fitforafemme.com

Guess who needs a haircut? OK, we both do, but Conor, Conor, Bird. My goodness. What an adorable young ruffian.

My hairstylist has zero availability for the rest of the month, so my hotshot plans to get a quick trim before the wedding in Boston at the end of the month are bullocks. Thank God I was able to squeeze in a facial next week. I’m doing that femme thing where I’m like bangs redux vs. growing out the bangs and it’s fucking HOMO PANIC ROOM CENTRAL. I mean, this is the dress I’m going to wear and wouldn’t it cause tectonic digressions in your psyche, too?

And yes, I’m hunting down the perfect moto and must collect a million fabulous rings to wear it with. Can’t I just get this in pink and white and oh, all of these while I’m at it? Can’t I?!

Y’all? It was my birthday yesterday. Tuesday birthdays are kind of ho-hum, I suppose, and I had to go to work on my birthday for the first time in I-can’t-remember-how-long. Sneaky M took the day off without my knowing and spent all day baking assorted cupcakes – rainbow chip, bunny-shaped cupcakes in pink, baby cupcakes with magical sprinkles – prepping for a delicious grilled filet mignon dinner, decking out every corner of the house with beautiful pale pink roses and bright pink tulips, and putting up birthday decorations.

The moment I walked through the door, she kissed me and plunked a MASSIVE strawberry daiquiri into my hands. I was so surprised to see how lovely everything looked, and I was content as a kitten to have a nice, low-key night. My family called and sang Happy Birthday in an impressive full three-part harmony, too, and my friends lavished well wishes on me all day long. I’m a lucky girl!

I’ve read both of Chris Cleave’s novels, Incendiary and Little Bee (The Other Hand) and we’re meeting with our book club on Friday night to discuss the latter. But later this weekend, in the spirit of celebrating my 31st birthday all month long, M is taking me shopping for Parisian lingerie, we’ll have dinner at Garçon! or maybe Restaurant Ducroix or Chez Papa and then take in a bit of theater at the American Conservatory Theater to see No Exit. Perhaps a spot of dancing will be had.

I’ll have riding lessons and we’ll check out some lighting equipment for my studio, which she’s promised to procure and build as soon as I commit to something (which is going to be so difficult – I’ve done hours of research and am not a lick closer to deciding).

Have I mentioned that I absolutely adore my thirties?

Dress, Cardigan: Target
Belt, D&B Bag, Sunglasses: Vintage
Pumps: BCBG
Necklaces, top to bottom:
Banana Republic, Mexico, Betsey Johnson
Wooden bangle: Pier One

The day I wore this dress it poured non-stop. I left the house and the sun was sparkling across the damp lawn, but by the time I got to work it was just buckets of water falling out of the damn sky. Bullocks, I thought to myself, sheepishly stepping around puddles on the walkway up to my office, I should have worn thick tights and more substantial shoes. I took slight consolation in the fact that I at least had my Richard Chai for Target trench to wear over it.

I think it’s rained here for two weeks straight, or it feels like it anyhow. My part-time horseback park ranger, part-time accountant work colleague and officemate says we’ve got 30+ inches of rain this season, which is astonishing considering even the rainiest past seasons garner 20-22 inches, tops. We’re all bloody sick of it.

Yesterday, a friend of mine posted this gem on Facebook, which sums things up perfectly: Dear Sky – You’re ugly. We get it. WE GET IT ALREADY.

The thing is, I got this dress for sunny Spring days. I loved the bold cobalt blue, the simple origami pleating on the neckline, the ladylike, knee-skimming length of it. I imagined wearing it with bright red shoes and a huge white flower pinned in my hair on the 4th of July, or with some sandy flats or sandals and a nude bag for a stroll with the tomboy, maybe a lingering brunch date with a carafe of mimosas or sangria outdoors. You don’t get a dress like this and then ruin it by covering up your gams, kittens!

Plus, my pretty pedi was sick of hiding under socks and tights.

I made the best of it. Part of me feels like it turned out just fine, part of me feels like the styling wanted the skirt to be more pencil than A-line; at least with a pencil silhouette, the lace and updo might make more sense. Anyway, you can’t hit solid gold every single day, I suppose. We’ll have to see if the dress holds up better in true Spring weather!

