Gwen Stefani might call herself a Hirojuki Girl with her Love.Angel.Music.Baby, but I am the real deal – having spent my last Saturday night at underground Sake bar sensation Decibel. I’ve been there only a few times. It’s one of those places I remember but for a fleeting moment, only to have an instantaneous amnesia spell when someone asks where we should go for drinks.

With an exterior that’s purposely conspicuous, Decibel is certainly a destination spot for those in-the-know with a hankering for some seriously delicious rice wine. Served in a setting that’s part authentic Japanese (the waitresses are dressed in Kimonos, providing me with some real-life “Memoirs of a Geisha”) and part NYC (DJ’s spin house music to an eclectic mix of patrons as chilled out as the Sake is), Decibel has a loyal downtown fan base, and without a neon Bud Light sign looming outside, the out-of-town crowd is kept pleasantly at bay.

Decibel is not basketball player-friendly, so I would advise those same giants that like to sit directly in front of me in the movie theater not to venture into the subterranean lounge lest they want to do some serious head-banging a la AC/DC. I was glad my dinner date knew the correct pronunciations of the seven syllable-long variations of foreign drink, ordering with ease, while I was still trying to convert from saying SAH-Kee (wrong) to Sah-KEH (right).

It’s easy to go through myriad rounds because they’re served in small pitchers, and served further into little shot glasses, which I tend to throw back like a freshman at her first fraternity party. Speaking of rowdy college students, this is not the place to Sake bomb. Go to the cheap Sushi place down the street for that, you wild child.

By the time you’re ready to leave, the ambiance feels like an opium den (not that I’ve been, but I’ve seen how they are portrayed in movies like “The Doors”) – a little surreal and heady. Weaving through the maze of tables, your level of intoxication is determined by how deftly you can navigate yourself to the front door without overturning any people/drinks or tables along the way.

Emerging from the dimly-lit cave, I immediately awoke to the bright lights of the big city and noticed how the cherry blossoms of Ninth Street seemed to glow. Maybe it was the drinks. Or maybe it was just one of those perfect New York Moments.

Decibel
240 East 9th Street
Between 2nd and 3rd

It’s raining babies! I have never had to take cover from such a rampant season of showers (for which I might have to buy a larger umbrella). Friends near and far are announcing the arrival of their soon-to-come bundles of joy, and there is a plethora of pastel pink and powder blue note cards with registry information clogging up my mailbox. (I’ve come to grimace more when I see an envelope with a rubber duckie sticker than I do my monthly Visa statement.) Needless to say, I’ve ascended to platinum level credit status at Buy Buy Baby. They practically throw down the red carpet upon my entry, and just like Norm at Cheers, everyone there seems to know my name.

I’ve purchased every rattle, bib and breast pump known to womankind. I am single-handedly keeping the pacifier industry a lucrative business. And frankly, I have become an uninspired bearer of gifts, sometimes forgetting what I have purchased until the diaper bag with teddy bear pattern gets unwrapped by the exuberant mother-to-be.

Well, that all changed one day, when I discovered a website called Kinder-Cashmere.com. Now, I am forever the belle of the baby shower ball with my luxurious gifts for little Connor and Dakota. Because cashmere is no longer for adults only anymore, you can now purchase deliciously soft pillows and blankets adorned with cute animal appliques to keep your tot warm and cozy and lookin’ sweet as a pea. Kinder-Cashmere has that made-in-Maine charm evident in their designs. Their barnyard prints, for example, look like they would best be sold at a farm-side stand en route to Portland next to the fresh blueberries and maple candy – it’s a perfect taste of the country for us city folk!

I might be considered a traitor by the mega baby emporiums that have come to rely on me to keep their stock prices soaring, but alas…my allegiance is towards a mom-and-pop shop like Kinder-Cashmere and to the superstores I bid “Buy Buy.”

http://www.kinder-cashmere.com

Moviegoers are invited to participate in the Food Bank For New York City’s third annual CANS Film Festival, running throughout the month of May with film-oriented events around New York City.

During this month-long event, New Yorkers can give back to their community by showing their support at film-oriented special events, select video retailers, and by logging on to support the FoodBank For New York City.

