old

I'm feeling pretty good.

My face has mostly cleared up.  With makeup, the redness is unnoticeable.

My scary-looking hair is now tamed — straight (too much so) but shining.

Work today is not good. There are few customers to sell to. And with so much being 70% off, even sales of multiple items amount to little.

I take a Via home. A young 20-something is driving. 

"Is that Bruno Mars we're listening to?" I ask.

"Yup. Do you like him?"

"Very much."

"What other artists do you like from today?"

Why did he add from today?  

Maybe he's surprised that I like (and even know) a musician who is popular today. Then again, maybe I'm being overly sensitive.

I tell him I like Lady Gaga and Ed Sheeran.

"What about from when you were in your 20's?"

I can't think of anyone, so he starts suggesting people.

"What about Frank Sinatra? Or Elvis?''

Really?!! Frank Sinatra was popular before I was even born, and Elvis was becoming known when I was a toddler.

"Well, if I liked Frank Sinatra in my 20's, and Frank Sinatra was popular in the 40's, that'd mean I'd be close to 100. Do I look that old to you?"

I was really afraid that he might say yes. 

"No, I just didn't really know when Frank Sinatra was popular," he responds.

Regardless, I leave the Via feeling old, and go to Agata to pick up dinner.

I'm checking out, and my Jimmy Choo sneakers are almost falling out of my tote.

The cashier next to mine is young with bright kelly green hair in a long braid. She sees my shoes and says, "Your sneakers are fly."

I am not sure if I heard her correctly so I ask my cashier what she said.

"She said your sneakers were fly."

And then adds, "That means she likes them."

new hair

The first time I had a Keratin treatment was September 7, 2007. Almost ten years ago.

I went to a salon in midtown where it cost $380 and took three and a half hours. I then couldn't wash my hair for four very long days.

Now I have the treatment done about once a year, sometimes a little less.  The last time I had it done was October.

My hair is frizzy and never looks good without effort, and even then... the other morning I got up, washed my hair, and spent about 20 minutes blowing it out. it looked great, I thought. I walk ten minutes to the subway,  another five when I get off, then arrive at work with horrid-messy-unkempt hair looking like I'd made no attempt to improve it.

So today I go again; this time to Sergio Limpopo, another midtown salon. The process now takes under an hour; my hair can be washed in 24 hours, and total cost is $99 (exclusive of tax and tip).

I guess hair straightening, along with electronics, has both improved and come way down in price over the past ten years.

It'll be too straight for the next month or so, but so much easier to manage. 

It's the best treatment for making hair manageable and shiny. You just have to forget the little bit of formaldehyde in the product. 

unusual sky

Maybe because I've been in hiding I haven't noticed. But June 21 was the summer solstice, making it the longest day of the year in terms of daylight.

I meet Shari for a screening of The Beguiled. I want to love it. The film is beautifully shot, acted, and directed. But to me, it 's too high on atmosphere and too short on plot (the first half, anyway).

After the film we walk through the city, under a blue-lit sky. It's 9:08 p.m.

here's the good (as I've already written about the bad and the ugly)

The list of what I don't like as a sales associate is very long and something I've written about often.

The pay, the returns, and a million other things.

But aside from the exercise (love being thin and still eating a lot) and the discount (it'll be so hard to ever lose that), there are aspects I genuinely like. 

First, I'm good at it. I like fashion, and I have a good sense of style. Even though I may walk in Mephistos and sneakers (I am so grateful we can now where them), I can appreciate what a great pair of shoes looks like. And similarly, while I dress mostly in black and white, that doesn't mean I can't recognize when a red dress would be sensational on someone else.

And I find it interesting to get a glimpse into someone else's life. 

People from all over the world come into Saks. And people shop for all different reasons. It might be just to browse, or it could be for a baby's christening, a daughter's Bat Mitzvah, a son's wedding, a college graduation, a job interview, or a hot date. And the willingness of people to share some small detail of their lives makes the job more fun. 

Sure, there are always a few that act entitled. Or treat me like their personal maid. But they are far fewer than the customers who are thoughtful. Appreciative. And totally pleasant. It's always nice when a customer buys a lot (and then leaves the country so there's no chance of a return). But even the customer who buys nothing, then goes out of her way to thank me, can make me smile and feel good about what I do.

I like my manager and the people I work with. 

I have a great schedule.

