I….ummm…just got…errr….this call….oh man……Rude Wank…..he said it was urgent.”  “Who called?” he asked.  Fuck me….I knew that was it.  I was going to back out of the room like he was Elizabeth the 1^st and I was a fucking servant and then run like the wind.  “Uh, Rude.  Rude WANK.”  “Blimey.  Okay.  That’s an interesting…well anyway. Thank you.”  It turned out that was a common Dutch name and I’d actually gotten the bloody name right, but jesus, pit stains were never heavier than that day.

The more skills you claimed to have, the more dosh you got.  So, of course I claimed to have many more abilities than I indeed had training in (hey, rent needed to be paid) so I claimed I was a master at Powerpoint, and excelled in, well, Excel!  BIG mistake.  I was called in for a PA gig where my main job was to work with dreaded Excel spreadsheets.  I thought I was computer savvy and could hack it.  Oh my god.  Have you ever tried Excel without testing yourself on it first?  That software is the DEVIL!  I ended up going to IT, begging for mercy about 6 times during the day, buying a lovely woman lunch, and having her do my work for me.  I called my agency that afternoon and told them I was coming down with a cold and couldn’t complete the rest of the week.

But, because none of these polite gents ever complained, I kept getting work!!!!! I couldn’t believe it.  But then D-day happened.  I was sent to a very high-end advertising agency.  I was to be there 2 days.  My job was to help the guy type, type, type.  I was given a hand over for all the typing(ironically with a girl with a missing digit) and she was lovely, but I smelled bad news immediately.  The guy was head of the joint, mean as hell and I was shitting my pants.  The irony of this temp job was that I actually could do it!  Typing was my forte.  But he was scary and mean.  Nothing I did was good enough.  Mr. X was a rotund man with a face that was beet red and he looked liked he was going to keel over from a heart-attack any minute.  His office had a large easel with a beautiful oversized coffee table book of designs that probably cost a fortune.  He also had a very precarious stack of art books that were at least as tall as me (I’m 5’6).  Shaking in my boots, he asked me to come in and put the books away.  They “bothered” him.  Easy right?  I was so scared with him being in the room watching me with his swollen, beady eyes. I took 2 books from the pile, but the balance must have altered and they came crashing down.  FUCK!   There had been a tea and coffee cart there from a previous meeting.  They hit that and it caused the beverages to become like a waterfall in the air landing on his precious book on the easel.  Did I mention his desk looked like Armageddon had come?  His computer was knocked off, his keyboard dangled on its side.  The red laser of his mouse kept flickering for mercy as it swung back and forth like a pendulum.  His tea was all over his desk calendar and paperwork and his trousers were soaked.  This all happened within 1 minute.  I didn’t know what to do.  I kept repeating the words “sorry” and “oh my god,” but he was silent.  And I knew like deadly Vesuvius, silence was going to turn into a violent eruption…and it did.  He screamed bloody murder.  After verbally abusing me for a good two minutes at the top of his lungs, two gentleman from offices next to his came to escort me out.  They told me to go home.  I tried explaining to my agency.  They quietly listened (it really wasn’t my fault!) and told me they’d be in touch.  I never heard from them again.  Truthfully, I could have sought out other recruitment offices to hire me (they are a dime a dozen in London).  But I was SO done with being a PA.  It was hard, not rewarding and I really was horrible at it.

It’s funny.  I’m excellent at very difficult tasks.  Writing under hideous deadlines.  Making a shoot work in impossible situations.  Working with PR’s to get that one of a kind Gucci dress that Vogue wants but I sweet talk them into lending to me.  And if you need to get an interview with a celeb that won’t talk—they are butter in my hands.  But, send me to fax something and I am dumb as rocks.

