Blecchhh. Tell me about it, Banksy.

Dear Ether,

4 days of rain the forecast.  Yep.  Dark days ahead.  As you know, I suffer from terrible seasonal affective disorder and the dark, wet skies aren’t going to make things pleasant.  These are the days that I wonder what the point of being in “sunny California” is?  Yeah, yeah.  I know I can’t have good weather all year round, but when it rains here, I find this place to have very few endearing qualities.  

When it starts to hit heavy, I tend to put on Bach, light a candle and stay under the covers.  But, I have a serious deadline for a huge feature due on Monday.  The feature is on a subject that’s–well–let’s just say it isn’t rocket science.  Yet, it requires a ton of accurate research and pressure and when you can’t stand the subject you’re writing about, it becomes utter agony. This, coupled with the weather is gonna be a toughie to pull off.

I’ll try not to be a miserable git.  I can’t promise the happiest of posts, but hopefully you guys will act as a nice break from the monotony of writing about a certain brand of shoes that are anything but glamorous.   In fact, I’d like to give this article the “boot.”  

To all my fellow Jewish friends, Hanukkah starts tomorrow!  Awwww, how lovely.  So, for those of you who get there before I do (living in a different time zone) spin a dreidel for me and eat a tasty latke!  

Not much to this entry.  Just wanted to check in and let you know I still had a pulse.  I’m exhausted from doing research and speaking to “experts” about vacuous things.  I’m hoping my next assignment will be a nice reward–a piece with some depth to make up for this moronic topic.  Hey, you win some, you lose some.  For example, my book feature comes out this Sunday.  Can’t wait!  I wrote over 2,500 words and reviewed 14 books (hey, I got attached and couldn’t choose!). My Editor told me 3 books would be cut (sniffle).  I wait with SERIOUS angst to see which ones got sliced (again, major attachment issues).  After the bad boy is published I’ll tell you what books I recommended (really fab and unique stuff that is tick list worthy for gifts!).  

A more boisterous post tomorrow I hope.

YAWWWWN! STREEEETCH!  (I think I just felt my Quasimodo lump snap!) 

Time to hit the hay a bit early.  Guten Nacht gang.  I begin early tomorrow (and you KNOW how much I love to rise and shine).

PS: Sorry I haven’t Tweeted in a while.  Will be back on form once this fucking piece is done!  I’m also trying my best with comments.  Do be patient…please

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

And it wasn't because we didn't pay our electric bill........

Dear Ether, 

August 2003.  New York City.  I’m living in Manhattan with the Big Apple Beauty until yet another one of my visas is approved for England.  It is SWELTERING outside.  And in the East Coast of the United States in August that usually also means humidity—like the bloody AMAZON!  It’s like an unremitting furnace.  Big Apple Beauty, thank goodness, had air-conditioning in good ol’ #1403. 

We had made plans that day to go to the Lower East side (we lived on the Upper East side—-the total opposite end of the city) to go and get a delicious deli lunch, visit the famous pickle lady who sells the best sours out of a barrel on the street (you could die from palette joy!).  We also wanted to check out some of the groovy shops and funky new cafes that had been opening up down there.  Both of us had been complaining that we were SO lazy and unmotivated.  That we always made plans and never stuck to them.  We had made this date over a week a go, and rain or shine (and what shine it was) we were going to schlep down there and keep to our schedule.  I wore a nice vest-top, skirt and refined flip-flops with a heel and she wore trousers and a T-shirt and sneakers.  We were set to go.  The second we stepped out, we were soaked.  I mean, thank GOD for deodorant.  But we marched to that Subway station, and dammit, we made it. 

We poked our head into some cute boutiques and then got completely waylaid by this famous bra shop.  The shop, owned by an Orthodox Jewish couple, was known for brand name underwires for bargain prices.  AND, the wife could take one look at your boobs and tell you what bra size you should be wearing and type you needed.  Basically, a really ghetto Rigby & Pellar.  The store was a total dive, had no air-con and Big Apple Beauty and I were sweating while a stranger fondled our breasts.  It was…..errr…..charming to say the least.  But hey, anything for a deal, right? 