And, I think I work in the best area in the store.

Beginning July 1, I am no longer in Vince. I now work on the other side of the fifth floor in the area called The Advance. What is great about this side is:

• I love the designers (Rick Owens, Comme des Garcons, Thom Browne, Simone Rocha (to name just a few).

• I can still sell the more casual/contemporary clothes on the 5th floor.

• All the clothes are beautifully displayed and spread out to fill a city block. Nothing is cluttered, and it's not overwhelming for customers.

• There are always enough dressing rooms. 

• And best of all, I can stand in the atrium next to the escalators and elevators, where all potential customers first come onto the floor.

My returns are still too high (between 25 and 30% some weeks). It is physically strenuous and exhausting work. And associates are monumentally underpaid.

But there are clearly things I like about what I do. The best evidence is that I've been at Saks for almost 20 months. Far longer than I thought I'd last.

If I am going to work in retail, I believe I am in the best location in the best store with the best people. 

Just pay me fairly and I could be happy.

some stuff must stay

I call Alexander.

"I'm cleaning house and getting rid of things. What about the big framed photo hanging in your room?'

"You mean the one of me sucking my finger?  Sure, get rid of that." 

It was taken at my son's nursery school graduation, and for years, dominated his small room.

"Okay, what about your framed diploma from MNS?" (As in Manhattan New School, Alexander's school from Kindergarten through Fifth).

"No, keep that." (I of course wouldn't get rid of it; that was just a test to see if he was paying attention.).

"Okay, but I'm giving away your bulletin board. The one I had made that you never used."

"Fine."

"Oh, do you want my Brita Water Jug?"  I bought this a couple of years ago and used it for a week.

"Sure, I'll take that."  

"Oh, and I'm throwing out the stuffed dog that looks dead."

"You mean the one I've had since the day I was born?  You can't get rid of him! He's been with me my whole life and has never given me a single day of grief."

I thought he was joking, but no, he wants to hold on to this now-sad-looking puppy.

If I hadn't asked, he'd never have noticed. But now that I've asked, the little doggie stays. 

Reminds me of the little boy who still lives inside my son.

one week later

Still have a ways to go, but definitely getting there! I can finally see where my nose ends and my face begins. 

June 15, Thursday pm

June 22, Thursday pm

paint job

Day One: Tuesday
Freddy says he'll try and arrive around nine. At nine exactly he shows up with two painters. My love for Freddy deepens.

I leave for the library.  There are worse places to hang out. No food or drink. But other than that, it's quiet, cool, and comfortable. I find a chair in the back, plug in my computer (so glad I have a laptop), phone and Kindle, and I'm good for the day. Or at least until I get hungry.

By the end of Day One, as promised, my bedroom, kitchen and small hallway are done. Everything looks great. The painters even surprise me and re-do the grouting in my bathroom. 

With my bedroom done, I'm happy.  Just about everything I need is in there. 


Day Two: Wednesday
The two painters and Freddy return at nine. 

I am not displaced as I have my bedroom to hang in.  I leave around one to meet a friend to see a new play, Cost of Living. It's short, well acted, and depressing. 

The painters leave around five. I think it looks great, but it's hard to tell. I have stuff everywhere it shouldn't be. 

After dinner I begin to organize Alexander's room. After an hour or two, I am too exhausted to continue. Just cleaning the book shelves and putting everything back is tiring. And then I notice a plug plate missing and a loose rod (if that's what it's called) on my shelves. I have a short list of what I now need to have my handyman do. 

And what am I going to do with the huge framed photos I have of my son that I've decided not to re-hang? I put what I can under my bed for now.

Day Three: Thursday
Get up with energy and purpose. Spend about three more hours cleaning and organizing.  

Except for the small hallway (where I used a light beige color), nothing looks much different, just cleaner and less cluttered. I am so glad I'm done. 

Windows and rugs are next.  Should be a whole lot easier than painting, which almost feels like moving.

what a mess!

And I'm not referring to my face this time, although that's still a mess too.

It's been 10 years since I last had my apartment painted. `

A couple of months ago I decide it's time, and immediately become stressed knowing what's ahead.

The building is required to paint my apartment every three years (for free) if I request it. But if I want different colors than the basic Regal Select Linen White Flat by Benjamin Moore (BM) that is offered, I must pay.

