fitforafemme.com

WHAT A WEEK.

Jesus Christ. It’s like this wussy little 4-day work week was so slighted by how completely and totally amazing our magical holiday weekend was that it decided to be the biggest shit in the history of the universe. So.

When I think of the last weekend, a warm, cozy glow washes over me and I nearly wince against the memory of the sun hitting so much white, can almost hear and feel the slushy crunch of snow under my boots, can feel M’s big, warm, fingerless-gloved paws against my torso as she catches me when I slip on an unsteady swath of ice (and her smile when it happens), the delicious bite of big mountain wind in my hair as I soar float down a tree-lined, twisting run, trying to catch up with her. The work week is all but washed away, and my mind sets on plotting how long before we can go back (21 days exactly).

Here is a wood we came across. Tahoe City has some nifty little walking bridge, and that’s where we were trying to get but stumbled instead into a park-like area with a Gatekeeper’s Museum and a little red shack to show you where the Original Fire House once stood, with ominous black bear painted cut-outs from particle board placed here and there.

It was beautiful. Even though footsteps had worn a clear path out to the clearing of soft, untouched snow that had fallen over the rocks or sand or both of the Lake Tahoe shores, only a few imprints were visible past a certain point. First I ran and then trotted and then walked briskly out toward the water, turning back often to check on M, who kept snapping photos and gingerly stepped through the snow, laughing.

I found a snowman missing its face, and tried to give some of it back. A long, skinny finger of land or dock stretched way out into the freezing cold water, and I wanted to walk to the end of it, but M hollered at me not to. Too dangerous. I stopped and flopped down into the snow, sunk down half a foot, and began to flail around the way I imagine people do when making snow angels (which I have never done), to make a snow angel.

M caught up with me and doubled over like she was having a fit and then told me my snow angel was the worst one she’s ever seen, so I threw some snow at her and made a beeline for the trees.

Anyway, you can’t imagine how beautiful it was there, unspoiled and hushed and lovely. These pictures of the scenery hardly do it justice. If we weren’t expected back at the cabin, we probably would have found somewhere to nap like real bears.

When I woke up today and peered through my blurry Valentino glasses to search for my contact lens case, panic set in. I knew I only had one lens left, and if anything happened to my last pair, scarcely hanging on by a thread, I was screwed. I hate wearing glasses, I hate the loss of peripheral vision, I hate how wobbly and unsteady I feel in them. I ran my hands over the bathroom counter, over sticks of eyeliner and tubes of lipstick and sundry palettes, and gasped as they met the little cage that is supposed to sit immersed in some sort of fizzing disinfectant solution overnight, every night. It hit me.

WHILE TAKING MY CONTACTS OUT LAST NIGHT, I GOT DISTRACTED BY LASH SERUM AND GIDDILY APPLIED THE LASH SERUM AND ABANDONED THE PROCESS ENTIRELY.

My eyelashes might be longer and thicker and darker, but I was stuck in my glasses half the day today because by morning the contacts had shriveled and dried into a cloudy, brittle mess. I had to make an emergency eye exam appointment (as it turned out my old prescription expired last September) and sweet talk them into giving me a trial contact lens (to go with the orphan lens) on the spot, and praise Dolly they did.

So the rest of the day went. The free lunch at work was so-so, but a coworker gave me some Tcho chocolates. I ended up working very late, but scored $300 of Banana Republic goodies for less than $50 at their last chance sale. The sitter was late picking up the petite, but we had delicious Italian delivered and I carried my stinky fathead puppy around for awhile, like a baby. There might be two suns in 2012, but Mexican CNN has naked chicks, so it’s all evened itself out, hasn’t it?

Corduroys: Levi’s
Sweater: Target
Boots: Vintage
Foxtail: Dollywood
Bag: Freebird by The Sak
Cocktail Ring: Banana Republic

How has everyone been doing with their resolutions so far? I’m not a big believer in the New Year being some blessed time to dramatically change your life, no more so than on a rainy day in April or a summer’s day in June. But with the end of a year I suppose one can step back, get a bit of perspective, and have a clearer idea of what the coming year or years should look like.

