CONFESSION | FEMME: I’ve got a neat little story about this dress. My dear friend, Trixie from Toronto, sent me a bunch of links to vintage dresses on ebay.com that she felt might suit me. I loved how serious and plaid this was (a dark sage green with black checks), the fact that it came with an adorable matching bolero and belt (to be pictured next time). It was only when I first put it on that I realized the fit was perfect! Trixie, it seems, has a real knack for this. Sizing a gal up and sizing a dress up and saying with certainty: This one. You need it. Get it. GET IT! A few things about tonight’s trip to Bourbon & Branch: I may or may not have been allowed behind the bar to mix things up a little. I may or may not have sampled at least a dozen odd cocktails in a two-hour length of time. I may or may not be in love! You’ll see when I post my favorites, because you will 100% absolutely want to try them.
CONFESSION | TOMBOY: I hate SF so much right now! $2K for an apartment with a bathroom smaller than our current liquor cabinet! WTF? The fog is making everyone demented in the city. 15-minute open houses! Yes, let me just drop everything, schlep during the busiest possible traffic hours to come see your miniature toilet! Fucking Polly Pocket couldn’t live there! Gah! (You do realize that B is just going to exploit this for her own gain, right? – SBJ)
Confession: The bad news early this week, combined with needing a vacation from my Memorial Day holiday weekend minibreak made for a pretty quick and painful week. I’ve been devouring articles on the Prop. 8 fallout, working like mad and oscillating between feeling angry and despairing or feeling all the more empowered and inspired to do something about marriage equality.
We know the country faces many serious challenges and we have strived to be patient. We’ve waited for the slightest sign you would live up to your promise to be a “fierce advocate” for our equal rights while watching gay and lesbian members of the armed forces, who have never been more needed, get discharged from the military. And so far you have done nothing. No stop loss order. No call to cease such foolish and discriminatory actions that make our nation less safe.
You pledged to repeal the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, Mr. President. You promised to support a “complete repeal” of the so-called Defense of Marriage Act and pledged to advocate for legislation that would give same-sex couples the 1,100+ federal rights and benefits we are denied, including the same rights to social security benefits. You said, “Federal law should not discriminate in any way against gay and lesbian couples.”
I am appalled to the point of feeling literally faint with horror and disbelief upon reading this article by Andrew Sullivan of The Atlantic, and here is an excerpt from it:
Here we are, in the summer of 2009, with gay servicemembers still being fired for the fact of their orientation. Here we are, with marriage rights spreading through the country and world and a president who cannot bring himself even to acknowledge these breakthroughs in civil rights, and having no plan in any distant future to do anything about it at a federal level. Here I am, facing a looming deadline to be forced to leave my American husband for good, and relocate abroad because the HIV travel and immigration ban remains in force and I have slowly run out of options (unlike most non-Americans with HIV who have no options at all).
And what is Obama doing about any of these things? What is he even intending at some point to do about these things? So far as I can read the administration, the answer is: nada. We’re firing Arab linguists? So sorry. We won’t recognize in any way a tiny minority of legally married couples in several states because they’re, ugh, gay? We had no idea. There’s a ban on HIV-positive tourists and immigrants? Really? Thanks for letting us know. Would you like to join Joe Solmonese and John Berry for cocktails? The inside of the White House is fabulous these days.
Yesterday, Robert Gibbs gave non-answer after non-answer on civil unions and Obama’s clear campaign pledge to grant equal federal rights for gay couples; non-answer after non-answer on the military’s remaining ban on honest servicemembers. What was once a categorical pledge is now – well let’s call it the toilet paper that it is.
