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This is less about the threads and more about the not-so-hidden gems of San Francisco. Every single time we entertain out-of-town guests, we discover or rediscover a shiny facet of love for this city. I’ve tried several times to see the incredible new Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park; it hasn’t worked once! Monday was no exception. The lines were impossibly long, so we started off toward the Conservatory of Flowers after a stop at the historic fountains in the Music Concourse.

The walk was pretty and bustling with the sounds from children, squirrels, birds. The light was low and soft. The trees tossed their branches slowly to let it come tumbling down to the ground. The Conservatory was closed (so was the carousel, but for renovations).

Instead, there was this haunting little tunnel with its big black gates. I ran straight down to it.

I get the most dizzying deja vu in the park. I sort of remembered the tunnel, but I also remember riding a pony through the little dirt paths of Golden Gate Park, which can’t have possibly happened, however young I might have been at the time.

I think it’s because I used to run the streets wild with my older sister when I was younger, from the Sunset to Dolores Park to the trails at Lands End, petting the shiny royal blue satin of a battered Yankees letter jacket handed down to me by one of her boyfriends (I think it was the Alioto), terrified of and intoxicated by the unadulterated, unsupervised freedom unbeknown to me at home.

I was the dorky kid sister, the perpetual late bloomer. A goody-two shoes. She had sex, she did drugs, she drank and broke bottles and blew things up with her posse in the tea garden at night. One of her best friends was a pretty blonde whose brutal fisticuffs ended up on the pages of newspapers, and at age ten or eleven I remember feeling a bizarre and perverse sense of pride that I’d landed on her good side by one tiny degree of separation. She could ruin any girl’s face for life, but she looked out for me.

My sister and I don’t talk anymore. Not since I became the dark horse and she took her place way up high on the shoulders of religion.

I do know for sure that I’d never been to the botanical gardens. Neither had M. We didn’t expect very much, but we were so pleasantly surprised! The grounds are vast and contain species from all around the world. My favorite was the ancient forest, with its little boardwalk and all the water around it. You could spend hours there and still miss things. We vowed to return in the Spring, and to find out exactly how the After Hours exits work.

It’s very possible that I’ll have seasonal favorites, and Spring’s will be the Garden of Fragrance, which is exactly what it sounds like it must be. If you’re ever in this fine city for a visit, I highly recommend it.

Bring a cheese plate, a bottle of champagne, a blanket and someone pretty to look at. You won’t regret it!

Linea Paolo shoes
Richard Chai for Target trench coat
Banana Republic raw silk tunic
Necklace from Buffalo Exchange (Valencia Street)
Freebird by The Sak hobo bag
Double-bit leather gloves by Cole Haan

Gather round, kittens, I’ve got a lovely fairytale to tell you on this night which feels like a night might if it were a paintbrush dipped into a brand new bucket of paint the color of Autumn. Ready?

Once upon a time, it was a real hot day in San Francisco. So hot, in fact, than an ordinary working girl had no choice but to wear a pair of perfect khaki Bermuda shorts in black, with a lightweight, loose-fitting top to work. With a pair of smart heels, of course. TRUE STORY. After successfully resisting the urge to skip away from her desk and to the beach on such a glorious day, the evening goal for this girl and her beloved was clear as a bell:

PROCURE DELICIOUS BOOZE FIXINS’ FOR A PIMM’S CUP.

It didn’t happen. Well, the fixins’ were got, but everyone was plumb out of Pimm’s No. 1. Terrible! We made do with some gin improvisation, and that was that. The end.

Shorts: Old Navy
Top: Petticoat
Pumps: Max Studio
Bag: Betsey Johnson
Earrings: Hoof & Horn Leather

More exposed skin.
More blissfully hot days.
More loverbird adventures in SF.

ON LOCATION: Safeway (top), Dolores Park (left), Baker Beach (right)

Tomorrow is our Friday, as we’re gearing up for a relaxing three-day weekend in a coastal resort city one quick little plane ride away. Chasing the sun, as it were, since it’s supposed to be in the low 70s and I can’t bloody wait for the warmth and pampering and R&R. Here’s to one last burst of sunny FFAF posts before we slip into Fall’s pumpkin-and-spice embrace.

We’ll need it before the following week arrives. Why is that?
Well, because next week is super jam-packed with the following hotness:

In no particular order of importance (except #1, of course):

1. We will celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary!
2. Gossip Girl Season 4 begins.
3. Weekly fencing lessons continue. Our first was tonight and it was B O S S.
4. Super famous Tumblr Lesbians in SF debuts an all-new photo show at The Lex.
5. Ivan Coyote will swagger into the Mission for one blessed night.

