fitforafemme.com

CONFESSION: The John Hughes Club Soundtrack Night at New Wave City was totally radical. It seemed like all of my friends showed up or came with, and we all ended up smashed together on the dance floor doing the twist while the respective scene from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off played on three screens on all sides of us. I taught H how to do the Molly Ringwald dance (oh, she’ll come and tell y’all all about it), my outfit was superfun and a truly fantastic time was had by all and we went buckwild when Gang Of Four’s Damaged Goods came on.  We spent all day Sunday recovering at a glacial and pleasant pace, with football, snacks and a big pile of fashion magazines. Such a great weekend. You guys should all come dancing with us sooner or later. You won’t regret it!

Until then, enjoy:

CONFESSION: One of my favorite San Francisco quotes is this one, One day if I do go to heaven I’ll look around and say, ‘It ain’t bad, but it ain’t San Francisco’. Oh, to be here. Quotes about San Francisco are always love letters, lavish or gritty, meandering or ravenous, but that’s one of my favorites. On Saturday night, after a very long day of chauffeuring one of M’s old MIT classmates and his lovely wife around our fair and fickle city for their new home, we discovered we were bring sprinkled upon. It was, well…spittle from the sky, basically, but in July. It brought with it a double rainbow (like the ice cream!) and the sweetest fresh rain smell on our sweet little block, which is greener than most.

I am happy to report that they got the flat they wanted best – they sign the lease tonight and are making a cross-country move from New York City to San Francisco this August. It was actually super fun to check out some of the places we had to pass up that wouldn’t take pets! As a thanks, they took us to dinner at Sinbad’s, an old-fashioned, super romantic seafood restaurant situated right on Pier II, adjacent to The Slanted Door. Watching night tuck the last bit of twilight away was gorgeous, especially with the Bay Bridge looking right over our shoulders. I got lost in wistfulness just looking at it…I knew I’d miss that drive over the water, heading into San Francisco, in some ways just as special as being a part of it.

Also, we bought a very dreamy couch from Pier 1. Praise Dolly.

Here’s another bit about San Francisco-as-heaven, one of the best parts from HBO’s Angels In America (though I’d do very bad things in order to see it onstage, in a heartbeat):

Roy Cohn: [under the impression that Belize is the Angel of Death] Can I ask you something, sir?
Belize: [going along with it] “Sir”?
Roy Cohn: What’s it like? After?
Belize: After…?
Roy Cohn: This misery ends?
Belize: Hell or heaven?
Roy Cohn: …heh…
Belize: Like San Francisco.
Roy Cohn: A city! Good! I was worried… it’d be a garden. I hate that shit.
Belize: Mmmm. Big city. Overgrown with weeds, but flowering weeds. On every corner a wrecking crew and something new and crooked going up catty corner to that. Windows missing in every edifice like broken teeth, gritty wind, and a gray high sky full of ravens.
Roy Cohn: Isaiah.
Belize: Prophet birds, Roy. Piles of trash, but lapidary like rubies and obsidian, and diamond-colored cowspit streamers in the wind. And voting booths. And everyone in Balenciaga gowns with red corsages, and big dance palaces full of music and lights and racial impurity and gender confusion. And all the deities are creole, mulatto, brown as the mouths of rivers. Race, taste and history finally overcome. And you ain’t there.
Roy Cohn: And Heaven?
Belize: That was Heaven, Roy.
Roy Cohn: The fuck it was!

CONFESSION: Although this outfit is from Monday, technically, it’s been a fantastic Wednesday. I had a great meeting this morning, all of my moving errands were a breeze (pleasant, really) – the move, by the by, is on schedule and going well – and there are bottles of cava chilling in the fridge, waiting for my baby to come home from work. By this time next week, she’ll be home a whole hour earlier than usual! This, my friends, is why we’re making the jump across the bay. New Wave City is having Brit Night this Saturday, the weather is still gorgeous and my heart is happy and cheerful and full of gratitude.

CONFESSION: Goodness gracious, I really hope y’all like the new and greatly improved Fit For A Femme! We’ve got our own URL, our own totally original design with artwork by yours truly and all things technical and magical by M. True, I did some coding but the truly heavy lifting is all tomboy and I owe many, many thanks for all her hard work helping to make FFAF fly. We’ve been sneakily sneaking around for about a month to get this baby all shiny and new, and it’s been particularly impossible to keep quiet about it this last week or so!

It’s a little bit crazy to think how it’s been an entire year since my first blog post, but here we are. 189 blog posts, 365 days, 1230 comments and tens of thousands of page views later, and still going strong.

I love you guys for reading and sharing and ranting and loving with me here – this just wouldn’t be worth it without y’all! Thanks for everything, kittens. I heart!

A couple of notes:

• If we’ve accidentally dropped your link(s) in the new blogroll or you want to be added, speak up!
• See anything quirky or weird or wonky in the formatting? Please leave a comment or email me.
• We’re also working on finding an easy way to get folks back “home” from anywhere on the blog. Hang in there!

PS. Yes, I put this little party dress on specifically for the birthday post. It’s my party and I’ll wear what I want to!

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.