I’m just at a loss to say anything further, but there was one small triumph, one small thing that I could do this week to feel less powerless, so I decided to change my legal name. While M & I discussed it long ago and I’d been meaning to get around to it, on Wednesday I marched into the Social Security Administration offices in Oakland and demanded a legal name change with my marriage certificate in hand. And what do you know, less than five minutes after I stomped into there, I floated out with my receipt in hand, officially Mrs. M. FFAF Tomboy. The next and final step as far as officious bureaus and things are concerned was the DMV, and they asked that I return either after 72 hrs. to verify the SSA change electronically, or once I have my newly issued SSN card in hand, so I’ll do that as soon as it comes in the mail. In the meantime, the change feels FANTASTIC! I love it. In a way, I’m glad I’d procrastinated on taking care of it, because it was somewhat healing and empowering to do it this way, at this time, in response to those cowardly opinions.
Finally, in No More Mr. Nice Gay in The Huffington Post, Michael Rowe beautifully captures the three historical pillars of social exclusion and here’s my favorite excerpt from that article (bolding mine):
The LGBT community isn’t demanding the first gay president…or a lesbian Supreme Court Justice. Yet. What they want, and what they’re fighting for is full membership in American society without the three historical pillars of social exclusion (especially for men): the ability to marry someone of their own choice, the ability to raise and protect a family, and the right to serve and defend their country in the military. If those aren’t “family values,” then “family values” don’t exist. LGBT people are not any threat to “the family.” They are the family: sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles, husbands, wives. The joining of two families is one of the oldest rites in the history of the human race.
It’s time that the full rights of every American be fully enshrined and protected, and that the battle for those rights be acknowledged as this generation’s defining civil rights battle.
Below are a couple of really great, brief videos to watch if you can’t stand any more on the subject. The first is a video of the (gentle) arrests made on Tuesday in San Francisco immediately following the 10AM announcement. The second is a great TV commercial made by the Courage Campaign, and I closed out with some funny via a parody by The Defenders – it’s pretty awesome and first in a coming series.
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If you made it this far, I thank you and appreciate all the well wishes and sweet thoughts y’all have been passing our way. If any FFAF readers are going to Meet In The Middle tomorrow, I want to know ASAP!
Confession: Here is my outfit for the local fashion show. Guess what? NOT GOOD FOR KNEELING IN THE PHOTOG PIT TO TAKE PHOTOS OF THE MODDLES, GUYZ. Also? Why was I the only one in the photog pit not just in a dress, but FEMALE?!?! Plus, I held hands with a woman on stilts, clad in a flaming red costume with so many sequins. She insisted. There were also people roller skating in head-to-toe spandex with little flashing light tubes twisted around every inch. It was like someone threw up Burning Man into a giant convention center, right into the khaki laps of its attendees. Like, there was actual fire and I didn’t like it, y’all. ACTUAL FIRE FLAMING FIERY HOT AND I WAS YAAAAAWWWWWWWNNNNNNNN. So bored.
The fashion part was stellar, for the most part, like red carpet, hand-beaded Bollywood madness. I wanted to snatch every dreamy tunic off those skinny models and wear them scandalously, without pants, and sky high heels. Plus, I got to pop backstage and meet the designer.
Oh, and I was forced to drink a Jack and coke (I know) and now plan to NEVER go out to one of these things without at least two bottles of mini-booze in my bag. To be on the safe side. Like a grown-up version of a Girl Scout.
PS. M took these photos of me. Didn’t she do a really, really good job? Isn’t the one with two faces awesomely creepy?
PPS. I love love love my new haircut. It is exactly what I wanted and I got it all wavy like this just by scrunching. SCRUNCH.
Confession: DOUBLE WHAMMY! Because I’ve neglected y’all and I am terribly sorry. I’ve purchased a sewing machine, resumed my French lessons, started Bollywood dancing and helped a friend throw an amazing benefit for her AIDS Lifecycle 8 Ride over the weekend. Phew! I hope you enjoy the sassy new belt from modcloth.com and the exclusive softball game pics with a peek of the tomboy! I swear I swear I swear I’m not neglecting the sniffs section of the blog – I’ve got plenty, I’ve just been lazy in that dept. – and will try to post a few new ones this week. End. Weekend! Soon. Really. Have I told you lately that I love you? Well, I do. XO.
