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What a weekend! It began quietly at home on Friday night. The girls and I piled on the couch with the puppies at our feet, delivery Indian food strewn across the coffee table, Secretariat on the widescreen. On Saturday, I cursed my Navigator all the way through the Sunset to the Castro to fetch the one and only Bevin Branlandingham of Queer Fat Femme for a lovely brunch tea.

Hm, scratch that. The weekend started early, I suppose, since we hit the town on Thursday night to check out the long lost Flourish party at Public Works in the Mission. The bar was well-stocked with many fine options and competent bartenders, and the space is really something else. Whoever put together the slideshow to benefit GLBT Historical Society did an amazing job and the photo booth fundraiser was lots of fun. We ran into many lovelies (and a few poorly behaved others) – Bevin and Miss Dylan Ryan and LISF – but catching up proved difficult over the loud music and trying to keep out the way of The Real L Word film crew! An exciting night, and the true beginning of a weekend that couldn’t come too soon!

Back to tea! It was a drizzly, gray sort of day, and I thought this dress was perfect for the weather and Tal-y-Tara, the equestrian & tea shoppe I’ve written about here a few times before. Bevin and I were headed there for civilized conversation and to film an episode of her delightful new web series called Lesbian Tea Basket. She thought I was kidding when I told her it was part polo shop, and after I chivalrously let her out in front while I found parking nearby, I found her wandering inside in absolute awe, touching all the fine pony things and blinking her big, lush eyelashes in disbelief. We sat and ordered and talked and marveled over the little fixins for tea sandwiches, the famous scones and shortbread and cookies and, of course, sipped tea. I won’t say much more but I can assure you that you’ll know when the special FFAF episode goes up!

I returned Bevin just slightly past her curfew (she was headed into the Santa Cruz mountains for the epic, overnight Hard French Winter Ball half of queer SF was at on Saturday night), and headed home. I needed to get out of this outfit (vintage dress and coat, Max Studio pumps, Alice + Olivia for Payless clutch) and into something suitable for Strikeforce, an MMA (mixed martial arts) event happening in the South Bay. M’s colleagues scored some tickets earlier in the week and it was my first time at an official fight night. I went from the pictured outfit to cowboy boots, ratty black tights, a short leather skirt, and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt under a dark wash denim jacket. I accessorized with piles and piles of mixed metal necklaces, my foxtail swinging from my purse, and red, red lips (inspired by Miss BB).

IT WAS EXCELLENT.

Amazing. I can’t wait to go again, and M said that she wants to go to a big UFC fight for her birthday this year. They shot huge, 10-ft. tall flames and fireworks from the sides of the stage whenever the fighters were announced, and the crowd was well-behaved for being at a bloodsport event. The fights weren’t bloody, but they were good. I drank beer and ate nachos and stole M’s Cracker Jacks. In a total 180, we woke up this morning and made our way to a very sweet baby shower for some friends of ours in Oakland. We all made pages for a custom baby book, played a fun game that had nothing to do with babies, ate French toast and quiche and cake, and marveled over all the hard work they’ve done on their home renovation in the past year. The rest of the day was spent in a dreamy, post-storm haze of (local) book shopping, hanging out a cafe, finding some tights to keep my gams warm, getting M a haircut, and unwinding over a low-key Italian dinner.

In fact, I have to wrap this up because M is waiting for me on the floor in front of our fireplace, with blankets and our books and pups. I hope y’all had wonderful weekends full of your favorite things, too!

XOXO,

FFAF

PS. A friend and dear reader noted that it was terribly coy of me to talk about all these books and not say what they were, and she’s right!

Here you go:

Clockwise from top right:

Revolutionary Road, Yates
The Sirens of Titan, Vonnegut
The Wild Things, Eggers
Super Sad True Love Story, Shteyngart

Sunbathing on a delightful Saturday, we watched little boys chasing around birds like wee tyrants while the little girls did the smart thing and frolicked in the fountains nearby. We could have dozed here forever.

Femme: H&M dress, Franco Sarto patent leather wingtip pumps, Alice + Olivia for Payless clutch, Elle sunglasses.

Tomboy: Seven for All Mankind jeans, Ben Sherman belt, Penguin tie, Macbeth shoes.

Petite: I LOVE her flats. I bought them for her and wish we could share ‘em. They’re a brand called Me Too. She’s wearing them with Zara jeans she inherited from me. She’s also inherited some old pairs of Blue Cult, H&M and Miss Me denim from me – lucky petite!

Look at all of that vivid, glorious blue! I’m beat after spending a happy morning and afternoon helping a dear friend get settled in her new Oakland flat. It’s gorgeous. Flooded with warm sunlight through windows on nearly every wall of every room (which her two adorable cats love), tray ceilings with crown molding, hardwood floors with pretty inlays and those charming old touches all over, and French doors separating the huge master bedroom from the even larger living room. Just lovely. I AM SO JEALOUS, but incredibly happy for them (her beau arrives in two short weeks, she’s a carpenter and can play a mean banjo).