We’re staying local this weekend, once again. It feels like we’ve been flitting off to Tahoe every other weekend, and next weekend we’re off to San Diego. I’m taking M on a top secret hot date – she has no idea where we’re going! On Saturday, if we’re magically bestowed with sunshine, we’re considering a little tea dance and I’m really hoping that Dakota and I will have a lesson on Sunday. We also must file our taxes – the deadline is fast upon us, and we always get cranky on account of the completely unfair discrimination we face with our checkbooks, watching thousands of dollars swirl the drain.

Details:
Dress, thrifted
Lace jacket, H&M
Espadrilles, Dolce Vita
Belt, vintage

Bling:
Wooden bangle, Pier One
Hoops, Lauren G. Adams
Necklace, Banana Repubic

By the way, I’ve got a big favor to ask you, dear readers. If you have $5 or $10 or $20 to spare in these hard times, can I persuade you to consider making a donation, whatever the amount, to the San Francisco Dyke March? After 18 years the Dyke March Committee is having serious financial difficulty that may result in canceling all or part of this year’s march. It’s our Christmas. It’s tradition. It’s one day out of the year when we can come together during Pride Weekend and celebrate who we are and who we love, and it’s kind of really up to us right now to keep it going strong.

I’ve mentioned this before, but there’s a big push to try and get a certain amount raised by April 1st. A little more information from the committee:

WHY?
The economic downturn has hit us hard. In the past The SF Dyke March has been made possible through generous grants from fabulous organizations, donations and fee waivers from the city and minimal private fund raising. Those grants have been cut, our insurance is no longer covered and due to city deficits many of the fees that have been waived can no longer be covered by the city. You know this can’t happen without port-o-potties!

THE PLAN:
We need to raise $30,000. At least half needs to come in the next month to make the Dyke March happen. Our mission is to get 2,000 people to donate at least $10 each in the next 30 days. Please donate as much as you can to help close the remaining gap!

HOW YOU CAN HELP:
DONATE $10 (or more!)
SHARE email everyone you know & invite folks to the Facebook event
ASK your friends if they’ve donated their $10

YOU CAN HELP MAKE THE DYKE MARCH HAPPEN!

DONATE NOW: http://thedykemarch.org/donate
For more information: http://thedykemarch.org/
Find the SF Dyke March on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=133455806727885

I wish you guys could make out the meringue yellow stripes on this cozy t-shirt. They pop wonderfully, just not in this particular set of photos.

I was very proud of the fact that I managed a perfect French twist in the morning, out of the blue, but then failed at maintaining it intermittently throughout the day. Until it was dinnertime, at which point I furiously mashed about half a teaspoon of Jonathan Dirt Texturizing Paste into my palms, hand-teased my hair, and pinned it up haphazardly.

Here’s the AM version, as well as a photo of my super gross tape measure work accident:

As you can see, my office walls are painted all kinds of cerulean blue. This is awesome, except for the fact that they are naked. I ended up ordering an assortment of bright, bold wall decals designed to look like ornate, sort of vintage photo frames of all sizes.

Aren’t they neat?

After I determine how they’ll be grouped on the main wall, I am thinking of having our design department print out some choice words (like my title Maven, for instance) to put inside of the frames, in the mood of the whole Keep Calm & Carry On thing. They’ll be removable of course, which is great as I am fickle and like to change things around often. Where the hell was I going with this? Ah, yes. The hand.

Well, I was measuring the width and height of the wall with a new tape measure and at some point during which it was stretched out by 12′, it slipped and sliced my knuckle open. Bullocks. It bled copiously. My very sweet colleague had to go and fetch a First Aid kit, as we had zilch with which to treat my wound. I consulted a doctor friend and said, “It’s deep, like I can see meaty white stuff, but it’s mostly stopped bleeding,” and she said, “Oh, the white stuff is your fat, when was your last tetanus shot?” Super.

Do I look like a girl with lockjaw? Nah. It was my left hand, too, y’all! (Did we know that I’m a lefty? Well, now we do.) A LESBIAN WITH ONE HAND OUT OF COMMISSION MAKES TWO REAL SAD LESBIANS. Other than it, I’m fine now.

This post was named after this excellent little Trina Turk ruffled ponte jacket, which I’m wearing again today over a flowy silk dress and riding boots. I wanted to find a jacket that was very special and could spice up pretty much anything in my closet. I tried on a shimmery Valentino Red jacket I was in love with, but the 4 cut off the circulation in my arms and I was swimming in the 8 – of course there were no 6s to be found and I almost cried in the store.

Shoes: Vintage YSL
Wide-legged velvet trousers: Erin Fetherston for Target
Striped t-shirt: Michael Stars
Jacket: Trina Turk
Bag: Co-Lab by Christoper Kon
Sunglasses: Ray-Ban
Bangle: Pier One
Spiked freshwater pearl earrings: Banana Republic

How has everyone been doing with their resolutions so far? I’m not a big believer in the New Year being some blessed time to dramatically change your life, no more so than on a rainy day in April or a summer’s day in June. But with the end of a year I suppose one can step back, get a bit of perspective, and have a clearer idea of what the coming year or years should look like.

So far, I’ve finished one book (Portia de Rossi’s Unbearable Lightness) and am halfway through another (Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere). I’ve checked out the horses for adoption on Petfinder, perused the ads for horses for sale on Craigslist, and looked at leasing options, all thanks to a friend who happens to be something of an ex-horsewoman and has me looking at gorgeous Selle Francais and Dutch Warmbloods I cannot afford (as they are so fancy and can run you $80,000). We’ve dipped into our bottles of Evan Williams Single Barrel and Maker’s 46 bourbon. Not a bad start for six days in.

Perhaps your resolutions involve your beauty routines! I’m always trying to simplify mine, but I thought it would be fun to show you what’s in my medicine cabinet and on my vanity! (Maybe at the end of the year I can compare to see if it’s changed very much, too.)

Face
01. Cleanser: Lush Bûche De Noël
02. Toner/lotion: Lush Eau Roma Water
03. Cream/moisturizer: Lush Skin Drink + Estee Lauder Advanced Night Repair
04. Facial mask: Lush Catastrophe Cosmetic
05. Exfoliator: Rotation between a few favorites: Dermalogica Microfoliant, Origins Modern Friction + Brighter By Nature (twice weekly)
06. Make-up remover: Origins Clean Energy Gentle Cleansing Oil

Body
07. Shower gels/soaps: Lush Flying Fox
08. Body lotions/creams: Aveeno, Cetaphil
09. Anticellulite/firming treatment: W H U T, am I supposed to be doing this?
10. Body exfoliator: Homemade Sugar Scrub
11. Hand cream: Origins Smoothing Souffle
12. Lip balm or lip treatment: Pure Vitamin E Lip Balm or Lush’s It Started With A Kiss Tinted Lip Balm
13. Perfume: Changes Daily!

Hair
14. Shampoo/conditioner: Lush Assortment, Kirkland Signature Moisture Shampoo + Conditioner (surprisingly vegan, paraben and gluten free), Aveda Clove Shampoo
15a. Mask or other treatments: Ken Paves Healthy Hair Boost Up Color Drops, Bumble & Bumble Creme de Coco Masque & homemade masks
15b. Styling Products: Frederic Fekkai Beachy Waves, Bumble & Bumble Surf Spray, some awesome stuff I got in El Mexico, Frederic Fekkai Glossing Cream, TRESemme Heat Tamer Protective Spray
15c. Styling Tools: BaByliss Pro Porcelain Ceramic Straightening Iron (1.5″), Conair You Curl Curling Wand, a blow dryer, a really old school spiral curling iron

Make-up
16. Foundation: Perricone Active Tinted Moisturizer in Tint 02
17. Powder: MAC Mineralize SPF 15 Foundation (Loose) in Light Medium , Palladio Herbal Dual Wet Dry Foundation in Cypress Beige
18a. Blush (Powder, Highlight & Bronzer): MAC Mineralize, Cargo, Besame (too many to name just a few shades), Stila
18b. Blush (Stain): Lush’s It Started With A Kiss Tinted Lip Balm, Sephora Lush Flush Lip & Cheek Stain, Tarte Ring It In Cheek Stain Set
19. Mascara: MAC Zoom Lash, L’Oreal Voluminous Million Lashes, Clinique High Impact Mascara
20. Lipstick/lipgloss: MAC, Besame, Clinique (too many to name just a few shades)
21. Eyeshadow: MAC, Cargo, Stila, Laura Mercier, Besame
22. Eyeliner: MAC Shadesticks, MAC Greasepaints, Laura Mercier, Besame Classic Masterliner Pencils

Thrifted tunic, Silence + Noise skinnies, Gap scarf, Dolce Vita for Target boots, Freebird by the Sak crossbody bag, earrings are a gift from the tomboy for Christmas (slippery like a snake!), Pier One wooden bangle bracelet, Banana Republic cocktail ring, awesome foam axe with rabbit fur trim from Paxton Gate – Curiosities for Kids.

