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 3^rd 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. 

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

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.  

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Dear Ether,

Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote, “Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell.”  

This is how I feel about English gent.

Yes.  He lives here.  I see him.  But who he WAS and who I WAS and who we WERE……….there is a giant abyss.  I reckon loneliness might be one of the most painful emotions of the human heart and mind.  Many a man and woman will die shortly after a spouse passes away–they call this “the broken heart syndrome.” When English gent and I used to be separated, I would feel so alone and be in such a catatonic state that I couldn’t eat, interact with anyone and would force myself to sleep hoping I’d catch him in a dream.  

In so many ways I have let this poor guy down.  He left London, his family, a great job, a lovely flat, friends–the lot–to follow me and a pipe dream to Los Angeles. He did this because his love for me was so great that the above paled in comparison to being alone.   And I, partly through selfishness but mainly because I was madly in love, allowed him to give these things up to come West.  So how did things go so South?

When he looks at me, his once warm eyes narrow and ice over.  I even see them flicker with impatience as he listens to me speak.  He sleeps constantly (not in bed with me) even though he drinks constant cups of coffee to try and fight, what I think is heavy depression.  He still dresses up every day, dapper as a dandy, as if he has a destination.  But sadly, he just sits in his office or walks in the garden smoking cigarettes.  When I hug him he is rigid.  When I touch him he stiffens.  

I don’t want this post to be about what I’ve done wrong or what he’s done wrong.  Nope.  That’s been written about countless times.  This piece is about missing someone.  Feeling their presence.  Hearing their monotone voice.  And feeling that “there is a hole in the world.”  

Poor English gent.  He has no one to talk to about his woes.  Nowhere to go and hide.  No money to treat himself.  Ethers, I can’t fix this.  I can’t fix him or our problems–at least not in the immediate future.  But he’s a good person and I remember so many wonderful moments that we shared that changed both of our lives. I can’t bare watching someone so key in my life suffer.  Yep.  Maybe I miss a ghost.  An ethereal object that will never return.   It haunts me.

What he doesn’t know is that I still smell his jumpers—right around the neck (that’s where he carries his wonderful smell).   I still look at him and think he embodies utter beauty.  When he speaks sometimes I close my eyes and listen because his voice is so melodic and his thoughts so intelligent—I even tear up.  And I watch him in that garden smoking those cigarettes.  Pacing back and forth.  Smoke billowing out of his mouth.  I know he can’t see me, but, like a voyeur I try and guess what he’s thinking about.  To try and crack his secrets.  And he thinks I’ve just discarded all of his handwritten notes that he’s sent to me over the years. Gorgeous letters written in a fountain pen with beautiful drawings around the edges on cream paper.  I’ve kept every single one and have them in a special drawer. I take them out and read them, crying line after line.  

One day I hope this will pass.  That we can either move on and go our separate ways content with our parting.  OR, we can finally accept one another and embrace our future.  But right now, like a horrible nightmare, I keep walking in circles day and night around the space we’ve created.  

So, to you English gent, “I miss you like hell.”

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Taking life one step at a time? Or, like the ebb and the flow, eventually the waves have to end up crashing somewhere, right?

Dear Ether,

I have so much I want to say to you.  So much.  I feel like I’m always such a downer.  

I look at other blogs and they are so cheerful and full of hope and happiness.  I try to be like that.  Fun.  Witty.  Chic.  But some nights like tonight, my black cloud comes out.  That’s the breaks with a diary blog where I post daily.

I’m really lonely.  I’m really scared.  And no matter what advice anyone gives me I seem resilient to ever let it penetrate and work to ease my pain.

I have a feature due on Friday.  All I want to do is duvet dive.  

I dream of what I could have been had I felt better about myself when I was younger.  I wonder what my life would be like now if I had left England and English gent behind?  I was only supposed to be there a semester abroad–not 9 years.  Why did I have to be greedy?  Why couldn’t I have had my lovely moment and left it beautiful?

I’m sorry Ethers, but I feel rather light-headed and my stomach is a bit sick.  I just wanted to write something.  Be vital.  

Hey.  Ebb and flow.  Tomorrow could be a sassy post about fashion or another dreary entry about life.  I can’t make you any promises.  I write how I feel on the day or in the moment.  Right now, I don’t feel so good.  