Pleased with out new over the should boulder holders, we walked out onto the street and noticed proprietors of shops standing outside of their properties and people rushing to grab taxis.  It looked like Armageddon.  We went up to a shopkeeper and asked what was going on and he told us that the whole city had lost power.  Too many people had overused air-conditioning and busted the system.  Shit.  Okay.  That meant it was going to be sweltering in the apartment, and we didn’t have a fan, but it’d get fixed soon enough.  All we had to do was hop on a bus and get home.  OH.  RIGHT.  The city was in a deadlock.  The streets were filled with people walking and no cars or buses could pass.  The Subways were dead because of loss of electricity.  You have to remember we were at least a 2-hour walk away in bad shoes, horrible heat and in with a mass of other desperate people.  The worst part was that convenient store owners who had cold water hiked up prices to $5 a bottle.  People were fainting on the sidewalk.  It was hideous.  Big Apple Beauty, no youngster, often felt lightheaded.  We’d hop on a bus—packed to the limit—just to have a break and some air-conditioning.  The bus, of course, wasn’t moving. 

I’d say we left the Lower East side at around 4pm and didn’t get to the Upper East side until at least 7pm.  At that point our feet were bloody and blistered.  Big Apple Beauty couldn’t take her shoes off because they had swollen so badly.  To make things worse, we were really badly dehydrated.  You have to remember, we NEVER ventured that far EVER.  Of all the luck.  The day we get motivated, and look at our reward! It was really eerie seeing the city, one so famous for its skyline, pitch black.  The heat did not cease, so we sat by the East River to try and get some of the breeze.  All you saw were candles flickering all around.  It looked like it must have done during the 19^th century. 

Of course none of the lifts worked in her building, and she lived on the 14^th floor, so we had to walk with a doorman and a torch up steep steps in a narrow corridor which was a heat trap.  By the time we reached the apartment we both were so sick.  The water had been turned off, so no showers to get rid of the sweat and using the toilet was dangerous!  We only opened the fridge when necessary and we sat listening to a radio dripping wet in her stuffy apartment looking out of the window seeing a million other people with candlelit flats doing the same thing.  Eventually the power came back to certain areas, but not until very late in the evening.  There were many people (elderly mainly) who had perished.  It was the worst blackout since 1977—and even then it wasn’t as bad as in 2003. 

I don’t wear that bra anymore.  But when I did wear it, man, it was like a badge of honor.  I earned that sucker.  Big Apple Beauty and I swear, no matter how tempting the pickles are or the lingerie bargains may be, we can’t imagine going down to the Lower East side again.  That place was literally hell…actually…probably hotter than. 

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

Not the bra I got from the joint in the Lower East side.....but this million dollar baby made of diamonds is how I think of it when I look back on how much it cost me to get it!

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.

Until my closet seeks your eyes out tomorrow.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

I swear to god, I think some of the rich assholes I've come across in my life, would, if they were sentenced to die, end up requesting a bespoke chair like this. They wouldn't DARE touch another filthy heathen's death throne let alone sit in it without it being a brand name. The people I've seen come and go throughout my life have been so superficial that when I couldn't measure up to their spending habits, they judged me not for who I was as a person, but who I was when I got dolled up or knew the right people. As soon as my credit card got maxxed out, so did our friendship. I keep falling into the trap of meeting these people partly because on the outside I look a certain way, but also because of the profession I'm in. This is why I keep my distance from people. Because at the end of the day, these fuckers will die peacefully in the electric chair as long as their shackles have shiny brass LV hardware emblazoned on them. The worst part is, they aren't even deep enough to care that they are about to sizzle. They'll just be pleased as punch to be going out in style.

Dear Ethers,

 My pal, uber celeb shoe gal is having a party tomorrow night and English gent cannot come. He’s about 2 weeks behind on a project that he’s doing freelance work for in the UK and it’s due Monday.  He simply doesn’t have an hour, let alone an evening to spare.  I’m really nervous about going alone.  Shoe gal has on her guest list people like Angela Basset, Johnny Depp, Halle Berry (and hopefully her man….grrr), Annette Bening and Warren Beatty.  She also has a lot of Beverly Hills elite (blechh) and very chi-chi designers, business people and friends (hopefully the normal people) coming as well. 

