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While this was not AT ALL what I wore to the Treasure Island Music Festival, this is the triumphant look of someone’s who survived it all in the morning’s relentless downpour. All 12+ hours of the elements, all outdoors.

On a panicked whim, we brought a spare shower curtain liner and shower curtain that was going to the bins anyway. It worked perfectly. I wore a hideous see-through rain poncho for some of the most hellish, mortifying moments of my life (about five minutes) before forking over $20 for this black and white contraband umbrella, which security continually asked me to close. “I purchased it from one of YOUR vendors,” I trilled defensively.

I was pushing my luck, you see, having snuck in three full flasks of high-end liquor. There were decoy bottles and run-through security checks performed in the car prior to boarding the big, shiny black Bauer’s buses that cart you off to the island.

It felt like a school field trip, everyone agreed.

We dried out.
We ate brownies.
We drank red wine.
We devoured two funnel cakes.
We read and napped in the rain under a tree.
We mixed bourbon with coffee and then with Coke.
We mixed gin, lavender-infused simple syrup with Sprite.

We never quite thawed out, but boy was I glad that M insisting on my bringing a pair of vintage leather gloves and my blue earmuffs.  I was a sharp shooter of grotesque faux roadkill and expert bean bag disrober of wooden cut-out ladies in the little steampunk saloon town they’d erected in a corner. I won a little wooden pin with a striped ribbon that says “I’m a winner!” and wore it all day long. I danced in the silent disco.

I rode the ferris wheel twice. Once with a moronic dipshit who should be eternally grateful that I didn’t throw him over the side to splat to death in the mud below, and once by my lonesome. I considered buying four tickets to “fill” the whole bucket since single riders weren’t allowed, but it didn’t come to that. Thank heavens Belle & Sebastian were still playing on the main stage the second time, where I could watch them and the winking city all at once, in blessed, cacophonous peace and quiet, from on high.

The National was even dreamier than I’d hoped. I teared up a little, maybe, during Slow Show and Apartment Story and Squalor Victoria and Fake Empire and, whatever, like half the set. When I got home, M had the heater on full blast and a fancy old-fashioned waiting for me, and she played with my hair while I tipsily regaled her with stories from the day.

Dress: Ruby Rox
Cardigan: Old Navy
Scarf: Vintage
Pumps: Madden Girl
Earrings: Boutique on Isla Mujeres

PS. Here’s a little batch of fun pics from my soggy-but-amazing adventure with my wonderful friends on Sunday.

PPS. Wearing a little leather miniskirt + vintage blouse w/ floppy sweater probs isn’t model outdoor music festival in-the-rain attire. My bad.

PPSS. Whatever, just watch it. For all the hurrying home we do when we’re in love, however epic our days.

And for blue-ribbon brains, like hers and mine.

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!!!

More and more and more sunshine. These were taken in a friend’s backyard. I’m standing in an empty fish pond and drinking a mocha from Martha & Bros., trying not to think about all the cocktails I foolishly consumed the night before, at both Mango and Cockblock, nor how I was still fighting a nasty summer cold.

M & I were waiting for them (“bcw” and Dr. Dyke, if you must know) to look after their kittens before we headed down to Jack London Square for the 2nd annual Eat Real Festival, an amazing weekend full of the greater SF Bay Area’s best street food carts, local beer and wine, entertainment and the most current, informative happenings in the world of slow food and sustainable eats.

This is FFAF’s 2nd year at the festival!

Wearing:

Levi’s Denim
Old Navy linen cami with pintucks
RVCA shirt w/ roll-up sleeves
Boots from Portland’s Rock n’ Rose
Bag by Emilie M.
Handmade necklace
Kenneth Cole sunglasses

It was a gorgeous day. We ate so much, we drank a lot, we all stripped down because it got so bloody hot, and we sat in the shade to watch the most incredible butcher contest I’ve ever seen before in my life (okay, so it was the only one I’ve ever seen). Another great year with the best friends at a superbly done event. GO OAKLAND!

