How many have watched the tide come in on New Year's Eve?
Dear Ether,
I don’t know if people were more afraid of me last night or if I was more afraid of them. But, gladly, we all ended up keeping our equal distance.
It was 4am. I was bundled up in a coat, my long hair wild having been unraveled from a bun. I was wearing trousers with bright gold shoe booties. My make-up was smeared around the eyes which were very wet from constant crying.
I sat overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Santa Monica, about a 20-minute car ride for me, watching the dark water. The pier stayed lit up for partygoers. The lights of the Ferris wheel reflected off of the tide.
It was 2010. The new decade.
Was it last night? Or, this morning?
Everyone was asleep by then. Earlier, it had been a very pedestrian evening. I usually come home for Christmas and New Year’s, so I’m used to being in California this time of year. My family doesn’t do much. We go for a very nice meal, come home, sit by a fire, and then watch the ball drop on T.V. from Times Square.
But this time it was different. This time, I felt trapped. I felt a big pillow smothering me over my face the whole evening. 2010=my 3rd decade on this planet, and what the hell was going on with my life? I don’t want to get into it—many of you know the fine print. But, I certainly didn’t feel like clinking glasses and signing “Auld Lang Syne.” Every year when the clock strikes 12, I close my eyes and I swear THIS year will be different. That things will change. But they never do. The only thing that happens is that I get into a bigger bind and I age. And the people around me age. That ball is actually like the hands of time reminding me that yet another year has passed………and none of my dreams have come true.
When I went to hug everyone as the fireworks went off in the background on television, I saw the look of fear and sadness in their eyes. Maybe it was my skewed and negative imagination. Big Apple Beauty’s age suddenly betrayed her, as did her loneliness. Bachelor One of 365 gave me a stiff squeeze and I saw in his eyes a vacancy of a man who has yet to have found love. My mother held me too tightly. A sickly woman, she grasped me like it was her last celebration, and I saw desperation in her glare. My father, the man I’ll always love but will never please, hugged me but stared at me with discontent and confusion. And then there was English gent. His once almond shaped and welcoming green eyes looked downcast and defeated. Yes, he was my New Year’s Eve Kiss—but I felt like our lips simply grazed skin.
We all parted, Big Apple Beauty asking for an anti-anxiety pill to help her sleep because she couldn’t stop crying. English gent passing out in his office. My folks meandering into their own room and Bachelor One of 365, my dear brother, off to yet another party, in hopes of finding that soul mate.
I sat on my bed, hugged my dog and cried into his fur, threw up in the bathroom and suddenly felt claustrophobic. I needed freedom. I kept seeing the Thames lit up and the London Eye spewing fireworks from the news that evening—I wanted to see the water. I drove in absolute silence to Santa Monica. I kept hearing my mother’s voice warning me as a kid saying that only drunks drive on the road on New Years Eve. I didn’t care. I was in a trance. As mentioned above, I was still in my clothes from dinner. I looked wild. The wind was fierce and I couldn’t light a cigarette. I gnawed at my fingernails. I purposely didn’t take a mobile. I didn’t want to be reached……and I figured if they noticed the car missing, they’d known I’d gone out. I wanted to be in a bubble.
I looked back on my year. Mr. X and how fucked up that had been. My mess with English gent and all those years now on the line. My 20’s almost over—and what did I have to show for any of it? My relationships with people and how sour they’d gone. Bolting from one place to another and never being happy. London. How I slept half my life away. I looked at all the people holding hands or friends elated to be together on this night. And here I was on a park bench in stupid gold boots and purse that could have paid a month’s rent somewhere.
I sat for about an hour. I couldn’t bring myself to watch the sunrise. Too romantic. Wasn’t there for that reason. And, sorry Ethers, I came to no conclusions. I stood up, my hair whipping me in the face, smoothed out my coat, took a deep breath, and walked back to my car where I mechanically drove back home.
The house was still. My dog greeted me with a stretch, but also with a pleading to sleep. I walked up the steps, entered my hovel of a room, dumped all of my clothes in a heap on the floor and realized that the bench I had just occupied and vacated meant nothing. It was as if I was never there. And, I suppose I feel that often about my impact on the past 29 years of my life. That I’ve sat on many benches and it wouldn’t have mattered either way if I’d been there or not. And the people I love who are in pain and agony, who feel lost and scared…….they too have sat on many benches and stared at the sea and it could have been just as well had they never arrived.