I was also mere blocks from our old loft today, and I felt pangs, y’all. Pangs of yesterday. Pangs of concrete-sandwiched-between-multiple-layers-of-drywall “party walls.” Pangs of walk-in closets and his ‘n her sinks and well-lit showers and a DISHWASHER and stacked washer/dryer sets, le sigh. Of course, living in San Francisco has its perks and advantages over Oakland, but bang for your buck where square footage and amenities are concerned ain’t one of them.

Laundry by Shelli Segal pants, Chicks On Speed for H&M racerback tank, thrifted vest, vintage shoes and Gucci scarf.

Another day, another outfit. This was my “laundry day” outfit. Far more interesting is that Karen Elson was pretty incredible last night at Cafe Du Nord. Her voice is much prettier onstage than it is on her solo album, which already sounds lovely, but still. Live her voice is haunting, taut, taunting. She chatters on between songs and apologizes profusely for her incessant need to “explain everything,” and then she half-giggles, half-chuckles in an awkward, nerdy way I really loved.

It goes without saying that she looked stunning, but real. I didn’t expect real, approachable. She was wearing a very long peach dress that fit her poorly in some places, but it kind of only made it that much more fetching, and there she was, oscillating between an ethereal, singing (and guitar-playing) angel and a bashful geek! The crowd favorite seemed to be The Truth Is in the Dirt, but I found myself singing along to The Birds They Circle the most today.

I’d write more, my friends, but it’s my turn to make cocktails and I cannot think up ways to use this unopened bottle of Lillet Blanc, can you? Let me know in the comments.

PS. Yes, Jen, my jeggings had faux pockets. In some circles jeggings aren’t considered the real deal unless they have the faux pockets. I’m just torn between shame and comfort on the subject.

PPS. Here’s where you’ll find us this weekend. This time, baby, I’ll be Bieber-proof! (I know, you hate me, you can’t get it out of your head. Oop! Kylie! Sorry about that.)

Hey! Remember the pics from my marching band meets pin-up post the other day? You’ll recognize most of it in this here outfit, where I swapped the vest and shorts out for a natty little Brooks Brothers pencil skirt to accommodate a wardrobe change from day to night, and ended up with a completely different look and feel.

This is more Blair Waldorf, less camp, though you’ll notice I couldn’t resist updating the bow headband with a red rhinestone pin shaped like a perfect red pout! The gays at The Apartment helped me pick it out. They are so sweet and awesome there. M & I had promised to meet some friends for a glass or two of peachy white sangria at this party later that same evening, and the wind had picked up as dusk fell, so I needed something a bit more substantial than a tiny pair of shorts!

Keep your eyes peeled for a special post over at Femme Fairy Godmother – a wee birdie mentioned that there’s a surprise coming in the next day or two!

Howdy, kittens! This day was strange. It began shrouded in fog and sadly, a local tragedy. When we woke up this morning, we could hear the non-stop fog horns on all the cargo ships out in the bay, coming and going from the Port of Oakland, under the Golden Gate Bridge. We’re pretty far from the water, so it was kind of spooky and magical. M got the alert about the power being down as she dropped me off at the office (wearing a sweater!), and headed back home to wait it out while I worked.

Fast-forward four or so hours. 30 minutes south a town and company on the cusp of their IPO and surely the family of the crash victims began to pick up the pieces. The lethal fog had lifted completely, leaving the sweet, warm sun to shine down on the city. It lapped it up. M picked me up. We lapped it up! She and I decided a day this spectacular didn’t deserve squandering, and so we packed up and headed out into the world for a reading date. Our first thought was Atlas Cafe – they have such a great little back patio. Then, I remembered Pilsner Inn’s lovely little courtyard and we decided reading over beers at 3PM was far superior to reading over iced mochas. Alas, Pilsner Inn had workers toiling away back there, with loud machines and sawdust (and carting in, I think, a Creature from the Black Lagoon arcade game!), so we bid the bartender adieu and made our way down the street.

After snapping a few pics of intriguing local scenery (cherry blossoms, painted deer (above, being air-shot by M), scooters with giant wooden boxes affixed to the rear), I remembered Cafe Flore in the Castro! It was perfect. We quickly took up a carafe of margaritas and a small table. Nouvelle Vague played quietly in the back of my mind. The sky shone blue, blue, blue and it was heavenly.

Two more days until Flourish’s one-year anniversary party! It’s going to be fabulous. We can’t wait.

PS. I know. I pegged my jeans. I couldn’t help it. I felt a gripping need to show some ankle.