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The other day we got into my car and realized I’d taken in all of my decent CDs and we didn’t have the iPod on hand, either. I glanced fretfully down at a book of CDs on the floor of the passenger side, filled mostly with Ani DiFranco, Bjork, Cowboy Junkies, The Cranberries, Massive Attack, Mazzy Star, Sarah Mclachlan, Tori Amos, etc.

It was basically the Big Lesbian CD Book of Shame & Processing, and/or Cry Sex circa forever ago, and I warned M about this in advance. There was a reason it was being kicked around on the filthy floor of my car. (I haven’t washed my car in, like, 2.5 years or something obscene like that. I digress.)

She picked it up anyway, trying not to gag at the first 3/4 worth of CDs. Toward the back were some random musical soundtracks and whatnot and she excitedly yanked one out of its plastic sleeve. “What’s that?” I asked, and she shoved it into the CD player. “I dunno, you wrote ‘fancy French femmes’ on it in Sharpie” which sounds just like something I’d do – not really helpful and only vaguely informative.

It started playing and I thought I heard The Doors, so I wrinkled my nose up and skipped forward a few tracks, at which point it began to sound like hot drunk French girls stumbling their way through covers of classic American rock ‘n roll at 3AM karaoke! It was so weird. I had no recollection of ever hearing any of it.

M looked just as confused/delighted. “What, were you dating someone French when you burned this CD?” she joked, and then we both looked at each other and giggled, because chances are I probably had been. Happily, we kept on driving, windows down and crazy French ladies crooning up.

She’s lucky she wasn’t getting an earful of Comme à la radio!

This outfit was thrown together for the new queer ladies night at Lime, about which I have nothing very nice to say, so I’ll just stop now!

Dress: Ruby Rox (I had to throw it away last night; it was pilling! So sad, it was comfy.)
Scarf: While it has got ponies and old-timey things on it, it’s not vintage, I don’t think. I’ll have to dig it up and look.
Terra Cotta Corset-Belt-Suspender Thing: Etsy
Belt w/ Pouch: Modcloth
Boots: Lamica
Leather: Zara

Oh, lookie! The what and when are noted! All that’s left is the confession, and scent, if applicable. Have I done Parfumerie Generale’s Querelle? No? Well, today is just as good a day as any. Here are the notes: citruses, Iranian black caraway, myrrh, cinnamon, Haittian vetiver, incense, oakmoss, and ambergris. Some consider this to be an evil scent. Some consider it an haute couture scent. It is complex and intimidating and all day long (you can ask M) it would jump out at me out of nowhere, seemingly, and I would feel as though someone was challenging me to a fight. Delicious. Absolutely fucking spectacular. It is violent, it is dirty, it is deeply unnerving. I absolutely love it. The best part? My other sniffs fiend friend unloaded it on me because she loathed it so (she says it smelled like “vetiver ass” on her) – on me, she truly appreciates it.

(Oh, and this is for Jen: We had Caesar salad bib lettuce cups, mini burgers with white cheddar, beef tartare with spicy Thai red curry, kaffir lime oil, sesame crackers, lamb chops and very, very spicy pommes frites for dinner at Lime tonight. So good. Also? Eight dessert “bites” as follows: three mocha creme brulee cups, two dark chocolate-dipped cheesecake pops, one each of the strawberry cream, brownie a la mode and red velvet baby cupcake.)

When: Saturday, July 26th, 2008.

Femme What: Black cocktail dress by Fire, black lace and pearl necklace from Spoiled! on Broadway, pink snake skin sandals by Max Studio, creamy vintage cut-out belt and wooden bangle bracelet.

Also, I apologize that my shoes are in none of these photos, but they are exactly like the ones pictured below, but in a frothy pink snakeskin instead.

Femme Confession: How many mimosas can one kitten drink during brunch? 84,000. That’s how many. I also bossed the bartender into adding champagne to one of their signature guava cocktails, to make a sort of guava French 75, and it was fucking spectacular. In full view of our company at the table, M grabbed my tits multiple times, citing the non-fact that I was “flirting with her” and I apologize publicly for that, but do at least thank your lucky stars you weren’t subjected to her hand up my dress at Mango (a tea dance with salsa and hip-hop music for lesbots at El Rio in SF). Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Tomboy What: Brown linen pants from Banana Republic, Ralph Lauren Chaps shirt, plaid brown Aldo shoes. And a brown Guess watch the femme gave me. Mimosas courtesy of Lime.

Tomboy Confession: Hello, brunch! Anyplace that is willing to give you bottomless mimosas for $6 deserves a medal of honor, or at least a remedial arithmetic lesson. Seriously, Lime, you are bad at math, but we love you for that! I ordered huevos rancheros, but I got this really interesting set of white testes with runny yolk inside on a bed of black beans, with guacamole and salsa slathered on top. They meant THAT kind of huevos. OK! Lesson learned! Although the ambiance “music” made me slightly nauseous (at least 3 different Britney Spears songs played within a mere hour-long period, which is too much for any person with unwaxed body hair to bear), the eye-lock with the endless champagne-seas kept me focused on what was really important: jogging the liver in preparation for outdoor drinking and dancing.