As I got more advanced in my career, I ended up with a lovely assistant and also girls who I oversaw who answered to me.  I made sure to be beyond kind, patient and to never forget my years as a PA.  That and being a waitress I reckon, are two of the hardest jobs out there (well, besides hard labor).  Being someone else’s brain/Blackberry.  Whoa.  So this is an ode to all of you assistant’s out in the ether.  The ones with the pictures on cork boards and plants on your desks to give something to call your own.  I hear you.  I really do.  And to bosses out there—be more forgiving.  The job may seem easy because they are sweating bullets to make it appear seamless.  But it is an unbelievable undertaking.  Give a holiday bonus.  Give them a gift here and there.  And just say well done every so often.  And if you ever get a temp who stinks like me, pay em’ off for the week and send them home.  You’re better off.  Unless you like having stained trousers, fucked up E-mails and reservations a Cicconi’s in Los Angeles instead of London (LOL!).

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

"A throne is only a bench covered with velvet." Napoleon Bonaparte (I am not so cynical, but isn't that a great quote! No wonder he had a chip on his shoulder I am very pleased with my bench covered in velvet, thank you very much!)

The RAM on my computer is very pleased.  It’s being filled with wonderful gifts from fellow bloggers who have been kind and generous with their love and thoughts.  The uber-cool Forty Not Out (who has not only a really fab blog that will make you crack a smile with her humor and wicked wit but also, as a fellow blogger, will make you jealous of how good her design taste is—killer header woman!) has given me the “Queen of ALLL Things” award.  From a stylish lady who has pretty damned good taste, I’m taking this as a great sign that I’m still (kinda) hip.  So eat your heart out LIZ!  But, to boot, my best mate on the blogosphere, who has a blog I endlessly rave about, Life, The Universe And All Thats In It, doubly whammied  me and now I can say I am TRULY pretty in pink.  

I’ve said this before when I’ve been lucky enough to be given an award.  The best thing about being recognized by your fellow bloggers is that you know that like-minded and intelligent people, who are out there busting their balls doing exactly what you are trying to do, are giving you a virtual high-five.  It shows that there is no back-stabbing and bitchiness and that we all are rooting for each other.  I wish I was a better supporter when it came to blogging.  I LOVE the girls who I have on my blogroll and I read their entries daily—but often don’t leave a comment—which sucks because I know it makes MY day when THEY do.  So this award is going to reform me.  Knowing that I have this crown, I have a new duty.  To be a better comment leaver–I mean even the Queen takes the time to write you a letter when you turn 100 (well, she signs her bloody name).  But just know that every day I check up on you guys and I really keep up on your worlds.  In fact, I really want to broaden my horizons and make new blog buddies.  An award like this just reminds me about how important this has to be in my  life because blogging is such an integral part of my routine.  

I have no one new to pass this award on to.  I have recently received an award and dedicated it to everyone on my blogroll.  So, this is what I propose to do with my crown.  I want to dedicate this to the millions of bloggers who give their hearts and souls to their keyboards every day, week, month—sometimes never even getting a hit but always persevering because they love writing and have a passion they must express.  From the guy who writes a new chess move on his blog each day to the fashion photographer who posts her photos and  dreams of becoming the next Sartorialist.  Whatever our desires for doing this are, may they prevail and may all of us be around for a long time.

Thank you again for this wonderful recognition and for making me feel truly like a real Monarch of the Web for the day

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Welcome to the Vintage Valentino catwalk in L.A.! I promised you if I could take pics I would and so I'm here to deliver. I'm usually under a tight-lipped contract so I can't share anything glam with you guys, but because I went as a civilian and not a reporter, I could spill all. Enjoy the show

Dear Ethers,

When I go to any ritzy event it always has a catch—I have to work.  I hope one day to be able to attend a glam party or a wonderful opening based on the generosity of creative friends or because I have the money to afford to buy a ticket.  But as it stands, the only way I get into things is by covering them as a journalist.  It was much better in London when I was a beauty writer.  I didn’t have to deal with celebs at parties ever and when there was an actual party, not just a small tea, it was really contained and lovely. In L.A. it’s not like that.  The events I go to are like mad, “Girls Gone Wild” parties.  Often there can be sweaty, drunk dancing involved and celeb groupies.

On Thursday evening I was given a VIP front row seat to the Vintage Valentino show that was being held at Downtown Los Angeles Fashion Week.  Here in the States, L.A. Fashion Week is considered a joke (sad).  So I wasn’t asked to cover anything anyway.  But this lovely person had bought this ticket and at the last minute couldn’t go and I was the lucky tush that got her seat.  I love Valentino.  I own “The Last Emperor” on DVD and haven’t watched it yet.  But I think his clothes are spectacular and I felt honored to attend.  It was also going to be great seeing the red carpet from afar and lovely not to have to rush home and be up until 5am transcribing my interviews.

I didn’t have anything even close to couture, let alone Valentino couture, and I was sitting in the front row!  But, I had a hunch that this being L.A. and not the hottest of fashion meccas, that if I looked snazzy enough, I’d be okay.  So, I put on a really fab All Saints top that is very Westwood, did my eyes up in fab colors going with my Russian Revolution trend (Read Russian Revolution post for the hottest beauty trend this fall!) and did my hair so I could put in a peacock feather headband that went with my trend alert for hair adornments (Read “Tress-Chic” post for the hottest trends for hair this fall!).  This old set of digits didn’t look half bad

I’m not in the best state at the moment due to work anxiety and was really nervous about showing up to a party without anyone.  A lot of these folks knew each other or were in the biz and so I sort of wandered around aimlessly (though some people were very kind and stopped to chat with me about my top!).  L.A. is such a weird place when it comes to getting dressed.  I arrived looking very London I suppose, and they came looking like—I dunno—I hate to say it—but very…errrmmm…seductive.  The girls were either really blinged out or wearing skin-tight, short dresses with their business hanging out.  And the make-up—oh my god!  Talk about caked on!  It’s just a different beast out here.

Anyway, I was led to my seat which was in a prime location, and it had a goodie bag sitting on it (always fun).  There were Coca-Cola girls in red-sequined dresses walking around with trays of soda for our comfort and it was really laid back.  The opening act for the show was a Brit named Matt Goss.  He has a show in Vegas and he is like a funky Frank Sinatra.  He was amazing!  His music rocked and he had showgirls that danced around him—he gave 100% and it was brilliant.

Our lovely Coke girl and you can see the front row and the goodie bags!!!

I have never heard of him, but evidently he's #13 in the UK charts and has a big show at the Palms in Las Vegas. Anyway, the guy was great and his dancers were very sexy!

Then the catwalk show began.  I was so let down.  You’ll see by the pics what I mean.  Valentino must have a conservatory of clothes that would make any fashionista’s heart stop.  The woman who threw the fashion show actually had collected and owned all the pieces so I understand that Valentino hadn’t leant or chosen the clothes himself.  But my god, the choices were atrocious.  The theme was red and black (never a good move) and the era’s were a mess.  Some of the dresses looked like bad 80’s disasters that I’m sure Maestro Valentino wished never resurfaced.  And the way they were styled!  The girls looked like they were Christmas tress with ornaments on them. The models were so second rate.  They had bad skin, they walked poorly, their faces were “whatever.”  And whoever did their make-up—I could have done better!  It looked like they had grease paint smeared on as foundation with heavy red lips and heavy black eyes.  That’s so dated! The hair looked oily and matted—it was bad.  I saw all of the faces in the front row and everyone was in shock!!!   The show had 2 dresses that I would have liked—but not pined for—and in a fashion show—you should be drooling.  I’ll show you the dresses that burnt my eyeballs out of their sockets they were so ugly first and at the end of my post, I’ll show you the two dresses I liked.  Here goes:

I wouldn't have been caught dead in this when it was created! And the model--seriously?

I don't know if this was Valentino's take on a Spanish-style dress gone-80's but OMG! It looks like it is a costume. And so tacky!!!

I think if they threw some tinsel and some candy canes on her it would have been perfect! Ugh and look at her make-up.

I had to include this because I was wondering if Valentino was even trying when he created this and also whomever picked the model to wear this---did they not see it didn't fit her well? Oh, and I'm sorry again to be cruel, but does SHE have the face of a model to you?

