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 guess it's the luck of the draw you who get as your toilet attendant. I get freaked out by the ones in clubs who expect $5 for handing you a paper towel and a mint. I hate the ones who douse you with perfume and expect an enormous bonus too. But me....oh no...my toilet lady wasn't looking for a tip. More like a tiff. Read on about the legend of "The Bog Lady of St. James Park In London."

Dear Ether, 

It all happened on a Spring day, many May’s ago.  English gent was working in the Foreign Office and I would meet him frequently after work at St. James Park as I was working on Old Bond Street and it was just a few minutes walk to have our rendezvous.  It was delightful.  For those of you who haven’t experienced the absolute magic of the place, really, it needs to be on your tick list. 

Just outside the hustle and bustle of Trafalgar Square and en route to Buckingham Palace lies a park lush with flowers, a lake with the most extraordinary Swans (both black and white), mallards with impossibly iridescent green heads and a whole variety of other wonderful web-toed creatures that make for tremendous fun while sitting on the benches that surround the lake.  Weeping willows cascade around you, people sit on the grass after work drinking white wine and rolling out a nice supper from M&S or a café.  And the flower beds are a masterpiece.  They cover the grounds neatly in the most unbelievable shades of color and the surroundings are like a magical floral fantasy.  No bud is out of place and it just feels like fragrance heaven.  

English gent and I would meet at the Starbucks on Charing X Road and grab our Venti lattes, head on over to our benches, sip away, sometimes bringing bread for the birds to munch, and just enjoy the calm after a hard day’s work.  BUT….after a large latte….a girl’s gotta use the facilities, right?  The closest one was right near the exit of the park heading towards Trafalgar Square.  It was in a hidden cove and it was usually empty.  I soon figured out why. 

The Bog Lady. 

Innocently, I walked into her “den” and she looked me up and down like fresh meat.  I start to go into a stall and she angrily said, “I just cleaned that one, pick another.” What, was I not good enough for a clean throne?  Okay, cool lady, whatever floats your boat.  Staring at me with beady eyes, her white apron smudged with grime, I picked another stall and shut the door and she yelled with her heavy accent, “Don’t slam that door so loud, girl!”  Oh boy.  There was no one else in a bathroom with about 10 other stalls.  Is she going to listen to me pee?  Rate my work?  And you know if I left even a drop on the seat she’d come after me with a broom and a tazer.  Finishing my business, she, as predicted, looked in the stall, gave me a dirty look, and sauntered back to her perch.  I went to wash my hands, and guess what, she appeared AGAIN!  “Why are you letting the water run and using so much soap.”  I just wanted to get the fuck out of there.  She handed me one little paper towel and said “Be more careful next time, you were very disrespectful.”  I was sorta shocked, but knew it would make for a great story.

A great story.  Once. 

But then I had to keep using her fucking bathroom.  And I asked myself, does this lady LIVE here?  No matter what time of day, holiday, weekend, she was THERE.  And she got to know my face.  And she HATED ME.  When there was a queue she actually held her arm out like a human barrier just in case I might bolt.  And once she accused me of peeing on the seat.  When I calmly explained that it wasn’t urine, that the toilet spit water when it flushed, and gave her an example by flushing it for her, she became incensed and told me to leave without washing my hands. 

I tried to see how she treated other young women in her palace.  She wasn’t chirpy, but she was fucking Ghandi compared to the Stalin she was towards me.  People would shake their heads in pity for me.  Others would laugh.  I was PISSED (no pun intended).  English gent asked why I didn’t change toilets?  Well, this one was really convenient and why should I change?  I had to sort this out bog-lady issue myself! 

On an empty Thursday I walked in at a time I knew was dead for her.  She was mopping (or should I say moping).  Before I even opened my mouth she said, “You’ll have to wait until the floor is dry (she was moving like a slug).  I asked, “Why are you so rude to me?  What have I done to you to make you angry?”  She said nothing.  “This has GOT to stop.  I don’t want to report you.  It’s a waste of my time and it could lose you your job.  But you are intolerably cruel.  I just want you to leave me alone when I use the bathroom.”  She said, “I know what you did 7 years ago.”  Ummm, Ethers, I wasn’t even in England 7 years ago.  “What?!”??!  I wasn’t even here, I was living in the States.  What do you think I did?”  “You went into stall 8, shit, didn’t flush and clogged the toilet.”  I just started to laugh.  Laugh so maniacally I think she even was frightened.  “So, this is what this is about?  You think I shat in your toilet and ruined your bathroom?”  “I KNOW you did,” shaking her mop at me. Okay.  I’ll be here around this time tomorrow.  I have something to show you. 