So far, I’ve finished one book (Portia de Rossi’s Unbearable Lightness) and am halfway through another (Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere). I’ve checked out the horses for adoption on Petfinder, perused the ads for horses for sale on Craigslist, and looked at leasing options, all thanks to a friend who happens to be something of an ex-horsewoman and has me looking at gorgeous Selle Francais and Dutch Warmbloods I cannot afford (as they are so fancy and can run you $80,000). We’ve dipped into our bottles of Evan Williams Single Barrel and Maker’s 46 bourbon. Not a bad start for six days in.

Perhaps your resolutions involve your beauty routines! I’m always trying to simplify mine, but I thought it would be fun to show you what’s in my medicine cabinet and on my vanity! (Maybe at the end of the year I can compare to see if it’s changed very much, too.)

Face
01. Cleanser: Lush Bûche De Noël
02. Toner/lotion: Lush Eau Roma Water
03. Cream/moisturizer: Lush Skin Drink + Estee Lauder Advanced Night Repair
04. Facial mask: Lush Catastrophe Cosmetic
05. Exfoliator: Rotation between a few favorites: Dermalogica Microfoliant, Origins Modern Friction + Brighter By Nature (twice weekly)
06. Make-up remover: Origins Clean Energy Gentle Cleansing Oil

Body
07. Shower gels/soaps: Lush Flying Fox
08. Body lotions/creams: Aveeno, Cetaphil
09. Anticellulite/firming treatment: W H U T, am I supposed to be doing this?
10. Body exfoliator: Homemade Sugar Scrub
11. Hand cream: Origins Smoothing Souffle
12. Lip balm or lip treatment: Pure Vitamin E Lip Balm or Lush’s It Started With A Kiss Tinted Lip Balm
13. Perfume: Changes Daily!

Hair
14. Shampoo/conditioner: Lush Assortment, Kirkland Signature Moisture Shampoo + Conditioner (surprisingly vegan, paraben and gluten free), Aveda Clove Shampoo
15a. Mask or other treatments: Ken Paves Healthy Hair Boost Up Color Drops, Bumble & Bumble Creme de Coco Masque & homemade masks
15b. Styling Products: Frederic Fekkai Beachy Waves, Bumble & Bumble Surf Spray, some awesome stuff I got in El Mexico, Frederic Fekkai Glossing Cream, TRESemme Heat Tamer Protective Spray
15c. Styling Tools: BaByliss Pro Porcelain Ceramic Straightening Iron (1.5″), Conair You Curl Curling Wand, a blow dryer, a really old school spiral curling iron

Make-up
16. Foundation: Perricone Active Tinted Moisturizer in Tint 02
17. Powder: MAC Mineralize SPF 15 Foundation (Loose) in Light Medium , Palladio Herbal Dual Wet Dry Foundation in Cypress Beige
18a. Blush (Powder, Highlight & Bronzer): MAC Mineralize, Cargo, Besame (too many to name just a few shades), Stila
18b. Blush (Stain): Lush’s It Started With A Kiss Tinted Lip Balm, Sephora Lush Flush Lip & Cheek Stain, Tarte Ring It In Cheek Stain Set
19. Mascara: MAC Zoom Lash, L’Oreal Voluminous Million Lashes, Clinique High Impact Mascara
20. Lipstick/lipgloss: MAC, Besame, Clinique (too many to name just a few shades)
21. Eyeshadow: MAC, Cargo, Stila, Laura Mercier, Besame
22. Eyeliner: MAC Shadesticks, MAC Greasepaints, Laura Mercier, Besame Classic Masterliner Pencils

Thrifted tunic, Silence + Noise skinnies, Gap scarf, Dolce Vita for Target boots, Freebird by the Sak crossbody bag, earrings are a gift from the tomboy for Christmas (slippery like a snake!), Pier One wooden bangle bracelet, Banana Republic cocktail ring, awesome foam axe with rabbit fur trim from Paxton Gate – Curiosities for Kids.

(From Saturday, January 8th) Today was awful. I woke up slightly hungover from my femme date at the Original Plumbing Fashion Issue party last night, we’re out of everything one would use to make a deliciously greasy breakfast, and then we sat down with coffee and saw the news. My head throbbed with grief and shock and the kind of despondence that senseless, wasted death comes with without fail. It was impossible to divorce politics and the impact that something like this will have on our country from the fact that real people are still sitting in real rooms with their broken hearts, obliterated from the loss of their loved ones even as I type this.