I spend weeks deciding on color. My neighbor recommends OC-45, a BM Aura paint called Swiss Coffee. I look at a million others and ultimately decide on that, and a slightly darker shade (OC-47 Aura Ashwood) for my small hallway. Both in an eggshell finish. The paint will be about $350. I think it's worth it.

Next comes the challenge of finding a painter. The building uses two. The first gives me an astronomical price and the second painter (Freddy, who's an absolute doll) gives me a price that is about $600 less. Plus, Freddie will switch out all my plug plates and move the furniture that is too heavy for me to move. But most importantly, Freddie responds to my phone calls and texts. 

So the painters are coming tomorrow. Today I begin the prep. 

I'll leave the ALEXANDER letters for the painter's to remove. These have been up since my son was an infant. I just haven't had the heart to take them down. But he's 24 now; I guess it's time.

Everything else, though, I do. 

I empty my book shelves and take down the shelves. I remove anything that can get in the way of the paint job. Everything on my walls is now on a bed or table.

I stuff things in closets, my laundry basket, on top of my bed, on chairs and my dining table. For someone who is very organized, this kind of chaos is stressful. But I will like the "putting away and cleaning" part. 

I also make a pile of perfectly good items I no longer use: a watering can, an expensive Japanese-designed dish drainer, a mini-food processor (unopened), a muffin tin, a few pans, and an iron. I will offer them to the painters.

Like my face, the end result will certainly make it all worth it. But the path to get there feels like a long one.

two friends and a book club

For over 10 years I belonged to a book club of 10 woman. The common connection was elementary school — all our kids went to the same one.

But when I started working Fridays, I could no longer attend. My job physically depletes me. By the time I leave work, I have no energy left for intellectual discussion. Or even pleasant socializing. 

But I love communal reading. I love sharing thoughts and ideas about characters and plot. So about a year ago, I formed a new book club with my close friend M who lives near Boston.

We began with a few simple guidelines, but like any organization, these have expanded over time.  

No meeting schedule
Like a pop quiz, impromptu meetings can take place whenever we want. And, they require zero coordination. This is the best part of a two-person book club.

No meeting time
I call M at 11 last night when I finished Dennis Lehane's book Since We Fell (we both agree the second half defies credibility). She is in bed with her husband but still takes the meeting. No time is off-limits.

Multiple discussions for each book
Unlike traditional book clubs, we discuss the book as we are reading it. One of us will call the other and begin with, "Where are you in the book?"  Because we both read on Kindles, our answers are always in percents. 

If I'm at the higher percent, and if M is not liking the book, she may ask me what has happened between her percentage-reading point and mine.

In fact, in a recent Mary Higgins Clark novel we read (plastic characters and no mystery), I finished the book while M was at 33%. She asked for the ending so we could move on to the next book at the same time. 

M has sneakily made me head researcher
It started with her sending me one title and asking, “What about this?” But now she goes further. 

The other day she sends me a screen shot of The Boston Globe's summer reading list of 17 books and asks, "Any of these look good?"  In other words, "Can you research these books and see if the plot sounds like something we'd like and oh, by the way, can you check and see what kind of reviews these have gotten?"

Genre
And while we both prefer mysteries, M has vetoed any books that:

• Involve the Holocaust.  "I already know the story."

• Are too sad. 

• Focus on very poor people. "That's not entertaining."

But anything about Princess Diana or the Royals, fiction or non-fiction, is fine.

No More Members
While other friends have asked to join, we like the lack of coordination that a two-person book club offers. So no more permanent members are allowed, though we will consider guests if asked.

Yes, it's an odd little book club with many rules, but like an old friendship, it works.

back at work

A couple of friends think I shouldn't go into work. 

One friend suggests I put a band-aid on my nose. That way I can get away with an easy, I fell answer if anyone asks. But a band-aid on my nose looks totally ridiculous.

Another friend thinks customers might avoid me for fear of catching whatever unnamed disease I may be carrying.

And a third friend, after I text her a current selfie, texts back, "You can't see where your nose begins and ends!!" She's right. It's one big bright red mush on my face. And it itches and stings like crazy.

Still, I go in. 

I've come up with an easy answer if asked. "I have sun poisoning." But no one asks.

No one seems to avoid me. I have a decent day. I think it'd have been exactly the same with my normal face.

I'm the only one who feels awkward. Every time I pass a mirror (and there are many at Saks) I try not to look. 

