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Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.
Nearly died in the gutter taking this photo (don’t leave your mates behind)! We were on our way to the London Eye to see what we could see and get some dinner afterward.

Signs.
This signpost tells you where ALL THE THINGS are, and lo, there’s the cheeky Eye in the background, spinning like molasses against a dull grey sky!

Lumos.
This lamppost is here to light the way. IN STYLE.

Loverbirds, alight here!
Up we go! This is 9pm and M isn’t afraid of heights. We watched how the London Eye works – did you notice the pods on the outside of the great big wheel? You stay right side up, but the braces rotate all the way around, which looks very strange from the tiptop. The ride lasts 40 minutes, but doesn’t feel like it at all, and I know it’s a big, cheesy eyesore (and the tallest wheel in the whole world), but when the clouds parted to let the sun drift down and set, it was magical. You’ll see.

25-mile club.
St. James Park is just across the Thames there, behind the Ministry of Defence and Churchill’s Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. On a clear day, the vista from 443 feet up stretches over 25 miles!

Sights.
There’s the Westminster Bridge (and way out there, just before all that green, where we were staying in Kensington).

West.
That sunset I promised. There’s just no way this picture did it justice, but we were all spellbound!

Such great heights.
The tomboy would like you to observe the perilous orb hovering above the deceptively placid-looking river. And her tough black bandanna tied in the dandiest way.

Don’t stare.
One more! From a slightly lower vantage.

Time changes everything, nothing.
Nearly 10pm and the day is only just beginning to fade. The night is just beginning. I drink it in.

Napoleon did surrender.
Waterloo! Possibly my favorite station. Hold on to your hats, because we’re going to do a quick drive-by of the previous night’s shenanigans at the mysterious, unnamed lesbian party.

Bois will be boys.
Sometimes parties can be overwhelming and you have to take your bow tie off and have a faux boxing match with your buddy.

Tourist trap.
Sometimes you’re boozy and fabulous and have shiny, shiny hair!

XOXO,

FFAF

PS. Lord have mercy. I didn’t talk about the London Eye outfit! RVCA trousers, a vintage silk tank, and – believe it or not – a metallic bolero from French Connection for SEARS, of all places. The bag is Co-Lab, the boots Seychelles, and the necklace is by a London designer named Lisa Galibardy.

Haunts.

On Friday night, I attended my work’s Halloween party. I helped to organize it (of course). I dressed as Amelia Earhart. I snuck away before anyone had had too much delicious, frothy, ice cream-y rum punch, took a train underwater and met my girls at MacArthur BART in Oakland.

I piled in as they cheerfully recounted the contents of the party supplies underfoot, and we drove to a pumpkin-carving party with four pumpkins rolling around in the trunk of the car. We carved kittens, queers, Rocky Horror smiles, childhood icons, and creepy grins into a diverse crop of hapless, multicolored gourds. While it rained outside, the air in their flat was filled with the scent of delicious spiced rum and pumpkin guts, and happy laughter.

On Saturday night, M & I snuck away to do the monster mash at a Halloween Ball thrown by Les Beaux, where we got too hot, shed layers, drank too much and were charmed by a costume contest almost as intense as the Giants vs. Rangers rivalry. In the end, these guys basically won it:

On Sunday, we trekked out to one of SF’s most popular neighborhoods for Halloween, Cole Valley, and it did not disappoint. While the petite (dressed as a sailor) demurred any notion of trick-or-treating at her age (um, twelve), we strolled up and down the streets, paused every now and then for a performance or to watch the Giants game on someone’s bedsheet (tricked out with a projector of some sort) or spider-webbed television set. My favorite part was the tiny dance floor for toddlers only. They were grooving their little hearts out and I almost died of cute. It was a great Halloween!

…and then the San Francisco Giants won the World Series! And it was amazing! And I honked my horn and we celebrated over a delicious dinner and I high-fived perfect strangers and we took a stroll through our neighborhood (the Mission) – set safely back from where the mayhem was taking place, and it was good until it was bad. My feelings about it all can be summed up cleanly with this question:

Why can’t we just have nice things?

Right, testosterone. Silly me.

Still, I told myself consolingly, most people were peaceful and non-destructive.

…and then we voted.

M & I researched and debated and voted our little hearts out, and stomped to our polling place, proudly scribbled in every last last line and smashed our stickers onto our chests, and I suppose it isn’t all bad, it could certainly be worse, but it could be much better and it’s not. Also? Some maniac polling place worker has broken into a machine, stolen the ballots and the memory box, some poor teenager’s cell phone, and run off with it all. Sigh.