As always, in her disheveled garb, I showed her my passport.  I pointed to the date it was issued.  I didn’t even own a passport 7 years prior and then showed her my stamp into England, which was inked way after 7 years.  She had the wrong clogger of stall #8.  She cocked her head side by side, re-adjusted her glasses and stared at me for a moment. “I can’t get over how much you looked like her…and she was American.”  “Sorry.  Wasn’t me.  And you know what, you’ve treated me like garbage for so long that I had to bring my passport to a toilet to be able to use something I pay taxes to build.”  In her heavy accent she said “I won’t say I’m sorry because I thought what I saw was true.  But I will say that I won’t be rude any longer.  I’ve been working this toilet for 20 years. You don’t know what I’ve seen.  Prostitutes, homeless people, drug dealers.  I have to be tough.  Okay?”  I felt absolutely no tenderness for this woman.  Just grateful that I could use the toilet and not worry that she was going to climb through the bottom of the stall and attack me.  

I’m sure she’s still there being coarse, snappy and rude.  Wiping down glass with graffiti etched into it and sneering at drips on the floor and toilet seats.  And I’m sure at night she wonders who the Yankee bitch was that ruined stall #8 all those years ago.  I think she should be on all the tour books.  You’d really get to experience the “real London” through her.  Tough, a little nuts and someone who takes no crap!         

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

PS: For those of you who have never seen St. James Park, here is a mere snippet of its beauty.  

Gorgeous view of the palace with weeping willows and a gorgeous lake with fish and ducks.

My favorite! The ducks! It is so magical after work to come and decompress and sit on the benches and just watch these beautiful birds in their habitat. Such a variety!

They change the flowers all the time, but here is a Spring collection. No dead anything here. This is maintained always and the varieties are stunning. The smell is breathtaking and this winds around the whole park.

Dear Ether,

People seemed to really like some examples of some beauty writing that I’ve done in the past.  Well, I just had a freelancing gig and wrote for a pretty famous company (hence the XXX when you see them in the writing below) about shaving and self-tanners.  I worked with the advertising and promotions teams to create an advertising page for the magazine promoting  2 beauty products.  Basically a magazine and a brand will work together to get a product(s) promoted without making it too obvious by having it mesh with the editorial feel of the magazine.  You’ll usually see in the upper-right hand corner of the page, “Advertisement.”  But if you can pull it off, sometimes you can get the reader to think it’s part of the mag and that’s when you can really hit home and maybe get the sell.  I did this for two brands.  “Billy Jealousy,” a shaving product and “Mystic Tan,” a self-tanning product.  You’ll see how I write the pieces as if they are 100% editorial, but I am promoting their products ONLY.  Clever, eh?  This was for one pretty famous beauty supplier who was advertising in a mag.  So here you go and enjoy.  I think it’s fun and I enjoyed writing it.  And, you do learn about self-tanning and shaving.  It is, in theory,  really and editorial piece.  I just used specific brands rather than brands of my own choosing.  It’s amazing how many elements go in to making a magazine, right?  Anywhooooo…the fun part is when you see it laid out.  Have a great Sunday and I will see you for the “Wish List” tomorrow.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Self-Tanners: 

Mystic Tan's Perfect Tan Kit, $54, Sephora.com

Self-tanning has always been tricky.  When the first products came on the market we were left with a radioactive tangerine tint that made us look more George Hamilton than groovin’ with a J-Lo glow.  But since those “dark days,” products have evolved.  Cutting- edge brands like Mystic Tan have given natural-looking hues to almost 200 million people.  XXXX is delighted to carry Mystic Tan’s new luxe line of DIY products that have revolutionized the self-tanning world.  Their collection includes the Perfect Tan Kit Body, Perfect Tan Kit Face, Sunless Tanning Spray Face and Body, Sunless Enhancing Moisturizer Body and Shimmer Face.  [Pssst!] If you’ve ever envied Jessica Simpson’s golden skin, Mystic Tan is her secret.

But no matter how “golden” the self-tanner becomes, the application process is not always fail-safe.  So…Welcome to Self-tanner 101!  

The first step for any self-tanning guru is exfoliation.  Removing dead skin cells is key because you don’t want dry zones like knees and elbows to collect tanner and make the product appear dark, muddy and uneven. Now, here comes the fun part…the application!  But be wary.  Many of us have earned the Scarlet Letter of self-tanners: discolored palms (the true sign of a novice).  A helpful hint: Use latex gloves for application.  Worried about having white hands?  Problem solved. All you need to do is rub the backs of your palms with self-tanner in a clockwise direction.  Works every time!  