By the time I leave, my nose is on fire and itching. 

Taking off my make-up is the highlight of my day.

But it's nice to know that I'm the only one who is bothered by my face. To customers, I'm happy to be just another sales associate. 

finally, day #21

First thought this morning. 

Good-bye to the drug that's been causing havoc on my face. Today is my last day using you.

My face stings and itches so I go to the pharmacy to buy some Benadryl. I decide to brave it and go out without makeup. Face totally bare.

I come home and see Mike, the handyman.  He looks at me and says, "Wow. What happened? Did you fall?  You look injured."

And later today I have to be seen in public again.  Zelia and I have tickets to see Oslo.

I have resisted going, despite recommendations from good friends who have loved it.

But a three hour politically-themed play, mostly featuring men talking, does not appeal to me.

I'd rather be home, with nothing on my face but Aquaphor, reading (and loving) Dennis Lehane's new book, Since We Fell.

I meet Zelia at Lincoln Center. I comment before she does, "I know. My face looks awful." She suggests wearing some make-up. I am.  

Oslo is a smart, impeccably acted play. It is complicated and historically interesting. It has humor, drama, and intrigue. I find it boring. It's too talky, too long, and too complex. I am glad I saw it but can't say I loved it. Perhaps my taste is not sophisticated enough to appreciate the play's brilliance.

I'm happy when Oslo ends and I can come home and apply more moisturizer to my face.

Tonight I use the medicine for the last time (I hope). 

It'll be nice now to get up, and know that every day my face will be getting a little bit better rather than a little bit worse. 

Some friends have asked why I'm posting such awful pictures of myself. Three reasons. 

1. If my blog is to be honest, then why not? 
2. Since this involves no one else, I 'm not offending anyone.  And finally,
3. In case anyone else needs to use efudex, they will have an idea on what to expect, although each case is different. 

So here it is. Last day. Future photos should be a lot less frightening.

housebound, sort of

Without makeup, I think I might scare small children.  

Although the little dog next door still recognizes me, so that's a relief.

My closets are clean.

My drawers organized.

My freezer is immaculate, emptied of the three frozen prime strip steaks from Costco, dated March 2016. The handsome single dad who lives next door happily takes them.

I even wipe down the vents in my living room AC and the plates covering all my plugs, something I don't think I've ever done before.

Robyn comes over and we watch (half of) Wizard of Lies. We'll watch the other half later in the week. 

I only venture out for food.

And to get my hair colored. 

Some concealer and a good blow-out help, but not enough. Makeup can't diminish a very swollen nose. And what looked passable in my un-windowed bathroom, doesn't look as good in better light.

But it's still a lot lot better than what I woke up to this morning.

Tomorrow is day #21 — the last day. 

Healing should begin on Thursday.  Will be so happy to get back to feeling and looking like me. And watching the redness, the dryness, the swelling, and most importantly, the pre-cancerous cells, disappear

day #18

It's working and I'm not.

Today is Day #18, only three days to go — though that feels like a very long time as my face is really starting to hurt. This stuff (5-fluorouracil or efudex) is nasty but powerful and hopefully is doing its job.

I google others who have used it (there are lots of scary photos, so much worse than mine). My burning, itchy, stinging nose feels very unpleasant. So far, at least, there's been no scabbing.

But oh man, when I look in the mirror, I can't believe what I'm looking at. I worked yesterday and all day I couldn't wait to get home and wash off my make-up and apply a strong moisturizer. 

So today, with the sun out, I call in sick and stay home.

I watch some YouTube videos of the Marie Kondo method of folding, and organize my socks, underwear and jean drawers (T-shirts are much too involved).

At least something in my house looks good. 

comfort over fashion

Last Friday I make the mistake of going sock-less to work.

Even my faithful Rosa Mephisto booties are painful after a few hours.

I change into a brand new pair of on-sale Prada slides that looked and felt great when I tried them on and bought them a few hours earlier. I am so confident of their comfort I even toss the box they come in.

Within an hour, I have a raw, open wound where my new shoes have cut into my foot.

It's time to forego fashion for comfort. At least as a back-up.