I got into my duvet coffin, the 2010 version I suppose, curled into the fetal position, dog warm at my feet, and wake today……..like any other day……….
I have no resolutions. I have no dreams or expectations. I’m just a girl who sits watching the ocean endlessly ebb and flow and life reflect off of it.
Ahhh.....Only in a perfect religious world, right?
Dear Ether,
“Feliz Navidad” is blaring away in the kitchen (only in L.A., right?). My mom has been cooking all day preparing lamb, cranberry sauce, special winter vegetables, a fig pudding and a few other treats. A little pine Christmas tree sits in the middle of our dining room table. My great-grandmother’s China is laid out in a lovely red and white pattern. It’s English—Staffordshire. We are celebrating Christmas Eve with a bang.
We are Jewish.
English gent is Anglican.
Though he is not religious—he did always attend Midnight Mass in his little village church in East Sussex. When he was a kid he was an acolyte, holding that candle proudly behind the Priest. His parents made a special meal, handed out little presents and decorated the front of their house with a poinsettia or two.
The bottom line: the guy certainly wasn’t Jewish, that’s for sure.
But during the High Holy days and Chanukah, English gent wore a yamaka/kippah here in the States. He lit the menorah, he listened to the Rabbi and his spiel. He was a good sport, because, man, I HATE temple and am not into anything religious whatsoever. But he wanted to learn about Judaism and respect my parents desire for him to participate. As we Jews would say, he was a “mensch” (a real man!).
So, we are paying homage to him tonight. My brother, Bachelor One of 365, has compiled a CD of great Christmas music (yeah, I don’t think many of us could take much more “Feliz Navidad”). We’re going to light a nice fire and have some lovely wine. And we are referring to dessert as “pudding.” Proper, innit’ it?
Today—well, tonight, English gent and I are going to quiet our brains and not think about our issues. I’m sure he misses his family terribly. I know he’s gonna miss that Midnight Mass. Hey, if I’m missing Regent Street lit up, my Buck’s Fizz and the excitement of the Christmas sales in London coming, then I’m sure he’s nostalgic too. But here we are. Los Angeles, CA. It’s sunny. Not hot. It certainly doesn’t have the vibe of the holiday season. I feel like I’ve taken so much away from him. If this is a drop in the bucket to make him feel just a dash better, then I hope it works.
We may be Jews, but damn can we cook! And we sure know our Christmas tunes and, truthfully, have always envied those who’ve had trees English gent is giving us a great excuse to have a holiday we never got the opportunity to celebrate in our house (but would have LOVED the chance). And you know me, ever the fashionista! I went to the Salvation Army and bought the most fab (hideous) Christmas jumper to wear this evening as part of my attire (no, I will not be taking photos as it could be used against me and ruin my career one day—LOL). It is very demure, might I add. No one could call me a Ho, Ho, Ho tonight!!!!!!!!!
Have a mighty fine Christmas Eve and I hope Santa (or your Mom and Dad—hahahahha sorry kids if I ruined the magic, but if you’re reading this blog, you’re too young to being doing so anyway!) gives you something special in the morning (I know my friend Wildernesschic is hoping for a certain Mulberry bag………)
6 Feet Tall. 300 Pounds. And I Wasn't Giving Her The Padlock Key For The Fridge. Nope. Not After What She Did!
Dear Ether,
He name was Carolyn. CARO-LIN. NOT line. She stood over 6ft tall, had naturally white-blonde, thin hair and bangs. I remember her very swollen red face and that she could have invested in the company North Face (it seemed to be her brand of choice)—AND girlfriend weighed about 300 pounds.
This was the first person who greeted me when I entered halls at University in London. She was holding a large tub of Wine Gums. She just kept shoveling them into her mouth without even looking at the candy first. We stood at two ends of the hallway. It was like a David and Goliath duel. I was armed with luggage and she, with a projectile of confectionary. She was sort of transfixed. And, that looked like a shit load of candy, and she was piling it away like a model hungry for a garden salad. Hmmm….
It was a bit strange to me that she was just standing waiting for flatmates to arrive. I mean, it could have been hours until anyone else showed. But I guess the Wine Gums kept her occupied. I knew she was American by the way she was dressed (terrible stereotype, I know…). I also knew she wasn’t from New York or L.A. In a very heavy Mid-Western accent, through a gooey smile, she said “Hi. You’re the last one to arrive. Where are you from?” When I told her I was from the States, she (seriously) began jumping up and down (I swear the floor shook) and told me we were the only two Yankees out of 10. She gave me the tour (the kitchen) and then told me that all the cupboards had been taken—I had the crummy one on the floor. I actually later found out she took TWO cupboards on the top tier (selfish git) and secretly cleaned out my area where the cleaning supplies were kept so I’d have somewhere to keep my food.
