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Twas the night before Halloween, when all through the house, not a tomboy was stirring, no femme could be roused…

We’re all snuggled up on the couch watching The Nightmare Before Christmas with the pups, who are extra ridiculous this evening. Earlier tonight, we had sundry appetizers for dinner and at long last caught the creme brulee guy, with his cart all set up at a nearby art gallery we happen to love. We each got a special flavor: Ritual Coffee (top left), S’mores (with the marshmallows) and Frosted Flakes (at the bottom). They were all so, so delicious. It’s a crispy October night here in San Francisco, so I wore one of my vintage fur stoles.

The other two pics are just for fun – last night I made a teeny tiny top hat for the petite’s magician costume, which I attached to a frou frou, feathered black headband I already had. (She also borrowed my cowboy boots, belt and cropped tux jacket with her own leggings, worn over M’s ruffled tuxedo shirt and bowtie. The real finishing touch were a pair of vintage white gloves I have and this DIY magic wand (a twiggy black chopstick from Cost Plus with a bit of white ribbon attached to the top). This updo (those antlers are just ironically placed, or something) was fancy and awesome but a happy accident. I just wanted my hair out of my face and kept sticking pins in it until it was!

Now tell me all about your awesome Halloween plans! I want to hear the juicy details about your costumes!

CONFESSION: Last night, I tried on two of those POS wanker Victoria’s Secret fragrances I got forever ago, with a pair of super soft, sexy pajamas (free slippers with purchase!). One was so gross and cloyingly sweet that M described it as “someone trying to layer on perfume over dirty ass” and I simply referred to it as a whore’s bath perfume. Seriously. I refuse to even bequeath it to anyone since it screams CRUSTY SLUT + EXCESS BRONZER. It’s called Ooh La La, but is more like Oh, Hell Nah. I really hope none of you like it, because I’m not going to feel bad and I’m not going to take it back, either! (Damn it, I just realized that I reviewed OLL in late December of last year, in Shovels & Lye. At least I’m consistent!?)

The Fragrance was No. 2, boasts top notes of crushed leaves, freesia, mandarin (What the fuck kind of leaves? Isn’t that sort of key?) and does begin rather citrus-y and benign. I had to give it another go-round today because Ooh La La sent my senses into a diabetic coma, but it doesn’t seem to change my opinion of it as a rather boring and one-hit wonder scent. Not even a good hit, either. Something Milli Vanilli-ish. (If I spelled that wrong, it’s b/c I refuse to google it for the proper spelling. Fakers don’t get my hits! I have standards.) It’s not offensive, just boring. Very un-sexy. For instance, Laura Bush should totally check this out. It’s perfect for her.

From the Dream Angels collection comes Wish, which is TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME if you want to smell like orange sherbet ice cream and baby powder, and reminds me of back in the day when my folks would take us to Baskin Robbins on special occasions, and someone would be like, “Oh, you should have some water,” and I’d be all, “The fuck for? I drink my water in Kool-Aid, man. Step off, my peanut-butter-and-chocolate ice cream cone is melting.” Or, you know, changing diapers. Also, it irks me that something so vile has to share the same word with a stellar The Cure album, but what are you gonna do?

Someone at the VS fragrance think tank needs to ground themselves from citrus for, like, a year, and then get back to me.

PS. Ain’t much to say about this outfit ‘cept there’s a mean cold snap this week and mama needs to go SHOPPING. I do, however, have a new brown sheath dress that is super Joan Holloway and was recently procured at the thrift store for FIDDY MOFO CENTS, YO. Holla / Coming Soon.

PPS. What the hell is up with the Christian Siriano for VS make-up collection? When the cover model on the website looks kind of rough in all your war paint, dude, you need to step up your game. Do any of y’all have it? Is it good? Not that I’m in the market…my quick beauty fix lately has been a dusting of Cargo bronzer as a wash over the entire lid, with heavy-handed mascara at the lash base instead of eyeliner. Fresno and Coral Beach are my favorites right now, but it seems the former is discontinued. SOB.

