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The tomboy is showering. The sun is shining. The champs bubbling. I’m inside shivering a little and listening to a new album by The National at the NYT and waiting for my turn. My favorite part about the article so far is this, “When Bryan’s cymbals splash in a song about a rainy-day loss of faith, you don’t just hear the water; you see a thousand dead umbrellas.” It’s like Angel Island on fire all over again.

Shower, hot rollers, makeup, shimmying into whichever dress I choose at the last minute. (Maybe it’ll be a tomboy’s choice.) Oh! I’ll have to try not to forget (again) to paint my nails with the poppy red Jeffrey Campbell polish I love so much. We’re going dancing in the light of day, and I hope it warms up more than it had when I stepped out into it to fetch some Mexican pastries for breakfast, while M stayed in and tended to the pups and the french press.

The shadowy pics above are from Thursday night, when a fellow femme threatened to toss me over the balcony at a queer ladies night party for being too vixen-y or whatnot. “Like Mean Girls! But with lesbians!” I trilled, and she said, “No, no. More like Lady Gaga in [some video I'm not privy to]!” You know you look good when people are plotting your demise…

It just occurred to me that I haven’t seen my Christian Dior suede obi belt in ages! I must look for it. I still like this dress best here.

CONFESSION: What a doozy of a weekend. The week prior? So-so. Taking tentative steps after my brink-of-death sickness and whatnot. I did manage to accomplish the following, I am happy to say:

• Making a delicious dish of scalloped potatoes from scratch
• Horseback riding in some semi-regular capacity on the cheap (I tried, got shot down – but I tried!)
• Finishing a re-read of Ayn Rand’s Anthem, which started in the tub last night
• Forgave myself for getting rid of an ashy purple velvet blazer and an asymmetrical dresses years ago

Back to the weekend! The lovely Kelly Alice (a dear friend) came to visit from back East, and we enjoyed fantastic conversation over breakfast, freshly baked Pithivier from Trader Joe’s with Peerless coffee, followed by noontime French 75s (with a few drops of rosewater, so lovely). KA was sort of shocked that I’d never really flat-ironed my hair before, so she busted hers out  – some fancy Solia model we heated right up to 450°F – and went to town on my glossy locks. It was amazing! We headed to Mango (an awesome lesbian tea dance on a lush patio featuring salsa and hip-hop with free BBQ) all dolled up with the tomboy on our arm and had a fantastic time.

Afterward, we took her to one of our favorite Mission restaurants and then, of course, to the obligatory stop at SF’s Lexington Club, the city’s only 24/7 lesbian bar. It’s a great dive with a super rad jukebox. (Note: The bartenders overrode my Patsy Cline pick, which pissed me off.) M & I danced, not that anyone else did (as per usual). Someone wanted to know what kind of shampoo I use. It was a great night!

Yesterday, we popped up to my mom’s house for a birthday party and had a lovely evening where dozens of family secrets were aired out in hilarious and hilariously tragic circumstances, and I had a beef bourguignon that changed my life. Alas, after a screwy Monday, I’m ready to get back to weekend shenanigans! Surely I’m not alone. XO!

PS. My kitten! The black one with the little white boots. She loves me so so so so so so so so much. She’s suicidal for me, even. M had to chase her back home because she tried to follow us into the street! When I come walking down the street, she comes bounding toward me out of nowhere to greet me and purr and rub against my legs. So precious. I love her so. She brought a friend over and they came into the house and miraculously, neither dog bit their heads off!

PPS. Drool.

CONFESSION A: So, last we heard, the tomboy was getting on a fancy yacht and leaving the femme behind…can you see her up there, walking away? So sad. Sad and alone. (Don’t listen for one second to that nonsense M commented about my slapping her…that was for something else and she knows it!)

CONFESSION B: As ever, all my silly pouting was for naught. Yesterday afternoon, I saw M off on her yacht  and she had a good time – the food was great, she said, and not only did they serve champagne but she had her fair share of rum & cokes, too. As they made their way toward the Golden Gate Bridge, I trekked my ass (in heels and fancy hair, of course) from Pier 3 to Pier 39 in like 10 minutes flat, marched into the first fancy restaurant I saw and very sweetly asked for a seat over the water on the second story outside. I figured it was worth a (long) shot. To my utter surprise, I was gestured in right away and seated just in time for the show to start. It was such a gorgeous, cloudless day to be on the water. I ordered a very delicious rose petal gimlet with a float of champagne to make a DIY French 75 and some tasty lunch and got my camera ready to take some pics.

Those angels wrought glorious havoc over the bay and SF skyline and Golden Gate, and I had so much fun watching it. Excepting M’s view, I couldn’t have had a better one myself. They really are something else to watch. They flew so close that one colleague of M’s almost dropped her drink in shock on the upper deck, as it tore past them. We texted each other back and forth like dorks, in total awe and, you know, because we missed each other. Like dorks.

And then it ended! Much too soon, but when I saw M’s yacht heading back toward Pier 3, I closed out my bill, stopped downstairs for some hot baby donuts and cotton candy for the petite, and met M back by the Ferry Building, where we chattered about fighter jets and our meals and cocktails and took a bunch of FFAF photos. It was a perfectly imperfect Friday!

Oh, and I took the trolley back, but only because I didn’t want the baby donuts to get cold! Clang-clang-clang!

I am so upset that I cannot get my nifty slideshow to work. I will keep at it and post as is for now. XO!

From Movies

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: I finally, finally, FINALLY took three bags of my closet’s ex-contents to Crossroads this afternoon, a buy-sell-trade with stores all over the country and several in the Bay Area. M was threatening to throw them out and she meant business, but so did I! In addition to walking out of there with a fistful of cash, I traded my castaways for these like-new Marc by Marc Jacobs flats, new dark blue denim shorts with white pinstripes, a cheery new yellow summer top, a new BCBG Max Azria wrap dress in a gorgeous blue print and a pair of very cheeky red canvas peep-toe heels – so Varga girl! I had forgotten all about the satisfying rush one gets when acquiring awesome new clothes “for free!” I still have some great stuff that they turned down (Uniqlo, a pristine Ann Taylor suit, misc. vintage) that I might put up on ebay or just donate. Do y’all ever do the buy-sell-trade, or is it too harrowing / inconvenient / obnoxious?

PS. You’re not nuts – I changed my shoes. The Charles David boots are what I’m kicking high in the B&W! I loved the neon yellow in the belt with the hot pink of the flats too much!

Scent: Christian Dior Diorling power walks out of the decant with a toss of big 80s hair, shoulder pads and a mad, red mouth. It smells like something from my childhood, and being a child of the 80s I suppose this makes sense. In a way it’s very much your staple “perfume” smell. A hint of floral over a stern chypre, just a tinge of something powdery. The leather is elusive at first, but starts to show itself in the dry down. In reality, Diorling was born in 1963, and I’m not 100% sure that this is the original, but I suspect it’s the watered down, pansy reissue. M was taken aback by the top notes, saying it reminded her of the smell of whatever it is that Pine Sol tries to cover up with the scent of pine – not the pine itself. I’m unimpressed, overall and looking forward to a write-up over the weekend of something divine!