Now THIS makes an impact. Everyone wants to go to The Ritz! Now, let's be real. My humble blog will never be as mighty as this legend, but I'd certainly like it to be as welcoming and for people to want to come inside. Please help me figure out how I can get a diamond slightly as big as the Ritz

Dear Ether, 

I was having a very interesting debate about blogs the other night with a fellow astronaut in the sphere.  He also happens to be a marketing strategist so he thinks in a way that I most certainly do not.  His insight into this world is fascinating.  

I know blogging isn’t about statistics, but c’mon, we all take a gander at them.  Not to be competitive and get book deals with Penguin, but to see if anyone out there is reading us.  After five months my blog stats have remained the same and this has concerned me.  I don’t understand why I’m not getting more hits and why my hit rates aren’t steadily rising (I post every day and I try and choose lovely photos!).  Is my site unsightly?  Are my pictures ugly?  Are my titles/captions bad?  My content rubbish?  I’m worried.  Well, marketing maestro asked me a very interesting question.  What was my bounce rate?  Well, quite high actually.  This, he said, was key.  He said people were clicking on my site and then leaving before they had a chance to read my content. Those who read my work probably liked it. This proved the consistency of my solid number I could count on every day. But most other people never got that far.  Here’s the analogy he thought best:  It’s like having a restaurant. You’ve got great food, an amazing chef and a great interior with lovely staff.  Hey, even the toilets are nice with Molton Brown hand soap.  But, the awning is rubbish, the sign is torn, you haven’t swept the sidewalk and your curb appeal is just awful.  No one is going to walk in and open the door to see the innards because they think the outside is a reflection of the inside.  

But is this so?  Is that what’s going on?  Or, is the market simply too saturated with blogs? OR people can’t be asked to read anything longer than a blurb or two and my posts are too lengthy so when they see my post they find it too daunting? All these questions and more are what make up my blog post today.  For those of you who’ve “stepped into my restaurant,” who’ve actually made it this far into my content, I’d love your advice.  I want more people to read my writing and readership to grow, but something is wrong and I can’t put my finger on it.  So, today I’m asking for suggestions.   Think of it as me doing a bit of blog market research.  I’m going to put being humble aside for a moment.  I think my content is really decent.  But again, people aren’t getting that far.  

I am not looking for a pat on the back.  PLEASE.  Don’t toot my horn or try to be nice.  Honesty is what I’m looking for.  When I set out to write One of 365 I wanted it to be read by a lot of people so I could connect with the world and grow.  I don’t want to be another blog statistic.  I could really use your advice.  Hey, if you think I’m wrong and think my content is shit, fuck it—let me know.  Speak your mind.  I want my restaurant to flourish and you guys are the people I want to come in and enjoy a meal with.

I also think this will be an interesting case study for other bloggers out there to think about how this might aid you as well if you have the same concerns.  

On that note……I appreciate your feedback and wait in haste for thoughts.  My ripped awning is waiting to be fixed.  

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

Just a good old simple hello, how are you, what's up post. And if you wanna schmooze and say hello, I'd love to hear from you!

 Dear Ethers,

Just a short one tonight…so….hello!  I wanted to let you all know how appreciative I’ve been that you’ve stuck with me these past four months.  Yep, on the 29^th of October, One of 365 hit its quarter birthday.  I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ll say it again—I never thought I’d make it a week let alone 16!

Sometime my mind goes wild with thoughts about posts to write.  Other times I stare at my computer screen with nothing and I walk away and come back 10-15 times finally thinking of something to send out into the ether. 

I never know what each day will bring.  What drama work will cause or what emotional rollercoaster I might ride and share.  Sometimes I wish I could recant what I write and post—but I never delete anything.  I think it would be dishonest to the purpose of my blog to do so and I think I have to own what I write once I publish it.  I have some regrets.  I wish I hadn’t opened up so much about my relationship with English gent (though that’s not to say I won’t talk about him in future posts–let’s face it—he’s an integral part of my life).  Why?  I felt it got overwhelming and slightly disturbing.  I don’t think I’m THAT good of a writer to really express the truths that are going on between he and I—the real emotional grit—and when I look back at the posts I feel they never give the moments justice.  Many of these entries cause me frustration.  But, that’s what’s so wonderful about having a blog: reflection.  I hope that when the year is up, I will have 365 entries to ponder (well, I don’t know how much reflecting there will be about my Wish List’s or Fashion Fridays) but it will be fascinating to see where I was when I began at 29 years old and where I ended at 30. 

