fitforafemme.com

Welcome back! It appears that Fit For A Femme was down for much of yesterday and last night, and I had no idea. Sorry, folks! I must confess I was rather vexed, but late last night the tomboy fixed it and all was well again. Phew. (There might have been a brief hissyfit, during which I refreshed my Gmail account rapidly, snapping “I PUT IN A TICKET! WHEN ARE THEY GONNA GET TO MY TICKET!?” while M reminded me it was a late Friday night and no one was working, most likely. Harumph!)

On Wednesday night, M & I decided to get dolled up and go to Flourish, a “sexy extravagant dance party” for us flannel-clad, Birkenstock-wearing dykes! No, really. It’s like the entire purpose of this event is to get all fancy and dressed up for no reason at all, and sip strawberry-topped champagne by a roaring fire and dance dance dance dance dance to the radio (or DJs). It was their last Wednesday night – they’re moving to a Friday beginning next month! – and we wanted to be sure and catch it in its mid-week glory just in case a weekend crowd alters the premise overmuch. I hope not, because we had the most amazing time and will definitely be back. Plus, the gal who runs it is lovely and once rescued me from an evil Mongolian heiress.

So, this dress: LOVE YOU, MODCLOTH! I love the flutteriness and kicky shortness and pretty, saturated palette. I love the keyhole back and how it hangs perfectly across the collarbone but refuses to fall off one shoulder or the other. I’m not at all fond of elastic waistlines (in fact, I’ve been known to recklessly tear them out with my handy seam ripper), but Sheeba the Belt remedies that effortlessly, and the spots tie the two together perfectly. Of course, I had no choice but to pair it with these shoes. MEOW.

In other news, let’s all give my beloved Grandma Jones a round of applause, because it’s her vintage necklace got me wearing gold again and she’d just get the biggest kick out of seeing me rock it at a big gay dance party if she were still alive. XOXO.

PS. Once again, these pictures were taken at 2AM. Forgive me, but know that I spared you any in which I was chowing down on the buttery, sugary tortilla I bossed M into making me when we got home!

Confession: OK, OK. I didn’t really smoke inside of the loft, settle down. That’s so against the law. The rules. You know. ALRIGHT, SO IT WAS ONE MEASLY DRAG, but it was totally by accident, I swear to God. I was channeling Monica Bellucci in Malena (or maybe Joan Holloway from Mad Men, does it really matter which?) and got a little carried away. The entire unsmoked cigarette is in the trash under my sink if you don’t believe me. Where was M? At her monthly poker game, winning us some monies, bless her heart (she always wins). If it’s of any consolation, I sat through 17 Again this afternoon at the movies (yes, with that Zac Efron douche), eating free popcorn and squeezing some joy from the sad 80s references spattered like roadkill throughout the movie. I also overcame great technological odds and mastered my newfangled new special DJ box thingee all by myself before lunchtime, so there!

PS. Yes, I know it’s very bad and naughty, but to be perfectly honest I can’t remember the last time I smoked a cigarette the whole way through, much less several in a day. It very seldomly happens anymore!

When: Friday, August 29th, 2008.

What: Black cocktail dress by Fire. Vintage Sheeba belt. Patent leather and pony hair peep-toe pumps by Linea Paolo.

Confession: My flight into JFK was delayed for over an hour. Instead of heading to my friend’s condo in Prospect Park, I had to get a car straight from the airport to the Babeland in Soho. The occasion? A private bachelorette party. HELL YES. Complete wardrobe, makeup and hair change in a tiny airport bathroom? HELL NO.

I’ve never done anything like that before in my life, unless you count the time that I changed in the car at 80mph from my Guys & Dolls costume into my Miss Teen San Francisco casual outfit on my way toward the Bay Bridge (hey, an overachieving girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do). I missed the informative demo, but still had time to get flogged, buy some pretty Andrew Blake porn and peruse the vibrator selection. Also? GOODYBAGS.

When: Saturday, August 2nd, 2008.

