fitforafemme.com

What a weekend! It began quietly at home on Friday night. The girls and I piled on the couch with the puppies at our feet, delivery Indian food strewn across the coffee table, Secretariat on the widescreen. On Saturday, I cursed my Navigator all the way through the Sunset to the Castro to fetch the one and only Bevin Branlandingham of Queer Fat Femme for a lovely brunch tea.

Hm, scratch that. The weekend started early, I suppose, since we hit the town on Thursday night to check out the long lost Flourish party at Public Works in the Mission. The bar was well-stocked with many fine options and competent bartenders, and the space is really something else. Whoever put together the slideshow to benefit GLBT Historical Society did an amazing job and the photo booth fundraiser was lots of fun. We ran into many lovelies (and a few poorly behaved others) – Bevin and Miss Dylan Ryan and LISF – but catching up proved difficult over the loud music and trying to keep out the way of The Real L Word film crew! An exciting night, and the true beginning of a weekend that couldn’t come too soon!

Back to tea! It was a drizzly, gray sort of day, and I thought this dress was perfect for the weather and Tal-y-Tara, the equestrian & tea shoppe I’ve written about here a few times before. Bevin and I were headed there for civilized conversation and to film an episode of her delightful new web series called Lesbian Tea Basket. She thought I was kidding when I told her it was part polo shop, and after I chivalrously let her out in front while I found parking nearby, I found her wandering inside in absolute awe, touching all the fine pony things and blinking her big, lush eyelashes in disbelief. We sat and ordered and talked and marveled over the little fixins for tea sandwiches, the famous scones and shortbread and cookies and, of course, sipped tea. I won’t say much more but I can assure you that you’ll know when the special FFAF episode goes up!

I returned Bevin just slightly past her curfew (she was headed into the Santa Cruz mountains for the epic, overnight Hard French Winter Ball half of queer SF was at on Saturday night), and headed home. I needed to get out of this outfit (vintage dress and coat, Max Studio pumps, Alice + Olivia for Payless clutch) and into something suitable for Strikeforce, an MMA (mixed martial arts) event happening in the South Bay. M’s colleagues scored some tickets earlier in the week and it was my first time at an official fight night. I went from the pictured outfit to cowboy boots, ratty black tights, a short leather skirt, and a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt under a dark wash denim jacket. I accessorized with piles and piles of mixed metal necklaces, my foxtail swinging from my purse, and red, red lips (inspired by Miss BB).

IT WAS EXCELLENT.

Amazing. I can’t wait to go again, and M said that she wants to go to a big UFC fight for her birthday this year. They shot huge, 10-ft. tall flames and fireworks from the sides of the stage whenever the fighters were announced, and the crowd was well-behaved for being at a bloodsport event. The fights weren’t bloody, but they were good. I drank beer and ate nachos and stole M’s Cracker Jacks. In a total 180, we woke up this morning and made our way to a very sweet baby shower for some friends of ours in Oakland. We all made pages for a custom baby book, played a fun game that had nothing to do with babies, ate French toast and quiche and cake, and marveled over all the hard work they’ve done on their home renovation in the past year. The rest of the day was spent in a dreamy, post-storm haze of (local) book shopping, hanging out a cafe, finding some tights to keep my gams warm, getting M a haircut, and unwinding over a low-key Italian dinner.

In fact, I have to wrap this up because M is waiting for me on the floor in front of our fireplace, with blankets and our books and pups. I hope y’all had wonderful weekends full of your favorite things, too!

XOXO,

FFAF

PS. A friend and dear reader noted that it was terribly coy of me to talk about all these books and not say what they were, and she’s right!

Here you go:

Clockwise from top right:

Revolutionary Road, Yates
The Sirens of Titan, Vonnegut
The Wild Things, Eggers
Super Sad True Love Story, Shteyngart

Haunts.

On Friday night, I attended my work’s Halloween party. I helped to organize it (of course). I dressed as Amelia Earhart. I snuck away before anyone had had too much delicious, frothy, ice cream-y rum punch, took a train underwater and met my girls at MacArthur BART in Oakland.

I piled in as they cheerfully recounted the contents of the party supplies underfoot, and we drove to a pumpkin-carving party with four pumpkins rolling around in the trunk of the car. We carved kittens, queers, Rocky Horror smiles, childhood icons, and creepy grins into a diverse crop of hapless, multicolored gourds. While it rained outside, the air in their flat was filled with the scent of delicious spiced rum and pumpkin guts, and happy laughter.

On Saturday night, M & I snuck away to do the monster mash at a Halloween Ball thrown by Les Beaux, where we got too hot, shed layers, drank too much and were charmed by a costume contest almost as intense as the Giants vs. Rangers rivalry. In the end, these guys basically won it:

On Sunday, we trekked out to one of SF’s most popular neighborhoods for Halloween, Cole Valley, and it did not disappoint. While the petite (dressed as a sailor) demurred any notion of trick-or-treating at her age (um, twelve), we strolled up and down the streets, paused every now and then for a performance or to watch the Giants game on someone’s bedsheet (tricked out with a projector of some sort) or spider-webbed television set. My favorite part was the tiny dance floor for toddlers only. They were grooving their little hearts out and I almost died of cute. It was a great Halloween!

…and then the San Francisco Giants won the World Series! And it was amazing! And I honked my horn and we celebrated over a delicious dinner and I high-fived perfect strangers and we took a stroll through our neighborhood (the Mission) – set safely back from where the mayhem was taking place, and it was good until it was bad. My feelings about it all can be summed up cleanly with this question:

Why can’t we just have nice things?

Right, testosterone. Silly me.

Still, I told myself consolingly, most people were peaceful and non-destructive.

…and then we voted.

M & I researched and debated and voted our little hearts out, and stomped to our polling place, proudly scribbled in every last last line and smashed our stickers onto our chests, and I suppose it isn’t all bad, it could certainly be worse, but it could be much better and it’s not. Also? Some maniac polling place worker has broken into a machine, stolen the ballots and the memory box, some poor teenager’s cell phone, and run off with it all. Sigh.

Earlier tonight folks were reveling not far from us, celebrating Dias de los Muertos, and we walked through the clouds of incense and giddy crowds with skull-painted faces. Tomorrow the SF Giants will get a perfectly Norman Rockwellian homecoming parade downtown, and I’m sure I’ll be able to steal away from work to pop over and take a look, and then all of the city will be spent and exhausted and we will move out of it, but only just.

Bless it.

FEMME: RVCA slacks, Banana Republic shirt, Zara bomber. Vintage scarf, tomboy’s aviator hat, Dolce Vita for Target boots. HARRY FUCKING POTTER QUIDDITCH GOGGLES for $16.99. (In case you didn’t know, steampunk has made vintage goggles of any cool sort totally unaffordable.)

BUTCH (CASSIDY): RSQ denim (NY and London cuts), Red Level Nine cowboy shirt and vintage gun holster. Harley Davidson boots and Maverick straw cowboy hat. Bandana by Levi’s.

Gather round, kittens, I’ve got a lovely fairytale to tell you on this night which feels like a night might if it were a paintbrush dipped into a brand new bucket of paint the color of Autumn. Ready?

Once upon a time, it was a real hot day in San Francisco. So hot, in fact, than an ordinary working girl had no choice but to wear a pair of perfect khaki Bermuda shorts in black, with a lightweight, loose-fitting top to work. With a pair of smart heels, of course. TRUE STORY. After successfully resisting the urge to skip away from her desk and to the beach on such a glorious day, the evening goal for this girl and her beloved was clear as a bell:

PROCURE DELICIOUS BOOZE FIXINS’ FOR A PIMM’S CUP.

It didn’t happen. Well, the fixins’ were got, but everyone was plumb out of Pimm’s No. 1. Terrible! We made do with some gin improvisation, and that was that. The end.

Shorts: Old Navy
Top: Petticoat
Pumps: Max Studio
Bag: Betsey Johnson
Earrings: Hoof & Horn Leather

More exposed skin.
More blissfully hot days.
More loverbird adventures in SF.

ON LOCATION: Safeway (top), Dolores Park (left), Baker Beach (right)

Tomorrow is our Friday, as we’re gearing up for a relaxing three-day weekend in a coastal resort city one quick little plane ride away. Chasing the sun, as it were, since it’s supposed to be in the low 70s and I can’t bloody wait for the warmth and pampering and R&R. Here’s to one last burst of sunny FFAF posts before we slip into Fall’s pumpkin-and-spice embrace.

We’ll need it before the following week arrives. Why is that?
Well, because next week is super jam-packed with the following hotness:

In no particular order of importance (except #1, of course):

1. We will celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary!
2. Gossip Girl Season 4 begins.
3. Weekly fencing lessons continue. Our first was tonight and it was B O S S.
4. Super famous Tumblr Lesbians in SF debuts an all-new photo show at The Lex.
5. Ivan Coyote will swagger into the Mission for one blessed night.

Hot-cha-cha!!!

After seeing the DKNY Spring 2010 campaign in the April Vogue I decided that I, too, could just go totally apeshit with every floral I could find in my closet. What do you think? Am I nuts? It’s a little nuts. That’s OK. It was one of those experiments that could possibly benefit from a little fine-tuning, but where’s the fun in that? It’s far more exhilarating to step outside and boldly go where perhaps only upholstery has gone before. I did find it perplexing that I just happen to have similarly colored florals on black in scarf, skirt and little jacket formats, and of course these suede pumps by Franco Sarto were all, “TODAY IS MY DAY, BITCHES! ME!”

The real star of this post is my new fancy ribboned pony pin from Little Otsu (a door or two down from the site of the hotly debated new Banksy in the Mission). It’s delightful! (The pony, I mean. I’m allergic to that much hype, re: Banksy.)

I wanted nothing more than to accessorize with an actual trumpet or something yesterday. I just felt this whole marching band nerd meets pin-up girl vibe and that I really needed an instrument, specifically a shiny one. Two exciting things happened yesterday (well, three):

1. I was rather spectacularly hungover and deliciously sleep-deprived.
2. I woke up to being on Autostraddle’s most esteemed list of queer blogs to read RIGHT NOW and FREAKED OUT:
   

   “So basically what you’ve got here is a gorgeous woman in adorable outfits, and it’s a blog called Fit for a Femme. More specifically, you’ve got a gorgeous femme, SBJ, showcasing these hot f*cking boots or this perfect dress. And just when you think it can’t get any cuter, BAM there’s a photoshoot like this one with M in which they’re at the beach and omg I think she stole M’s hat and would you look at that mothereffing wool coat?! Stop it both of you STOP BEING SO LOVELY.”

1. Who wouldn’t freak out?! It’s insanely sweet, and wonderful news! Plus, the other blogs are amazing – we’re in such fantastic company! As a result, M & I celebrated with lunch at Regalito, one of our favorite places ever, a bit of window shopping at Therapy and The Apartment, and a trip to Good Vibes, where we ended the 10-year ban and grabbed a handful of porn, landed ourselves on the waiting list for one of the new VixSkin numbers (I can’t remember which one, honestly, IT’S JUST SO HARD TO KEEP TRACK, GUYS) and snagged a bottle of Swiss Navy (NSFW) lube, which was recommended by the lovely Madison Young over at the Sugarbutch Chronicles (NSFW) last week. I loved the name and was prepared to buy some for that reason alone – C’mon, Swiss Navy? RADSAUCE – and it’s actually really fantastic. FFAF-endorsed, y’all. Getchusome.

All in all, a really spectacular Sunday and I just want to heartily welcome any newcomers and again express how completely thankful Fit For A Femme is for your support and love and page views.

Also? Just to be bossy, I’m going to insist that y’all head over to Facebook and LIKE us there, too. XO!

The above just blew your mind, I know, so here’s a clockwise from top left explanation:

• M reading the menu at Sparky’s. I was so adamant about pancakes, but we ended up splitting a massive chicken parm.
• M pouting over agonizing eye wear choices at the chic and friendly Eye Dare office.
• M demonstrated her best DeNiro squint and a delicious graham cracker.
• Boots the kitten comes when we call her over. So does Scab. And Pimp Gandalf, but not Blanket.
• Pretty damn good chicken parm for a 24-hour diner. Plus, cute gay waiter boys and singing patrons.
• The creepy doll that greets you at Sparky’s.
• Some street art/porn to keep the Valencia sidewalk extension project construction workers* motivated.
• The mystery palm that showed up overnight in our little garden. Weird!

This is the day we walked over 3 miles! I really, really love our meandering walks through the Mission and surrounding ‘hoods like Bernal, Noe and Castro. We pop in and out of cute shops and boutiques, we giggle, we eat, we drink, we cross a few items off of our To Do list, we people watch, we peruse real estate, we mussy-sikk, we’re RIDICULOUS. It’s just completely spontaneous, unplanned bliss, and neither of us cares much that we said we’d be here or there or “should” be somewhere else. It’s what the best weekends are made of!

What are your best weekends made of in your neighborhood? (Otherwise, let’s face it, we’d all say something absurd like BORA BORA!)

*I am sure this is not the official name of the project.
**My ankles don’t even BELONG to me, they’re so shockingly white. No, seriously. Look at them. What the hell?!

Happy hump day, y’all! I am ever so slightly under the weather with a bit of a head cold, but otherwise life is just lovely. The sun came out again today and despite the fact that I can scarcely breathe, I decided it was midweek and FFAF needed some action. I’ve been living in this outfit, as it’s not too cold here lately, but it’s not warm by any means, either. This is a nice balance because it’s super comfortable, and a great excuse to rock some color, too. I’ll admit I’d hardly given Spring a second thought until yesterday and all the Groundhog Day activity! The internets, they do not let you forget. My head is far too stuffed to continue on in any meaningful way, so let’s make a list of shows I’m obsessed with at present:

1. LOST, because it’s bananas:

2. The Tudors really needs to hurry up and get back on the air already. Sex, violence, religion, politics, corsets. Need I say more?

3. The Pacific, which is a new miniseries coming to HBO this March, a sort of complement to Band Of Brothers, which I really, really loved and always watch whenever it’s on. I need to own it. Maybe they’ll create an amazing box set with both series after The Pacific premieres.

4. Big Love is the show I want to be addicted to, but I’m not quite there yet. It’s in the queue! M & I watched an episode or two awhile back and were pretty ambivalent about it, but have since been convinced by friends that we need to start from the beginning and give it some time. (This better not be like True Blood, y’all!)

5. Last but not least, Grey’s Anatomy. This one is all my BFF’s fault. I’ve mocked her incessantly for years about this show. I’ve spent countless Friday mornings rolling my eyes over coffee while she went on and on about Izzy this, McDreamy that and last season, we somehow got sucked in. Unbelievable. Now we have the video game. Yang, of course, is our favorite, and now I know exactly what the BFF means when she says, “You’re my person.”