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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?!

It’s been a lovely, sunny 55 degrees or thereabouts here in San Francisco lately. While not quite as warm as, say, Puerto Rico (82-85, according to the awesome Geometric Sleep), it’s definitely warmer than Atlanta and certainly New York, so I shan’t complain at all. The light was so lovely that we decided to go shoot outside, even though this is really just a mostly plain and relaxed outfit (and so sorely needed after Saturday night’s shenanigans). The silver sequins strewn in heart form across loose-fitting, skin-tone silk is really the icing on the cake.

We weren’t the only ones out yesterday afternoon! Meet “Scab”, one of our neighborhood cats. He’s a surly-looking guy who likes to watch M out in the garden or hang out under cars, bossing Boots around. I scorned him thoroughly until a few days ago, when we realized he hasn’t got any tags and responded so enthusiastically to a little bit of attention, so I watered and fed him. Now we’re old pals!

Last but not least, M made an amazing panini from scratch yesterday.

Come back tomorrow, for I have a very pressing femme question to answer from a dear reader! XOXO!

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: I know the rainbow heart print is a bit twee, but the button-up backline sold me on this dress. It’s a fairly well-made H&M number that I scored at a local thrift store for $5. It’s sweet and comfortable, and I love that it can be belted or not, paired with sky high heels and a skinny, studded, layered belt to punk it up a bit. Or not. (In fact, I’ve got a pair of killer moto-chic heels headed my way that I can’t wait to pair with this dress.)

SCENT: ARE WE READY FOR THE LAST OF THE LAST? I can’t say how pleased I am to be done with this sad, trashy collection of Victoria’s Secret fragrances, I honestly can’t. A friend of mine tweeted today about the arduous task of finishing a book she disliked. She started reading it in March. I think she read a bit of it each day. That’s torture. It’s exactly how I feel about this little scent experiment. Thank heavens it’s over with and I can now return to reviewing sniffs worth their salt.

Victoria’s Secret Very Sexy: I spritzed a bit on, turned to M and said, “Sweet, sharp floral…” and she added “…with citrus!” and sure enough, it’s described as a “sultry blend of sensual vanilla orchid, sparkling clementine and juicy blackberry.” It still smells like shitty potpourri and continues to on the drydown. I fail to comprehend why all of their scents are pitched as hyper sexy, alluring, come-fuck-me irresistible when they couldn’t be further from it. It’s so bad I can scarcely take satisfaction in the fact that I was right – and I love being right – the quality and caliber of their fragrances parallel the quality and caliber of their lingerie. I was open to being proven wrong or humbled, alas.

In summary, it’s all very black and white, kids. Like so:

PS. ZOMG, someone hold me back before I ruin everything I’ve been working toward and DYE MY HAIR these 84,000 colors:

When: Friday, February 6th, 2009.

What: James Jeans, black turtleneck sweater by Dolce Vita, vintage cropped wool coat with ruffled collar. Striped scarf by FCUK, boots by H&M.

Confession: Since this morning’s exchange with a friend is AMAZING, I am sharing it. She has Sunday reservations at an extremely fancy restaurant in the wine country, where people wait years and years to get reservations. She needed a suitable necktie. I needed donuts. Enjoy!

Friend: i’m watching all movies i can with the french on now. it’s ridiculous.je m’appelle jaque sparrow!9:41 AM me: BRING US DONUTS! Did that work? Why are you doing that? Also, you have boots. Friend: it might. would you loan me a tie for sunday? me: DORK.9:42 AM Absolutely. I have a mighty special vintage Yves Saint Laurent. Friend: wow me: M has knives and guns. There are many more to choose from.Friend: what kind of donuts do you want?are donuts as hard to find as pixy sticks?me: French Cruellers – chocolate, if they’re there, or just two sugary ones and one each of maple and chocolate.No, two maple.9:43 AMNo chocolate. Og th eplain. No!They are easier.There is a donut place on Lala Ave. Friend: where on Lala? oh, and the stationary place is totally closed.me: Between Peet’s and the Laundromat. OH NOES!WHY DID THEY TAKE THEIR SIGNS DOWN?!That is so sad.Man.9:44 AM Friend: maybe they sold them. me: You are rad. Friend: i have filthy unwashed hair. i will need to feed a dog, put on pants, procure pastries. me: So, I’m not wearing a bra and look like a slob and have no makeup on.Yes and yes and yes.Friend: fine, then we’ll all be hobos.me: GREAT!Spectacular. Friend: okay then, see you in a bit. me: YAH! You are Lord. See you!

Yes, I spelled cruller wrong and yes, she arrived with a half dozen assortment of perfect deliciousness. No crullers, though. They were all out. Maybe I swabbed a little lip balm and mascara on before she got there; it was the kind thing to do, really. Even hobos deserve to feel pretty. I did not, however, put a bra on.

When: Thurs., February 5th, 2009.

What: Black dress and dark cyan suede/leather/faux snakeskin boots, H&M. Black and neon striped belt, thrifted. Dingy brown tights, Calvin Klein. Teal suede bag, modcloth.com

Confession: Holy shit, I love these H&M boots. They are new (t0 me), for $7.50. They’re super comfortable and good for stomping around, and I can’t wait to try them on with different outfits. I also love my new neon belt, it’s made out of stretchy something, maybe a nylon/cotton blend, with a silver and leather buckle. It’s not too wide, and the unexpected punch of a color I doubt I’ve ever intentionally worn makes me kind of feel like throwing a tantrum. Also, it was $1. You know you want to come thrifting with me. So bad.

Hot Mama Confession: I also found ten pristine old copies of Sweet Valley High books. ZOMG. I felt like I won the bloody lottery. I’m going to tie them up with a big, drippy pink and red ribbon and give them to the petite for Valentine’s Day! ? ? ? Dreamy, no?

Candy Confession: Those are Sixlets I’m clutching in my hot little hand. SIXLETS. So good. Maybe I’ve also eaten appx. 20 pixy sticks, who can say?

DON’T FORGET TO NOMINATE FIT FOR A FEMME FOR A LEZZY AWARD! YOU CAN NOMINATE ONCE EVERY 24 HOURS! THANK YOU ? THANK YOU ? THANK YOU! ?

When: Thursday, July 3rd, 2008.

What: As in Oz, y’all. Gay. Skinny jeans (with zippers!) from Zara. Soft, pretty green plaid top from Pretty Penny on College. It hasn’t got a label, has a lace-trimmed bib front and the pretty white panel (like an apron) at the bottom, and I adore it. Charles David boots. Mossy satin ribbon from Papyrus! Sundry bracelets from Juniper Tree and my secret boutique near my workplace.

Confessions: My stupid, intrusive co-workers were just beside themselves over my pigtails today. They said I looked like Dorothy. They said they were glad that “pigtails have come back around to being in style”. I wanted to punch them all in the face, but instead I blithely noted how asinine red shoes with a green top would be in July, of all months, and that I was afraid I had to excuse myself immediately. Why are co-workers so fucking obnoxious? Why do they insist on making conversation when one is so clearly uninterested in anything of the kind? FUCK YOU, COLLEAGUES! You’re goddamn obnoxious. Especially the pervy bastard who asks if I’ve “changed my hair again” at least every other fucking day. Die in a fire™.