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Shall we say the ball is in your court? (Props to anyone as ridiculous as me who recognizes these lyrics.)

Hi! Criminy, these photos are from MAY. I never got around to posting them. They’re pre-UK, pre-hair painting, pre-surfing lessons. I guess you can say they kind of represent the beginning of summer. This isn’t my real tennis outfit. My real tennis outfit consisted of a wee black tennis skirt and a bloody Gossip t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. You see, I don’t normally play tennis in a fancy Marc Jacobs dress and heels – I know that might be shocking news, but it’s true. We were just having some fun.

Let’s do lists! Here are the top 5 albums I listened to this summer:

1. Beirut – The Rip Tide
2. Wild Flag – Wild Flag
3. Arctic Monkeys – Suck It And See
4. The Low Anthem – Smart Flesh
5. Camera Obscura – Underachievers Please Try Harder (an oldie but summer-lovin’ goodie)

Honorable mention to Adele’s 21, which took awhile to grow on me.

Let’s see, what else can we make lists about? Hm…okay, how about latest beauty obsessions? Ooh, femme stuff.

1. Dr. Jart Water Fuse Beauty Balm SPF 25 PA. Believe the hype, kittens. This shit is glowy as fuck! I love it.
2. Heat-free curls. Watch and learn. (Also, practice makes perfect.)
3. OCC lip tar. Cheap and made of gay fairy m a g i c.
4. Guerlain’s Meteorite Pearls. Um, maybe I have these in every shade. You know how sometimes you just need to splurge your face off on something completely unnecessary and indulgent and pretty? THIS.
5. Incoco Design Manicures. Move over, Sally Hansen, these folks have one called FEMME FATALE.

Last five books I’ve read this summer:

1. Light Boxes by Shane Jones. Short but truly boundless with gorgeous imagery, compared to Richard Brautigan’s In Watermelon Sugar (1968). 
2. Dusk & Other Stories by James Salter. I adore Salter’s way with a sentence. It’s impossible not to submit to them.
3. Light Years by James Salter. The first half of this was exquisite, I thought, but the latter half drained me of my will to breathe. If nothing else, you’ll never look at another cream-oatmeal-wheat colored sweater the same way. I’m looking forward to picking up the notoriously filthy A Sport and a Pastime ASAP.
4. A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. I hated this. M hated it so much she refused to finish it. I think I would have hated it anyway, but reading Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart (which I also mostly loathed – a shame because it so intrigued me sitting on a Powell’s stack in Portland last summer, and a very helpful lesbian at Pendragon in Oakland went to a lot of trouble to find it for me earlier this year) immediately before picking this up surely didn’t help. The fact that this is a short story pile-up of some previously published work made it really easy for me to dismiss this. (Thanks for that tip, Swampwalker!)
5. Sub Rosa by Amber Dawn. In retrospect, my initial thoughts on this book were overly harsh. The subject matter is unorthodox enough on its own, but the world she creates for her characters is even more so, and the juxtaposition of the two makes it a very special, raw, modern day Grimm’s fairy tale.

Next five books on my list :

1. The Old Romantic by Louise Dean. So far it’s very mean and very delightful.
2. Squirrel Meets Chipmunk by David Sedaris. Twee little illustrations, vulgar as all get-out.
3. Anthropology Of An American Girl by Hilary Thayer Hamann. Self-published coming-of-age novel and love story.
4. The London Train by Tessa Hadley. British fiction. Not sure what to expect!
5. If You Have to Cry, Go Outside: And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You by Kelly Cutrone. Bit of a departure, but came highly recommended by my femme posse.

That’s it for now, y’all. Anyone who wants to know, as I said it’s a Marc Jacobs dress, a pair of fun little Not Rated shoes that scream pin-up, and a vintage Fred Perry racket. The white shades are Elle, I cut up these red ribbons for my hair from a box of chocolates, and I can’t recall where the earrings are from (and it’s REALLY going to bother me).

Love,

FFAF

PS. Check out my new Tumblr – it’s friendly and a repository of all the eye candy I want to post here, but don’t: http://fitforafemme.tumblr.com/

Welcome, dear readers, to Trinity College Dublin! Its story begins all the way back in 1592, incredibly, and is the oldest university in Ireland. It has over 16,000 students and is #52 in the world’s Top 100 universities. It’s really, really gorgeous. We were very lucky to be escorted around the 51-acre campus by a generous friend who is currently there working on her PhD.

Two marvelous things are at Trinity College and sadly, neither permits photography. Those are the Old Library and the Book of Kells Exhibition. The former is referred to as the Long Room and was built in 1712, is over 200 feet long and quite narrow, and very grand and lovely. Of course, it contains the most ancient and rare books – all of which, I think, must be handled with gloves and special care, and only after one has acquired permission to do so.

