fitforafemme.com

I’m so sick of hearing about San Francisco’s wintry summers. I’m so sick of feeling them. I trek downtown each day, then float a few dozen stories up into the sky where I watch the dull gray tendrils lap lackadaisically against the other skyscrapers in the fleeting pauses of my work, watch it all come lumbering over the gentle slopes of Nob and Russian Hills and swirl and settle quietly in the tides of the bay. In the dead center of July.

The tomboy gets into her little car, ambles down the freeway into Silicon Valley, and bemoans having left the house in a blazer because it’s 20 degrees warmer there, and the sun is shining, and you can’t see a lick of fog anywhere, not even if you squint as hard as you can and picture me pouting mightily from where I sit.

Today, I had to wear this shirt with a cardigan and a brocade coat with a vintage fur collar. It was very dreadful.

I remember when I told loved ones I was planning to vacation in New Orleans in the dead center of July eight or more years ago. They thought I was out of my fucking mind. They were very wrong. I loved the heat, I was delighted that my ice cream melted faster than I could eat it at 10AM, giddy about the thunderstorms that swept briefly in to curse you and left just as quickly (and the river frothing), I couldn’t wait until it cooled down in the wee hours of the morning (and even then only by a few scarcely detectable degrees), when it was safe to sit outside with your beignets and Au Laits at Cafe Du Monde before stumbling back to the hotel.

That’s a goddamn summer. Don’t even get me started on summers in Barcelona.

Tomboy: Seven jeans, Vox shoes, Volcom shirt, Banana Republic blazer, H&M tie. Bulleit bourbon, of course.
Femme: Skirt from the Painted Bird, suspenders from Buffalo Exchange (and made in Germany, of all places), boots by Bandolino, Truly Madly Deeply v-neck. Leggings from The Rack.

I had to wear this dress again as soon as possible, even if it was cold and I had to layer like my life depended on it. (There was a black cardigan under this denim jacket, too.) Our special edition Pride 2010 Cockblock handkerchiefs came in the mail! M was so excited. I got one, too, and they each came with goodies from Good Vibes, too. Hotsauce.

Dress by Fire LA, boots from Buffalo Exchange, thrifted belt, Cockblock handkerchief, Old Navy denim jacket, leggings from The Rack, earrings from the Global Exchange store.

Today I scored an amazing vest of House of Hengst. Prepare yourselves!

CONFESSION: In spite of the fact that this dress is super fun, I’m getting the distinct feeling that old 2009 isn’t going to go without a fight. You know what, 2009? EAT A BAG OF DICKS AND GOOD RIDDANCE TO BAD TRASH! I’m not scared of you. You, my friend, are on your last wonky leg. (No offense to bona fide wonky-legged pups – they are precious and deserve nothing but endless love.)

Perhaps that’s a bit unfair. 2009 wasn’t exactly bad, I mean, it wasn’t full of absolute misery and suffering, not at all. It was simply a year of bipolar highs and lows, and I am only saying, “We had a good run, 2009, you taught me a lot and I don’t regret the stellar changes and growth you saw me through. But you were a little unfair, a little hysterical, you threw one too many hissyfits and, in the end, you just weren’t there for me. You were kind of a cocktease, also. Your upside just isn’t good enough, considering all of the risk.” Harsh? Perhaps.

C’est la vie! 2010 is a fresh start. Go on. Touch me.

CONFESSION: Record low temps in the Bay Area mean epic layers for this femme. You get creative. This morning I used the snow scraper we bought up in Tahoe earlier this year to get all of the ice off of my windshield, and while it worked like a charm, I felt a little bit sheepish. Like a crummy rookie. I mean, normally you curse while you grab a credit card or library card or something out of your wallet to get the morning freeze off, and there I was making a big old ruckus with my fancy scraper at 7:30AM, with my petite rolling her eyes at me from the backseat. You know what she got for giving me guff? I picked her up with a 5-hour-old head of Lush henna piled under an old scarf, that’s what. How do you like them apples?

OH, GOD. I’VE TURNED INTO MY TOUGH-AS-NAILS, NO-NONSENSE GERMAN GRANDMOTHER.

On second thought, that’s kind of awesome. Carry on! Stay warm! Send snowy femme photos!

PS. These are the thrifted Bandolino boots, fetched for a wee $16 at Buffalo Exchange, that I tried to patch up with Gorilla Glue. You can’t tell, can you? They are such a supple, pretty, deep and warm brown, I can’t bear to part with them.

PPS. 3′ of fresh snow at Heavenly, my sneaky little email tells me. Is it that time again, already? Let’s go!