I really like shoe gal.  She’s fun to hang out with—alone.  But when she is in her element amongst the rich and fabulous she acts her role and it makes me uncomfortable.  I also don’t know a single person going and feel like I’m going to be the poor schmuck who is unemployed, not wearing Cartier and living at home with her parents.  

I’ve felt like this a lot in my life.  I went to extremely expensive and elite private schools from 12-21.  The kids were all children of directors and actors, CEO’s of major companies or huge real estate guru’s, or people that were serious investment bankers.  I always hated becoming friends with them because even though by global standards I was doing pretty damned well financially, in their circle I was always the poor girl who could never keep up.  I was never able to go out for $15 drinks, take taxis, shop at Barney’s, give expensive gifts, buy the pricey make-up.  They made me feel insecure and embarrassed.  And to be honest, it really wasn’t my fault.  I was proud of myself for putting my foot down, not spending money I didn’t have and never pretending to be someone I wasn’t.  They were the jerks who couldn’t understand the concept that maybe there were some people who didn’t fly in their Concord lifestyle.  By then, they dropped me—I supposed it was a good thing because they probably weren’t nice enough people anyway.  But, it always hurt because the process in dumping me was humiliating. 

My shoe gal knows that I’m just a freelancer but I think she assumes I have money.  I wear very expensive handbags (all bought for 50% off when I worked as head of copy and content at a very exclusive department store in the UK).  I wear expensive clothes (again, either bought on sale and then again marked down with my discount, or through my clever eye at TJ Maxx, outlet malls, mega-sales and savvy shopping).  I don’t think I’ve bought anything full price in years.  I’m starting to get the problems I have with her that I’ve always had with the other rich friends I’ve acquired.  She wants to go out to eat to places where the bill comes to $120 because she ONLY drinks Champagne and sparkling wine.  She shops on Rodeo Drive (she lives about a block from there) and she never even looks at the price tags at Chanel (she has a personal shopper there who knows her by name and brings her, yes, her favorite bubbly while she tries on $5,000 puffer jackets). 

Here’s what you should know about her.  She is 43, so almost 14 years my senior.  She was first and orthopedic surgeon and then became one of the top shoe designers, at least in America.  She came to this country at 8, fleeing from war and speaking no English.  This woman is brilliant and has made the American dream happen for herself.  She is a successful businessperson and she has worked damned hard.  She should reap the benefits of this—I’m not taking that from her.  But, it’s just getting hard to keep up.  I don’t want to lose her as a friend.  But when she calls me up and says let’s meet for a drink, she’s not talking about the local pub.  She means The Four Season’s Hotel. 

I have NEVER allowed ANYONE to treat me as a charity case.  I’ve had these rich friends offer to pay for me and I have always said no.  There are two reasons why.  1: I never want to owe someone because then they feel that they own you in some way. 2: I feel it has to damage the relationship somehow because the friend might start feeling resentful that they are being used for their cash.  

I had a terrible incident happen to me in London.  I had an extremely rich girlfriend of mine who came to visit from the States and wanted to go to the Light Bar in London.  A drink there is 15quid.  She was staying with me and wanted to take a cab and I told her that it would cost 40quid and the tube was free.  She was really angry and offered to pay for the taxi.  I finally gave in but was really uncomfortable.  She then got us into the Light Bar and kept ordering us rounds (there were two other friends she knew from London there as well).  I said to her that I could not afford more than one drink, but she kept ordering anyway and told me she’d pay.  I was gutted and miserable the whole night.  When the bill came, it was almost 1000 pounds.  All 3 of them took out their credit cards and I was the only person who couldn’t pony up the cash.  My “friend” explained, in a stupid, drunken manner, that I didn’t have the money to afford the drinks and could the three of them cover me?  I was devastated.  I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the next day and thank goodness that evening she flew home.  She and I speak on occasion, but the friendship really died on that night.  I swore NEVER to let that happen again. 

The problem with the business I’m in is that I’m either interacting with people who have large expense accounts or who are very wealthy.  I don’t actually hang out with fellow journalists all that often.  It’s not easy NOT having the green.  I want to be friends with my shoe gal, but I don’t want to have the talk with her that I’ve had with so many that has made me turn crimson—that I just can’t afford to go out with her.  

Again, the irony is that I come from a well-off family, and I would certainly not be considered poor.  But to these people, I am broke.  A hindrance.  So, I’ll go to this shoe gal’s party, put on a big, smiley face and pretend that all is hunky-dory in my life.  But inside, my heart is thumping and all I’ll want to do is get the fuck out of there.  Can you now understand why I don’t want to be broke with English gent and why I want so badly to be a success in a career and make money so that I’m not embarrassed anymore?  I know I should be confidant in myself regardless of what others think—but realistically, the world doesn’t work that way.  You’ve got to be able to pay the bills, not matter how lovely a disposition you have or how happy or in love you are.  I NEVER want to be someone’s charity case or anyone’s poor relation.

I’ll give you guys the details about the party as soon as………..

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

I hope this won't be me standing on the side of a road somewhere in Beverly Hills. The 5 dots on the cardboard are like a giant question mark. What CAN I work for? I don't know. It seems my skills are in a dead industry and no one seems interested in what I've got. Any Ethers recruiting out there?

Dear Ethers, 

The recession in America is really tough.  So much tougher than I thought it would be when I left England.  I never thought that on the brink of 30 I would be freelancing (barely) and hearing the sound of crickets on the other end of the phone lines with recruiters who seemed so effusive about my CV and my prospects.  

I grew up with the mentality that if you worked hard, got good grades, went to an excellent University and hell, like me, even got a Master’s Degree, that you would have no problems making your way up the ladder.  I was SO wrong.  Unfortunately, I joined a dying industry just as it began to hit the first stages of its Cancer.  My resume and experience became meshed with something that would give me skills for something that was no longer needed.  I toiled away as an intern and worked my way up——-all to be back to where I was at 22 years old except at 22 there was hope and time.  

I’m really scared.  I don’t know what else I’m capable of doing.  I wouldn’t ever go into PR (LOL….in the magazine business we call going into PR breaking into the “dark side”) and marketing and advertising are impossible to penetrate because they usually want people with agency experience (something I don’t have).  Even though I have applicable skills, because the economy is so bad, there are people with the EXACT skills who are also unemployed, so employers have the pick of the litter.  

In London I was always able to get solid work.  I was able to get really well paying copywriting freelance work and get by.  Though I was never on that coveted ladder, at least I was able to maintain a life and be out in the world with people.  In my present circumstance, I am alone a lot at my computer writing and hoping for that E-mail or the phone to ring.  

English gent says that I have to stay put because every time the going gets bad I bolt.  But I hate L.A. and I just don’t see any opportunities here.  But I can’t keep flittering back and forth.  It just makes me start from square one again and throws everything off kilter.  And again, I don’t have the time to do that any longer.  

I know there are many of you out there who are reading this and probably feeling this same way.  That you’ve tried everything to no avail.  So what can we do to stay positive and keep on trucking?  Well, blogging helps me because it takes up time and keeps me from getting rusty with my writing.  But, it doesn’t help me get anywhere with my future.  The truth is nothing is going to land on my lap—I have to be tenacious.  But, Ethers, I HAVE been tenacious (you should hear the ballsy phone calls I make!).  It’s crazy.  I thought if I pulled out my secret weapon, “the chutzpah,” it would all come together.  But even my crazy attempts have been fruitless.  

I know what you’re going to say.  “Keep on going!”  “Something will break for you soon!”  Thanks guys.  But the truth is, it’s been months.  And my hope is waning.  I know that I’m lucky I have a roof over my head and that my folks are being supportive.  That I’m not a parent with kids and a house with a mortgage.  But the truth is I have to take care of English gent financially until he gets any kind of working papers, and that’s taking a whack out of my savings.  We can’t really afford to go anywhere and do anything because we have to be very careful with every penny.  I feel terrible guilt because I brought us here thinking it would be a better life—even though we had good jobs in England. 

So that’s my employment update for now.  I promise I’ll let you guys know if anything changes, but it’s been like molasses for months.  You’d think it would be fun living like a retiree at 29—-it actually sucks—-yep, there isn’t even a pension.  

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365