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Hi. My cardigan is the color of putty and has many navy blue dice outlines all over it! M says the outfit makes me look like an old-timey gambling addict (in a good way, whatever that means in tomboy-speak), and I like it a lot. I suppose I like a good gamble just as much as the next guy, I enjoy Blackjack and Texas Hold ‘Em, but I deeply loathe casinos. Hate casinos.

They smell like cigarettes and death, the air is cheap and full of desperation, and the majority of the people who are there thoroughly enjoying themselves are zombies (seriously, they have the blankest stares I’ve ever seen) or tracksuit-clad train wrecks. Some people might urge me to yank the stick out of me arse, but it’s just not my scene. Obviously. 

Um, back to the cardigan! Isn’t it adorable? (HOLY SHIT SANTANA JUST SLAPPED THE FUCK OUT OF FINN ON GLEE, OMG OMG) Sorry about that. Where was I? Oh, yes. Anyway, just darling. I picked it up at a Crossroads on mega-clearance for next to nothing, but it’s by a brand called POL that Modcloth sells, apparently. It reminds me of the terrible English teacher we had in the 8th grade, for she was twee and very meek and as a result, the kids would gather in the corner of her classroom and shoot craps on the floor.

Poor Miss Bell. I think that was her name, I can’t remember. It’s probably because she gave me permission to skip her class twice a week for choir practice, or because sometimes I’d get so bored I’d climb up onto the window ledge and take a nap, like a kitten. Kids brought booze into her class, too, and one time this skater kid set an anarchy symbol made out of hairspray on the floor on fire. He was a good kid, he made me a pretty sweet mix tape once. We were just so bored! God, the 8th grade. I was also in the Mathletes club, and alternated between wearing baby doll dresses and those really big “houser” break-dancing t-shirts.

Casinos and junior high. So weird. So, I broke up with my horseback riding instructor yesterday (and by default, the horse I’ve been riding all year, Dakota) and it really felt like a breakup. I was kind of a mess all evening, but I’m doing much better today. I’m either terrible at goodbyes or I greatly underestimated how attached you can get to an animal after nine months.

OK, here’s the DL on the rest of this little getup:

Cardigan: POL
Skirt: Gap
Suede Pumps: Franco Sarto
Sunglasses: Vintage
Watch: Asos
Necklace: Culp Baubles
Pearl Earrings: Banana Republic
Rose Brooch: Somewhere in Dublin, I believe. I can’t remember, but I adore it.

Halfway there to this posting daily in November business – it’s hard work!

Love,

FFAF

Last night after tasty cocktails and fried chicken at Pican, we saw Bright Eyes perform at the beautiful old Fox Theater in downtown Oakland. It was our first time at the venue, though it’s been open for a year or more, at least. Maybe two, who can say? For all its opulence and lavish tucks and corners, the most striking thing for me was this immense wall of ancient switches and levers in the Den, the bar and lounge inside of the Fox, some lit up, most not. M was shocked that I didn’t fuss with them, but I was so completely in awe that I instantly backed away from it, distrustful of my ability to let them be.

Conor was beautiful, the set was incredible, I could have fallen asleep in my own tears and M’s arms with Road to Joy crashing all around me forever, I really could have. I don’t know how he manages to appear more fragile and delicate and marvelous with time, but bless his sweet, awful bleeding heart.

PS. The bangs are back. I couldn’t stand it and then there’s the Boston wedding and that dress which insists, insists, on one last go of it. Damn it. When something that good wants one last go of it, what are you going to do? You’re going to sigh in defeat, snatch the closest pair of scissors, shut your wide eyes and pray to Dolly. (And then the next day you will march your homo ass to the closest, most reputable salon and make them clean up the mess you’ve made of things.) That’s that, then, isn’t it?