Now, you have to understand. I really didn’t dislike Carolyn because she was overweight, or fit the hideous stereotype of a loud American. I disliked her because she was a snoop, a thief and ANGRY! I specifically wanted to go to a Uni in London that immersed me with the culture. I didn’t want to hang out with Americans. So, she glommed on to me, but I really had no interest in checking out the city with her. I wanted to see what Brits were like—see insider stuff. Not be a tourist. This really offended her. We also had NOTHING in common. I liked fashion she liked food. I liked theater and music. She liked food. I liked markets and clubs. She like bloody FOOD. And she was very possessive of the kitchen. She was so huge, no one could cook when she was making her meals because she took up the whole space. And, we had 2 tiny fridges and she used all the shelves. And her meals—my god. She must have spent a tenner on every dish. Her lunch was a 12inch baguette with brie and bacon and…well you get my drift. She used a fucking mixing bowl for her cereal in the mornings. But, then things got bad. Our food started to disappear. First it was little things. “Hey, guys, did you see the crisps I bought. I swear, I got like a 12 pack?” Then it was major things. “Ummm….I bought a ton of cheese….like 10 quid’s worth and it is GONE.” And Carolyn would always, whenever you sat down to eat, ask for a “bite” of whatever you were eating. Yeah, a “bite.” She usually ate half. And my folks would send me care packages with American candy or food—bullion. And she would come into my room, plop down, and without permission eat a coveted Hershey bar or rip open a bag of Twizzlers and eat them. She was a food bully.
One day she popped out to get something and left her door open. A few of us were eager to see her inner sanctum. She never let us in her room. When we opened the door further, what we saw amazed us. Here room was a pantry! She had a whole set up….a microwave, hot-plate, kettle. And……..so much food……..it was like a convenience store. But she got back before we had time to leave. And she was MAD! Like a giant beast, she wailed and turned crimson. We tried to defend ourselves and told her of our suspicions of her thievery and her sampling our food—and how we were sick of it. I swear to you, Ethers, I have never seen someone who appeared so jolly, become so vicious. She picked on each one of us, throwing insults our way—calling me an “Anglo-fucker” (HA!) and sending all of us into a state of shock. The next day, as if nothing happened, she ate her cereal, smiled and left for class. It was like the food exorcist. We all bought padlocks for our cupboards, put our names on post-it notes on our food in the fridge and ignored her.
When it was time for her to go, she left silently. But she did something that I still think is ingenious. The next day we each received a package. It was beautifully wrapped. The note said, “Have a good rest of the year, Love Carolyn.” Surrounded by dainty lavender tissue, was a plastic bag with a note that said “You’ve been sent a Crap-O-Gram.” We had been informed that Carolyn had sprung for medium sized dog shit (you could go for a small pup all the way to a bruiser) scooped out from the fine English countryside. I think we were just grateful it wasn’t her OWN shit. Because from all that food she had been consuming, I’m sure she could have made a “LOAD” of presents for us all.
I don't think I've had as much fun as THESE guys. But, I've had my fair share of going out this week and I just wanted to give you an update on what I've been up to. It's rather positive---rare from this old gal. Enjoy it while it lasts........
Dear Ethers,
La-dee-da. I’ve been going out in this town called Holly-weird and meeting some very unusual people at some very unusual venues. It’s really odd what I’ve been up to lately, and my life has seemed like a blur this past week.
So, here is my giant and glam update.
As mentioned, I went to this party thrown by shoe gal. It was an Indian themed night and she hired local women who are brilliant chefs from India to cook massive amounts of the most amazing curries, meats, lentils (I could go on) that you could imagine. My only complaint: no chuntey (what’s wrong with this country!). Her house is a lovely home just off Rodeo Drive and is an Art Deco/Spanish style beauty from the 1920’a that is in impeccable condition and decorated with impeccable taste. To add true Indian flavor to the night, she had a few members of the cast of Slumdog Millionaire (no, sadly not Frieda Pinto or Dev Patel) and gave beautiful embroidered pashminas as presents for coming. I think the highlight for her was seeing Kiefer Sutherland in her home (she’s a huge 24 fan). She sheepishly got the photographer to snap myself and another one of her friends with him (cringe-worthy—especially after seeing the picture). He was actually really lovely. But the weirdest person to show up was this bonkers Arab prince who brought an escort (no, like a 1-900-babe escort) and his bodyguards and I swear to god he was nuts and high on something and it wasn’t Allah.
The next night our new royal friend invited us out to a jazz bar he shut down for the evening, treated us to an amazing show of music and dancing and the most delicious food ever (the bill evidently came to $5,000 for 9 people, a very sneaky guest told us). The champagne and conversation flowed and he, again, was bonkers. From the shirt open to his midriff with chest hair bursting out and a gold medallion sitting on top of its puffs, to his toupee dancing as much as he did that night—it was certainly errrm, different. He’s staying in a cabana in the Beverly Hills Hotel (it is to die for) and the room costs $4,500 A NIGHT! And he is staying for 6 months!!!!!!!!! I’ll just let you ponder all the nice things you could do with the money like I did when I first heard the numbers.
Then, last night, I had the most AMAZING evening. I was invited to an exclusive Chanel dinner honoring their fine jewelry collection. A very small number of us sat at a pre-set dinner on top of the boutique in Beverly Hills where the chef from Lucques made us a 5-course meal with wines to match each dish. The room was dimly lit with Chanel votives scented with No. 5 and their signature white camellias. When I went out for a cigarette, the balcony had amazing couches and the view of the city was sparkling. The backdrop of the building was of dozens of double C’s lit in white. Marvelous. The best part was when the models, all donning Chanel, came out wearing the jewels. All of us got to wear them and I sat with a 2 million dollar diamond collar around my neck (the center stone was 8 carats!). I was so nervous that they thought I was going to do a runner that I kept looking at security reassuringly. They gave us as a parting favor a rare bottle of Chanel Beige EDT which costs $200 (that’s $100 a ml!).
So all in all it’s been an adventurous week. However, I feel guilty that English gent couldn’t join me for the festivities. Shoe gal is really big on it being all girls when she invites people…….so he wasn’t invited to the party nor the jazz club. Her attitude is, if she doesn’t bring her man, she doesn’t want you bringing yours either. I like it in a way, because it allows me to mingle with potential new friends. And in fact, I have made one or two new possible friendships out of these nights out. I think if English gent HAD been there, I might have been attached to him too much and may not have been as gregarious and keen to talk. It’s really nice having girlfriends and I like shoe gal’s philosophy. But there is guilt that he is left home a lot. We are going out to dinner this evening and I hope that we will get a chance to catch up then. But, the truth is when we are at home together, we don’t really do much. So I feel when I DO get the opportunity to go out, I should take it. Why sit home twirling my fingers when I could be out living life?
Besides that, I’ve got the normal worries about work. My company that I freelance for just lost 500 employees which, as I mentioned before, trickles down to me. Work will be scarce. I really am so desperate to get on that oh-so-coveted ladder and have terrible anxiety everyday about it. I want out of this house and freedom. I want to have independence. I want to know if I am building a nest here or not. These are all very worrisome questions.
I hope you are all well. I love talking to you guys. It’s so nice to have a chat and be able to open up. If you ever have any questions or if you ever want to open up yourself, e-mail me. I love getting e-mails and you know I’m a comment fiend. I can’t believe tomorrow is Fashion Friday! Seriously, I feel like it was yesterday that I was snapping my leggings and star top from my last post. UGH, I am so fat, what am I going to bloody wear for you people. Good thing you can’t see back shots. That way if nothing zips, I’ll be okay to still photograph myself in it.
I’ve looked over my past Fridays and noticed a bit of a vintage vibe thing going on. I realized, “Hey, many of you fashionista-Ethers may not be so into old skool dressing and may want something very right now!” And let me tell you, this set of digits can wear it modern too. So, I chose something that I thought was a bit sexy but also classy–we do not do “slapper” here at “Fashion Fridays!” Yes, the top is very low cut, but the material and the style is very French linen making up for the expanse of cleavage. The jeans are tight and black, but they are a classic cut and do not show off any cracks that shouldn’t be in the plaster if you know what I mean And the shoes! Oh man, DO NOT get me started! They are my latest acquisition. I think they are modern, architectural and just do everything a heel should do. And the best part? They are comfortable so you can boogie all night long in style.