This is the final week of the event and they’ve really come up with a winning event. This Sunday, May 22nd, from 12-4 you can be whisked to Tiffany’s. It’s more than Breakfast at Tiffany’s…it’s Brunch at Tiffany’s. For a $100 donation to Foodbank NYC donors will be treated to Sunday champagne brunch followed by a showing of the evergreen favorite at Tribeca Cinemas. Includes brunch, open bar, movie screening with gourmet goodie bag and a Tiffany & Co. surprise to take home. Location: 54 Varick Street.

http://www.foodbanknyc.org

I guess this week, I’ve gotta real passion for fashion…cause your own personal Joan Rivers here has spent more time walking the red-carpet streets of Manhattan and I’ve got this epiphany to share:

My love affair with the stiletto has ended. It’s been an abusive relationship I’ve endured for way too long. There have been too many incidences resulting in black and blue marks and sometimes, when it’s really bad, there’s even been bloodshed. Like Jennifer Lopez, in that bomb-of-a-movie, I’ve had “ENOUGH” and I’m walking away…

If you’re like me, when you think of flats, you think of dowdy shoes, made more for a suburban housewife, than your chic little self. Lucky for those of us who are filled with trepidation of over the transition, shoe companies are starting to feel our pain and even heel arbiters such Manolo and Laboutin have taken it down a notch. Forecast for Spring 2005? Keeping your feet planted on terra-firma in cute sandals, that don’t make you deliberate between fashion and function.

Speaking of function, when I was in Florida recently, spending a few days soaking up the rays of the Gulf Coast (purposely ignoring the warnings of my facialist, dermatologist and Vogue), I was privy to a new trend in footwear, slowly creeping its way up the eastern sea board, sure to hit hard, like the hurricanes of The Sunshine state do.

Everyone, I mean EVERYONE, including all your grandparents (cause I know most of them live down there) were wearing these rubberized clogs called Crocs. They were brilliant shades in all colors of the rainbow and most importantly, those lucky soles sporting these kicks were smiling. They were laughing. They were happy. As compared to my wincing, grimacing and moaning, after a Friday night out. I was jealous and I wanted a pair.

Little did I know, these Crocs (which in an adorable way, do resemble the feet of a certain pre-historic reptile) are made out of a space-age material that softens with your body heat and molds to your feet. Just like a 21st Century Birkenstock, but you don’t need to hang in Woodstock to wear em! I got a pair in lime green and they might need to be surgically removed from my feet. I felt it important to give them a proper road test and my Crocs passed with flying colors. I logged 5+ miles one afternoon without one blister to speak of…I felt like I was just getting warmed up. With a smart ventilation system, holes throughout made me feel like I had a little A/C when the power-walk was in full gear.

A cute girl dressed to kill and wearing orange Crocs passed me (in my green guys) by on the street and we gave each other a knowing glance, like we were part of a secret society. Now, you’re all invited to join too! Welcome to the world as it should be, free from shoe battery!

http://www.crocs.com/

If I see one more “Everyone Loves A (fill in the blank with pertinent ethnicity/religion/hometown) Girl” tee-shirt, I’m going to have to hand out citations on behalf of the Fashion Police. What was at first an amusing trend has gotten to be such a ubiquitous statement to boast on your clothing, that like the way of the dinosaurs, I’m hoping for extinction.

I was out scouting the latest fashions on the streets of Soho this weekend, a perfect time to catch glimpses of people in all their Spring Wardrobe Glory, finally shedding layers of heavy, drab hues/fabrics in favor of lighter garb and saw the most fabulous statement tee-shirt, I ran over and demanded information from its owner. Paired with a prairie skirt, over-sized belt and moccasin-style sandals, was an asymmetrical black short-sleeved tee that read “…But He Drive$ a Mercedes.” No need to explain that this time, you fill in the blank with pertinent pejorative information on your current beau. It made me laugh aloud, something I usually need to turn on an old episode of Seinfeld to do. Irreverent and poking a tiny bit of fun at the materialism this city breeds, I have one on express order from it’s manufacturer, a new line called All Types, Every Stripe. There. Spring shopping complete.

To order, call 917-843-5911

I’m a beauty cheapskate, and a shameless one at that. I just don’t recognize the difference between a $200 hair cut at a fancy-pants salon and the girl who snips my locks to my liking for $20 at the Supercuts down the street. Same policy for my bi-monthly manis and pedis. I go to my neighborhood Korean place for their M-W $16.99 special and leave with beautifully pristine nails on my hands and feet. I’ve never had a complaint and always left 100% satisfied.

When I was offered a special Barielle treatment at the Bergdorf Goodman BuffSpa, I went mostly out of curiosity to see what would be so special that they could afford to charge over double what I was paying. Would they be using 24-carat gold clippers to trim my cuticles? Soak my feet in mineral water imported from the Amazon rain forest? As a roving reporter, I set out to play the role of ‘Bergdorf Brunette’ and see about this VIP treatment I had until then only read about in semi-trashy novels.

I’ll admit: I do feel like a princess even setting foot in Bergdorf’s. Even though I’ve been there a million times, I take on an ‘Eloise at the Plaza’ sense of wonder and amazement at how everything seems to glisten; it all regularly feels larger than life to me.

So being invited to sit for a special high-end manicure and pedicure amongst the ladies that keep Louis Vuitton in business was atypical to say the least. I hope I dressed up enough to look like I belonged.

Of course, as I sat down and soaked my feet in a bath of scented liquid, I was offered more choices in caffeinated beverages than an entire Starbucks’ menu. Tea in hand, book on Astrological Compatibility in the other, I was chatting on the phone with my hands free headset and yes, I think I was playing the part with the expertise of a Hollywood actor.

The lovely woman who tended to my manicure and pedicure began with exfoliation, which I rarely do on my face (tsk, tsk), so my feet were confused at first, then ultimately delighted at the attention! The exfoliation was three-fold: a dry scrub, followed by a wet scrub and finally a polish and Buff (like the name of the place), with the Titania Pumice Sponge. Soon enough, my feet were restored to a baby-soft finish, like the days before I was introduced to pointy toe, sky-high, pain-instilling heels, which had wiped out my closets population of hush-puppy comfortable shoes. Fashion over function!!

Next, I was treated to an intense nail-cleaning, cuticle-pushing and foot-cocooning in a mask of Barielle’s (the spa’s brand of choice) Deep Sea Mud Foot Cream. It was warm and squishy and it distracted me from the chapter on Libra’s Perfect Love Matches, which I had been highly engrossed in until that point.

And next, the crescendo – the foot massage! Ten whole minutes spent in heaven with a highly dexterous woman kneading my feet, hitting all those pressure points and resulting in a lot of vocal “oooh’s” and “ahhh’s” from my end.

In keeping with an Atkins type of philosophy, I needed protein! So a Barielle Nail Rebuilding Serum was applied, followed by the PERFECT shade of red (tricky, oftentimes, they turn out too pink or orange), the standard two layers and a top coat to seal it all in. Walking over to the manicure station was like walking on air and never before had my feet looked so darned cute! Now I can understand those foot fetishes, cause I was practically drooling!

Same deal with the manicure and over an hour later, I was sipping some bottled spring water and waiting for the coats to dry. The woman at the drying station next to me smiled and asked why I looked familiar and if I was the one who recommended she change from scarlet to fuchsia on her last visit to Buff. I lied and said, “of course that was me” and then I went off to look at the latest from Vuitton.

http://www.buffspa.com
http://www.barielle.com

So I partied in the East Village this weekend. “Yes,” you’re saying/sighing, “You and every other night owl in Manhattan barhopped around Alphabet City on Saturday night. Big deal.” BUT, it is a big deal since I a) rarely go out anymore and b) when I do, it’s certainly to a more age-appropriate neighborhood aka The West Village where the 30′s somethings like to mingle over an expensive libation and ‘network’ as opposed to ‘flirt’ with one another. But since I was still milking that teeny-bopper thing (for explanation, please refer to Daily Dose from Friday, May 6th) and had exhausted virtually all the watering holes on Hudson St, I thought I’d give it a go. We ended up at a hip little spot called No Malice Palace, where we lingered wee into the night, their house pomegranate martinis giving us the fuel we needed for staying power.

Those martinis were so delicious, they made our mouths pucker with delight and I licked my lips and beckoned the bartender in my best Oliver Twist impression “please sir, I want some more.” I think I went through about four rounds, feeling no guilt, as the cute bartender explained that they were made with real pomegranate juice, known to have both anti-oxidant and aphrodisiac properties. It’s like taking your vitamins and a Viagra at the same time! Watch out…

By two a.m., it was well past my bedtime and between the dim lighting, trip-hop playing and red drink swigging, I was ready to go home. But not before my friends coerced me into a quick bite of french fries and quesadillas at 7A (which I rationed was alright after all the nutrients from my drinks), conveniently located a few short blocks from The Palace. The place was packed, apparently, lots of other pub crawlers having the same epiphany – greasy food at 2am is a brilliant idea!

We paid the bill and I almost fell asleep in the cab home.

“How I Spent My Saturday Night.” It’s like those essays we used to write in elementary school, “How I Spent My Summer Vacation,” only with a little more pizazz.

No Malice Palace
197 East 3rd Street, between Avenues A & B
7A
109 Avenue A at 7th St

It’s 12 o’clock…do you know where your beautiful skin is? I certainly didn’t until paying a recent trip to the Erno Laszlo facialist inside of the lower-level bustling beauty emporium of Bergdorf’s. What’s the antithesis of peaches and cream? How about red and irritated and even more desperate than those housewives on Wysteria Lane for a fix.

This was one of the most interactive and curiously fascinating skin care treatments I’ve ever received…and I’ve been around the block!