Here are some fun pics from the day:

THE GOOD STUFF (brace yourselves, it’s PORK-O:

When I was little, I read like a fiend. The librarian let me check my own stacks out. I’d emerge from the doors of my sleepy little library with a pile of books in my arms that teeter-tottered above my line of sight. When I was little and my family would nestle into a cabin high up in Trinity Alps each summer, I’d see one of those logging trucks with unbelievably massive bundles of cut trees on the road, and I’d burst into tears. Such a wee hippie! I don’t think I ever made the connection, nor did the hypocrisy occur to me then. I reckon this is a fine example of the blissful ignorance of youth.

Years later and I’ve still a deep, abiding fondness for books, and for cabins tucked into wilderness.

Places like Powell’s become a little wonderland.

I think during our very brief stay in Portland we ended up at Powell’s three times! I invested in a super bright book light, which is spectacularly nerdy but, like, I needed one for the road. The staff recommendations were really fun and the little rainbow flags were quite helpful in identifying The Gay. This location is called the City of Books, and as the website says, it’s the “largest used and new bookstore in the world…occupying an entire city block, the City stocks more than a million new and used books. Nine color coded rooms house over 3,500 different sections, offering something for every interest, including an incredible selection of out-of-print and hard-to-find titles.” I came dangerously close to dropping hundreds of dollars on big, weighty, beautiful books, but the limited space in our car and luggage anchored me to my better judgment.

(But seriously, when is it ever a BAD thing to buy another book? N E V E R.)

M very sweetly paused to snap these in the fashion section.

Riding Pants: The Gap
Tank: Nordstrom Rack
Denim: Old Navy
Vintage Scarf, Boots: Rock n’ Rose (Portland, OR)
Bag: Betsey Johnson

1360 miles
1 majestic waterfall
12 new towns we’ve never been to before
4 hours at Bite of Oregon beer, wine and food festival
9 hours of non-stop driving through the Pacific Northwest
nearly falling into the deepest lake in all of the United States
2 adorable companion goldfish delivered to us by room service

…learning that I actually thoroughly enjoy a good road trip after being certain for the past five years that I hate them unequivocally – PRICELESS!

And now we’re home, in fact we drove right into San Francisco’s deliciously foggy embrace late last night. Here are all the places we stopped in: Weed, Medford, Canyonville, Salem, Woodburn, Lowell Covered Bridge, Pleasant Hill, Salt Creek Falls, Crater Lake, Mazama, Klamath Falls, Bridge Bay, and of course Portland.

Sadly, we didn’t get to explore the Hawthorne District, but we did get a pretty good taste (and I do mean taste) of downtown and the Pearl, Old Town/Chinatown, Nob Hill, and Alberta Arts Districts. I took a bite out of a “Hot Hood” from the grilled gourmet PB&Js, made with Challah bread, black cherry jam, jalapeno, apple wood  smoked bacon, and PBJ’s peanut butter. That was after the savory fried pie, stuffed with BBQ pulled pork, from Whiffies. I drank an Old Curmudgeon paired with mouthwatering Draper Valley fried chicken and country gravy at the very new, very fantastic Irving St. Kitchen, made with Buffalo Trace bourbon, Aperol, Cynar, pepper jelly and lemon housemade grapefruit bitters.

If I discussed how incredibly marvelous their butterscotch pudding with brown ale caramel and crème fraîche was, or that it was complemented with a brown paper cone of caramel corn with curried peanuts, I’d have to change my panties and that’s rather inconvenient at the moment, so you’ll just have to find out for yourself.

And the shopping! Of course, there were a lot of typical big name chain stores, and the standard hippie-dippy weekend markets that pop up with common wares all over the Bay Area, but there are even more really outstanding boutiques featuring local, independent designers or craftspeople. For instance, the next FFAF will be set among the stacks at Powell’s! (Many FFAF household dollars were cheerfully spent at Powell’s.)

The photos here were taken in a room of big, beautiful doors for sale at Cargo, an importer of handpicked antiques and artifacts from around the world. It’s an incredible store, set in an enormous warehouse, and you can pore over the tables and shelves and cabinets for hours. (Friendly FFAF Tip: Bookmark this link, kids, the site goes live in about a month where you can order and ship their goods online!)

Dress: Fire Los Angeles
Boots: Rock n’ Rose (Portland, OR)
Denim: Old Navy
Pony Bag: Cargo’s own! (Hell yes, I bought it.)