*Shades below by Spy Optics and vintage Wilson’s leather jacket.
Confession: My new best friends are designed for ballerinas, but I am fancy enough to kick it. I needed change for the parking meter at my threading appointment last night, and instead of popping into the bar or a restaurant, I wandered into a sparkly dance boutique. Ooh. I grabbed a pair of awesome tights/leggings that seem extra durable and came in the prettiest shade of cornflower blue for $13, and saw a display case with these enormous, monster-sized hair pins.
Bunheads hair pins. It was love at first sight. I held my breath and took the plunge, hoping against hope that elaborate french twists and the like could be mine, at last. My hair has just enough Asian-y slip and impossible thickness that regular bobby pins and clips are a joke. I got the 3″ pins in brown and they are AMAZING. Seriously. I used four for a messy chignon and a tidy bun, and I am totally, totally shocked that they hold all of my hair in place. At $6 for one dozen pins, they’re a steal.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!
*Boots by Charles David. Too lazy to change in .JPG!
What: Corduroy pants from Victoria’s Secret, mystery sheer black camisole and striped Italian cardigan, thrifted. Vintage scarf, western-y leather bag by Betsey Johnson and boots by Lamica. Beaded glass necklace from Spoiled.
Scent: Guerlain Angelique Noire. Interestingly enough, it smells similar in some ways to the scotch I review below. The vanilla, I think. It’s got bergamot, angelica and vanilla, goes on as sticky sweet as cotton candy melting on the tongue or warm summer skin, settles into something slightly more creamy and a little bit green, with the slightest shimmer of a bouquet of mulled wine spices. It’s a bit much for everyday wear, not quite enough for evening, so I’d probably wait for the perfect outfit and almost-too-warm spring day for this!
Confession: So absurdly busy with new job, but it’s fantastic and top secret. M is opening our newest bottle of scotch, a Macallan 12-Year, with “hints of sweet cream and vanilla due to aging in used sherry casks from Spain.” It definitely smells sweeter. Not like Sharpie. I’ll have a little taste when I’m feeling brave.
OK, I’m brave now. That was delicious. It was less smooth than the Lagavulin, a great deal less smoky or sooty, yet with somehow more bite along with the sweetness. It burns when you sip it, but it’s so sweet at the same time. I imagine it’s the sherry casks? I don’t care. It’s delicious. I want more. It makes me feel all warm inside. Mm.
What: Black trousers from Express, ruffled cotton blouse with black scalloped trim from Forever 21 (but purchased gently worn, so screw those bloody zealots!). Black vest and ribbon headband from H&M. Bangle, red patent belt both thrifted. Red and black patent flats by Linea Paolo. Lace & pearl necklace from Spoiled! on Broadway in Oakland, CA.
Inspired by our dining room? Perhaps a little:
Yes, the little skeleton couple is a painting that M made for me one winter day. It says “To My Future Bride” at the bottom and they are obviously still super-happily-married in their festive, bony death. Tendercome, y’all!
Confession: I swore that Fall had finally arrived this morning. I really did. I sat outside of a cafe and enjoyed a delicious mocha and fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon morning bun and read my book and shivered in a big, black scarf and it was Fall. Fast-forward to disgusting midday, mid-eighties heat and I was in a funk over prolonged summer days, and thusly consoled myself with a spritz of Dermalogica’s Antioxidant Hydramist, which is so cool and refreshing, smelling just faintly of roses. Yum.
Maybe a place near my workplace has a 75% off sale on all their Cargo make-up. Maybe I bought appx. $130 in pretty, pretty shades of coral, poppy, nautical blues and coppered greens for less than $30, after an additional $10 discount. Maybe so. All I’m saying is that these are a DREAM:
(If anyone local wants the deets, or if you girls want me to pick you up something, HOLLA. It’s all about giving back to your community.)