The end of the show--thank god! Look how Goth and scary they look. This would have Valentino crying off all of that orange paint he has on his face!

Afterwards, I had a cocktail, spoke to a few people, had a person I knew from the media take a photo of ME on the red carpet with my camera (very funny) and I drove home pleased as punch that I got out and could kick off my heels—but gave the night a fair go.  I wish evenings like that were more common for me…just nice and chilled out.

If you’re wondering what was in the goodie bag, it was very disappointing.  The goodie bags in L.A. are so second rate compared to Blighty! Let’s see, there was a brand of skincare I never heard of that gave a night serum, wipes for your pet, a sample size of Paul Mitchell hair cream, foot petals for your heels and a CD from Matt Goss that I got him to sign for my brother.  I think they could have AT LEAST put SOMETHING Valentino in there!

Anywhooo….I’m thrilled to be able to actually share what a night out for me is like in L.A.  Leave me a comment to let me know what you thought about the show and that you agree the models are DIRE!  Enjoy and I’ll see you tomorrow with my own bit of fashion with a brand new “Wish List.”

PS: Here are the 2 dresses I liked:

I really liked this because of the layering, the material and the adorable cape. Do I think it is pure genius? No. But it is pretty damned cute and I'd dig it if someone bought it for me But really, it's the cape that makes it.

This is the only dress that said "Valentino" to me. It was his classic red. It was perfectly cut. It was feminine and elegant and wait till you see the back. This is a dress that would blow a man away when he opened the front door to pick you up for a black-tie affair.

You make a great entrance, but man, look at that exit. Your ass looks like heaven and your shoulders and back are stellar. This is an A+ and I'm not surprised they ended the show with this. Perfection.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

I think wigs have come a LONG way from these beauties! I discovered what I would do if I got a NEW "do" after trying on a wig that I never thought would take my fancy. I always imagined myself a blonde....sighhh......

Dear Ether,

My mom’s friend has a fun wig collection.  Not the cheap, crummy kind that you wear for fancy dress, but natural looking wigs that you would never know weren’t real.  Sadly, she had cancer.  BUT, she was one of these women who had a fantastic attitude and embraced her baldness. She decided to have the hairstyles she could never achieve with her natural coif.

Well, thank goodness she is 100% better, and her lovely grayish-blonde hair has grown back with luster. BUT she still has these fab (and might I say expensive) wigs hanging around that she likes to play with.  I was at her house the other day and she took me to her closet.  Sitting on busts were about 6 styles and colors that were tantalizing.  Blonde, black, chestnut and red.  Short, long, layered and curly.  She had the works!

I’ve never tried on a wig before because often places make you pay to do it.  Or they just say no because you obviously aren’t interested in making a purchase.  This time I had free reign!  I don’t know why, but I immediately gravitated towards the blonde bombshell with light streaking.  I was always jealous of the girls who had blonde hair in High School and dreamt of having glittering wisps of gold attached to my head—so on it went!  Here’s the problem.  I have really dark eyebrows, so I looked atrocious because the wig was SO blonde and my eyebrows were SO dark.  However, I didn’t think with my skin color I look too bad as a blonde. But my eyes are also very dark brown.  I looked too yin and yang.   Maybe if I dyed the brows—but then my lovely hair would be fried and cracking off, and my eyebrows would have roots!!!!!  A definite no-no.

The red was tres-saucy.  I used to dye my hair auburn.  I was trying to conjure Julia Roberts circa “Pretty Woman” and it was groovy at the time—or so I thought.  When I look back at pictures, I ask myself how my hairdresser could do that to me!  But this red was a brilliant color and short.  It worked well with my brows and after a decade of long hair, my adult face looked kinda sweet with a short bob.  But then I thought—oooo—this is a little too “I’m on the brink of 30 and I have to grow up look,” so I said NAY!