What: Gorgeous maxi handkerchief dress from a folksy boutique in Old San Juan, with Sheeba belt, vintage. California Girl flip-flops. My new Marc sunglasses.

Blue two-piece by Becca. Peacock earrings from McCalou’s.

Strapless black minidress by Maria Bianca Nero. Linea Paolo peep-toe pumps with sangria patent trim and ponyhair leopard print. Sheeba the belt. Earrings from my mother and little clutch from M’s sister.

Confession: I bought two of those dresses, and the other one is the prettiest sangria print, which M insisted upon. I was so scared that the shop would be closed when we went back to the shop, but it was open and I found a gorgeous lacquered wood bangle as well as a beautiful, stretchy cerulean blue scarf, with silver glinting throughout. I bought three scarves total whilst in Puerto Rico! In all that insane tropical heat!

I only wore this ridiculously short dress because it was our night to explore all the lesbian or gay bars we’d researched so thoroughly. One delicious and extremely fancy dinner in Hato Rey at La Casona and two cab rides later (the slightly racist waiter advised us not to walk through the Dominican ‘hood to get to Roosevelt Avenue, whatever), there we were.

There were no gay bars. OK, there was one, but it was so packed there was zero chance of us getting inside. We decided to walk to the next one – it was only two blocks away, after all! TWO LONG ASS BLOCKS. It was very dark, the streets mostly abandoned, and I started to freak out a little. “Jonesey, you run all around much meaner streets in SF without a care in the world, what’s gotten into you,” M asked. I don’t know, to be honest. I just felt…not safe.

We passed a huge meat market and kept walking through the middle of nowhere. I told M that if I got yanked into an alley and murdered or worse, it would be her fault for not protecting me, so she quickly hailed us a cab and we went back to Old San Juan, where I mumbled sheepish apologies for being such a big fat wuss.

Anyway, my point is that I only dressed this way because I thought we’d be nuzzled safely in the bosom of Le Gay! Not that I believe a short skirt invites sexual assault, because that’s bullshit, but there are certain things I’m only comfortable doing around queers, such as this outfit or naughty pillow fights or lip-syncing to George Michael.

Best part? Walking around in Old San Juan, I was somehow NOT the one traipsing about with the highest hemline! ZOMG, PR girls are fierce, y’all. Seriously.

When: Friday, July 25th, 2008.

What: Black silk dress with black satin v-neck and back, Carole Little. Sheeba belt, vintage. Linea Paolo peep-toe leopard print and patent leather pumps. Little glove thingees are probs from Hot Topic, but they’re ancient, so it’s totally possible they’re from that awesomely trashy and fabulous boutique in the Upper Haight that I can’t remember the name of.

Confession: Last night was the first time that I deejayed in nearly a year. I was not a little terrified and stressed, but a very nice and lovely Campbell walked me through set-up and stood over my shoulder while I got started and even taught me about this AMAZING new technology that blew my mind, where you can spin MP3s on your laptop with this special software and dummy vinyl on the actual turntables. Dreamy. I danced and got all sweaty and played my favorite Louis XIV song and scowled at the girl who had the nerve (THE NERVE!) to ask me to play that fucking twat Katy Perry song, but did fulfill two other song requests!

I’m off. Bottomless mimosas await me in the Castro!

When: Fri., June 20th, 2008

What: Turquoise Swiss Dot dress from ???, the Sheeba belt from last week and pony hair leopard print and ruby patent leather slingbacks from Linea Paolo. My leopard print hoop earrings (keepin’ it classy, for real) are from one of my favorite boutiques in Oakland, Glow on Lakeshore Ave. Pasty legs courtesy of my office, yay!

Confessions: The dress is from Delia’s (yesZOMGthatDelia’s, the one you used to get a catalog from in high school, where you proceeded to maim the pages with your Sharpie and very own special desire to have the crispy, put-together outfits of the girls on their pages. Or maybe that was just me. Whatever. Shut up. ).