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This is the blissed out face of a femme who is not only enjoying a perfectly innocent make-believe joyride on this totally bizarre pony statue in an even more bizarre reclaimed-wood-and-nature needle minipark in a big city haystack thing, but also headed to The Front Porch, a Southern restaurant in SF’s Mission District. I’ve been wanting to check it out for months and months and damn months.

Pluses: The co-owner (maybe ex co-owner? Apparently, she’s opened Hibiscus in Oakland) is a smokin’ hot dyke. Fried green tomatoes. Old-timey decor, included car seats with seat belts for booths.

Cons: Like, none. OK, the beignets could have been better, but it was a very lovely dinner date.

I didn’t even care that it was cold. Cold enough for toggled enclosures on my chunky vest. Sorry, I’m really distracted because I’m trying to write this while The Real L Word season finale is on, and it’s, like, really hard because they’re all so mindbogglingly vapid. Most of them. Natalie just said that going to Dinah when your relationship isn’t rock solid is tricky or something, to which I replied, “Like doing the AIDS ride when you’ve just had ass surgery and the doctor is NOT advising it but also not expressly forbidding it, either, so…just inadvisable? Like that?”

I really wish that we had whatever on/off button for falling in love that she and Rose have, because then maybe people would projectile vomit around M & I a little bit less. Just a smidge. Just a touch, darling.

PS. I am wearing my pony belt buckle. YAY!

Leggings: Romeo & Juliet Couture
Ruffled blouse: INC Women
Vest: Bloom (ZOMG Mikey is talking about making fun of people with bad haircuts POT KETTLE holy fucking balls)
Belt w/ pony buckle: M’s
Belt w/ pouch thing: Modcloth
Boots: Rock n’ Rose
Bullet cuff: Portland street vendor

You must say hello to Blanket. Blanket is a neighborhood kitty who really loves me, despite giving me this total bitchface for taking a picture of him lying so preciously in this box full of dead stuff. His name is Blanket because his fur is soft like whoa.

The above just blew your mind, I know, so here’s a clockwise from top left explanation:

• M reading the menu at Sparky’s. I was so adamant about pancakes, but we ended up splitting a massive chicken parm.
• M pouting over agonizing eye wear choices at the chic and friendly Eye Dare office.
• M demonstrated her best DeNiro squint and a delicious graham cracker.
• Boots the kitten comes when we call her over. So does Scab. And Pimp Gandalf, but not Blanket.
• Pretty damn good chicken parm for a 24-hour diner. Plus, cute gay waiter boys and singing patrons.
• The creepy doll that greets you at Sparky’s.
• Some street art/porn to keep the Valencia sidewalk extension project construction workers* motivated.
• The mystery palm that showed up overnight in our little garden. Weird!

This is the day we walked over 3 miles! I really, really love our meandering walks through the Mission and surrounding ‘hoods like Bernal, Noe and Castro. We pop in and out of cute shops and boutiques, we giggle, we eat, we drink, we cross a few items off of our To Do list, we people watch, we peruse real estate, we mussy-sikk, we’re RIDICULOUS. It’s just completely spontaneous, unplanned bliss, and neither of us cares much that we said we’d be here or there or “should” be somewhere else. It’s what the best weekends are made of!

What are your best weekends made of in your neighborhood? (Otherwise, let’s face it, we’d all say something absurd like BORA BORA!)

*I am sure this is not the official name of the project.
**My ankles don’t even BELONG to me, they’re so shockingly white. No, seriously. Look at them. What the hell?!