Greetings, queers! I’ve missed ya. An entire week has passed and you couldn’t pay me to tell you how on earth that happened so fast, because I do not know. There were many weekend outings but not a photo snapped, and I hope to rectify that with this weekend’s outings. Some dear friends of ours are in town, which guarantees shenanigans of the exquisitely made cocktail nature, and we’re going to the SF Giants vs. LA Dodgers baseball game on Sunday! I’m so excited. I can’t wait. I haven’t been to a ballgame in awhile.

HOLD THE TRAIN. There’s another very practical reason why there are hardly any posts from this week. I totally injured myself on Sunday night! For the first time in my life, I twisted or sprained or somethinged my poor right ankle coming down a flight of stairs. I feel that my heel (don’t worry, the shoe is FINE) got caught in a bit of unraveled carpet or something, because I went flying and it could have been a helluva lot worse than a scraped, bruised, sore, tender wrecked ankle. M was so scared! I phoned my fancy doctor friend early Monday and she advised me on how to care for it, and I’m pretty sure it’ll be ready for heels again tomorrow.

While being doted on very lovingly was sweet while it lasted, I really and truly despise being slowed down.

So there you have it. I really hope that I can post some photos of yours truly with famous drag queens, because they were incredible. Here’s a teaser: There was a very believable Reba, and she came with a tiny puppy!

Apparently, the rest of the country is on fire and the skies are trying to put them out with mediocre success, but I shan’t take up valuable white space with that sort of nonsense.

It was a very brutal Friday at work.

No, it was a very brutal Friday from the moment I woke up until, hm, champs ‘o clock.

It began with delays at my BART station (our metro of sorts), because some moron was walking around on the tracks. 30 minutes late. On the upside, there was perfectly cooked bacon when I arrived. A few harried hours later, I had a noon meeting, with food provided, but I don’t do pre-made sandwiches so lunch was actually half of a somewhat stale pastry chased by a bottle of OJ, eaten one-handed around, oh, 3PM. Of course, there’s nothing like a 3.5 offshore-centered earthquake from a high-rise building to make the afternoon exciting, not that I felt it (I was far too busy running around dealing with far less thrilling aftershocks of another sort).

It is no wonder then, that I made a beeline for Godiva after leaving the office, partly for my own sanity and partly because I’d promised my girls some treats. The smirk below, then, is directly related to A) Friday, at last and B) champagne truffles.

That, and the fact that we’ve got a 1.75L bottle of 10 -year Eagle Rare single-barrel Kentucky bourbon sitting atop the bar.

Plus, this dress is excellent and I’ve figured out that the Fekkai Marine Summer beachy wave hair stuff works much better when my hair is dry.

Dress, Calvin Klein
Scarf, Pier One ($10!)
Boots, Donald J. Pliner
Sunglasses, Kenneth Cole
Denim Jacket, Old Navy
Suede Tote, Banana Republic
Leather Earring, Idyllic4U (Brooklyn Flea)

Here’s what I’m thinking for my own personal inspiration sheet for Fall 2010 (or, like, life):

Weekend plans include, but are not limited to, the following:

What have y’all got going on? Is there anything else I’m missing, besides a massage and a good soak in a hot tub? Here, listen to this song, it’s pretty:

Edited to include this sandwich explanation: Pre-made and packaged sandwiches disgust me. I will also never, ever eat at one of those creepy, psychotic “dining in the dark” places. I must see exactly what you are putting in my probably very sparse sandwich, and I will watch you like a goddamn hawk tracking a sweet little bunny rabbit in an open field on a lovely Spring day if you are making it for me. I cannot believe that people actually consume sandwiches that have been sitting there for fuck only knows how long, with the spread or oils or whatnot soaking all into the bread and the other contents withering inside of suffocating plastic wrap. I also really loathe mayonnaise, and I still can’t quite figure out how I am friends with people who are known to eat it by the spoonful. The same is true for salads, you know, even if all of the ingredients are tidily separated from one another. Salads should be fresh. They are not fresh if they are boxed. I realize that being impossibly fussy makes me somewhat disagreeable, but I’m not quite as obnoxious as vegans or gluten-free types or people who can’t handle dairy without a big to-do, so there.