I always like to give a story to my outfit, so tonight I’ll call this the “City Girl Night Time In The Summer” look. I can see our lady in London or NYC walking in the Village or in Soho. It’s a hot, August evening where you want to be wearing the bare minimum–especially if you’re going to be stuffed in a club or bar. You can go from work in this outfit to drinks with your girls, or dinner with your guy (just put on a cardigan or funky tailored jacket, sleeves slightly pushed up, and a single button done up over the cami. I’d say this was for a more casual, trendy work-place though). Great for dancing the night away because the camisole is light, the shoes comfy and the jeans have a bit of stretch so you can get down and move. Amazing for an evening at an exhibition (the artists will all LOVE the lines and colors of your shoes) where canapes, Warhol and champagne will be inhaled and you’ll be slightly tipsy off the genius of the NYU grads and the bubbly as you’re whisked away in your yellow taxi. And when your night is ending with Big Ben ringing and sunlight coming up over Parliament, you don’t have to look like you’re wearing a walk of shame outfit. Remember, this lovely frock transitions night to day no problem–just make sure you powder your face and add a new slick of gloss to those happy lips.
Summer. City. Night. This is a great outfit to wear to look comfortable IN, feel sexy IN and have fun IN. Modern, stylish and classy=perfection.
I don't normally do a back-shot but I wanted you to see the cross-back detail of this lovely top. I adore the thick straps and the look of it being like corsetry. I just think you would have missed out from just a front view. Pose is tres J Lo, no? LOL!
When I saw this top I had to have it. It was sitting in a little sale bin in a fancy boutique on Robertson Blvd. in Los Angeles and everything was on crazy clearance. The place was a madhouse and all the good stuff was going and I couldn't get my hands on anything. And then....I saw this! I loved the almost Victorian linen quality of the piece, but with the modern, deep cut. You really cannot have terribly large, wall-eyed or sagging breasts with this baby. I'm not saying my boobs are perfect, but this top really challenges "the girls" and you need to be able to fill it out with no spillage and have enough cleavage so you don't look flat chested. I might have to wear tape with it because if you aren't always watching, and you lean forward, BAM, a boob falls out! This is a thinking girls top, for sure! Borbonese Cross Back Camisole, originally $300 reduced to $60 Vionette Boutique Los Angeles
This is just one of those weird and wonderful things you throw together and make a necklace out of. The big gold "hunk" is part of a broken necklace from my Grandmother's costume jewellery from the 50's or 60's that I like to wear as a pendant, and the brooch I attached to the pendant is of a Chinese man who is holding a large pearl. I thought the two looked fun together and I needed something to break up the large chest space that the top was creating in my cleavage area. I thought this was a fun and funky way to do it. Faux Gold Pendant and Silver Brooch, One of 365's Own, Priceless!
Jeans photographed really gray, but they are a deep black. These are the most flattering denim I own. I wish I knew the style but I got them from a store that buys from stylists and designers, and these were a sample that were in the process of being chopped and changed for J Brand. I think they were just a design sample---they may never have actually ever produced these jeans. Ahhh, are they comfy! They have great stretch, hug you in the right places making your legs look like a tall drink of water and they give your tush a nice lift too. And guess what, these lovelies were are a bargain. J Brand usually go for like, what, $150-200 bucks, right? Well....J Brand Black Denim Jeans, $36 (WOWZA!) Brand New, Buffalo Exchange Los Angeles
Okay. I saw these in the sales and made a bee-line for them. A lovely bloke in the shop in L.A. named Alex (hi Alex!) is amazing and pointed out that all shoes were 75% off. Reiss have a bit of a funky shoe sizing issue. I would have bought more but they either make you buy a US 6.5 or a 7.5. I'm a 7! So, that these fit me, and they were my 1st choice of any pair...well, it was my lucky day. And, Miss Fergie (of Black Eyed Peas not of Weight Watchers fame) bought them too, my lovely source told me, so I am truly Fergalicious! I love the colors, the textures (they are champagne satin, black patent, and an aqua faux reptile) with the cutest little grosgrain ties in the back. The heel height is perfect and they are like wearing slippers! I was wearing them with jeans, but with a skirt or dress they make your gams look like uber model. I love Reiss. So pricey here in the States and the sales tend to not go as low as they do in the UK, but these were a bloody bargain! Rocco Sandal Originally $295 reduced to $88.50 Reiss Los Angeles
Step out of the Ether and send me an E-mail. I would be glad to have your thoughts, feelings and ideas.
