My dad may have prostate cancer. Cancer. Cancer. Cancer. That's all I can hear right now. Please say a good wish for my family.....and to those men out there, get checked out. Early detection is a life saver.

Dear Ether, 

I’m really scared.  My dad just had a test for prostate cancer and they found that it was hard (a healthy prostate should be soft and spongy).  They are doing a biopsy tomorrow and won’t have the results until Friday.  All is gloomy around the household.  

My uncle, his brother, was diagnosed with prostate cancer just last year.  They say if you have sibling who has had the disease, your chances go up.  

My father, whom I just recently posted about (Read: The First Man I Ever Loved Was My Father) and wrote that he never had an injury in his life, could be thrown a very heavy blow.  I know prostate cancer, if caught early, is very curable.  But cancer is cancer and that’s an ugly word.  They say that it’s most virulent in men in their 50’s.  My father is in his early 60’s.  But, again, whose to know.  All is speculation.  

My mom, always positive, thinks he will be fine and will be healthy as he always has.  I can tell by the sallow look on his face and his body language that he does not feel the same way.  

This is the man who I thought was infallible.  A man who I thought was perfect, may have something that will mar him internally and change him psychologically.  I do not fear anything as serious as death, but I do fear suffering for him and the severe shake to his belief in his youthfulness and health.  My father.  Mr. Perfect.  The man I love most.  I can’t bear that he is potentially living with something destroying him. 

Everyone always told me that I took after my father.  I always felt so proud of that because he had a constitution like a rock and had aged handsomely.  If HE is bound for any sort of demise, than I, too, am not going to be always strong and healthy either.  

I’ve never really been unwell.  My brother takes after my mother.  He has a zillion allergies, and always complains of aches and pains (whether this is psychosomatic, I don’t know).  He is always taking off work because he is sick.  I can’t remember the last time I visited a GP. 

But back to my Dad.  He is aging.  He has graying temples, sagging skin, a few scattered sunspots and thinner hair (though a full head—he is not even close to bald).  Aging is a reality, but to see your perfect father lose to the inevitable hands of time.  That even HE can’t beat the clock………it makes you realize that you too, are bound for the same fate. 

My dad wont be alive when I reach his age.  He won’t see me with paper thin skin on the tops of my hands, fat blue veins popping out of them.  He won’t see me chop of my lovely hair and wear it as a woman of my age should.  He’ll never see my lens prescription grow thicker or my eyes grow less clear.  I’m grateful for that.  Because watching him vanish is terrifying and painful.  

Please send out a good word for him.  I hope he is going to be okay.  You’ll remember from my earlier post that I have so much I still must work out with him.  I can’t lose him.  I can’t allow anything to harm him. 

Nobody’s perfect.  I know that.  But to give him cancer?  No.  Please.  No. 

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

I'm running out of time...English gent and I are running out of time....and all I can do is just shut my eyes and fall asleep because in some demented way I think it makes time go away. But it's the worst thing---because sleep to a depressed person is like a drug. While you're gone--the hit is real nice. You're asleep and away from pain. But when you wake up and the drift has worn off--time has still passed and you've just made it far worse for yourself. I just sometimes don't know how else to cope without aching so badly...

Dear Ethers,

I woke up this morning and I wasn’t feeling good.  Not in a feverish way, but in a mental way.  The sky was heavily clotted with gray and black clouds, there was a chill in the air, and it was a Sunday (never a good day for me).  It had been a lousy weekend after hearing about the news regarding my job and I had been kept up all night ruminating about my life and wondering what I was going to do.  I had to wake up early to go see a film (the last thing I wanted to do). On little sleep, I hauled ass and went.  It was a comedy and I barely cracked a smile.  