PPSS. Lips? Besame’s Red Velvet. Creamy and subtle red for when MAC’s Russian Red is too much damn work.

CONFESSION: What a doozy of a weekend. The week prior? So-so. Taking tentative steps after my brink-of-death sickness and whatnot. I did manage to accomplish the following, I am happy to say:

• Making a delicious dish of scalloped potatoes from scratch
• Horseback riding in some semi-regular capacity on the cheap (I tried, got shot down – but I tried!)
• Finishing a re-read of Ayn Rand’s Anthem, which started in the tub last night
• Forgave myself for getting rid of an ashy purple velvet blazer and an asymmetrical dresses years ago

Back to the weekend! The lovely Kelly Alice (a dear friend) came to visit from back East, and we enjoyed fantastic conversation over breakfast, freshly baked Pithivier from Trader Joe’s with Peerless coffee, followed by noontime French 75s (with a few drops of rosewater, so lovely). KA was sort of shocked that I’d never really flat-ironed my hair before, so she busted hers out  – some fancy Solia model we heated right up to 450°F – and went to town on my glossy locks. It was amazing! We headed to Mango (an awesome lesbian tea dance on a lush patio featuring salsa and hip-hop with free BBQ) all dolled up with the tomboy on our arm and had a fantastic time.

Afterward, we took her to one of our favorite Mission restaurants and then, of course, to the obligatory stop at SF’s Lexington Club, the city’s only 24/7 lesbian bar. It’s a great dive with a super rad jukebox. (Note: The bartenders overrode my Patsy Cline pick, which pissed me off.) M & I danced, not that anyone else did (as per usual). Someone wanted to know what kind of shampoo I use. It was a great night!

Yesterday, we popped up to my mom’s house for a birthday party and had a lovely evening where dozens of family secrets were aired out in hilarious and hilariously tragic circumstances, and I had a beef bourguignon that changed my life. Alas, after a screwy Monday, I’m ready to get back to weekend shenanigans! Surely I’m not alone. XO!

PS. My kitten! The black one with the little white boots. She loves me so so so so so so so so much. She’s suicidal for me, even. M had to chase her back home because she tried to follow us into the street! When I come walking down the street, she comes bounding toward me out of nowhere to greet me and purr and rub against my legs. So precious. I love her so. She brought a friend over and they came into the house and miraculously, neither dog bit their heads off!

PPS. Drool.

CONFESSION: Spot the Maker’s! That wee bottle was critical in my speedy recovery from this miserable CRUD sickness I have only just now come out of (alive, praise Dolly), after 9 hellish days of being bedridden. God, I despise being sick. I despise being slowed down. Do y’all know how fast I go? FAST. It was unpretty, but we are moving forward. By now you may have heard that we (as in San Fran-fussy-cisco) had a whole hour of 300 MPH torrential downpour blues earlier today. Hayes Valley, the Van Ness Muni station, parts of the Mission flooded in some places up to three feet. There was some nonsense about a new pumping station, but come the bloody fuck on, people, if we can’t handle an hour of heavy rain then what on earth do we do when it rains steadily for days? CRY. DROWN. I would like to see how drowning rat hipsters handle that situation, I really do. Hm. Food for thought!

CURRENT OBSESSIONS:

• Reviewing fragrances and makeups here at FFAF again
• The perfect pair of brown (dark or mahogany) cowboy boots
• Making a delicious dish of scalloped potatoes from scratch
• Bourbon balls (you bitches know who you are)
• Horseback riding in some semi-regular capacity on the cheap
• Finishing a re-read of Ayn Rand’s Anthem, which started in the tub last night
• Trying to forgive myself for getting rid of a) an ashy purple velvet blazer and b) asymmetrical dresses, both from years ago, since they’re “back” – don’t you just fucking hate that?

DREAMY:

CONFESSION: My blog, my soapbox! As some of you may know, today is the National Equality March in Washington, DC. M & I intended to head out there and participate, as well as celebrate a traditional Canadian Thanksgiving with the lovely and talented Trixie From Toronto, but life got in the way (as life is wont to do). Still, a small-yet-fierce contingency of our friends are marching proudly today, and we’re there in spirit. Some of you may also have watched or listened to our President’s speech at the HRC dinner last night, in which he promised to sign the federal hate crimes legislation this week, to end Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and he urged Congress to repeal DOMA, etc. You can watch it online just about anywhere, but here’s the first of two parts:

A friend asked if I thought it was as amazing as she’d heard it was. I said that sure, in some ways it was, with reservations. You can only hear so many wonderfully supportive things so many times before you begin to listen with a cautious ear, and looking for tangible follow-through.

One thing that got under my skin more than I expected was the language around “impatience” – can’t exactly recall whether it was Obama’s or HRC’s or both – which, to me, suggests a sort of unsubstantiated, negative outcry for equality, rather than honoring and acknowledging the untold numbers of LGBT folks that this is all much too late for, you know? That any future action taken, however positive or revolutionary or history-making, can’t give them those minutes, days or years of their lives back, no matter what. That bothers me a lot. The lack of respect for that fact.

I want to know that our President knows he hasn’t got a carte blanche to tell us to be patient indefinitely. We want quantifiable, measurable progress and / or some sort of timeline, which isn’t unreasonable. Intent, intent, intent with little or no follow-through and this ridiculous hemming and hawing is exactly what he pledged to radically change in his inaugural speech, so specifics would be nice.

Also, I’d love to watch an old Clinton speech of comparable import and see how they differ or not.

Here’s a pretty good, albeit quite heated, post-speech breakdown of why I’m not jumping up and down:

PS. M, for the record, said that his speech “felt like a handjob.” Harsh, but maybe also kind of true.

PPS. Just got a text message from my friends in DC. It says, “ZOMG! LADY GAGA!” Ha!

CONFESSION A: So, last we heard, the tomboy was getting on a fancy yacht and leaving the femme behind…can you see her up there, walking away? So sad. Sad and alone. (Don’t listen for one second to that nonsense M commented about my slapping her…that was for something else and she knows it!)

CONFESSION B: As ever, all my silly pouting was for naught. Yesterday afternoon, I saw M off on her yacht  and she had a good time – the food was great, she said, and not only did they serve champagne but she had her fair share of rum & cokes, too. As they made their way toward the Golden Gate Bridge, I trekked my ass (in heels and fancy hair, of course) from Pier 3 to Pier 39 in like 10 minutes flat, marched into the first fancy restaurant I saw and very sweetly asked for a seat over the water on the second story outside. I figured it was worth a (long) shot. To my utter surprise, I was gestured in right away and seated just in time for the show to start. It was such a gorgeous, cloudless day to be on the water. I ordered a very delicious rose petal gimlet with a float of champagne to make a DIY French 75 and some tasty lunch and got my camera ready to take some pics.

Those angels wrought glorious havoc over the bay and SF skyline and Golden Gate, and I had so much fun watching it. Excepting M’s view, I couldn’t have had a better one myself. They really are something else to watch. They flew so close that one colleague of M’s almost dropped her drink in shock on the upper deck, as it tore past them. We texted each other back and forth like dorks, in total awe and, you know, because we missed each other. Like dorks.

And then it ended! Much too soon, but when I saw M’s yacht heading back toward Pier 3, I closed out my bill, stopped downstairs for some hot baby donuts and cotton candy for the petite, and met M back by the Ferry Building, where we chattered about fighter jets and our meals and cocktails and took a bunch of FFAF photos. It was a perfectly imperfect Friday!

Oh, and I took the trolley back, but only because I didn’t want the baby donuts to get cold! Clang-clang-clang!

I am so upset that I cannot get my nifty slideshow to work. I will keep at it and post as is for now. XO!

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