Can I tell you the one that was perfect?  One that I NEVER thought I would EVER choose? The pixie cut in my own shade–brown!  It matched my hair color perfectly and it was short–just like how Victoria Beckham did it.  It was such an extreme from my long hair that it really was a shocker.  It showcased my face beautifully and it also seemed so easy to manage.  I didn’t have any wild pieces flying anywhere or un-brushed bits that made me look poorly groomed.  My mom’s friend said it was always styled and perfectly polished—it was the easiest wig of them all.  I have a pretty angular face and it fit well with my facial structure—it almost convinced me to lop my hair off right there and then.

The offer stands if I ever want to borrow it I can, and I am so going to take her up on it.  I just wish I had someone who I could really shock.  I took digital pics so English gent saw me with it (LOVED IT).  But I can’t show YOU Ethers!  Anyway, my advice: For a fun day out, go and try on a wig.  You may be surprised what looks good on you and what your next hair-do is going to be!  If I ever chop this lengthy mop of mine off, it’s gonna be 100% pixie for me.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Dear Ethers,

In many of my posts I have mentioned that I will, in time, explain my absolute obsession for Sienna Miller.  Today is sadly, not that day.  However, the outfit I chose for this week brought out her old boho spirit thrown in with a little of Ms. Moss. It just felt right to dedicate this Friday to these phenoms of fashion. This outfit brought me such joy to put on.  It reminded me of how I would dress up and go out for a night in London (something I miss dearly).  A tunic, some boots and a funky belt.  I’d get my bag sorted, slam my Oyster card down at the Tube and head towards town on the Northern line getting off at Charing Cross and then walk towards Covent Garden or wherever the lights would take me.  Ethers, I really felt like I was back in Blighty posing for this one

For many of you this will not be to your liking.  You’ll think the tunic is way too short, the belt a nightmare out of the 80’s and the boots something out of a Sci-Fi film.  But for me, this outfit spells Soho on a Saturday night.  It spells Sienna Miller when she was dating Jude.  It has Kate Moss written all over it when she went to Glastonbury.  And that’s why, folks, I fucking love it.  So, no made up back story for our girl tonight.  This girl is ME….living out her dream as a fashionista back in a town she misses terribly and paying homage to the creative outlets and outfits that London is so famous for.

So to you Sienna, Kate and all you Topshop girls in Brick Lane who wear corsets with leopard leggings and tutu’s over them—Viva La London Fashion!!!!!  And hey, to all you Brits out there, maybe whisper the name One of 365 tonight at the pub.  I could use the big-up and I’d love it if the city that owns my soul was reminded that I still think of it everyday.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Damn right if I bent over you'd see WAY too much! And that tunic in the sun might be see-through. But dammit, while I'm still young enough and can say I did it, I want to be a bonkers, boho, beatnik too! And the best part about the bloody thing? It is so comfortable.

This is a silk tunic I got from Zara years ago for 15 quid. I love it because you can wear it over leggings, or with sandals and hey---like me---with boots. It's light as a feather and I love the multi-color green/grey effect. You can wear a slip underneath it if you're a bit shy about things being sheer, and it also comes with its own tie so you don't need your own belt. Zara Silk Tunic, 15 quid, London

Ok. Many of you are recoiling at the site of this. Older folks who dumped a belt like this and gave it to Oxfam/Goodwill are wondering who paid good money for this crap? I DID! And I LOVE IT! Look how good it looks with the tunic! It just adds that boho crazy vibe--that rock-star chic. It's badass and I think it is so outrageous, it's cool. It's fashion, baby. Vintage Belt, 8 quid, Camden Stalls (Where Else!!!!)

Knee-high boots are really in this season. I really like the dove-grey color and the patent finish. They also have a great almond-shaped toe and a little bump of a heel so you could walk miles in them. They look sick with tights and great with bare legs. I like how they bring out the silvery-grey in the tunic and just tie the whole swinger-Carnaby vibe out of the outfit. If I had Kate's legs I think they'd look way hotter, but alas, I must make do. Grey Patent Boots, Originally $411 Reduced to $100, Due Farina, American Rag, Los Angeles