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.)

I braved the drizzle to nail this FFAF post today, you guys! Drizzle and a steep, steep grade, not to mention this lingering head cold. Cloud cover mutes the otherwise dreamy view of the bay in the background, but maybe you can make it out just a little bit. When I took out my gloves to put them on this afternoon, I noticed a faint emerald green print on the inside. Upon closer inspection, the left glove shows the no. 7, and Lionel Le Grand beneath it. Inside of the right, Made In France Expressly for I. Magnin & Co.! I don’t know how I missed that before. I found them at an old Lutheran thrift shop in the East Bay, of all places. Years ago.

Anyway, this magical, high-waisted, uber-tight, red hot miniskirt. Unfortunately, it’s all sold out at modcloth.com, but I love it. They had another of its kind – the Da Vinci skirt – in a pretty purple shade, but that’s all gone, too! Next time I wear it, I’ll try more color, but I couldn’t help but femme fatale it up a bit for the first go-r0und.

CONFESSION: Check-out at Hotel Vertigo. Super dreamy lobby. You can read more about it here, if you’d like. We are up and at ‘em on approximately 4-5 hrs. of sleep and absolutely pining for donuts and coffee. We weren’t sure how nightmarish the Love Parade malarkey would be, so we just dashed out of there right before noon and headed to our favorite Noe Valley donut shop. They have Peerless coffee there! A plus. Let’s see if you can guess what I’m thinking as I gaze fondly down upon that polished, gorgeous hunk of wood.

CONFESSION: It was so Fall on this day! Monday, to be exact. I used to loathe the grey + ivory combination, but I am for it this season, especially if you swap the predictable dash of mustard with a nice, predictable and lush rose instead. Ideally, in some sort of ridiculously lavish, ruffled suede. Mm. I guess I’m sort of a moron for not throwing on my pink posie Tulle coat on over this. Next time!

CONFESSION: We discovered that M hates shooting at night and Halloween today. I know, right? OK, so night shooting is HARD and a pain in the ass, but hating Halloween? I think I should remind her about candy corn and slutty costumes bonding with loved ones in a creepy way. In any case, I can’t let her hate Halloween until we’ve dressed up as Moroccan Tranny Patsy and Edina first. It’s our dream! I had fun on the night shoot; we explored the creepy alley across the street and I pretended to be scary and chased kittens around.

NOTE: I gave y’all a three-for-one because even though they were different pairs of jeans, they were still jeans. Never fear (esp. not you, H), I had heels on in both of the above and a brand spankin’ new pair of hella fierce Betsey Johnson tights that are dying to debut themselves.

QUERY: An extremely lovely and devoted reader recently wondered if I might do a Q & A here at FFAF, and you know what I thought? I thought I would, if you’d like. Feel free to send burning questions to fitforafemme@gmail.com and I’ll answer enthusiastically and in bulk to the best of my ability!

Confession: Too many to list. I will start by explaining this outfit. M, H and I all decided that in the battle of all-girl zombie roller derby (too early, high cover charges, no dancing) vs. Cockblock (a party full of moody lesbians and too many foul-smelling straight boys, “New Lesbo” music) vs. Cockfight (a party full of pleasant, chatty homos wearing nice cologne and the promise of 80smashupelectroJOCKSTRAPjams), there was a clear winner.

The dress code called for locker room attire. We did our best. I refused to wear sneakers out dancing. I have boundaries, you know. But I did wear a whistle (which was used mightily throughout the night on racist, sexist, non-PC and other derogatory comments) and a wristband.

Other items of note:

• On the way into the city, we listened to Fleetwood Mac on cassette. CASSETTE! M was PUMPED.
• I left a voicemail for a stranger named “Evan” re: fine whiskeys at the request of a very excited Indian gay
• Everyone we met has worked on one cycle or another of ANTM
• The only person we met that we didn’t like was Kenny G, because he kept dissing “rude immigrant and/or ‘illegals’ lesbians” and the only reason he didn’t get a spiked heel through his balls is b/c his date begged me not to destroy his only chance at sex that night
• Gays we met and loved sided with us against Kenny G, making hilarious saxaphone noises in his direction
• Which forced Kenny G to leave the premises immediately
• We all got awesome t-shirts during the midnight giveaway
• All the gays kept treating me like some very fragile and cute little doll
• One gay had on a real bowtie and pink socks, and another had little elephant socks
• Vegan gays were told to “just give up” on convincing us of their cause; I hissed to H “Don’t tell them I wear fur, god damn it!” because they were v. sweet and nice
• This one’s for Rojo: The DJ played 2 seconds of Ready For The Floor by Hot Chip, and I got so excited, but then he stopped it. H blames this and other things on the iPhone generation aka “The Downfall of Civilization.” (I will remedy this by playing it tomorrow night at LBF Mondays at the Glas Kat!)

When: Wednesday, Jan. 28th, 2009.

What: Black cotton yoga pants, racerback cotton tank by Chicks On Speed, both by H&M. Vintage black lace bra. Trainers by New Balance.

Confession: I told y’all bitches I would post my stupid gym outfit one day! I mean, it’s not stupid, it’s just fine I suppose, but it’s my gym outfit, for fuck’s sake! I even scrounged up a weight thingee for y’all. I was waiting for M to get home, very patiently like a very good and patient kitten, so I figured it was just as good a time as any to show you.

Would you like to see our awesome workout chart? Yes, you do. I can tell. M made one for each of us.

Peep the insanity:

My wife is fucken dreamy. It’s true.