Here’s a photo I’ve found to give you an idea of how magnificent it is:

Photo courtesy of Getty Images

Photo courtesy of The Modern Day Atelier

And even then, it absolutely fails to do the beauty of the place any real justice. Trust me.

The Book of Kells shan’t be bastardized with a sad Google search, because it’s much too extraordinary for that. It’s one of the world’s oldest books, experts put it around 800 A.D., and was created by Celtic monks. Though I’m sure many find it inspiring due to its religious nature – it contains the four Gospels in Latin and has over 500,000 visitors every year – I was spellbound by its remarkable age and lustre of the script, decoration and scenes. You must see it with your own eyes! It’s considered a national treasure in Ireland.

Back to the famous Campanile in the quad, or the Library Square, of Trinity. The four corners halfway up each have a statue to represent Divinity, Science, Medicine and Law. There’s an amusing superstition for students – if you walk under the tower, you’ll fail your exams and won’t graduate! It’s taken very seriously.

M chatting with a lovely local femme – she happens to the fiance of our friend at Trinity, and was a fabulous tour guide as well (she should be, she too went to school there)!

They’re both really fantastic people, and we were incredibly happy to spend so much time with them in Dublin! They took us to an amazing dinner with fabulous cocktails, a mind-blowing drag show at one of Dublin’s most popular gay bars, gave us the VIP tour of Trinity College and hung out with us at the Old Jameson Distillery. Not to mention the super helpful (seriously, I do not know what we would have done without it), custom Google map of all the best places to shop, eat, drink and visit in Dublin. Thanks again, you two! XO!

After the library, this damn sphere is for sure my favorite. It’s by an Italian sculptor, Arnaldo Pomodoro, and his series of these – “Sphere Within Sphere” – are in places around the world. Even San Francisco’s de Young has one in the sculpture garden, but not quite so grand (and shiny)! as this.

Also, this conversation was funny:

“That sphere is amazing. How awesome it would be if it could spin around!”
“Oh, it spins.” (You have to imagine the soft, pretty Irish accent.)
“WHUT. No way. Lies.” (And then my bossy American one.)
“It does! I’ll show you!”

Cue to the delicate femme creature you see above marching right over to the sphere in her fancy outfit and giving it the old heave-ho! A gal after my own heart, she got that sucker spinning gently ’round and ’round, and we were delighted! Onlookers must have thought we were insane.

TA-DA!

Since our tour of the UK and Ireland was organized solely around booze (London Dry gin, scotch and Jameson/Guinness), it’s only fitting that we return to the original theme here. Our new friends agreed to come along with us to tour the Old Jameson Distillery in Dublin, just over the Liffey from where we were staying, on our last day in Ireland.

We showed up and kind of just marveled at the slick old-meets-new feel of the place. Located in Smithfield at the Bow Street Distillery since 1780, you walk through the front and are faced with an enormous historical copper pot still, but enter the museum and visitor’s center where it’s all gorgeous exposed beams and brick, very open and spacious, with a massive bar in the corner and see-through glass floors – which give a unique glimpse into the belly of the distillery beast beneath your feet!

Even though actual production now takes place in Midleton Distillery in Cork, the original Dublin distillery has been painstakingly restored to give folks a look at what it was like when Bow Street was an operating distillery, pumping out an impressive one million gallons of whiskey annually at the turn of the 19th century.

Fun fact: Vatting (or blending) still happens in Dublin!

We bought our tickets and went upstairs to the restaurant for a quick nibble and some refreshment, and next thing we knew it was our turn! The tour begins in a little theater, where you get a bit of history about Mr. Jameson  and whiskey in general, and how it differs from other varieties around the world. It’s here where the guide selects a lucky few for a special post-tour tasting, and guess who was picked in our group? Of course (and absolutely as it should be), it was M!

An awesome start.

After the short film, we were guided through a series of fascinating rooms depicting scenes from the seven stages of whiskey making, from malting to milling and maturation. Many featured hands-on pieces from the old distillery, others adorably staged miniatures of what it once looked like, with tiny workers and menacing cats lurking in corners and everything!

It was a great tour that moved at a nice, brisk pace, and it felt just as appropriate and entertaining for newcomers to whiskey as to aficionados. We definitely recommend it. Can’t wait to return to Ireland to visit the one in Cork…

I’m wearing a dress from Zara with an H&M belt and my vintage brogues. M’s wearing H&M shorts with a vintage cardigan layered over a plain white dress shirt and a striped cotton t-shirt also from H&M, and her Aldo shoes. Can you spot the pin on her cardigan? This quirky older gentleman at a vintage shop made them – they’re wee figurines of football (soccer) players, and as soon as she saw them she had to have one!

Wrapping up Edinburgh with a tour of – what else? – the famed castle. It was really magical. We spent hours just wandering around, soaking up the incredible history and completely foreign architecture. In addition to housing the Scottish National War Memorial (that was probably our very favorite part) and National War Museum of Scotland, it also contains Edinburgh’s oldest surviving building, early 12th century St. Margaret’s Chapel.

Fun with cannons! Contrary to how it may look, we were there on a fairly crowded day! For the most part it wasn’t bad at all, but in some popular attractions, like the Stone of Destiny and Honours of Scotland, the lines got long and moved slowly. All to glimpse the crown jewels, sceptre and sword, which date back to the 1400s and 1500s, and the stone upon which Macbeth’s stepson sat when he was proclaimed King of Scots in 1057! Definitely worth it. The reason you’re not seeing more photos of that sort of thing is because often photography was prohibited (not that that stopped some tourists, which horrified us!).

Some well-behaved interior shots. I wanted to take a break and thank y’all, from the very bottom of my heart, for all of your kind, supportive, infinitely wise advice for Violet. You’re truly amazing!

It’s not Buckingham, but even the Edinburgh Castle has a changing of the guards! It’s a lot more low key and folks just kind of cluster around to look on and it’s very officious and whatnot.

It wouldn’t be fair to leave Scotland with at least a few of these silly tourist shots, would it? Nah. I’m not sure what you call these little holes in the castle walls for looking or shooting or dumping things through, but M squished herself into one. It was a long way down! Let’s all be glad she didn’t fall out. (The flask was in her pocket.) KIDDING, KIDDOS. I’m just kidding.

I poked my little head through one at M’s insistence, and she stuck hers through one to take that picture up there. Cheeky! I don’t know if it even needs mentioning, but I will say whether we were strolling around hand-in-hand in the castle, down the streets, or nuzzling in bars or restaurants, nobody batted an eye at the affectionate lesbian couple. We didn’t expect anyone to, but it’s always nice to know that’s the case in practice. In case anyone was wondering.

Some lovely scenic shots of Edinburgh’s Old and New Towns, as well as the Firth of Forth out there in the distance. And below, some more goofy, silly parting shots. Hope you enjoyed them!

For the record, I’m wearing my vintage shoes with Asos trousers, a ruffled tank from H&M, and a French Connection for SEARS jacket. The sparkly necklace is from Banana Republic.  The tomboy’s wearing a vintage cardigan with Zara trousers and Aldo shoes, and her Dior Homme eyeglasses.

That’s it, then! Off to Dublin next!

Cheers,

FFAF

I’m rallying the power of collective femme realness to help out a dear reader!

Violet (not her real name, but it’s my favorite fake name) wrote to me a little while ago. My experience as a femme has been quite different from hers, so I didn’t feel equipped to give her very specific advice. I knew, however, that there are probably lots of you out there who have overcome or currently struggle with similar issues, and wouldn’t hesitate to provide some support in the comments. Read her query below…

How do you deal with criticism against your sexuality?

Violet writes: “I’m 18 and awkwardly came out to my parents a year and a half ago and ever since I’ve been ridiculously careful with what I disclose to my friends and family. Unfortunately, my family and I moved away from my liberal home-city abroad into a disgustingly well-manicured and subtlety corrupt society in the US two years ago…I was nervous that my friends parents, teachers and fellow schoolmates would…treat me differently.

If you’re gay here, you keep it a secret. That’s just how it works. No one wants to hear about it, talk about it or even acknowledge it. I can’t wait to get out of here next year, but I also know that it’s not the last time in life I will have to deal with this kind of treatment. I’m feminine as well and sometimes when I’ve told people that I’m gay they just look at me like I’m lying straight to their face/am going through a phase and they pity me. I honestly don’t know what to do and would like to know how you’ve done.”

Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact that my knee-jerk response to this would be to slap someone silly. (Or, more likely, to cut them off coldly for evermore and never look back.) Not the healthiest responses, are they? That’s where y’all come in!

Violet needs some tools that go beyond an It Gets Better campaign, stuff she can use in her day-to-day interactions with family, peers and friends that will help her set boundaries and assert her femme-ness without necessarily burning bridges.

Please, please, please spend a moment in the comments to weigh in!

Book Club Meeting: Light Years by James Salter

Thrifted “Stuart Hall” Blazer
Vintage shirt, Pretty Penny
James Jeans (which I really ought to have cuffed, just once)
Dolce Vita platform mules
Vintage Dooney & Bourke bag
Beaded wooden necklace, India
Bear tooth necklace, Mariele Ivy

Tapas joint, just off the Royal Mile.

We found a tapas restaurant in Edinburgh. Our expectations were low, the reviews were high: we’d hoped to meet somewhere in the middle and fell just short of that, alas. The cheese plate was pretty delicious, and the bottle of cava we ordered was very fine, so that was that. This was all in the moments just before heading to St. Giles’ for our super spooky and haunted underground vaults and cemetery walking tour at night, in Old Town.