Many of the reports that I’ve read about successful blogs is that they take many years to establish themselves.  I think I could see myself in for the long run.  I enjoy having a forum that allows total expression, being in a brilliant community with other intelligent writers and interacting with Ethers who drop by One of 365 and schmooze.  My wish?  To have more of you converse with me.  I have said this over and over again.  I thrive off of your comments.  When I see a new name pop up in my comments box, I think about it all day and it gives me a surge of glee that make my fingers type faster and my imagination swirl excitedly to post again.  I know you guys are out there reading—-I’m dying to know who you are.  I understand it might take you some time to come out of your shell and introduce yourself.  But—just know that I would embrace it gratefully.  

Okay.  As I prefaced, nothing terribly mind blowing.  But, not every post is going to be a fucking epiphany, right?  I’m only human.  I’ll prove it.  What did I do today?  I woke up.  Had a cup of coffee.  Went to the gym and took a spin class (I totally sucked), showered, napped for an hour, got dolled up, went for a bite to eat with my glam shoe friend and a nob of a man who thought he was god’s gift to the world (snore) and then went and got a Pinkberry (all the fruit toppings, thank you very much) with English gent….and now here I sit.  What will I do after I publish this?  I have 8 juicy new books I took out from the library (I’d be dead without  the invention of the library) and I’m going to get into one of my vintage nightgowns, cuddle up with my pooch, open my window where my turret will be visible and the moon will shine through the trees branches and I will read until drowsy.  Pretty human, huh?  Please write me xoxoxoxooxo

 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

This is Freud's room recreated in his home on Hampstead, North London. You can clearly see the famous couch many heads perched on during sessions. Though I do not lie on a couch when I go to therapy, the couch represents the center of the room. The most important piece of furniture. It is where the patient collects their thoughts, discusses and learns. I have always held my sessions as a special place for me to escape. A womb-like arena (not as beautiful as Freud's) that allows me to be open and honest without any judgement. On Thursday, my womb will be invaded by English gent. My name will be spoken many times. But I shall not be there. I have many mixed emotions--loss of trust, fear, anger--even hope. And I know that this womb is not just mine---many bodies enter it. But, none of them have ever spoken my name without me being present. I wonder how many "Freudian Slips" will occur on Thursday?

Dear Ether,

English gent has stolen Dr. W. Yep, it is official.  MY therapist and MY partner have now booted me out of the loop. Okay.  I’ll tell you the whole story, but here’s the irony. YOU GUYS are now my only source of therapy for the moment (well, at least until next Tuesday) and what’s even worse:  I’M footing the bill!!!!  

English gent and I have been going to therapy together for about 6 sessions now because our relationship has been in a really terrible rut of late.  He blames me for bringing him to Los Angeles and to this concrete grave of misery and I am angry at him for so many reasons, all you have to do is hit the sidebar under “English gent” or “Love” and you can read why.  It was my idea we start therapy because I felt that we needed a mediator–someone who could be in the middle and help us through our discussions (which normally end  in him walking out of a room needing a cigarette or me diving under the duvet crying and dreaming of the life I thought I should have had).  Dr. W took to the English gent (and to be fair, the old therapist has a soft spot for me too) and really wanted to help us.  So one session turned into many and we started to really open up.  But English gent was getting angry.  He felt that it was well and good that we spoke about our feelings in our sessions, but that nothing happened outside the 45 minutes that changed anything in reality.  He said today was his LAST session with Dr. W.  Now of course I was infuriated.  I felt really trapped and frustrated.  If English gent stopped going to see Dr. W, then what?  I mean, we obviously couldn’t handle this relationship problem on our own and we don’t have any other confidants, so what were we going to do?  

I slept until 2pm today, that’s how gutted I was.

