HI.

I’ve been in a Hunger Games trance for the past week or so, burning through the entire trilogy as if my life depended on it. Let me tell you how tricky it is to become so engrossed in something at the precise time of the year you’re supposed to be focused on holiday nonsense! Very tricky! I only just finished the final book, Mockingjay, earlier tonight, and I’m still in a stunned daze. The petite has only just gotten through half of the second book, and the tomboy has pledged to at least read the first one. Do you know what that means? My lips must be sealed in the comfort of my own home (for the time being, anyway) – I can’t talk about it all! It’s brutal! I have so many feelings!

We did have a really wonderful weekend, though, when my nose wasn’t deep in a book. On Friday night, M took me on a low-key secret date. She warned me beforehand – “it’s just a casual one, Jonesey, don’t go getting all fancy now!” and so I threw this outfit on. We had dinner with gorgeous vintage motorcycles floating over our heads, and antique toy train sets circling the perimeter of the entire place. They had tasty, old-fashioned sours, too!

On Saturday, we headed over the bridge and under the estuary to Alameda, where some dear friends were hosting a holiday soirée at their home. We’ve been meaning to get together for beer can chicken for months but you know how it is, and we finally got around to it!

Lord have mercy, did they ever feed us! Fresh veggies with homemade ranch, and some sort of mysterious and delicious cave-aged cheese for nibbles. Baked brie with caramelized brown sugar and soft, fresh chunk bits of baguette for scooping up the sweet, warm cheese, bacon-wrapped brussels sprouts, their incredible beer can chicken, roasted pork tenderloin, and freshly baked coconut macaroons for dessert. All the Kentucky bourbon in the world, which M sloshed into her eggnog and I with a splash of ginger ale.

It was amazing, their home is lovely and warm, and we just talked and talked until it was time to take a stroll down Christmas Tree Lane to see all the houses lit up in their holiday finest. We had the incredible good fortune to catch both the Dancing Christmas Tree Ladies and the festively lit motorcycle brigade, too! Afterward, we all had coffee or tea and a light, layered chocolate mousse before presents were opened and we parted ways. It was a fantastic evening!

Of course, we came and collapsed and stayed that way all Sunday long, watching holiday movies like The Family Stone and Love Actually, and It Happened on Fifth Avenue for good, old-timey measure, all snuggled in and nursing a small fire for hours.

Now here we are, five days ’til Christmas and just twelve until the New Year! The other day I said that parting ways with 2011 will be like saying goodbye to an old friend, though I know there are lots of you who can’t wait to kick the old bugger to the curb. 2012 is bound to one hell of an adventure for my girls and I, and I’m so excited to roll up my sleeves and get in there already.

411 on the duds:

Corduroy Skinny Jeans: Levi’s
Silk Geometric Print Blouse: Laila & Savannah
Foil “Tantra” Cardigan: Vena Cava
Studded Suede Ankle Boots: Trouvé
Patent Clutch: Alice + Olivia for Payless
Braided Necklace: Tilly’s
Earrings: Silver Crane Sterling
Bracelets: Made Her Think (cuff) and Juniper Tree (beaded)
Rings (L to R): Made Her Think, BCBG, vintage

Last night, M & I went to a party at an aviation museum and the dress code was “business casual”. I realize that one might not consider sequins or an aviator cap meeting-appropriate, per se, but we felt the leeway was acceptable given the occasion (a party). It was awesome!

Life-sized models of the very first man-powered aircraft (successful or not) were laid out in all their rudimentary glory, all the way up to Boeing cockpits from the passenger jets of today. Of course, our favorites were the helicopters and airplanes from the 1940s and 1950s, and they had these amazing, fancily clad mannequins of yesteryear for a more genuine effect. Adorable.

We crashed every last flight simulator we got into – including an old hovercraft prototype – and it was just a lot of silly fun. Of course, M wore her vintage wings and leather aviator cap. (Poor thing fully expected to get a ride in a plane and I wanted to, too, alas.) Yes, in that photo above we are “flying”.

It was amazing to see miniatures of futuristic models, too, like the vertical landing and takeoff joint heavy lift rotorcraft:

In other news , holy macaroni and cheese, kittens, I got bangs! Soft, whispery, no-biggie bangs. I haven’t had truly serious bangs since early 2007, and they were VERY serious:

In short, too hard. Too much work, a bitch to keep up, grow out, etc. I loved them, but they totally traumatized me. I am not a girl who blow dries her hair. Curlers, sure. Curling irons I have down to a perfect science, but bangs this serious require rigorous styling and training almost constantly, which I am not for at this time. (Maybe later, though. I’m seriously considering a bob in the future. OK, jaw-length. Like in 2004, but modified for 2010.)