(From Saturday, January 8th) Today was awful. I woke up slightly hungover from my femme date at the Original Plumbing Fashion Issue party last night, we’re out of everything one would use to make a deliciously greasy breakfast, and then we sat down with coffee and saw the news. My head throbbed with grief and shock and the kind of despondence that senseless, wasted death comes with without fail. It was impossible to divorce politics and the impact that something like this will have on our country from the fact that real people are still sitting in real rooms with their broken hearts, obliterated from the loss of their loved ones even as I type this.

I looked at my very grounded and mature daughter, watched her watching the news with us, peering over my shoulder to look at the Sarah Palin map of the United States that I’d been screaming at just a few minutes ago, thinking of the social atrocities she’s seen in her short life (9/11 in preschool, sitting on shoulders at useless anti-war protests in kindergarten, wars that carried her through grade school and junior high, the ups and downs and rallies and phone banking and fighting for marriage equality, the daily routine horrors of misogyny), her bright future humming with the beginnings of certainty despite all of it, and I suppose out of self-preservation a calm, quiet numbness washed over me. I went about the rest of the day, running errands, eating dinner with my family, hosting my book club for the night.

I can’t think about the ambitious little nine-year-old girl who died today because I can’t, I just can’t, as a mother. I called my mother today, and she was happier than usual to hear from me; my little brother’s been in boot camp for the Marines for a week now, the news can’t have helped any. We didn’t talk about Congresswoman Giffords, the little girl, or the five others who died because we can’t, just can’t, as mother and daughter. We talked instead about his call home this week, the menu for our Super Bowl party in February, an upcoming ski trip.

In seventeen years, when my petite is thirty years old and calls me out of the blue on an overcast Saturday afternoon, I hope this country is a better place to live than it is right now. It has to be.

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.

CONFESSION: Last night, I tried on two of those POS wanker Victoria’s Secret fragrances I got forever ago, with a pair of super soft, sexy pajamas (free slippers with purchase!). One was so gross and cloyingly sweet that M described it as “someone trying to layer on perfume over dirty ass” and I simply referred to it as a whore’s bath perfume. Seriously. I refuse to even bequeath it to anyone since it screams CRUSTY SLUT + EXCESS BRONZER. It’s called Ooh La La, but is more like Oh, Hell Nah. I really hope none of you like it, because I’m not going to feel bad and I’m not going to take it back, either! (Damn it, I just realized that I reviewed OLL in late December of last year, in Shovels & Lye. At least I’m consistent!?)

The Fragrance was No. 2, boasts top notes of crushed leaves, freesia, mandarin (What the fuck kind of leaves? Isn’t that sort of key?) and does begin rather citrus-y and benign. I had to give it another go-round today because Ooh La La sent my senses into a diabetic coma, but it doesn’t seem to change my opinion of it as a rather boring and one-hit wonder scent. Not even a good hit, either. Something Milli Vanilli-ish. (If I spelled that wrong, it’s b/c I refuse to google it for the proper spelling. Fakers don’t get my hits! I have standards.) It’s not offensive, just boring. Very un-sexy. For instance, Laura Bush should totally check this out. It’s perfect for her.

From the Dream Angels collection comes Wish, which is TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME if you want to smell like orange sherbet ice cream and baby powder, and reminds me of back in the day when my folks would take us to Baskin Robbins on special occasions, and someone would be like, “Oh, you should have some water,” and I’d be all, “The fuck for? I drink my water in Kool-Aid, man. Step off, my peanut-butter-and-chocolate ice cream cone is melting.” Or, you know, changing diapers. Also, it irks me that something so vile has to share the same word with a stellar The Cure album, but what are you gonna do?

Someone at the VS fragrance think tank needs to ground themselves from citrus for, like, a year, and then get back to me.

PS. Ain’t much to say about this outfit ‘cept there’s a mean cold snap this week and mama needs to go SHOPPING. I do, however, have a new brown sheath dress that is super Joan Holloway and was recently procured at the thrift store for FIDDY MOFO CENTS, YO. Holla / Coming Soon.

PPS. What the hell is up with the Christian Siriano for VS make-up collection? When the cover model on the website looks kind of rough in all your war paint, dude, you need to step up your game. Do any of y’all have it? Is it good? Not that I’m in the market…my quick beauty fix lately has been a dusting of Cargo bronzer as a wash over the entire lid, with heavy-handed mascara at the lash base instead of eyeliner. Fresno and Coral Beach are my favorites right now, but it seems the former is discontinued. SOB.

PPSS. Lips? Besame’s Red Velvet. Creamy and subtle red for when MAC’s Russian Red is too much damn work.