Hot-cha-cha!!!

Well, kittens, it’s been one whole week since the coming and going of Pride Weekend here in sunny San Francisco, and yet again we’ve survived (but only just). In addition to the well-documented pants-off party, there was the Dyke March, complete with liters and liters of delicious bourbon slush painstakingly handmade by yours truly, being surrounded by the best of friends and scores and scores of homosexy women.

The highlight of the day for me? (Aside from the wrestling and making out with the tomboy and contributing to the amazing outdoor living room a friend orchestrated.) When the lovely and very, very talented Miss Dylan Ryan introduced herself to me whilst waiting in line for the loo. She is every bit as sweet and down-to-earth as she is epic lesbian porn star, and that’s saying something. Needless to say, if you click on the link it’s NSFW. I can’t wait to work with her more at this August’s Femme Conference!

There was also quite pleasant chatting with hot new lesbian blogging duo Catherine Perez & Aja Blue of Lesbians in San Francisco, who snapped this photo of M & I and gave us their rad new stickers for keeps.

We sat out of the actual march, which in retrospect I’m glad for, considering the terribleness of the shooting at the Pink Party in the Castro. Close friends of ours have talked about how there was a palpable foul energy and that they just got the hell out of dodge before things took a turn for the fatally worse, and you know what, y’all? I’m just not ready for the Dyke March to go the way of Pride Sunday or Halloween in the Castro, et al. I’m not. My heart can’t take it. This image from Fuck Yeah Femmes sums up my feelings best:

We stumbled home with friends in tow from Dolores Park, ordered in a vast spread from our favorite Chinese restaurant, and prepared ourselves for a long night at Mango’s Dyke March afterparty at El Rio, where we had a blast but forgot about the music being restricted to the super packed and sweaty room indoors, which meant less dancing for our group and more entertaining drinking games, like Truth or Truth (which was 100% sex-related questions, of course). Win!

These photos were taken on Pride Sunday, but obviously snapped far, far away from San Francisco.

I’m not sure what to say about Pride Sunday. We awoke at a reasonable hour that morning, still feeling rather drunk from the night before, and headed off to Bernal Heights for a proper brunch. There was no way we’d survive the day without a sound start, and Liberty Cafe did not disappoint. We emerged at Civic Center BART into the hot, sweaty, thronging clouds, and it was bad news bears. Too many attention whores, too many people too wasted, too high or both for their own good. Too few folks there for the right reasons, too little of the true spirit of Pride.

Even in the backstage sanctuary of Shadowplay, we couldn’t handle it. I have been going for the last eight or nine years and I’ve never seen or felt it that way before. We left shortly thereafter on account of the fact that we had a housewarming in Berkeley to get to, but I was glad for the excuse.

A long, lazy afternoon in a picturesque, wholesome, all-American park on a gorgeous sunny day was the perfect antidote to Pride’s overwhelm. (Note: That doesn’t make me any less gay, you must understand, it just makes me OLD.) The housewarming was actually a picnic on a lovely green lawn, with tours of a friend’s new apartment on the hour. There was a tasty spread of snacks, including delicious sweet roasted almonds which pair exquisitely when wrapped with Prosciutto and a small hunk of Dubliner cheese, and sweet tea cocktails. It was heavenly, and her apartment looks like something out of my House Beautiful magazines. It made us threaten to move to North Berkeley, which is something we never, ever thought we’d utter!

Alas, these Pride pics are less debauched and clearly lacking in sequins or rainbow garb, but they are very full of happy, gay frolics in the sun. They’ll just have to do!

C’mon, folks, we’re taking a stroll. This outfit really isn’t anything special, but it’s been awhile since the sun has shone on a wintry Sunday here in San Francisco, so we’re going to wander through the Mission into the Castro for M’s haircut (it’s been about six weeks and she was starting to get all ornery about it), and you can enjoy the sights, sounds and tastes with us along the way.

We found this pink house around the corner from M’s barber shop on Market. It has a fantastic little mail slot for the post, above.

Unionmade is an incredible, incredible men’s store on Sanchez. I’ve been wanting to wander in for some time now, and I’m so glad we finally did. The boys at the counter were good-natured and adorable about M & I threatening to move in, joking that it was open concept and cheaper than our current flat. Everything they carry is gorgeous, from the heaviest, highest quality wool sweaters, handmade and signed for in Denmark, to tees so soft and wafer-thin they catch your breath, and lots and lots of leather goods and manly, officious nautical instruments and things to admire. See M peeking through their store window down there?

To the right of the store, the Victorian that M would like us to move into. Below left, the J heading out of Dolores Park, where hipsters were out in full effect, crawling out of their tobacco- and PBR-stained ratholes to undulate feverishly in the light of day, neon sunglasses at the ready. Sigh. Fortunately, the line at Bi-Rite Creamery wasn’t too bad (and I got to pop into Joy O Designs next door and drool at all the jewelry and clutches) and M & I both got single scoops with two flavors each: vanilla malt with peanut brittle and chocolate bits, roasted banana, honey lavender and mint chip. Everything was good except the honey lavender, which tasted like “eating a stick of laundry detergent” according to M, but Humphry’s still beats out Bi-Rite and Mitchell’s, we’ve decided. IT IS WHAT IT IS, KIDS. Deal with it. I will say that my ice cream cone lasted me from 18th & Dolores all the way to Paxton Gate, which is fairly impressive.

Clockwise from top left:

• The Smile, You’re In SF! hidden camera art in an abandoned gas station, with a homeless guy napping in a pile of trash next to it.
• Open House sign for a ridiculously overpriced flat in our neighborhood. See below for up close awesomeness.
• This lady was standing at the corner of 22nd & Valencia holding a sign that said “You Are Perfect” for no apparent reason.
• The Marsh doing some sort of weird taping – “What Is A Wife?” and “Faces, Feelings & Lies”.
• Try French Kiss! Don’t mind if I do! Thanks, bossy street graffiti!
• Bi-Rite’s flavor sign and ice cream tubs. Mm.

We walked over three miles! It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon, after sleeping in and dilly-dallying over coffee and Grey’s Anatomy for the Wii all morning. Tonight, M made her delicious secret recipe burgers and I made my fantastic homemade french fries, and we baked a batch of chocolate thumbprint cookies with a vanilla bean & chocolate ganache. They’re still setting, so the verdict is out still on their deliciousness!

Hope y’all had a fantastic weekend and HAPPY FEBRUARY! It’s the month of love, y’all. In eleven days we’ll mark the 5th year of our very first meeting, and February 2006 was the month we became real “girlfriends”, too, if you can believe it. Even if you haven’t got a loverbird, I believe firmly in loving on yourself, so you’d better! XOXO.

PS. If you like my shirt and / or want to see others like it, check out Lola Starr’s online boutique. I bought mine after attending one of her super amazing, outdoor, nighttime, themed roller skating parties on Coney Island in 2008.

PPS. Wanna live here?

HA! HA! HA!

Confession: Ta-da! New birdie dress. I love it. It’s comfortable and easy and a gorgeous cornflower blue I so love, even if I hated the actual crayon when I was little. Let bygones be bygones! Today my loverbird fed me breakfast in bed – freshly baked croissants and delicious Peerless coffee – and then we made fancy little fried chicken sandwiches and arranged sneaky booze and set out for Dolores Park in San Francisco, because it was a glorious day. The bay was choppy, a million sailboats and windsurfers were out and while the park was windy, it was deliciously warm whenever the breeze slowed down. We snuggled and read books and snacked and giggled a lot because…

DOLORES PARK IS FULL OF THE MOST AMUSING ATTENTION WHORES.

Our favorites were the hipsters pretending to play Scrabble, the guy rope-walking barefoot between a few palms and the guitar singalong Brazilians camped out a few yards away from us. At some point a young guy rode by on his bicycle with paper-wrapped flowers for some lucky lass, which was adorable. There was a tiny black puppy flopping all over himself next to us, and while we missed the creme brulee guy, we politely declined the pretty ganja truffles for sale.

I read this book, which I’m enjoying very much:

Now here is a little collection of some photos from our picnic. Clockwise from left:

1. Tomboy shoes, femme shoes.
2. My crazy Gap Kids sunglasses in electric blue.
3. Luna Park is one of our Mission favorites, with their delicious fancy baby corn dogs.
4. Fancy couple next to a scooter.
5. Skinneh!
6. Open your golden gates!
7. A cuddle.
8. A bashful cuddle.
9. A friendly cuddle.
10. Obnoxious Brazilians!
11. The essentials.
12. The high school. I think.
13. The palms.
14. The tomboy.
15. Young man with flowers.
16. HS.
17. Legs.
18. Ice cream!

Some Oakland love, clockwise from left:

1. Most handsome building on the block.
2. Tomboy face.
3. Oakland Waterfront Warehouse District has official trash cans, so why is this one beside it?
4. Paper company.
5. Headless house.
6. Korres kiss.
7. Fantasy and reality.
8. Brickhouse lofts.

When: Friday, Nov. 7th, 2008.

What: Skinny jeans from Zara, striped sweater by Split. Suede and patent boots by Restricted @ piperlime.com.