Earlier tonight folks were reveling not far from us, celebrating Dias de los Muertos, and we walked through the clouds of incense and giddy crowds with skull-painted faces. Tomorrow the SF Giants will get a perfectly Norman Rockwellian homecoming parade downtown, and I’m sure I’ll be able to steal away from work to pop over and take a look, and then all of the city will be spent and exhausted and we will move out of it, but only just.

Bless it.

FEMME: RVCA slacks, Banana Republic shirt, Zara bomber. Vintage scarf, tomboy’s aviator hat, Dolce Vita for Target boots. HARRY FUCKING POTTER QUIDDITCH GOGGLES for $16.99. (In case you didn’t know, steampunk has made vintage goggles of any cool sort totally unaffordable.)

BUTCH (CASSIDY): RSQ denim (NY and London cuts), Red Level Nine cowboy shirt and vintage gun holster. Harley Davidson boots and Maverick straw cowboy hat. Bandana by Levi’s.

I am so excited about my Halloween costume.
I am so excited about my Halloween costume.
I am so excited about my Halloween costume.

I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME.

So excited that I don’t care if I was 100% right and my poor wookie pumpkin is already all shrivel-y and deflated like a dead, decaying wookie. (Plus, we’re going to a pumpkin-carving party tomorrow. Bygones.) I know it’s really mean of me to get all SKWEE about my epic costume and not tell y’all, but you’ll see soon enough.

Let’s change the subject, shall we? Here, look at my shiny hair. Let’s all just calm down a minute.

I threw this outfit on in a hurry this morning. I realized that I’ve packed all of my heels aready save two pairs of high-heeled boots – both brown. Femme fail! I love that it’s all serious grays and a plaid Brooks Bros. skirt, paired with some stompy boots. Here are the details:

Shirt: RVCA
Cardigan & Belt: H&M
Skirt: Brooks Brothers
Tights & Boots: Target
Pearls: Vintage

Right now at the FFAF household, here’s the news:

• The San Francisco Giants have indeed toasted Texas. Texas toast! So good, especially soaked with the big fat crocodile tears of the poor, poor Rangers. This town is going wacko. Also? We smoke weed here, apparently. Who knew?
• The registration packet for the petite’s new school is no thinner than 1.5″ thick (in triplicate) and includes a swatch of fabric so that parents can readily avoid the horrible mistake of purchasing uniforms in the WRONG SHADE OF KHAKI . I don’t know about you, but I’m sure relieved. (We owe her big time. Like Uggs big, and y’all know I fucking HATE Uggs.)
• The “big packing weekend” is upon us. It’s do-or-die time. We’re also selling a TON of furniture this weekend. Whee!
• We’re so sad about Mondo not winning Project Runway. What do you think? Gretchen’s such a bloody hag that it makes it hard to appreciate her clothes, which seem to me a meek, hipster-y acquiescence to the superiority that are Chloe’s Fall collections, but what do I know?

We had a very nice weekend. It’s interesting the way the fog works down in the lower bits of California. It’s nothing like up here. We’d wake up, step out onto our private balcony in our fluffy shocking white terry cloth robes and slippers, bemoan that somehow the cold had tailed us all the way down the coast, and then BOOM! they’d dissipate into fluffy wisps and trail lazily while the sun blazed down on us, by God.

Our suite was bigger than our flat (but smaller than our old loft). It’s humbling to come home from.

Thus, I’ve informed M that I insist on getting a king-sized bed when we move.

Her response was, “Why? Even when we sleep in one we only use half of it.”

D R A T S.

How handsome and serious does M look here, all tucked into this nook? I think it’s a little bit amusing that we both brought such dire reading to our mini-break weekend: The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Becker and What Is the What by Dave Eggers.

I also brought with me four tiny vials filled with fragrance (which I haven’t mentioned in quite some time, to my own dismay and that of others). You newcomers may not know that I used to regularly write reviews of scents at FFAF. Sometimes M would, too (those would always be of the masculine variety – most of mine are feminine or unisex). I’m going to make a real effort to reintroduce that aspect here, because it’s a lot of fun and I think scent is an important part of one’s self-expression.

You can read about the four fragrances here (as well as get some “vintage” FFAF from early 2009!):

Pillow of Flowers from Parfums d’Armando Martinez
Coup de Fouet from Caron
Cuir Ambre from Prada
Un Lys from Serge Lutens

Outfits! I am wearing my Runaway Pony dress with a belt I snagged from Fred Flare, and I topped it all off with a vintage clutch and these super hot, sherbet-esque Enzo Angiolini strappy sandals.