3pm rolls around and with my face sullen and sombre we take our seats on the couch in Dr. W’s office.  English gent talks about how angry he is with me.  That I don’t act as a woman should when I expect him to act as a man should (this might be a good point—but his version of acting like a “woman should” is doing laundry, cooking, cleaning….you get my drift…..and as long as he has known me…..that just IS NOT me…….so I was really fucked off…….and my idea of what a “MAN” should be is having money to support himself, having good enough credit to have a fucking credit card for Christ’s sake, being able to drive and not have me chauffeur him around, buy me a thing or two every so often…….but no…….he is  a stinking baby who still calls his mother “Mumma” in Russian.  Kill me).  Then he goes on to say that I’m unsupportive of his work.  Ethers, he sits in the office all day doing work for his business abroad as a freelancer and makes it very clear he doesn’t want to be disturbed.  He is on English time so he drinks Red Bull’s 5 times a day (which are like $2 a pop, chugs coffee after coffee like it’s water and smokes at least a pack a day…have I mentioned he is up until 5am most nights?)  We never go anywhere together because I can’t pay for both of us.  We are stuck in this house and are ironically so far apart is is pathetic.  I’ll leave it up to your imagination to wonder what our sex life is like (he is 27–you’d think he’d be rearing to go—and truthfully, I haven’t been less interested since before puberty, anyway).  It’s dire straits.  It’s always a threat of, “I have a return ticket back to England, why don’t I just go?” Or I say, “This isn’t working anymore, but I don’t know what to do because I don’t want to lose you in my life and I know if we end like this and you fly back to London, I’ll never see you again.”  Ethers, am I bound to grow old with a man who I bicker with?  Where we’re just angry companions, but stuck together because we care for each other from memories and a feeling of family?  And if he goes, I know I will always wonder if I lost the great love of my life because we went through a bad patch and maybe couldn’t work through it.  I mean, no one is gonna be happy in their late 20’s living with parents with no money, no license, no visa, no job (the list can go on).  And me!  You guys know I am dying for that golden ticket.  And soon, that will fade and stop shining and I’ll just be and ugly old hag that no one will want—then that will be the final nail in my coffin.  

So why do we stay together?  Why is the question he and I have been asking for almost a decade.  And we come up with so many pros and so many cons.  Our great times and our hideous times toughing it out.  No one knows either of us better than we know each other.  We are too afraid to let go.  I know many of you would say it’s like a plaster/Band-Aid.  Rip it off fast and it hurts less.  No. No.  I can’t even imagine the idea of unveiling the wound that the bandage shows underneath.  The last look in his eyes before he boarded the plane with no return ticket.  The last time I’d smell his neck.  The smell of his body on the sheets when I returned home from that agonizing drive.  The few gifts he gave me.  The albums full of memories.  8 YEARS OF MY LIFE SHARED WITH HIM.  Every reference of my 20’s with HIM.  Help me Ethers.  But please, don’t tell me yet to leave him.  Please?  Can you try to be constructive?  Can we go into salvation mode 1st?  I beg you out of desperation.

I’ve lost track of where I was.  Right. So. I cannot make it to our twice weekly session the second time being this Thursday, because I have a meeting and then an event to cover.  So what did Dr. W suggest?  That English get come sans me.  I was shocked.  He is MY therapist. The guy I pay.  The man I introduced English gent to.  And now THEY are going to have a pow-wow about ME behind my back?  Yes, yes, yes.  I know.  This will be all fine and dandy.  He’ll get to say his piece and Dr. W might coach him and this is only to help.  But I feel so vulnerable.  As I chauffeur him to that session, I wonder, how many times will my name be mentioned and what will be said?  And the truth is I have NO right to ask.

I wish I was free.  That I could be 21, just out of school and fresh.  I wish this was the beginning.  That I had more time.  That I hadn’t made so many mistakes and hadn’t given into love so fast and hard.  Some of us do it easier than others.  I’m a sucker.  I’ll keep you updated, as you guys are now my clearest and cleanest form of therapy.  Thank you for listening.  I just wish I wasn’t sitting here with my face full of tears and the tops of my hand wet with the drippings of the falling droplets all over them.  What a mess—in so many way—what a giant mess.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365