I was supposed to make my debut at the gym and start a whole healthy routine again, but all I wanted to do was get into bed and be comforted by the warm duvet and disappear.  I was in and out of consciousness having odd dreams and the night just ticked away.  Right now my heart is racing, I feel shaky, I haven’t eaten and I don’t think I could stomach much of anything anyway.  Facing tomorrow seems frightening.  English gent’s visa is up in 20 days and if he doesn’t get his paperwork in he has to go back to England.  They were really rough with him at the border—and buying a ticket is out of the question.  We need to turn in that paperwork if he is gonna stay in the States, but neither of us know what to do—do we bolt and go back to what we know (London) or hand over $2000 we really don’t have (and might be better spent on tickets to London and a deposit on a flat)?  Do we stay in America (he can’t leave the country for 6 months) and remain miserable trapped in a country or at least a city and a living situation that is unbearable?  And, we really only have days to decide.  Remain here or, like people on speed, pick up and pack up—as well as find a flat and jobs in the UK.  

I’m in a major mess.  I am so sorry that my posts have been depressing. I’m sure you guys miss my fun entries and my nutty stories.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you what was really going on in my life.  

I wish I could take all my mistakes away (all of us do)—but everything just feels overwhelmingly too late.  English gent is like a fish out of water here and hates it—so I know he will inevitably want to go back to England–so why am I wasting my precious $2000?  I had so many problems in the UK–so I’m afraid to return but also eager for my freedom and its comforts that I know so well.  But who can help me there?  If I move, my parents won’t give me a dime, I don’t know what profession will take me on……………

Look, there are no more kind, comforting comments you lovely Ethers can make.  You have been INCREDIBLY supportive.  Too generous.  Nobody likes the girl who always is sad.  Nobody likes the girl who always is crying and complaining—especially when I’m sure each of you have your own problems.  I just use this forum as a platform to spew.  This is why I lose friends a lot of the time.  They see me one way, but then the dark-side comes out and they abandon me.

I gotta get back into bed.  I really don’t feel good.  My “Wish List” will be up and running–probably a bit later than normal tomorrow.  Wish me luck…..I hope I don’t get any un-welcomed news waiting for me from my job.  I also hope that English gent and I make the right decision…we’ve made so many bad ones.  Maybe even staying together this long—a whole other mess and saga you all know very well.

Thanks for your time…………and understanding.  I won’t always be like this.  I still have 8.5 months ahead of me on this blog—let’s hope by the end, I’ll be where I need to.  That’s the point of this—it’s my journey, right?  But those clock hands keep ticking and shoving me towards the future and I have to stop believing that if I lay on them and sleep they won’t move forwards.

Dedicatedly yours, 

—One of 365

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

Dar Ether,

I’ve been going to events hosted by PR’s for a long time now and the color worn by the ladies of the night is always black.  I don’t know if any of you lovely PR girls will be reading this, but I’m sure you’ll agree that sometimes it’s hard to find something flattering and work-appropriate for an event.  You don’t want to out-dress your attendees, but you also don’t want to be mistaken for a waiter.  

I went to the lovely Calvin Klein website and was very surprised.  They’ve come along way since the 90’s where ghetto people were wearing oversized Calvin Klein knock-off T-shirts or you’d see CK jeans rotting in the racks of TJ Maxx.  Oh and do you remember the era of CK One?  I thought I’d never breathe fresh air again!  Truthfully, it’s happening with Thierry Mugler’s Angel, but I suppose every decade has its fragrance trend. The site wasn’t Mr. Klein’s runway collection.  It was his reasonably priced clothing that had amazing sales and truthfully, the full price goodies were fair given they were really on trend, the fabrics were top-notch and the cuts looked excellent.  There is a Calvin Klein in a mall near my house and simply from looking at this site I’m going, credit card in hand, and shopping!  