Let’s hope these are a bit easier to manage. I am rather fond of them!

Confession: Here is my outfit for the local fashion show. Guess what? NOT GOOD FOR KNEELING IN THE PHOTOG PIT TO TAKE PHOTOS OF THE MODDLES, GUYZ. Also? Why was I the only one in the photog pit not just in a dress, but FEMALE?!?! Plus, I held hands with a woman on stilts, clad in a flaming red costume with so many sequins. She insisted. There were also people roller skating in head-to-toe spandex with little flashing light tubes twisted around every inch. It was like someone threw up Burning Man into a giant convention center, right into the khaki laps of its attendees. Like, there was actual fire and I didn’t like it, y’all. ACTUAL FIRE FLAMING FIERY HOT AND I WAS YAAAAAWWWWWWWNNNNNNNN. So bored.

The fashion part was stellar, for the most part, like red carpet, hand-beaded Bollywood madness. I wanted to snatch every dreamy tunic off those skinny models and wear them scandalously, without pants, and sky high heels. Plus, I got to pop backstage and meet the designer.

Oh, and I was forced to drink a Jack and coke (I know) and now plan to NEVER go out to one of these things without at least two bottles of mini-booze in my bag. To be on the safe side. Like a grown-up version of a Girl Scout.

PS. M took these photos of me. Didn’t she do a really, really good job? Isn’t the one with two faces awesomely creepy?

PPS. I love love love my new haircut. It is exactly what I wanted and I got it all wavy like this just by scrunching. SCRUNCH.

Femme Confession: I’m in love with lots of things this weekend. I’m in love with my “rich girl red” manicure and pedicure. I’m in love with all-girl roller derby. I’m in love with my now-dead birdie ring (it didn’t make it past the post-roller derby dancing at The Cat Club). I’m in love with my tomboy and the pretty loverbird pendant my petite made me for Mother’s Day and the fancy new tripod that M got for me. I’m in love with the fiery roses they gave me and with Selby and Sarah for being such fabulous friends. I’m in love with San Francisco, as ever. I’m in love with the fact that M & I got to sip champs at the roller derby, of all places! Bonus on an already spectacular weekend chockfull of awesome. Here’s the tomboy…

Tomboy Confession: Volcom pinstripe slacks, English Laundry shirt (thoroughly inspected by the fem for quality of stitches), Banana Republic jacket, cool captain hat bought from The Hat Guys after some drunken expedition, riding BART back home (she is referring to the time some hipster douche stole her awesome jacket with our keys in it from the Rickshaw in…2006? We rang up a friend of mine and crashed at her house, watched Pride & Prejudice (BBC, of course) half-naked with her roommates shushing us until nearly dawn. The next morning we did a joint walk of indignant shamelessness to BART to get back home to our spare keys. It was pretty awesome, considering the circumstances). Kenneth Cole boots. True story: the guy who works at the liquor store on Folsom street  has the same hat as me! We took a picture together! Hilarity. Roller Derby is fucking awesome! You want to go to there!

When: Friday, Feb. 27th, 2009.

What: Ivory dress by M by Madonna for H&M, vintage fur coat. Bra and panty set by Elle Macpherson. (I am in love with her website. The photographs with all the goosebumps and dimples and realness of yes, very trim women, but still more real women than we are used to seeing in ads, especially in lingerie ads, delights me.) Watch, Guess. Earrings from Juniper Tree. Rings, vintage and Laundry by Shelli Segal.

Scent: The very elegant Tubéreuse Criminelle by Serge Lutens, with notes of tuberose, jasmine, orange blossom, hyacinth, nutmeg, clove, styrax, musk and vanilla, from the exclusive range. Let me say this first: When M & I were married at San Francisco City Hall, it was in a cloud of giddy-yet-somber love reverberating through the rotunda and gently raining down tuberose, from my bouquet. I can’t help but sink fondly into this fragrance, even it comes howling like the devil out of the decant. Within moments it stops shrieking like a newborn from the womb and just nestles in, and if angels existed the soft folding of their wings to kneel down and gaze into the eyes of some broken creature with love so abstractly vast it melted your brain to even contemplate it, well, the sound of them would smell like this.

People love or hate this. They are so put off by its vulgar beginnings that they abandon it, or some version of tuberose so watered down it scarcely resembles the real thing has blinded them to the beauty of Criminelle. Some people think it’s mysterious, they marvel at its depth, its can’t-put-my-finger-on-it-ness. Some think it packs sexual power.

I love Criminelle because it tells the truth. Perfect. In every way.

Confession: I promised assorted FFAF readers that I’d post a blog with this dress and the fur, albeit not necessarily together. With the recent days of still chilly air veiled with clear blue skies and the faint stirrings of Spring, I knew my days were numbered where the fur is concerned. (Not that we really ever have fur-worthy days out here, I know you East Coast kittens are rolling your eyes at me so hard they’re loud as eight balls cracking against corner pockets.) So I paired the two, experimented with some trickery in Picasa and Voila!

When: Sunday, Dec. 21st, 2008.

What: Skinny pants from Laundry by Shelli Segal, wool turtleneck with suede elbow and shoulder patches by Ralph Lauren Rugby, vintage rabbit fur collar and coat by Blanc Noir. Wool beret from H&M, boots by Charles David. Pretty earrings from Juniper Tree in Berkeley, courtesy of the debonair tomboy.

Scent(s): Burberry London for Men smells divine on me. It’s very woodsy and spicy, like mulled wine and kindling, but it dries with a soft, sweet mist over all of that. Clearly, they only struggle with scents for women, because I love this. I also love port, and that’s one of the key notes: Bergamot, Lavender, Cinnamon Leaves, Black Pepper, Mimosa, Leather, Port Wine, Guaiac Wood, Oakmoss, Tobacco, Opopanax.

Kenzo’s Flower is also pretty nice. It begins almost too strong – I think it’s the rose and violet, though the violet note is definitely true and well-done – and then dries down into something non-offensive and less linear, but it’s neither so dreamy nor sophisticated enough to be very special. Fans of violet (and vanilla, for that matter) should definitely try this, though! The notes are: Wild Hawthorne, Bulgarian Rose, Parma Violet, Cassia, Hedione, Cyclosal, Opoponax, White Musk, Vanilla.

Confession: First, because it’s amusing and might benefit some of you, a graphic instruction on how to walk in heels, courtesy of the SF Chronicle article:

On a truly awful note, there are just 3 towns, about a dozen exits or a 10-15 minute drive (depending on traffic) between this femme and Richmond, CA. Why do we care about Richmond? Well, earlier today I read an incredibly disturbing article about a lesbian, about my age, who was brutally gang-raped there earlier this month. I was so angry, literally shaking as I read the article, and so very sad for her. I hope they find those goddamn sons of bitches FAST, and I hope I get a phone call taking me up on my offer to personally shoot each of them point-blank in the face. Mercy is a terrible waste when it comes to dealing with rapists, in my opinion. The article has more details on the hate crime aspect, as well as the suspects.

It’s fucking awful and I really don’t even know what to say; I hope in time she’s less terrorized by what’s been done to her and that ultimately her happiness, health and will aren’t forever blurred or tainted by it. Those are lofty things to wish for a stranger, but I’m wishing them regardless. That poor woman.

I HAD TO EDIT MY PRETTY VINTAGE STRIPED ONE-PIECE OUT OF THIS B/C SOME PERVERT FUCKER KEPT LOOKING AT IT. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. DIAF, ASSHOLE.

When (Day): Thursday, July 31st, 2008.

What: Black striped one-piece, vintage. Dark green and bronze peep-toe pumps from Carlos by Carlos Santana. Dress from Mango, thrifted pink corduroy bow belt, California Girl flip-flops in khaki. Red DIY headband from Charles Chocolates.

Confession: M said that this swimsuit made me look like one of those old-fashioned lollipops. Naturally, I wasn’t going to argue. (Gay! And yes, I put heels on for the first photos. So?)

When (Night): Thursday, July 31st, 2008.

What: Red cocktail dress by Fire. Black men’s vest, vintage. Linea Paolo flats in red and black patent leather. Black onyx pendant, vintage. Studded leather bracelet from the Dollywood leather shop, mixed silver chain bracelet from Juniper Tree.

Confession: I honestly don’t believe that I have ever, prior to this night, gone “out” wearing flats. The truth is, up until about two years ago I still refused to get on the goddamn flat train (cue that one Cure song, you know the one), but then I met a pair of black Dolce Vita ballet flats made of buttery black leather, and I permitted myself to slowly acquire a pair every six months or so. M hated them right off the bat. The puppy hates them. He eats them if I’m not careful to put them away – I can leave my heels out for days and he won’t touch them! Now, I think I’ve got at least four pairs to skip around in.