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Remember how I was whining about the fact that last week was super lame? THIS WEEKEND IS SUPER AWESOME. The tomboy, it’s true, is not 100% recovered, but sometimes you just have to power through it (bless it).

The femme gods smiled upon me and an incredible makeup artist appeared this morning to beautify me before a photo shoot for the Lesbians in SF Stereo show at the Lexington for SF Pride. I got to hug lots of gorgeous horses, snuggle tons of puppies, and have scabby battle wounds from tangoing with a semi-feral cat (I think I won). The drive out to the location in La Honda (home to Neil Young, apparently) was stunning, and it was a gorgeous day, and what better album to have playing than Camera Obscura’s Underachievers Please Try Harder?! Perfection.

Then I went home, and M challenged me to a game of tennis. I threw on my Gossip t-shirt and a tennis skirt and kicks, and we managed to lose 5/8 brand new tennis balls! (Note to self: Just buy the huge box at Costco. Seriously.) M found out the hard way that I have a killer serve and backhand; I remembered that you get calluses on your hands when you play, and that since I’m left-handed, it’s probably best that I play without wearing an engagement ring.

For dinner, I whipped up some spicy BBQ pulled pork sandwiches and a batch of my homemade french fries while M watched Frida and nibbled on french bread and Dayquil. When it came to the part where Frida concedes to Diego’s meddling ex over breakfast, I shouted from the kitchen: “If you ever leave me and marry another woman, there is no way I’m teaching that bitch to make my french fries!” Knife waving in the air all crazy. Of course, M’s reply was “Dummy, I’m never leaving you. Can I have a test fry now? I always make you test pancakes!” Pout, pout, pout.

These fine photos are from Friday, however. On a whim the girls came with me while I ran an errand, and we decided to drive all the way out to Pacifica-by-the-sea to look around. It was beautiful! We got lost and pulled over here, and started exploring. The property above seemed abandoned and there were a few other places for sale right on the water, which gave us big ideas. We mulled it over dinner with a view of the glorious sunset you’ll see below. It was magical.

Yesterday we slept in, lazed around the house, went to a tea dance that got rained out and I had a completely hysterical femme breakdown because my nude snakeskin pumps took quite the bath (they seem to be okay now), but the evening was saved by dinner with a friend at Absinthe in Hayes Valley, where the service and cocktails and burrata and filet mignon were so outstanding that nothing else mattered.

We ended up in a cozy pile in front of the fireplace, where we burned our one last log from the season and listened to Death Cab for Cutie streaming live from the Sasquatch Music Festival, pretending we were really there in Washington laying in sleeping bags looking at the stars and feeling bad for our make-believe friends, who were waiting for us back at camp to eat S’mores and turn in for the night.

Alas, the tomboy has fallen asleep beside me on the couch, and I must bid thee goodnight!

Trousers + Earrings: Asos
Necklace: Marielle Ivy
Sandals: Seychelles
Tunic: eBay
Blazer: H&M

CONFESSION: Today was a day for the bank. I attended a private tasting of Dalmore’s 12, 15, Gran Reserva and King Alexander III single malt scotch whiskys, plus a very special bonus tasting, at the methodically handsome Laszlo in the Mission. The dear Scottish man who led the tasting said that I reminded him of a lovely, elegant Lowlands single malt scotch whisky, when he wasn’t spitting onto the floor at any mention of the French. (You can eventually read more about all that here, at my “other” blog. I don’t want to spoil it.) They were kind enough to let me pop upstairs before and after the tasting to take some super awesome FFAF photos, hurrah. Just a moment ago the UPS guy arrived with a very important package, and I was so excited that M said I made a big old ruckus of “kitten noises,” whatever those are. It contained a new dress (not-so-LBD) and super badass new shoes. I can’t wait to show y’all! M is well enough to drink a bottle of cava with me (finally!) and lasagna is baking in the oven with some fluffy garlic bread in hot pursuit. DREAMY.

SCENT: Tom Ford’s Black Orchid. I must confess something. I broke up with Tom awhile ago, but after reading about his directorial debut starring Colin Firth (and Julianne Moore) in A Single Man, I’ve realized something very, very important: My love for Colin is greater than my hate for Tom. Does that make sense? Of course it does. (He’s Mark-bloody-Darcy, after all.) I digress. Black Orchid is a hot, heady, stunning mess. The jury is out on whether or not that’s a good or bad thing. The opening is almost like scorched black licorice drizzled over jasmine and sundry florals, like in Absinthe or Drambuie. It does kind of smolder, all bared teeth, glossed lips and super dangerous bedroom eyes. This smells like the kind of woman you should stay away from – you know better, of course – but you can’t help yourself. I’m going to have to come back to this, because it’s too complex!

Here are some notes, FYI: Black Truffle, Ylang, Bergamot, Black Currant. Then the black orchid, dark florals, rich fruit, Lotus Wood. At last, there’s Patchouli, Incense, Vetiver and Vanilla Tears, Balsam and Sandalwood.

Watch this and tell me you don’t find it completely gorgeous. Seriously.

And since it was one of the most beautiful stills: