fitforafemme.com

Please to meet the wonderfully brilliant and gorgeous Kate. She came to stay with us for a few days and we had some excellent SF adventures together. The photos above are from a nice little walkabout we had through the Mission, in search of carnitas by the pound, chili/salt/lemon-drenched mango slices and Humphrey’s Secret Breakfast ice cream. It was overcast and cold, but we bundled up and dragged our hungover asses through the Mission and were met with much success (and an angry drunk, but that is neither here nor there). We stopped to take a few photos by some of the many, many amazing murals that can be found in our ‘hood.

Below, you’ll find Kate & I all sassed up and ready to go dancing. The tomboy snapped these before an epic night of Osha Thai (Kate ordered this massive fried rice dish served in half a pineapple! We all drank lychee cocktails!), a George Michael singalong at the Lexington and shaking what our mama gave us at Cockblock. It was all very wonderful and we had enough fun for the entire mafia. And then some.

CONFESSION: In spite of the fact that this dress is super fun, I’m getting the distinct feeling that old 2009 isn’t going to go without a fight. You know what, 2009? EAT A BAG OF DICKS AND GOOD RIDDANCE TO BAD TRASH! I’m not scared of you. You, my friend, are on your last wonky leg. (No offense to bona fide wonky-legged pups – they are precious and deserve nothing but endless love.)

Perhaps that’s a bit unfair. 2009 wasn’t exactly bad, I mean, it wasn’t full of absolute misery and suffering, not at all. It was simply a year of bipolar highs and lows, and I am only saying, “We had a good run, 2009, you taught me a lot and I don’t regret the stellar changes and growth you saw me through. But you were a little unfair, a little hysterical, you threw one too many hissyfits and, in the end, you just weren’t there for me. You were kind of a cocktease, also. Your upside just isn’t good enough, considering all of the risk.” Harsh? Perhaps.

C’est la vie! 2010 is a fresh start. Go on. Touch me.

When: Thursday, July 3rd, 2008.

What: As in Oz, y’all. Gay. Skinny jeans (with zippers!) from Zara. Soft, pretty green plaid top from Pretty Penny on College. It hasn’t got a label, has a lace-trimmed bib front and the pretty white panel (like an apron) at the bottom, and I adore it. Charles David boots. Mossy satin ribbon from Papyrus! Sundry bracelets from Juniper Tree and my secret boutique near my workplace.

Confessions: My stupid, intrusive co-workers were just beside themselves over my pigtails today. They said I looked like Dorothy. They said they were glad that “pigtails have come back around to being in style”. I wanted to punch them all in the face, but instead I blithely noted how asinine red shoes with a green top would be in July, of all months, and that I was afraid I had to excuse myself immediately. Why are co-workers so fucking obnoxious? Why do they insist on making conversation when one is so clearly uninterested in anything of the kind? FUCK YOU, COLLEAGUES! You’re goddamn obnoxious. Especially the pervy bastard who asks if I’ve “changed my hair again” at least every other fucking day. Die in a fire™.