It’s Sunday night at 8:24pm in Los Angeles.  My room is dim.  I’m wearing a hoodie with strawberries on it from Primp, no-name drawstring pajama bottoms in charcoal gray, I’m barefoot, my hair is messy but tied back and in my ears are vintage emerald and diamond studs.  Thought that’d make me seem more human.

Now it is 8:27.

I’m going to go to sleep.  My mind is too busy to concentrate on reading.  

Was this a pointless post?

Why the fuck do I feel so lightheaded?  

Now it is 8:30.

Ebb and flow, right?

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Dear Ether,

Well, Well, Well.  Just when you thought I’d given up on Fashion Fridays……….but they’re baaaaaaaaaaack!  You know, I’ve been so busy with other topics.  My dad’s results came in on a Friday.  I needed advice from you guys on a Friday.  It seemed that the end of the week was just a dire day that needed serious attention. But, I realize that I’ve neglected a very fun part of One of 365.  So for all of your fashionista Ethers, here’s a little clothing pizzaz to start your weekend.

I didn’t choose anything too nuts.  I wanted to snap a look that I love dearly and I’ve worn with staples you’ve seen before.  I wanted the garment to speak for itself with the other accessories to act as a canvas to let it shine.  I love this dress.  It’s beyond comfortable, beautifully made, smartly constructed, uniquely designed, youthful and sleek.  You can also dress it up or down.  Even better, it doesn’t show your gut if you’ve just wolfed down a burger and fries (and in my case, half a cake!).

Here’s the story behind it.  I worked as head of copy and content for lifestyle, fashion and beauty for a very famous UK department store website.  They had the most unbelievable discount.  We had two different types of deals.  One deal was we had a yearly allowance of 1,200 pounds worth of uniform at 50% off.  Now, for the shop floor folks that only meant black shoes or a suit.  But, since we were the creatives and had manager status on our cards, we could B.S. a bit.  The icing on the cake was that we also got 50% off 1 bag and 1 coat.  Nice!  But the best thing was our discount could be used towards sale items too.  So you can imagine the deals we got during Christmas and July.  The other general discount was 33% off almost anything in the store.  AND…sometimes they would give us an extra 10% off day making the total 43%!!!  Oh yeah….beyond killer.  Most of my paycheck went back into the shop which I think might have been their evil plan  Needless to say, most of my lunch breaks consisted of shopping and trying to score deals.

This dress totally wasn’t what anyone would consider uniform.  But, as I was a creative and manager, I gave a huge smile and sweet talked the head of sales of that department.  The dress was originally 200 pounds, marked down to 100 pounds and I paid 50 because of my discount.  FAB!  I’ll one day share with you my many goodies that I got from this amazing department store.  And there are so many regrets (oh why, oh why did I pass up that amazing Vivienne Westwood skirt suit for 200 pounds that was originally a grand!!!).  But here we are on Fashion Fridays enjoying one of my many delights that I got working in London.  I know you want to hear more…you’ll die when I tell you what I paid for my YSL Muse bag

Happy Friday Ethers and thanks for hanging out at the ol’ blog.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

I reckon this would look great on any figure. And you see the Falke tights that I have worn a zillion times (and keep pushing you to buy) and my KG's (best buy EVER). I think this is a whimsical, fashionable piece that really stands out. I get compliments when I wear it out because it doesn't look like any ol' dress.

Here it is splayed out in its full glory. It's made of silk and I love that the sheer fabric pattern matches the crocheted swans on the chest. So clever and a perfect touch to make this a really special piece. I think it's the little details from the designer to match things like fabrics which make pieces stand-out and feel very bespoke. Swan Silk Dress, Desiyah, 50 Pounds, Famous UK Department Store, London

Just in case you couldn't see the fabric patterns matching in different textiles, I thought I'd take a photo that captured the detail. I think it really is what makes it so special and worth you noticing. Pretty nifty, no?

I’m not going to insert the KG heels or the Falke tights as I’ve put them in so many Fashion Fridays it would be redundant.  If you have NOT seen them before, feel free to click on the sidebar where the categories are. You’ll find them listed there.  You can get the prices and my style thoughts about them. But, I will say, they are two of my favorite pieces because they go with everything and elongate the legs.