M’s got on Calvin Klein slacks, an RVCA dress shirt and Zara shoes. Both the tie and tie clip are vintage.

I’d love to stick around, but ZOMG Gossip Girl starts in, like, ten minutes.

(M in “resort” wear and I am in sundry Liberty of London for Target bits.)

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:

Sunday before last, we went to an epic brunch featuring an outstanding drag show at the Sir Francis Drake in San Francisco. This past Sunday, we went to an SF Giants vs. LA Dodgers ballgame, an exciting one, apparently, on account of the fact that the Giants were poised to sweep the Dodgers in the series. (I don’t speak baseball; forgive me any errors.)

On Saturday, however, M indulged my new lust for suspenders and bought me a pair of skinny ones from H&M, and I was dying to wear them. You know how it goes. (I am currently typing so speedily that M suspects I have Nasdaq trading windows open. I do not. Hello, the market’s closed. Except in Japan, but I’m so sure.)

So, yeah, this is what I wore to AT&T/PacBell Park. (Free drink for the first person to correctly name it, I really just can’t keep up.) One girl walking past literally squealed, pointed and exclaimed, “OOH, SUSPENDERS!” all gleefully. I felt more like a stable boy than anything else, but it was a really, really fun outfit to wear. Believe it or not, not a lick of what I’ve got on belongs to the tomboy. Not even the hat. That belongs to the petite, and it’s from Goorin Bros.

A girly girl in tomboy drag makes what?! I don’t know, but it was S U P E R.

Let’s break it down from head to toe!

Hat: Goorin Bros.
Suspenders: H&M
Shirt: RVCA
Trousers: RVCA
Boots: Lamica
Bag: Betsey Johnson
Sunglasses: Kenneth Cole

Last but not least, some pics from the day just for fun. The tomboy in her LA Dodgers garb, the consumption of cotton candy (do you know they come in flavors? I like blue the best, M prefers pink, how’s that for GENDERFUCKERY, yo), me feigning delight and excitement in a souvenir shop, boozing and the big, gloriously blue sky we were blessed with on game day…

Remember when I was pouting nearly two weeks ago about not being able to wear summer dresses willy-nilly? Here’s the Kensie number! Glorious cotton and silk blend, lovely sorbet shades, and of course there’s the ruffled neckline. Searing temperatures in the high 80s yesterday finally gave me the perfect excuse to wear it to my little brother’s high school graduation. Alas, we were wholly unprepared for the direct, relentless sunlight that scorched us from 9:30AM-noon during the ceremony. So bad. I know. We just had no idea what it was going to be like! (Next year, when my other little brother graduates, we’ll be far better prepared). It was a wonderful ceremony, though, very All-American, Norman Rockwell.

Here’s me goofing around in my mom’s weirdo barnyard shed thing in the backyard. If you think this is bad, you should see their garage. I didn’t really have time to accessorize because the tomboy was bossing me and we, of course, were running late. (It’s so rare that we get up early on the weekend, and we had to be out of the door by 8AM. I barely had time to throw on these nude patent leather pumps (Madden Girl).

When we climbed into the car I exclaimed, “Oh no! I forgot my necklace!” and M said (tersely, I might add) “Oh, you’re right, your brother TOTALLY can’t graduate from high school without your necklace.” I sulked until I got my triple shot mocha, and then: BYGONES.

We had all sorts of notions about what today would be like. Champagne-soaked croquet in Dolores Park. Perusing the DIY wares and glutting ourselves with tater tots at IndieMart over at Thee Parkside. Having succumbed to what can only be heat exhaustion compounded by an unending meat parade of happiness at the post-graduation BBQ yesterday, we slept in until noon, brunched at 2PM and are now enjoying an Ally McBeal marathon from the comfort of our sofabed. C’est la vie!

I’ll make up for it with the following this week – Monday night shopping with my BFF:

I just got tickets to see Karen Elson on Tuesday night at Cafe Du Nord!

You didn’t think I was going to keep the tomboy all to myself, did you?

She’s wearing an emergency pair of $16.99 JCP shorts we had to run and fetch her at the mall near my mom’s house before she DIED in her pants, a classic wifebeater, RVCA shirt and one of her many pairs of flip-flops. She is as tasty as she looks sunbathing all hot and salty and smelling of sweet tea tomboy.