Confession: You would think this outfit wouldn’t be too bad for a Friday night protest, right? It’s relaxed, comfortable, but still stylish. Well, guess what? These are not 3.5″ heels, as noted on the website. These are 3.5″ heels on top of a covered 1″ platform, which means that I walked my happy ass up and down THREE WHOLE MILES of hilly San Francisco terrain in 4.5″ heels. Holy Jesus Christ. I got so hot, and the cotton/acrylic blend of this sweater did me no favors. I SWEATED THE INK OFF MY FUCKING BART TICKET, Y’ALL. (This is me afterward, by the way…well, a few blotting sheets later.)

Anyway, it was worth it. Nothing could dampen the sight of thousands of people streaming down the streets of the Castro, united in the fight for equality. Friends, lovers and families like ours. It felt so good to be there and part of an effort to not back down, not be silenced or defeated. It brought tears to my eyes and was exactly what I needed to shake off the depression I’ve been in since Tuesday night.

So, the other part of this confession is that when I ordered these boots, I consulted with M first, same as she consults with me before ordering new shoes. I wanted flat boots, ones in gray or dark red or blue to tuck my skinny cords into and stomp around in. But she kept vetoing all of them, freaking out at the “skin-like folds” or calling pair after pair of sexy, gorgeous riding boots “ugly,” insisting that they looked like galoshes. Finally, I found these ones, which to me felt like cheeky Little Lord Faunterloy-inspired boots, so I showed M and she loved them.

It wasn’t until I put them on after they’d arrived that I realized she totally tricked me! They weren’t flat at all! Drats! I still like them a whole bunch, though, and I’m glad they survived 3 miles of marching and a muddy Dolores Park.

PS. MAD PROPS TO BANGIEB, who logged into FB as me via cell to mobilize SF “Jezebels” since I was sitting in traffic and unable to do so myself. Thanks, B! We love you and you were right there with us tonight. We talked about you at least 84,000 times, and said “vulgar” and “I really just don’t know why ___” lots, too.

We all know what the exit polls are saying. Personally, I’m disgusted. I’m disgusted because I’m not a fucking dog in a cage salivating mindlessly at a piece of meat being waved in front of me, goading me into an attack. I would like to think that none of is, but if the media continues to incessantly pit blacks against gays in the fight for equality, I wonder how long it will take before someone goes all twitchy and takes the bait. DO NOT DO IT, Y’ALL.

Can you imagine how delicious it would be for the Mormons and Republicans and right-wing media if gays and blacks somehow managed to wage war on one another? They would piss themselves with joy! Are we being set up? I wouldn’t put it past them to snatch up the quickest, most convenient way to wipe out both minority groups (blacks, gays) with one stone – if it’s this easy, why, who needs a Republican president in the White House after all? I refuse to perpetuate a cycle of oppression because someone is telling me who to blame, who is at fault for my status as a second-class citizen, where I might displace my anger and frustration and outrage. I won’t do that because it is false in every way. I know better than that. I hope we all do.

Besides, I bet the old boys club is out there already thinking how much fun it will be to lean back and watch while we tear one another to pieces. My heart cannot take that happening. The tearing or being torn to pieces.

Thus, I recommend the following, in this order:

1. Read Alice Walker’s letter to Obama, here.

2. Sign the petition to re-open Prop 8 for California, here.

3. March tonight, if you wish, but march in peace and with dignity and clarity of mind. If this is, indeed, something like the second coming of a civil rights movement, be mindful of how one can use that sweet adrenaline to fuel oneself forward into change, as opposed to being driven back senselessly by it. There’s a difference and it is the responsibility of each and every one of us to comport ourselves with grace in the face of such pervasive and far-reaching hate, fear, intolerance and discrimination.

M & I are going to bundle up and take the petite out for some peaceful protestation of Prop 8.

Don’t know where to go in your community? Ta-da, I’m so service-y:

Friday Community Gatherings

Costa Mesa
9 p.m. | South Coast Plaza
Bristol Street & Town Center Drive

Long Beach
6:45 p.m. to 9 p.m. | Broadway and Redondo

Merced
6 p.m. | Veterans Park, M Street
Contact: Leslie or Eileen, PLFLAG Merced 209.725.1140

Mission Viejo
4 to 7 p.m. | 200 Civic Center

Palm Springs
5 p.m. | Palm Springs City Hall

Santa Barbara
5 p.m. to 6 p.m. | De La Guerra Plaza Street
700-756 De La Guerra Plaza

San Diego.
9 p.m. | Laurel and Sixth Avenue
March to City Hall (202 C)

San Francisco
5:30 p.m. | Civic Center
Market and 7th to Dolores Park

In the name of the one that I love and all my fancy friends,

FFAF