I arrived a tad late – and since ironically, the Lazslo philosophy is based on a concept known as “clocking,” my tardiness was shameful. To explain, a clock is used to metaphorically represent the relative dryness or oiliness of the skin. 12 o’clock symbolizes normal, balanced skin. AM hours indicate “minus” skins, which lack hydration (no wonder why I look my worst in the morning – guess that last mojito didn’t help matters much). PM hours indicate “plus” skins with an excess of oil production.

Yes, but did Mr. Laszlo factor in train delays and the long line at Starbuck’s to his stringent clock?

I was quickly shuffled into a private room, where I proceeded to clean my own face. With a “water wash” technique of 30 SPLASHES (another Laszlo philosophy is that H20 has extraordinary benefits, so bring on the irrigation), as overseen by my facialist, I was almost ready for a mid-morning nap by the time I was through. I was secretly hoping that I also wouldn’t be performing my own facial with this ‘hands-on’ process…cause I was getting tired! Lucky for me, my aesthetician duties ended there.

The experience was soothing, with no extractions necessary to achieve that coveted healthy skin glow. My favorite part of the facial was the Laszlo Lift, an electronic skin stimulator – showing me love with its little simulated kisses, a virtual face lift that firmed and strengthened facial muscles and improved circulation. Even if it didn’t work, I was thinking that Hallmark should buy into this innovation and hawk it at Valentine’s Day to all the lonely people in the world.

End result? Laszlo did manage to turn back time on the clock and make my skin rival that of ever-youthful Mandy Moore. Now, I think I’ll run to the mall and hit Wet Seal and sport a new look reminiscent of my favorite teeny-bopper years!

Erno Laszlo at Bergdorf Goodman
212-872-8858
http://www.ernolaszlo.com

We made it through a ten-day stretch of ominous skies, lightening, thunder and enough rain to make us consider building our own ark, Noah-style. The sun was nowhere to be found, not even a glimpse of golden rays to give us hope that the Armageddon was not abound…In light of the inclement weather, the Cherry Blossoms of Spring are more lush than ever (pollen count high – get your Allegra ready) and the temperature is steadily on the rise. Hate the April Showers. Adore the May Flowers. This Daily Dose pays homage to one of nature’s most beautiful creations.

I have always been a flower girl. From walking down the aisle at my mother and stepfather’s wedding dropping rose petals along the way when I was five to a wardrobe filled with floral prints and patterns, I don’t discriminate. Tulips, peonies, hydrangeas, roses, I’ll even take a carnation (if it’s part of a bouquet that my dream man has sent, just for no reason at all).

Lucky for me, there are ways to celebrate my favorite garden offering without having to buy a second home in the country. And since the shelf life on the real thing is disappointingly short, an alternate crop of artificial blossoms offers a great substitute, never withering and lasting perennially.

The ultimate way to showcase your green thumb? Flowers in your hair, sprinkled atop your mane like a pixie in a fantasy forest. This look is 100% girly, subliminally sexy and best suited for… everyone!

From a drugstore variety such as Goody to a more ornate brand ala Frederic Fekkai (although I heard a rumor that they might be discontinuing their line, let’s hope it’s erroneous), floral hair accessories are a great way to kick off the Spring season without having to prune, shear and weed your way to a fruitful blossom.

Try tying your hair back with a big red rose as a hint of color in your typical all-back evening ensemble. Or, accentuate your pretty pastel dresses with a few delicate begonias adorning an imperfect bun. You can even jazz up your bikini by pulling those bangs back with some simple daisies. Whatever arrangement you create, it’s hard to go wrong.

Bendel’s has an entire section of the store devoted to divine hair accessories, with a vast array of flower selections on hand. Enhanced with rhinestones, bead work and crystals, these make the violets your mothers pride and joy garden turn green with envy. Look for lesser-known brands too such as Michelle Roy, Colette Malouf and Cherry Chau of Paris.

All right May, show us what you got.

http://www.goody.com
http://www.fekkai.com

Henri Bendel
712 Fifth Avenue at 56th St

What good is a beautiful diamond engagement ring and wedding band if your nails look ravaged after months of winter weather? To get your hands and nails looking fabulous, turn to Barielle, a 30-year-old company, introducing a new easy at-home guide to achieve well-groomed cuticles, smooth skin and strong healthy nails.

To help make nails stronger and avoid any splitting and breakage, try the Nail Strengthener Cream along with nail lacquers like Nail Rebuilding Protein or Fortifying Nail Builder. Your hands will feel smooth as ever after a night of using the Intensive Hand Treatment Cream. Before placing your hands in the provided gloves, coat cuticles with a small dab of Intensive Nail Renewal Oil. Your cuticles will be the healthiest they’ve ever been and the remnants of winter havoc will be a thing of the past.

In just a few easy steps, your hands, nails and feet will look better than ever! Visit www.barielle.com or your closest fine department store for products and more information on these miracle-making products.