Inside Edinburgh’s sordid underground vaults, on the “Double Dead” tour.

That dress came from one of London’s pop-up vintage shops in the Old Truman Brewery. It’s the most beautiful, buttery yellow, with pleats all over, including the fluttery sleeves. I topped it off with a snazzy little jacket, some tights and me good walking brogues, and thank goodness as the tour guide kept up quite the pace through all that cobblestone and ancient, slippery vault flooring and uneven cemetery terrain. He wore this great massive leather jacket like a Matrix character that flapped and flourished all over the place, and he told wonderfully spooky stories but most of all he gave us an earful about the history of everything, especially the macabre, awful bits, and he only winked when we took turns taking sips from the flask!

Edinburgh at night.

It was fantastic. M was so creeped out, she couldn’t stand it. There are bats, it’s creepy, it’s dripping everywhere, we’ll catch disease, somebody’s going to fall or get left behind, thousands of people have been murdered here, it smells, the tomboy whined, while I ignored her completely, giddy and wide-eyed with the cheesiness and creepiness of it all. I wished we would get left behind so that we could wander around unsupervised, totally alone, and terrified. I’d have done it in a heartbeat if I thought we’d have gotten away with it.

I was sad when we resurfaced on city streets, but then we got to the pitch-black cemetery of infinite wrongdoings and gruesome atrocities, and if it weren’t for the drunk roving gangs lurking in the corners, I’d have hidden M & I in a crypt somewhere until it was empty, and then we would have wandered around that unsupervised, totally alone, and terrified. True to the stories and warnings we received on the tour, we both found ourselves with inexplicable bruises a few days later, in Dublin. S P O O K Y.

Forsyth’s Tea, the next day.

Onto more civilized things, like a proper afternoon tea. Forsyth’s Tea is just near the World’s End Close, my favorite, and where we slow-danced for awhile humming Dance Me to the End of Love by Leonard Cohen as it began to rain. Everything was kind of that lovely organized chaos, and the shortbread was divine and the tea was warming and perfect, and a light rain turned into a true downpour that we all, including the sweet little old Scottish ladies doing their embroidery the next table over, murmured over, shaking our heads.

It’s definitely one of the top ten places I’d lock myself in to die if there was some kind of zombie attack, you know?

Hot-cha-cha!

Speaking of zombie attacks and back to less civilized things, THESE GUYS! They are awesome and unlike American men, who shrink like jaundiced babies away from my violent tendencies, they did not hesitate in handing over a gun and letting me flail it around like a madwoman in a public place with children very nearby. Brilliant! (OK, that one guy looks a bit concerned, but who puts their mouth that close to a gun, anyway? Fool.)

Elevator Love Letter

That’s all for now! The castle’s next! And a book club outfit! Pie! Whee!

Love,

FFAF

I’ve been dying to post this little t-shirt dress since I picked it up at Old Spitalfields market in London. It’s got lots of wee kittens and mice all over it, and it’s the nicest shade of blue. The print is what snagged me, of course, but it turns out to be a versatile little daytime number, great on a sunny day or over thick leggings with a cardigan or lightweight jacket for cooler weather.

These were taken in a little corner of our massive living room, beside a little window outside of which is our persnickety little lemon tree. The typewriter has been on here before, but the wonderful glass cabinet it sits upon hasn’t, I don’t think. It’s antique, along with the lovely green lamp – we found a pair of them and outfitted them with some simple, neutral lampshades (which are a hair too small I think, to be honest). I love this cabinet. We bought it from a dear translady in Noe Valley, she had piles and piles of gorgeous clothes and knick-knacks and accessories, but we ended up with a pile of queer books and two pieces of furniture!

Oh, Bird. He gets so very curious whenever there’s a FFAF in progress and he’s nearby. Nosy adorable bastard! As with many outfits, the accessories are really what make it: vintage Dooney & Bourke bag and slip-on dress shoes, a necklace by House of Harlow 1960, piles of bracelets and a braided leather belt to give the dress a bit of shape.

Let’s not forget the bold pink pout, courtesy of OCC’s magical lip tar in Strumpet! (I also have Grandma and Strutter and it’s definitely sweet, fancy love.)

We’ve got quite the three-day weekend ahead of us (and it’s only Wednesday). Somebody dapper from Can I Help You, Sir? is coming to town and good times will be had. There’s Mango for daytime dancing and margaritas, weather and earthquakes willing, dinner at Asia SF, a leisurely day trip into the wine country and it would be remiss of me to leave out UFC 134: Silva vs. Okami, which we’ll be postponing to Sunday for a little fight party get-together.

What have y’all got planned? East Coasters, be safe with that nasty mistress, Irene, on your tails – I know there are a lot of you out there, and we’re sending our love and well wishes.

Love,

FFAF