I go to Footlocker to buy a pair of Nike Air 2017.  The solid black and solid white are marked down from $190 to $130, but not the grey, black and white that I want:

I leave empty-handed, come home and go on the Nike site, resolved to pay $190.  But the shoes are sold out, almost making me want them more.  So I try the Footlocker site and find them. I also find a coupon for 15% off. I have trouble with the site and need to call Customer Service to place the order.  When I do, I ask, The CS rep if I can get the the shoes I want for $130. She agrees and also lets me apply the 15% off coupon.  Total cost: $110.

I hope I'm as happy with the shoe as I am with the price.  

As for the Prada's?  I will try to make them wearable. Just not at work.

NYC gems

Given what I look like, every time I have a plan I consider cancelling it ...starting with an appointment to get my hair cut.

But I go, figuring that if my hair looks better no one will notice my face.

After leaving Mark at Mark on Madison, I see a banner next door at the obscure (at least to me) Mnuchin Gallery that reads, "Cindy Sherman, Once Upon A Time, 1981-2011." I go in. The exhibit is small (under 30 works), and I am one of only two or three others there. No signs anywhere explain anything. But the enormous photos are astonishing, and the artist is the exclusive subject in every piece. It takes less than a half hour to go through the entire exhibit, but the images stay with me long after I leave.

One of the many things I love about New York is that you can find something interesting to do, even when you're not looking.

And while tonight's dinner has been planned for weeks, the exotic, outstanding  food is unexpected.

Five of us meet at Salinas to celebrate Ronda's birthday. Our corner table is in the back room, under an open latticed skylight.

Janice, Ronda, Zelia, me and Shari

We let Shari order, as she has been here before, and everything she chooses is incredible. We have many small plates, and paella (with skewers of seafood)  as the main course. 

The service is impeccable, the acoustics make it easy to have conversation, and the company couldn't be better.

We are there as the light above us changes from light to dark, and all shades in between.

We share one Uber home. 

It's a perfect night in a perfect city with a group of friends I'm lucky to be part of.

day #13

It's a cold, damp day. More like November than June.

My face is starting to look bad... sort of like having a few measles on my forehead and a mild case of adolescent pimples on my nose. Fortunately, make-up still does a fairly decent job of covering. Thank you Cle de Peau Beaute Concealer. 

And I have theater tonight, The Little Foxes with Zelia.

I would really rather not go. I am not in the mood for a two and a half hour play set in 1900.

But I do, and find myself loving it. In fact, this play should be on everyone's list of theater to see. It's totally entertaining and the time flies by.

Come home, take off my makeup, and see a most unflattering face staring back at me. 

Okay, why not?

Here's a selfie, and I still have eight more days of this cream. Can't imagine what I'll look like then.

feat by feet comparison

This weekend I walk 45,200 steps, the equivalent of about 22.6 miles. 

I come home Sunday night exhausted. My feet are bandaged and hurting. 

I grab dinner then read my friend Susan's update (https://susanonthecamino.blog). She's walking the Camino de Santiago Trail, about 500 miles in six weeks. Two of my friends are joining her in late June for one week. They will do the last 100 miles with her, and want me to come.

I'm tempted.

I love the idea of bonding with three friends in the great outdoors. Safe from world horrors. Far from daily Trump twitters. Immersing myself in the beauty of old European villages and breathtaking vistas would be amazing.

My 45,200 steps between Friday and Saturday pales to the 44 miles, 88,010 steps Susan walked in the same three days. 

The scenery I walk through changes little. Maybe a new dress or two arrives, but otherwise it's all the same, clothes and more clothes.

Susan's dramatic scenery evolves and changes step by step. 

Susan climbs and descends mountainous trails, walks through small, non-English speaking towns, and passes gorgeous countrysides.

I walk in a temperature-controlled environment, about 75 degrees if I had to guess.

Susan's climate changes from over 90 degrees to 55, from sunny skies to thunderous ones. 

My clothing choices vary depending on my mood and my feet: sometimes I wear a dress  with little leather booties; other times I wear jeans and sneakers.

Susan has two outfits for the entire trip. Her fashion decisions are easy. Every night she showers with her clothes on from the day, scrubs them clean, strips and rinses them, then hangs them all  to dry. 

When Susan wants a break, she might stop in a tiny cafe where English is not spoken, and orders, according to her, the world's best coffee con leche.       .

I go to a crowded cafeteria and listen to other people's phone conversations.

Still, reading about Susan's adventures is as close as I can imagine myself being to the Camino Trail.

 I am truly in awe of my good friend.