APP - Another Purse Problem

Honored to have my article featured on the fabulous Pursebop's site.  

No Birkin

In honor of the unofficial Hermes week we’re celebrating here at Pursebop.com, my dear friend Maura Carlin contributes a hilarious take on the Birkin craze. Maura is a journalist and writer in NYC. You can find her musings on everyday life at mauramusing.blogspot.com

Ten years a Birkin fund . . . and still no Hermes Birkin.  Lest you suspect I can’t save money, think again.  I’ve squirreled away sufficient cash many times over only to blow the wad on something else . . . usually Chanel.   So, why is it still called the Birkin Fund and why don’t I have one?

On some level, the Birkin is simply an aspirational concept. My girlfriends refer to the B as the unattainable big gift they will never receive and, frankly, they wouldn’t buy even if given the chance.   Perhaps it’s the equivalent of the childhood dream-gift pony (one I never shared as my ideal present doesn’t poop). 

The fact that Bs are not readily available to just anyone with bank likely heightens the desire.  Trying to purchase a Birkin can be an intimidating process, even for a savvy, experienced, sophisticated shopper, fostered by rumors that you must linger on a list in the hope of some day being offered one.  That’s right, the scuttlebutt is that you must wait for the opportunity to plunk down thousands on the spot. 

I don’t know whether this urban legend is fact or fiction.  I have never tried. Even with a fully funded secret stash, nerves come over me upon entering the H promise-land.  The word Birkin gets stuck in my mouth.  But that’s not the only problem.

I’ve not actually carried a Birkin.  I’ve seen them, touched them, and held them.  None of that compares to putting in your necessaries and walking around opening and closing the bag (which I am known to do before buying any other purse).  Rumor has it that you can’t do that in a Hermes store. It’s a heavy bag empty, let alone loaded, and I don’t know whether my aging body can handle it.  The clasp may be too difficult for soon-to-be arthritic fingers.  And I do like my shoulder/crossbody option. 

Maybe I’m more like Grace Kelly than Jane Birkin. Does “Kelly fund” have a nice ring?

Love Maura (&PurseBop)
XO

25 Years Later, The Husband I've Always Wanted

After 25 years of marriage, I finally have the handy husband I always wanted . . . Me.  Without any training or aptitude, I have become family tech support, light bulb changer, leak diagnostician, appliance trouble shooter and all around handy-person.  I'm the go-to gal when the internet, cable, computers, television and mobile devices frustrate rather than function.  I shovel snow, chop ice and defrost cars . . . while living in a house of men.  I alone hold the magic to changing the temperature in the house . . . hubby still doesn't know which thermostats control heat and A/C and the kids don't even bother to try.   I may be the second shortest in the family, but I'm the one climbing on cabinets and standing on chairs to reach stuff and change all but the highest bulbs.  I also must have the best eyesight despite the strongest prescription glasses - no one else notices that lights are out or items broken.    

Get a Handle on It . . . Literally

My contribution to a fashion site.  Read my piece and follow my friend pursebop.com for the stories and photos.

http://www.pursebop.com/ode-gst/

Beauty From the Outside

I do not like being photographed.  I hide my body behind my children and find a way to camouflage my neck.  My glasses stay on my nose to cover my wrinkles.  That's my grand plan.  Rather ironic, don't you think, for someone who does a weekly live interview on public access television.

My digital appearance is rather weak.  Blog and Facebook photos are cartooned. Twitter still has the egg and Linked In is blank.

This weekend, I bit the bullet and had head shots taken. I can't believe the results.  Amazing.  With a hair stylist, makeup artist, good lighting, professional photographer and photoshop, even I look good.

Take the Good, Take the Bad, The Facts of Death

As my teenager prepares to attend a service for yet another friend’s deceased parent, it hits me that my children have dealt with a lot of death in their short lives.  Much more than I did in my youth.  And it makes me wonder whether I was just protected (I was) or have there been more untimely demises.  I think the latter.

It is true that my parents prevented me from attending funerals as a child and I had to argue to go to those I did.  But I believe there were fewer.  I just counted . . . I recall the neighborhood girl who lost her mother to breast cancer, a playmate whose somewhat older father passed away, a popular student/brother hit by a car and a teammate’s father who died of a sudden heart attack.  Perhaps there were others and again I was shielded.  But in those years, divorce seemed much more prevalent . . . death of a different kind. 

My children, on the other hand, are quite aware that children lose parents.  By age six, my eldest knew a boy whose father (my dear friend) died suddenly.  In elementary school, my elder two had classmates whose father perished in 9/11.   A horrific accident on vacation claimed the mother of one large family, among others.   Another father drowned on vacation.  Four years ago, four more parents died.  Even my 11 year old knows two families who lost moms to cancer.   

This post—9/11 era, as I call it, is filled with angst, international turmoil and multiple mass domestic shootings.   I suspect that my boys still believe in the natural order of life and death and, if asked, would expect my parents to predecease me.   But I also guess that they would not be as shocked as I, if it did not happen that way.

And so, matter-of-factly, my son readies for another memorial. He needs to support a friend.  I, however, grieve for this boy whose mother I never met and for my son’s loss of innocence.  I also wonder if and how I could have protected him.

Gotta Get it Off My Chest

Literally . . . I walked in to a Victoria's Secret yesterday, for the first time in years.  No salesperson came near me.  Maybe I'm too old . . . and I'm supposed to know the secret by now.

Also, I've hit a new low:  my sports bras (aka tanks) now have four hooks!!!!

And, lastly, men . . . no matter how hot you think you are, please wear a shirt while exercising . . . sweat dripping off wet chest hair while running or biking is gross.

Thanks for "listening."

Saved By the Kid

Little guy just saved me a whole bunch of money . . . or at least temptation.  This is one of the hottest bags of the year . . . the Celine luggage tote costing four figures.  http://www.bagsnob.com/2012/05/dakota-fanning-totes-celine-for-off-day-chic.html

But when I look at the bag, I only see this:

For those of you unfamiliar, it's the Annoying Orange, star of an annoying iPad/iPhone game and videos that my youngest favors imitating.

Do you see it on the bag? . . . the handle attachments are eyes, the zipper is the mouth and the zipper pull is the tongue.

I showed it to two high-end sales associates who lust after the bag.  I ruined it for them; they'll never look at the bag the same way.  If sales plummet, I guess we know who's to blame.