fitforafemme.com

Hi. My cardigan is the color of putty and has many navy blue dice outlines all over it! M says the outfit makes me look like an old-timey gambling addict (in a good way, whatever that means in tomboy-speak), and I like it a lot. I suppose I like a good gamble just as much as the next guy, I enjoy Blackjack and Texas Hold ‘Em, but I deeply loathe casinos. Hate casinos.

They smell like cigarettes and death, the air is cheap and full of desperation, and the majority of the people who are there thoroughly enjoying themselves are zombies (seriously, they have the blankest stares I’ve ever seen) or tracksuit-clad train wrecks. Some people might urge me to yank the stick out of me arse, but it’s just not my scene. Obviously. 

Um, back to the cardigan! Isn’t it adorable? (HOLY SHIT SANTANA JUST SLAPPED THE FUCK OUT OF FINN ON GLEE, OMG OMG) Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh, yes. Anyway, just darling. I picked it up at a Crossroads on mega-clearance for next to nothing, but it’s by a brand called POL that Modcloth sells, apparently. It reminds me of the terrible English teacher we had in the 8th grade, for she was twee and very meek and as a result, the kids would gather in the corner of her classroom and shoot craps on the floor.

Poor Miss Bell. I think that was her name, I can’t remember. It’s probably because she gave me permission to skip her class twice a week for choir practice, or because sometimes I’d get so bored I’d climb up onto the window ledge and take a nap, like a kitten. Kids brought booze into her class, too, and one time this skater kid set an anarchy symbol made out of hairspray on the floor on fire. He was a good kid, he made me a pretty sweet mix tape once. We were just so bored! God, the 8th grade. I was also in the Mathletes club, and alternated between wearing baby doll dresses and those really big “houser” break-dancing t-shirts.

Casinos and junior high. So weird. So, I broke up with my horseback riding instructor yesterday (and by default, the horse I’ve been riding all year, Dakota) and it really felt like a breakup. I was kind of a mess all evening, but I’m doing much better today. I’m either terrible at goodbyes or I greatly underestimated how attached you can get to an animal after nine months.

OK, here’s the DL on the rest of this little getup:

Cardigan: POL
Skirt: Gap
Suede Pumps: Franco Sarto
Sunglasses: Vintage
Watch: Asos
Necklace: Culp Baubles
Pearl Earrings: Banana Republic
Rose Brooch: Somewhere in Dublin, I believe. I can’t remember, but I adore it.

Halfway there to this posting daily in November business – it’s hard work!

Love,

FFAF

Welcome to Fort Funston!

It used to be a real live military fort until 1963, but now it’s mostly known for being THE place to take your dogs off-leash, and besides, it’s bloody gorgeous, isn’t it? Our New England friend was astounded by the dramatic terrain and sights of all the hang gliders preparing to take flight where we descended a bajillion stories of uneven, sandy, log-and-cable-made steps to the beach. Such a long way down, but definitely worth it.

Once again, I forgot my camera (it was a kind of unexpected detour after brunch, after all – hence the suede heels!) so these are sub par cell phone photos, courtesy of our HTC EVOs. M was determined to find dead stuff, which she did (a HUGE dead bird, piles and piles of dead crabs), so she moved on to looking for live crabs. No such luck!

Tomboy + femme footwear. Hers are Asos brogues, mine are suede Franco Sarto pumps in maybe the most perfect shade of red I’ve ever seen. M discovered that her RSQ skinny jeans are way too snug for being doused with salt water, then a hike, but they sure look cute with her plaid Alfani shirt and vintage cardigan. I paired a Calvin Klein skirt with an old camisole and denim vest, plus an antique gold rope chain necklace M got for me recently. I also love the wrap dress our friend wore – such a bright, beautiful print!

The next day we drove along the Pacific Coast HWY to get to Half Moon Bay, and we were all very intrigued when we passed this cove. It’s called Grey Whale Cove. It’s also more widely known as Devil’s Slide, and we decided to stop and explore it on the way home. It was another beach requiring quite a hike up and down many sets of wooden stairs (at least these ones are level).

Devil’s Slide is also more locally/commonly known as a particularly terrifying stretch of the 1, where people plummet to their deaths in M’s own personal worst nightmare, and terrible landslides that cause impossible road closures for days and days at a time. They’re building a tunnel, but nobody’s holding their breath because they’ve been at it for decades.

See that thing down there? It’s what remains of an old military observation station last used in WWII. You can even hike up there, and I plan to before the year ends. It’s goddamn awesome.

Lovely, no? We’re also all ignoring the creepy nudist strolling around 25 yards or so behind us. As far as I can tell from the beach’s official website, it’s not that kind of beach! No idea what this giant concrete thing is, probably some sort of unfortunate drainage malarkey, but it looked like a good place to hide a dead body so naturally I went to check it out. M made me climb down (I’d been on that top ledge at first) and having discovered zero corpses, I made my way gingerly over a rusted, broken down wire fence and ran around like a chicken with its head cut off!