I am really, really happy with all of the lovely comments from my last post! It was brilliant to hear who’s from where and what’s unique and rad about where you’re from. If you haven’t seen them, pop over and weigh in or just peruse. Since then we’ve had some ridiculous, short-lived rain and then it was back to the low 60s. We’re slowly but steadily creeping into Spring. It was chilly the night of the show, so I paired some heavy duty tights with this skirt and the vintage lace and sequin blouse, and topped the whole shebang off with my new leather jacket. Honestly, it wasn’t nearly enough to keep me warm enough on Oakland’s breezy streets – I should have had a chunky scarf on with a hat or some fingerless gloves or something.

Pleated Skirt: The Gap
Blouse: Vintage
Perforated Lambskin Leather Jacket: Elie Tahari
Leather Pouch: Modcloth
Necklace: Banana Republic
Ring: H&M
Suede + Gold Bracelet: Lori’s Shoes
Boots: Nine West
Watch: Citizen
Shades: Ray Bans

If maybe you feel like watching the video for Golden Brown by The Stranglers, you may do so here.

Last night we went dancing at a party where they played lots and lots and lots of songs by Depeche Mode (and The Cure, which pleased me greatly). I wore a green dress with black polka dots. I don’t know that I’ve ever owned a great deal of green clothing, but suddenly it seems polka dotted numbers in green are a thing I do now. The mysterious Tommy has given me a ton of fantastic tips for my new and still very much a work-in-progress FFAF studio, but for now these and my in blessed natural night posts will have to do.

This outfit was thrown on in a great hurry on Thursday last week. I was going for easy. Here’s a blouse that doesn’t need pressing! I thought. These black velvet trousers will do just fine and I pulled them off the hanger. Try to at least look like you’ve put in effort, I scolded myself, and then threw on the vest. I am very lucky that high topknots are in right now, because like hell I had time for that malarkey. I hopped down the stairs putting in my earrings and shoved a fistful of bobby pins into my pocket to catch the strays.

Off I went to work, but not before M drowsily informed me that I looked like a fancy Puerto Rican girl.

Black velvet trousers: Erin Fetherston for Target
Blouse: Vintage
Vest: Hengst
Earrings: Claire’s
Bracelet: Modcloth (I think, hard to remember)
Shoes: Yves Saint Laurent

The last hurrah for my bright white linen tunic! I love the pintucks and the rolled-up sleeves. This was a few weekends ago, when M & I decided to go hunting for treasures at the Alemany Flea, and boy did we find treasures! Mine are too numerous to count, though my new brown lace-up booties are at the top of the list, and M’s is featured below.

Here are some hints:

It’s politically incorrect.
It’s made of leather.
It’s vintage.

Any guesses?

This makes no sense, I realize, but there was a half-broken chair just lying in a alley and so I had to finish breaking it. I just had to.

Even Scab the Cat agrees, you see?

Are you still guessing?

You know what else doesn’t make sense? THIS MURAL. What the hell?!?! It’s a near-naked lady riding a snaggle-tooth pig-hippo thing. Maybe she’s even nude. WHO CAN SAY. This lady. Also, her foundation doesn’t match her body. It’s too dark. SWATCH THAT ISH IN NATURAL LIGHT, FOR GOOD GRIEFS! Sigh.

IT’S A HOLSTER! A very handsome holster in supple leather made right in Texas, thanks. And do you know what M did the night she got it? She put it on over her manties (like Whitney, but different), and slept in it. I would awaken lightly in the night and M & I would rotate our spoons in the other direction, and I’d get a lovely whiff of tomboy skin + leather, and do you know what that combination does, ladies?

Yes. Yes, you do.

It makes femmes desperately, inconsolably horny.

Well, not inconsolably. But it’ll take awhile. The consoling and such.

Hi. Console me. Accessory city, good grief! Let’s break this down, femme-style:

Camel-y suede ruched boots: Buffalo Exchange
Leggings: Nordstrom Rack
Tunic: Banana Republic
Belt, Bag, Earrings: Vintage
Mini-purse: Modcloth
Watch: Guess face w/ vintage wristband

M wears a Fyasko shirt with BDG jeans and Etnies sneakers. Aldo sunglasses. Vintage .357 revolver gun holster.

The pics above are from an excellent little block party we stumbled upon after the flea-marketing. Amazing quesadillas fresh from the grill, paired perfectly with homemade sangria, a cheeky poet at an old typewriter writing custom poetry, a nice band, friendly folks, cute dogs and a fierce bean bag competition. Which I won, natch.

This outfit was so much fun. My only complaint would be that when sleeves are rolled up in this way, it’s v. difficult to throw a coat or jacket over them. They get bulky and it’s uncomfortable, but unbuttoning and unrolling them (and then rolling and buttoning right back up, depending on the weather’s/body heat’s fickle whims) is obnoxious. FIRST WORLD PROBS, YO.

Bottoms-up!

Boots: Dolce Vita for Target, with socks and leggings
Skirt: Esprit
Shirt: Converse for Target
Scarf: Modcloth
Purse, Beaded Necklace: Vintage

Guess what, kittens?! M & I have been happily married for two years today! Isn’t that something?!

We celebrated by going to our fencing class after work (side note: fencing is ultra sweaty), getting some post-fencing grub from El Buen Sabor, cracking open a nice, cold bottle of bubbly and collapsing into an exhausted pile together on the couch. The fanciness happens on Friday, when we’ll go on a proper celebratory date! I can’t wait. My black taffeta dress and I are ready.

Welcome to SF’s best-loved lesbian bar, The Lexington. Fantastical tumblr/blog Lesbians In SF celebrated the opening of their photo show at the Lex last night, so we stopped by to take a peek, congratulate the lovely duo on all their hard work and success, and enjoy a drink (or two). I got a lot more than I bargained for! Brownies, meeting wonderful readers of FFAF, and finally getting to mingle with Jenna Riot and her charming beau. There were at least two sweet puppies to love on, too.

You can have a look-see yourself at the gorgeousness adorning the red walls here, but if you’re local I recommend stopping by to take them in IRL!

Some tomboy hotness. You might remember the one next to M from here. Basically, we stole her from the East Coast and now we affectionately harass one another constantly. How nice!

(And no, B, we will NOT give her back.)

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

This is the blissed out face of a femme who is not only enjoying a perfectly innocent make-believe joyride on this totally bizarre pony statue in an even more bizarre reclaimed-wood-and-nature needle minipark in a big city haystack thing, but also headed to The Front Porch, a Southern restaurant in SF’s Mission District. I’ve been wanting to check it out for months and months and damn months.

Pluses: The co-owner (maybe ex co-owner? Apparently, she’s opened Hibiscus in Oakland) is a smokin’ hot dyke. Fried green tomatoes. Old-timey decor, included car seats with seat belts for booths.

Cons: Like, none. OK, the beignets could have been better, but it was a very lovely dinner date.

I didn’t even care that it was cold. Cold enough for toggled enclosures on my chunky vest. Sorry, I’m really distracted because I’m trying to write this while The Real L Word season finale is on, and it’s, like, really hard because they’re all so mindbogglingly vapid. Most of them. Natalie just said that going to Dinah when your relationship isn’t rock solid is tricky or something, to which I replied, “Like doing the AIDS ride when you’ve just had ass surgery and the doctor is NOT advising it but also not expressly forbidding it, either, so…just inadvisable? Like that?”

I really wish that we had whatever on/off button for falling in love that she and Rose have, because then maybe people would projectile vomit around M & I a little bit less. Just a smidge. Just a touch, darling.

PS. I am wearing my pony belt buckle. YAY!

Leggings: Romeo & Juliet Couture
Ruffled blouse: INC Women
Vest: Bloom (ZOMG Mikey is talking about making fun of people with bad haircuts POT KETTLE holy fucking balls)
Belt w/ pony buckle: M’s
Belt w/ pouch thing: Modcloth
Boots: Rock n’ Rose
Bullet cuff: Portland street vendor

You must say hello to Blanket. Blanket is a neighborhood kitty who really loves me, despite giving me this total bitchface for taking a picture of him lying so preciously in this box full of dead stuff. His name is Blanket because his fur is soft like whoa.