Five Ghosts, Four Horsemen | July 23, 2010 | Comments (8)
Apparently, the rest of the country is on fire and the skies are trying to put them out with mediocre success, but I shan’t take up valuable white space with that sort of nonsense.
It was a very brutal Friday at work.
No, it was a very brutal Friday from the moment I woke up until, hm, champs ‘o clock.
It began with delays at my BART station (our metro of sorts), because some moron was walking around on the tracks. 30 minutes late. On the upside, there was perfectly cooked bacon when I arrived. A few harried hours later, I had a noon meeting, with food provided, but I don’t do pre-made sandwiches so lunch was actually half of a somewhat stale pastry chased by a bottle of OJ, eaten one-handed around, oh, 3PM. Of course, there’s nothing like a 3.5 offshore-centered earthquake from a high-rise building to make the afternoon exciting, not that I felt it (I was far too busy running around dealing with far less thrilling aftershocks of another sort).
It is no wonder then, that I made a beeline for Godiva after leaving the office, partly for my own sanity and partly because I’d promised my girls some treats. The smirk below, then, is directly related to A) Friday, at last and B) champagne truffles.
That, and the fact that we’ve got a 1.75L bottle of 10 -year Eagle Rare single-barrel Kentucky bourbon sitting atop the bar.
Plus, this dress is excellent and I’ve figured out that the Fekkai Marine Summer beachy wave hair stuff works much better when my hair is dry.
Dress, Calvin Klein
Scarf, Pier One ($10!)
Boots, Donald J. Pliner
Sunglasses, Kenneth Cole
Denim Jacket, Old Navy
Suede Tote, Banana Republic
Leather Earring, Idyllic4U (Brooklyn Flea)
Here’s what I’m thinking for my own personal inspiration sheet for Fall 2010 (or, like, life):
Weekend plans include, but are not limited to, the following:
What have y’all got going on? Is there anything else I’m missing, besides a massage and a good soak in a hot tub? Here, listen to this song, it’s pretty:
Edited to include this sandwich explanation: Pre-made and packaged sandwiches disgust me. I will also never, ever eat at one of those creepy, psychotic “dining in the dark” places. I must see exactly what you are putting in my probably very sparse sandwich, and I will watch you like a goddamn hawk tracking a sweet little bunny rabbit in an open field on a lovely Spring day if you are making it for me. I cannot believe that people actually consume sandwiches that have been sitting there for fuck only knows how long, with the spread or oils or whatnot soaking all into the bread and the other contents withering inside of suffocating plastic wrap. I also really loathe mayonnaise, and I still can’t quite figure out how I am friends with people who are known to eat it by the spoonful. The same is true for salads, you know, even if all of the ingredients are tidily separated from one another. Salads should be fresh. They are not fresh if they are boxed. I realize that being impossibly fussy makes me somewhat disagreeable, but I’m not quite as obnoxious as vegans or gluten-free types or people who can’t handle dairy without a big to-do, so there.
10-year Eagle Rare single-barrel Kentucky bourbon, Banana Republic, BART, butch, Calvin Klein, Donald J. Pliner, dyke, El Rio, femme, Five Ghosts, four horsemen, Frederic Fekkai Marine Summer Hair Beach Waves, gay, Godiva champagne truffles, Harry Denton's Starlight Room Sunday Drag Brunch, Idyllic4U Couture, Kenneth Cole, lesbian, lez, Mango, Old Navy, Pier One, queer, style, Target, TOMBOY
SBJ @ 9:09 PM
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