So, back to out PR princess.  She’s a tough cookie because she’s gotta handle high-level clients, keep her cool, look attractive, but also understated. She also needs to be classy.  She can’t stand out and experiment with trends.  So let’s pretend that this is an event for Calvin Klein.  She’s donning everything from his collection to be supportive and represent, so if anyone asks what she is wearing she can boast that it is indeed from Mr. Klein. The base color is black with the only other shades being golds, coppers and caramels.  The leopard print on the heel is the only bit of sass in the outfit, but it’s good.  It show she is stylish, has some funk and knows her fashion.  Okay, the doors are about to open.  Time to primp the outfit and make sure she looks as sleek as the label she’s representing.

The dress of the night! This basic black dress is very deceptive in its simplicity. It's bustier and criss cross straps give support allowing for her to not have to wear a bra. This eliminates unsightly straps and uncomfortable underwires so she can feel completely at ease to do her work. The cinched waist holds her in at the right spot to make her look her slimmest and the pockets are excellent for holding spare pens, blackberry; whatever she may need to throw in at the last second if she is without her purse. The dress is deceptively simple, but because the cut and tailoring are so well done, she looks elegant and well-presented. Criss Cross Bustier Dress, Originally $138 now $69, calvinklein.com

These are sexy and add a splash of fun to the all black attire. They have a severe heel, but the platform will allow ball of foot comfort. The straps and sling-back will keep the heel on tight so no slipping out of the shoe. It also shows you've got a bit of personality to your fashion sense even if you can't really show it at this event. The dress is on the shorter side, and these heels have height (4"!) so you're gonna have elongated legs which will make you stand out above the crowd giving you a good vantage point, but also allowing you to maybe get snagged by a hot celebrity because DAMN your legs will look AMAZING! Prive Leopard Print Pony Sandal, $118, calvinklein.com

Blackberry Check! Guest-list? Check! Perfume? Check! Mirror? Check! What else? That's the beauty of this bag. It can hold whatever you need and more! It's big, it's classy and though understated with its black leather and gold hardware, the C shaped design and handle make it architectural and sleek. It'll fit cozily under your arm ready to be unzipped and opened for whatever you need. It's in the bag, baby! C Link Crescent Hobo, $198, calvinklein.com

You're SO gonna need a watch, right? This goes perfectly with the ensemble. It's dressy, looks a bit like a bracelet so you don't have to worry that you are sans baubles, and most importantly it tells the bloody time. Truthfully, I'm not one for branded watches unless the name Rolex or Cartier comes into the mix (wink) but if you're representing the brand or need a reasonable evening watch, this one ain't too shabby. If you were to wear it with a bunch of really cool black enamel bracelets and gold bangles it could be gorgeous! Gold Lexington Watch, $255, calvinklein.com

I had to insert a fragrance in the mix! C'mon, it's Calvin Klein! I chose one of his less familiar names, though truthfully they are all sold at a Boots or a CVS pharmacy, right? As a little trail-off, I'm a fragrance fanatic and own a beyond belief amount from my beauty days. I have a special place in my heart for the art of perfume and hate mass produced ones like these. BUT, I do understand their necessity in the world, and that's why I am including this. I just feel if you wear a perfume, try and find one that's not worn by every Joe Schmo on the street. Really investigate and experiment to find "you" in a scent. Okay, I'll shut up. Basically, I chose this because of the bottle. I thought if Miss PR girl were to pull it out, it would match her outfit! It's also a sultry fragrance with top notes: plum, mace, rose de damas mid notes: egyptian jasmine, french orange flower, tuberose base notes: cashmere woods, burnt amber, madagascan vanilla, australian sandalwood. Really good for a night out and to mask any sweat building up from a stressed out evening! Secret Obsession, 3.4 oz EDP Originally $72 now $36, calvinklein.com

Now, sniffle, if you’ve noticed, there is NO poll! I have done this purposefully to punish you all!!!!! Jokes aside, no one was voting.  So I decided to try 1 “Wish List” without it to see if I would get any comments asking for it back.  If you want it, you got it.  But if you don’t miss it, I won’t bring it back from the dead.  Poor poll.  He’s the only guy I knew who actually wanted his buttons pushed

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365