Running ’round the barnyard
Fallin’ in and out of love

Poor thing’s blind as a bat
Getting up falling down getting up

My heart’s runnin’ round
Like a chicken with its head cut off

I’ve got on some Banana Republic plants (sounds better than jeggings), a fun deer print top from H&M, and a vintage sweater from IndieMart. The black canvas + brown leather boots are by Seychelles, so comfortable and I love them. 6pm has ‘em for cheap in all three color combos!

Pumpkin patch, rodeo, YES RODEO, pics coming soon! M is taking me TO THE GRAND NATIONAL RODEO tonight, surprise! They’ll be announcing Miss Grand National and it happens to be “Tough Enough to Wear Pink” night, plus cowboy mounted shooting. Can’t wait!

Love,

FFAF

E. C. Star dress. Franco Sarto wingtip pumps. Richard Chai for Target coat. Thrifted mini crossbody. Tegan & Sara scarf. I repeat, Tegan & Sara scarf. Red Velvet lipstick from Besame Cosmetics.

Today was shite. It didn’t start out that way; I crawled out of bed, wiggled into my favorite Peggy Olson dress and surprisingly sturdy, comfortable tights by Nina. M zipped me up and chattered away in bed whilst checking the stock market from her new phone, and I set off for work. A sweet colleague fetched coffees for us both when I arrived. At lunchtime, I met a friend in a toasty pub near our offices and we gossiped over grilled cheese and French dip sandwiches, and I ducked into Godiva afterward to carry out Day Two of Mission Find Outstanding Toffee. (Day One consisted of a trip to Fog City News, a lovely place where I picked up Richard H. Donnelly chocolates and the newest Gentlewoman. The latter is nearly perfect, has Inez van Lamsweerde and Chloé on the cover, the former not so much.)

It was all downhill from there. Godiva’s toffee was a joke. You’d do better to pick up a pink canister of Almond Roca! I ran into an infuriating issue at work. The old landlord still hasn’t sent us our deposit. (She still has a week or so to get it to us by CA law, but we can tell we’re probably going to have to fight her for it.)

After work, when I drove all the way out to the thrift store I’d left my phone at on Saturday, the workers were still there but the door was locked. They’d been closed for 15 minutes. My attempts to knock at the door and mime my desire to fetch my phone and only my phone went ignored, waved away; I am bad at charades, it seems they thought me either illiterate or simply stubborn (which I am, that is not the point): “WE’RE CLOSED,” the closest worker mouthed.

I remembered my fancy new phone. I googled the thrift shop. I jabbed my finger at the link to the phone number. It rang. I narrowed my eyes at the worker, standing just twelve feet away from me still at the register, focused intently on a stack of paper, watched her twitch and finally, after three rings, pick up the phone. P H E W. I helpfully volunteered a description of my phone, frantically making eye contact and forcing smiles, and suggested that it would only take her a few seconds to slide it through the mail slot or something so that I could get it back. “Yes, ma’am, we have your phone right here. It’s here. You need to come back when we’re open.”

My toffee was bad. My job vexed me. I am owed money. My data is held hostage at a thrift shop with rude workers. Bullocks.

Then, after a long and strangely soothing trip to the grocery store (maybe it had to do with huffing a fresh fistful of basil), I went home. It was warm inside. My girls greeted me; M helped me pull all the bags in from the car. Our handsome new striped armchairs had arrived, along with a great big mystery box. We were having piping hot lasagna with a loaf of garlic bread for dinner. Comfort food. I opened the mystery box. A sweet note from my friend Ali, who has recently launched a gourmet cookie company with her mom, and – heaven help us – piles and piles of her delicious creations. (More on that – and our first ever giveaway! – on Black Friday, so be sure to check back and enter to win.)

M made me giggle during this FFAF shoot out in the biting cold of our yard, she shined a flashlight on me and I fought to keep a candle lit in the wind. (“It’s supposed to be creepy,” I explained.) The moon was huge and shone eerily through the branches, which swooned and tottered around it like baby ghosts. (“It was orange and SUPER creepy before,” M explained.)

And just like that my day was right side up again. Hurrah!

Enjoy these spectacularly politically incorrect Thanksgiving pin-ups and have a dreamy, delicious holiday, everyone! We’re very much looking forward to my 90-year-old grandma’s brandy-soaked San Francisco Thanksgiving, with collard greens and pumpkin cheesecake, pop culture pumpkin pies and puppies. My mother’s given us just two assignments: an appetizer and a dazzling, festive cocktail for all to imbibe. I’m plotting something herbaceous, probably Italian, with spiced pear and sparkles. We’ll see how it goes!

This almost looks like summer! Almost. We took these at the end of the heat wave last week, when I was just beginning to feel a bit under the weather.  This dress has a criss-cross back, the tricky kind like you used to wrestle into all wrong when you were a little girl and all the swimsuits came with those cross-cross backs, you know? Confession: I still sometimes get it wrong, but I think that’s because I’m terribly impatient.

Confession No. 2: Sometimes when I’m not my usual frisky self or don’t have music to loosen me up for these FFAF shots, I look to my catalogs and magazines like Lula for posing inspiration. It feels silly but it’s better than boring y’all and myself to death! Anyway, here’s M, threatening to beat me with my own catalog. Tsk!

I am not sure what she’s grinning at so adorably up there in the sky somewhere, but it made for great photos!

When I snagged this necklace at one of those little Isla Mujeres boutiques back in April, it was because I envisioned it just like this. Set against a solid, severe backdrop or against a nice, bold, black and white print. I particularly like how the funky tattoo-influenced print clashes with the dark coral strands. The only thing I’d change about this is my nails, which are naked. They should be Jeffrey Campbell “No She Didn’t!” red, of course.

M wants to know if you like her kicks. I think you’d better! She even bought herself a hoodie in the exact same shade of green to match.

Pants: Calvin Klein
Shirt: H&M
Shoes: Etnies M. Taylor Skate Shoes

Dress: Fairground
Cardigan: Calvin Klein
Shoes: Franco Sarto
Clutch: Alice + Olivia for Payless
Sunglasses: Le Tigre

I need very badly to be a bunny in this amazing sweater:

Good evening to all. I’ve been a bit MIA due to time constraints, exhaustion and a jam-packed social calendar. Since I last posted, I’ve partied at Lush and a luxe lesbian party with dear friends, cried my face off at the Stars show, done quite a fair amount of shopping and fetched the dry cleaning, welcomed a Canadian tomboy to the San Francisco Bay Area, started a new job, celebrated Father’s Day with M and the family out of town, finished reading one book and started another.

Additionally, my new schedule is thoroughly kicking my ass, despite being tremendously worth it in absolutely every possible way. My nightly sleep has been reduced by at least one-fourth and no amount of caffeine seems to do the trick. (Plus, if anyone knows of a reputable threader in the Embarcadero or Financial districts of San Francisco, for the love of God share her with me. I scarcely have time to pick up my new order of contact lenses and new checks from the bank, let alone tend to my poor, poor eyebrows.)

Finally, M’s birthday is this Friday, so we’ve got some serious celebrating to do. Starting tomorrow night. Without our pants on, of course.

2010: NO PANTS!

Blouse: Calvin Klein
Slacks: Express Design Studio
Wingtip Pumps: Franco Sarto
Oversized Lace + Pearl Necklace: Spoiled! Boutique (Oakland)

This outfit is a stark departure from last Friday night’s black and tan (like the milkshake!) bandage dress by Bebe, but more on that later.

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.)

Dear readers, you’re in for a treat. I’m handing the blog-mic over to my dashing M, who will surely amuse you as much as, if not better than, I do. Enjoy!

Don’t let my awesome cowboy-ish outfit trick you into thinking it’s hot out here. IT IS NOT HOT. Every day for the past week, the cocktease sun will come in through our tiny tiny bedroom window and blind us while we’re trying to sleep, and all the heavy sunlight tricks us into putting on shorts or flip flops or cowboy shirts and lures us outside into the PHONY PHONY spring day. Bah! By then it’s too late to go back in and change, so here I am, acting like it’s all warm, but in reality, only 1/10 of my face was warm enough to justify this outfit.

We went on a mad shopping spree this weekend! Sometimes you wake up, not sure if you’re still drunk or not and you decide you really, really need new white underwear. Not a fleeting desire or idea, a NEED. I decided I was going to buy some white underwear. ‘Cept I’m not really known for buying a reasonable amount of anything. Not clothes, not booze, certainly not lemons! I need a whole truckload of a thing. I shit you not, I think I got about 30 new pairs of white underwear. You can’t see them in these pics, but I am wearing them! Of course, once we were in the store, the femme decided I absolutely needed this shirt — she’s already threatened sexual assault — and as you can see, the sunglasses also go quite nicely. After this photo shoot, I put on a giant christmas sweater.

Fuck you, SF sun!

I love my wife, guys. She makes me laugh. Wanna know something else? We totally sex-broke our – well, her – bespoke harness not last weekend, but the weekend before. It’s only been a year or so! Anyway, off we went first thing Saturday morning afternoon, in a homo ass panic to Mr. S (super NSFW) to see if there was anything they could do at the Sex Toy Hospital for M’s most beloved leather piece and lo! “This will just take us 15 minutes. We’ll be right back.” OMFG, I love them so, so much. Thanks to them, we only had to resort to the lowly commoner harness once. Well, a few times. But still. IT WAS REALLY A SCARY TIME FOR US, OKAY!?!

She also left out this very crucial part of our retail therapy binge on unmentionables: