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Now that, friends and lovers, is a sky scrubbed clean by all the storms we had this weekend. By Sunday morning it didn’t look it, as you can see, but we had some serious weather; sheets of rain pitched about by volatile wind, hail, a touch of flooding, loads of thunder and lightning.

The papers went balls to the wall over them, using words like “violent”, “theatrical” and “wallop”, which is my personal favorite.

W A L L O P.

On Saturday during the very worst best of it we ran around the new house hollering and squealing and flinging doors wide open like fools, standing wide-eyed counting one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand whilst waiting for the thunder to come crashing down around us, giggling madly.

We’re spoiled Bay Area girls; we get excited when Mother Nature pitches a fit. Even a wee one!

I am very much still in my nude-beige-flesh-blush tone phase. I love that this bag is a taupe-y mushroom shade, has just the right dash of sparkle and is a perfect match for my Dollywood foxtail. The earrings are a touch heavier than I can deal with for very long, but have gorgeous earth tones – red clay, cream, soft olive green, the same taupe as the bag, and the floral silhouette is etched on the backs – a nice touch for big earrings that are easily turned around!

In home decorating news, we went thrifting Saturday and scored a beautiful dusty rose velvet armchair for the living room, two sets of antique lamps for an absolute steal (just $39 for both sets), and another antique lamp as we’ve got quite a bit of space to illuminate. Our new couch arrived dry by some miracle on Friday, and yesterday – just after these pics were taken! – we all set off post-brunch for an afternoon at the pet store acquiring supplies for the petite’s new fish tank.

Here are the little guys we’re starting her out with:

There are ghost-y, creamy white versions of these guys, with the same glow-in-the-dark blue eyes. She’s getting those, too.

Denim: Levi’s
Blouse: Ultra Pink
Mini Crossbody Bag: Freebird by The Sak
Boots: Rock ‘N Rose
Earrings: Claire’s

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:

There is only one day left in this year’s femme conference and I can scarcely believe it.

I am exhausted, I am inspired, I am giddy with all of the magical, wondrous, truly life-changing things that can and have occurred when you get a bunch of femmes together to do thangs. It’s as humbling as it is empowering, and I almost feel outside of my own involvement and contributions in helping to make it happen by being a committee member and presenter, as well as an enthusiastic participant. It’s surreal! Of course, I can’t say that every single moment of every day thus far has spoken to me or been poignant for me, but nobody promised me it would, and the bottom line is that the benefits have easily outweighed any of that.

I shan’t say anymore! The fine folks at Autostraddle have asked me to do a little FemmeCon recap and I need to cull my resources and reflections for that guest post. I will say that I wore this pretty little outfit today, and it was a smash. The ladies practically needed fainting couches when I told them it was a find at Buffalo Exchange on Valencia, and the dress itself is from a little Australian designer called Runaway Pony.

For those who are curious, my TechFemme workshop yesterday morning went very smoothly. There was a very special attendee present: keynote speaker, author and bona fide femme Jesus (and freshly crowned Miss Femme America) Kate Bornstein.

Y’all should follow the official Femme2010: No Restrictions hashtag on Twitter, if you want to. It’s #femme2010 and it’s pretty damn inspiring on its own.

I think over the past 72 hours I’ve only seen my girls for maybe 5-6 of those, and that’s been surprisingly hard on me! As a result, I decided to sit out tonight’s amazing Glitterati and Hella Gay events, since I went to Femmes On Fire and Friday Night Lights last night and there’s an incredible femme short film festival bright and early tomorrow morning that I cannot bear to miss. Chances are high I’ll regret this, but cuddling on the handsome one and telling the petite all about the conference has been really, really perfect.

Dress: Runaway Pony
Belt, Clutch: Vintage
Earrings: El Mexico
Boots: Rock n’ Rose
Watch: Guess

Here are just a few of the incredible individuals I’ve had the pleasure of meeting at the conference over the past few days. Really wonderful folks, all of them. I’m a lucky femme!

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.

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.)

When: Sunday, Nov. 30th, 2008.

What: Light blue turtleneck by Nine West, royal blue cropped linen jacket by Persaman NYC, Laundry by Shelli Segal trousers and suede and patent boots by Restricted. Awesome bag of unknown, thrifted origin, and flower pin in shades of gray with crystals also unknown, but just because I don’t remember. Anyway, this was my outfit for our impromptu date night to go and see the new Jason Statham movie, Transporter 3, at Kadinsky’s urging over at BCP.

Scent: Valentino’s Rock ‘N Rose. It tells me that I am a rose on the outside and a rocker on the inside. I don’t know what that means, but M picked this out for me on another notorious date night, and it’s nice. The notes are: Bergamot, Black Currant, Crunch Green, Orange Blossom, Gardenia, Muguet, Rose, Sandalwood, Orris, Musky Notes, Vanilla, Heliotrope. It isn’t floral, save rose, and the rose itself is a very pure note with almost no trace of sweetness whatever. M likes it as well but she disagrees, saying she can detect the other florals. It’s unapologetically feminine, very French, almost – thus I believe Rock ‘N Rose to be a bit of a misnomer. It’s what Emmanuelle Béart ought to smell like (I’ll demonstrate Herculean self-restraint and post something other than her French Vogue cover):

Confession: The other night M & I met a friend of ours to shoot pool and imbibe at the White Horse Inn, the oldest gay bar in Oakland. We’re all pretty terrible at pool, so once it was clear that we were losing a game, we’d simply try and harass our opponents into submission, at which point it became even clearer that our opponents enjoyed the harassment at least as much as they enjoyed winning. Midway through the night, M was busy writing her name in huge letters on the chalkboard, having been accused of not signing up properly. When I say ‘huge,’ I mean she left no room for any other names whatsoever. She was interrupted, however, by a 31-year-old with alleged $40K dental bills who asked M if she was wearing fleece.

(Insert sound of record scratching here.)

M (to stranger who asked about fleece): Do not ever speak to me again.
Stranger: What? Why? Did I say something wrong?
Femme (having walked over, sensing M’s belligerence escalate): What did you say to her?
M (pointing at stranger): She is never to speak to me again. Do not let her speak to me.
Femme: Why?
M (v. clearly enuciated): She asked me if I was wearing fleece.
Femme: (Sucks in breath, gives stranger a scolding look.) Nevermind, bebe. It’s your turn. Go on. (M sulks off, ignoring stranger completely.)
Stranger: What did I say to her? What’s wrong with fleece? I don’t get it.
Femme: She would never wear fleece. It’s insulting.
Stranger: What? I didn’t know. I mean, I know fleece isn’t super fashionable or anything, but…
Femme: Never. Ever. It’s OK, you didn’t know. Now you know.
Stranger: I sometimes wear fleece!
Femme: I’m sure that’s very nice for you, and probably only you.
Stranger: I mean, it’s always a last resort.
Femme: There’s a reason for that. Obviously.
Stranger: But it’s practical.
Femme: (Scowls in disgust.) Like that’s an excuse.

Anyway, I made an attempt to continue communicating the fleece issue but didn’t get very far. I realized today that I should have just explained that asking us if we wear fleece is like asking a foodie if they garnish their delicious gourmet dinners with Velveeta. Or used canned vegetables. DON’T DO IT. Only small children and non-Californians in hostile climates should be allowed. (Note: We are not foodies.) His ‘n hers fleece is HELLA especially not allowed: