Taxi!

If there's anything that I love more than problem-solving products, it's expensive problem-solving products.

I'm not one to complain, but for years now, I've been positively exhausted by having to stand on the corner of a busy NYC street, lifting up my arm and saying "TAXI!" when I want to hail a cab. Sure, sometimes I try to get someone else to do the dirty work for me, but let's face it, there are not as many saps out there who can be tricked into that kind of task.

Now, my problems have been answered and there is a purse that does the work for me. Yes, reasonably priced at $225 and big enough to hold a tampon, this purse lights up and hails the taxi for you. Which, I'm willing to bet, is more than your purse has done for you lately.

Now that the taxi has been hailed, however, I am re-exhausted all over again by having to tell the taxi driver where I'm going. Is it too difficult to design another purse, that will fit inside the TAXI purse nesting doll style, that says NEAREST WATERING HOLE AND STEP ON IT on it?

And what about you, dear reader? Do you covet the TAXI purse? Or do you want a purse with a different message? Please share.

P.S. I just saw that there were only 100 of these purses made. Hurry!

The Accidental Brunette

So guess who I trapped into doing a blog post exchange with me? Kelcey of The Mama Bird Diaries. Kelcey is a fellow New Yorker and I've been lucky enough to meet her. We even attended a fashion show together. I mean, we attend a fashion show once a week or so, but this time we went together. Which is why I mention it. Anyway, one of the things that Kelcey and I share is blonde hair. Ahem. Below is her hairfession. Mine is at The Mama Bird Diaries.

My natural hair color is dirty blond.

But I've been highlighting it for years in an effort to make it more "blond" and less "dirty."

Several years ago, in a burst of au natural euphoria, I decided all that bleach might be an unhealthy addiction. So I spoke to my very fabulous and super hot colorist Robert about dying my hair back to its natural color. He scowled deeply, shook his head and suggested a golden honey strawberry instead.

But I insisted.

So he turned me into a dark brunette. Robert was either a little passive aggressive or not very good at following directions.

The next day I flew out to California. My boyfriend and I were driving down the gorgeous Pacific Coast Highway and then attending a lavish wedding in LA at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

As we drove down US Highway 101, my boyfriend (coincidentally also a brunette) and I had the following conversation...

"Wow. Look at these incredible views. It's unbelievable," my boyfriend exclaimed.

"I hate my hair."

"I love your hair. And those Redwood trees. Have you ever seen anything like that before?"

"I really hate my f-king hair. Don't you hate it? It so awful. How could you not hate it? Of course you hate it. It totally washes me out. God, I look so pale and sickly."

"No, I really like it. I can't believe how high up we are. These cliffs are crazy. Look at the coastline."

"I can not believe how much I detest my hair. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm an impostor. A really ugly haired impostor."

"I think you look hot. Are you going to look out the window at all or just stare into the sun visor mirror?"

"The mirror obviously. As if I have a choice."

Since my boyfriend was in some kind of insane denial about my tragic hair situation, I decided to call my colorist Robert for help. This is kind of like calling your local Girl Scouts rep to help you get off the Samoas but I was really desperate.

He told me to wash my hair with Tide to get the color out. So that night, at the motel, I had a very long evening with a gallon of Clean Breeze Tide. But no amount of scrubbing, rinsing and drying did anything. I was despondent.

We finally arrived in LA and I immediately went to the hotel's super cool, swanky hair salon. I got highlights that very day.

But I still didn't look completely like me. So a few days later, as soon as we arrived back in New York City, I had my hair highlighted again.

My commitment to excessive hair chemicals has never wavered since. Although I no longer wash my hair with Tide. Because there's just something weird about having your hair smell like clean laundry.

Don't forget to enter The Wizard of Oz giveaway! Info here!

Ruffling

Apparently I don't have enough problems because I got this email BREAKING NEWS ALERT from a local clothing store letting me know that ruffle blouses are all the rage in the spring and that I should get one or drop dead. I really have to question what the fuck is wrong with people.

I am no fashion icon, but this is who this type of blouse would look good on:

1. No one.
2. Ray Charles' wife, to Ray Charles.
3. Barbie.
4. Miss Understood (drag queen).

Please add your own suggestions for people who can wear this shit. I just hope that it comes with matching ruffle pants. Because that would certainly be ass enhancing.

The Bluest Eye

So everyone is mildly hysterical because there is a fertility clinic in New York that is offering designer babies. If you are like me and are excited by the idea of your baby coming home with interlocking Chanel C's or the Louis Vuitton fleur de lis on its ass, let me tell you that you're in for a whole lot of disappointment because according to these morons, "designer" means the ability to choose eye and hair color. Eh, what do you want, we're in a recession.

And yet that's not what the outrage is all about, shockingly. Apparently, people are upset about the whole "master race" and "eugenics" thing. Because clearly that's the great threat that is facing our country.

Am I alone in not being able to figure out why anyone gives a blue eyed devil fuck about this? I mean, the fertility clinic drector announced that within the next six months they'll allow parents to be the choose their children's eye and hair color. Where's the outrage about the six month delay? Are they getting color swatches or what?

So, I decided to quiz Husbandrinka about this and asked if we could have chosen our children's eye and hair color, what would he have chosen and he says, "dark". Clearly, this is an attack on this blue eyed, dyed blonde. So, wanting to be open minded (which is so fucking overrated, by the way), I ask "why" and he says "because it's genetically superior." "Like what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask him and he says, "What part of genetically superior are you struggling with?" and I say, "But don't you like my blue eyes?" and he says, "they're fine, but genetically inferior." So needless to say I am seething and say, "why do you get to decide what is genetically superior and inferior?!" and he says, "Yeah, I didn't decide that, it's just how it works." Which totally implies that I don't suffer from intellectual superiority.

So parents, rush out and get your blue eyed designer babies now! Because we've been genetically inferior long enough.

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

You know how sometimes you'll get an email and it'll have that "Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device" thing on the bottom. What is that for, exactly?

I think it's there to make everyone who does not have a Blackberry feel bad about their lives. Like me. Like should my email say "sent from a piece of shit with dial up" on the bottom, since we're being all confessional here?

Well, it won't say that because my email is sent from a Vivienne Tam HP Mini and it totally kicks some Blackberry ass.

Why?

First of all, because I get to use it. Second of all, because it looks awesome and has a real keyboard so that while you're typing you don't look like you've just been awarded your first set of opposable thumbs and you're taking them out for a maiden voyage. Third of all, because when you take it out in public you get all sorts of envious attention from everyone around. (And I live in NYC, so I can just imagine how the Vivienne Tam HP mini is going to play in Peoria.) And isn't that why we buy things in the first place--to elicit insane jealousy? Oh, it's not? Then explain to me that Sent from my BlackBerry legend again, please.

Seriously--HP let me try out their Vivienne Tam mini and it is fantastic. It is super light (like half an ounce or something. Disclaimer: I'm not a weights and measures specialist!) super fast (it's the cheetah of computers!) fucking gorgeous (which I didn't realize was a requirement for computers, but now that I've had one, no way am I going to the plain old laptop, like some sort of a cavewoman). And the bonus is that since I've had access to one, I've had far fewer reasons to leave the bed. Yes, I stay in bed, with the TV on, and blog on the mini. And read blogs. And try to find the solution to the Middle East conflict (I'm worried that I was sounding a little too lazy).

And my 10 year old daughter is all over it. She loves it. This is the child who has been asking me for a laptop while the obstetrician was C-sectioning her out of me. She thinks that my telling her to use my Dell laptop is a severe case of child abuse. "A DELL?" she asked. "I need an Apple notebook." Yes, Ms. Bradshaw. So I assumed that the Mini was safe from her. Wrong. She loves it so much that she told me that she wants one instead of the Apple. And my son, who doesn't give a shit about laptops told me that if she's getting one, then he wants the Lego Star Wars set that, and I'm not even making this up, costs $700. Seriously, what lunatic pays that kind of money for Lego? Oh yeah, the kind of lunatic that doesn't want to hear her kid whining anymore. Lego? Call me.

Blogged on a Vivienne Tam HP Mini, while sipping Vueve Cliquot champagne and eating truffles, bathed in Creed Spring Flowers perfume and wearing a..fur coat.