Okay. Body exfoliated?  Latex gloves snapped on?  You’re ready!  Believe it or not, this is the easy part.  Using gentle, long strokes, apply the tanner as evenly as possible along your skin.  A great tip is to add a dollop of moisturizer to the tanner, making the product a bit more malleable and therefore easier to apply.  This is also excellent for tan enhancement, because it helps saturate the color into your skin.   

So you’ve tanned yourself, and you’re wondering, “what now?”  Well, don’t allow your skin to get near water for at least 4 hours.  Also, this stuff can stain!  If you’re planning to throw on that white Prada maxi-dress right away, that’s a huge no-no.  

If you have the time to tan and set during the day, more power to you.  But the ideal time is just before you turn in for the night.  Then you can shower off the residual product in the morning.  (To protect your sheets, wear a scruffy pair of old pj’s.)  This is ideal because you maximize the amount of tan time allowing, for the deepest color possible, and you don’t have to worry that any of the above uh-oh’s will happen.  

So now that you’re tan and gorgeous, all you have to do is maintain your new radiance.  Moisturizing is key, because it keeps skin from sloughing off and also prolongs your beautiful bronze.  Use Mystic Tan’s Sunless Enhancing Moisturizer Body that provides offers a subtle amount of color while keeping skin hydrated.  

(Okay. That’s it.) You glow, girl! 

Shaving: 

Billy Jealousy Hydroplane Super-Slick Shave Cream $20 sephora.com

We all—men and women alike– have nightmare stories about shaving. Many a prom night photo has been ruined by guys with Band-Aids slapped over razor burns.  And surely there have been countless summer BBQ’s where girls showed up in pants instead of cute new dresses because they had a shaving fiasco.  

The simple fact is we didn’t have the “cutting-edge” razors that populate the market today–razors with names that sound like launch vehicles designed by NASA!  Well, we’ve come a long way from that scary man in the barbershop wielding a straight edge blade, a leather strop and a shaky hand.  What’s so exciting about this razor revolution are all the brilliant products that have arrived to help us in the fine art of shaving. Creams, waxes, oils, foams—even lasers! 

XXXX’s team of specialists is always on hand to help you select the shaving option that’s perfect for you (and we’ve got quite a selection).  And now we’ve found something genuinely unique that’s going to make any shaving aficionado “jealous.”  Hint: it also won Best Shaving Cream at Esquire’s 2007 Grooming Awards.   Oh, and George Clooney is a fan.  Care to read on? 

Hydroplane, by Billy Jealousy, is a foamless shave cream that lubricates the skin to give you the closest shave possible while also protecting against razor burn, nicks, bumps and ingrown hairs.  A little goes a long way with this 8oz. bottle, because it miraculously gets slicker and more powerful as you add warm water to it.  As we all know–ouch!–shaving can leave a burning sensation but Hydroplane provides a pleasant cooling effect as it performs its magic.  The formula includes micro-silicon beads that have a slight exfoliation action–also fantastic for an ultra-soft finish because it sloughs off dead skin cells.  And with chamomile and aloe to keep skin calm and humectants to preserve moisture, it’ll give you the happiest skin on the planet.  Because Hydroplane is perfect for every skin type, all you have to do is massage onto face, shave, and rinse with cool water.  And, because it’s such a smooth product, women are grabbing it off the shelves after rave reviews from the men in their lives.  Hey, if a guy can steal your shampoo and conditioner, why can’t you steal his shaving cream? 

XXXXXX’s Tick List: Do’s and Don’ts of Shaving  

1. Always shave with warm water.  The best time is after a steaming, hot shower.  Or, ladies, a great time to shave is IN a steaming, hot shower!
2. Make sure you have a sharp blade.  Dull blades are going to tear skin, cause ingrown hairs and create razor burn.
3. Never shave against the grain (even though we’re tempted because we think we’re getting a closer and quicker shave: we’re actually causing small cuts to the skin that could lead to infection and ingrown hairs).
4. When you’re finished shaving, always rinse with cool water.  This closes the pores and calms the skin.
5. Moisturize! Use an after-shave balm, lotion or cream and avoid anything alcohol based (unless you want to encourage burning!).
6. Don’t be cheap!  Sometimes things are worth spending a little extra money on.  That bag of 100 razors for 99 cents is priced that way for a reason.  Invest in a quality razor and a well-researched product.