I looked at my very grounded and mature daughter, watched her watching the news with us, peering over my shoulder to look at the Sarah Palin map of the United States that I’d been screaming at just a few minutes ago, thinking of the social atrocities she’s seen in her short life (9/11 in preschool, sitting on shoulders at useless anti-war protests in kindergarten, wars that carried her through grade school and junior high, the ups and downs and rallies and phone banking and fighting for marriage equality, the daily routine horrors of misogyny), her bright future humming with the beginnings of certainty despite all of it, and I suppose out of self-preservation a calm, quiet numbness washed over me. I went about the rest of the day, running errands, eating dinner with my family, hosting my book club for the night.

I can’t think about the ambitious little nine-year-old girl who died today because I can’t, I just can’t, as a mother. I called my mother today, and she was happier than usual to hear from me; my little brother’s been in boot camp for the Marines for a week now, the news can’t have helped any. We didn’t talk about Congresswoman Giffords, the little girl, or the five others who died because we can’t, just can’t, as mother and daughter. We talked instead about his call home this week, the menu for our Super Bowl party in February, an upcoming ski trip.

In seventeen years, when my petite is thirty years old and calls me out of the blue on an overcast Saturday afternoon, I hope this country is a better place to live than it is right now. It has to be.

Last night we went dancing at a party where they played lots and lots and lots of songs by Depeche Mode (and The Cure, which pleased me greatly). I wore a green dress with black polka dots. I don’t know that I’ve ever owned a great deal of green clothing, but suddenly it seems polka dotted numbers in green are a thing I do now. The mysterious Tommy has given me a ton of fantastic tips for my new and still very much a work-in-progress FFAF studio, but for now these and my in blessed natural night posts will have to do.

This outfit was thrown on in a great hurry on Thursday last week. I was going for easy. Here’s a blouse that doesn’t need pressing! I thought. These black velvet trousers will do just fine and I pulled them off the hanger. Try to at least look like you’ve put in effort, I scolded myself, and then threw on the vest. I am very lucky that high topknots are in right now, because like hell I had time for that malarkey. I hopped down the stairs putting in my earrings and shoved a fistful of bobby pins into my pocket to catch the strays.

Off I went to work, but not before M drowsily informed me that I looked like a fancy Puerto Rican girl.

Black velvet trousers: Erin Fetherston for Target
Blouse: Vintage
Vest: Hengst
Earrings: Claire’s
Bracelet: Modcloth (I think, hard to remember)
Shoes: Yves Saint Laurent

E. C. Star dress. Franco Sarto wingtip pumps. Richard Chai for Target coat. Thrifted mini crossbody. Tegan & Sara scarf. I repeat, Tegan & Sara scarf. Red Velvet lipstick from Besame Cosmetics.

Today was shite. It didn’t start out that way; I crawled out of bed, wiggled into my favorite Peggy Olson dress and surprisingly sturdy, comfortable tights by Nina. M zipped me up and chattered away in bed whilst checking the stock market from her new phone, and I set off for work. A sweet colleague fetched coffees for us both when I arrived. At lunchtime, I met a friend in a toasty pub near our offices and we gossiped over grilled cheese and French dip sandwiches, and I ducked into Godiva afterward to carry out Day Two of Mission Find Outstanding Toffee. (Day One consisted of a trip to Fog City News, a lovely place where I picked up Richard H. Donnelly chocolates and the newest Gentlewoman. The latter is nearly perfect, has Inez van Lamsweerde and Chloé on the cover, the former not so much.)

It was all downhill from there. Godiva’s toffee was a joke. You’d do better to pick up a pink canister of Almond Roca! I ran into an infuriating issue at work. The old landlord still hasn’t sent us our deposit. (She still has a week or so to get it to us by CA law, but we can tell we’re probably going to have to fight her for it.)

After work, when I drove all the way out to the thrift store I’d left my phone at on Saturday, the workers were still there but the door was locked. They’d been closed for 15 minutes. My attempts to knock at the door and mime my desire to fetch my phone and only my phone went ignored, waved away; I am bad at charades, it seems they thought me either illiterate or simply stubborn (which I am, that is not the point): “WE’RE CLOSED,” the closest worker mouthed.

I remembered my fancy new phone. I googled the thrift shop. I jabbed my finger at the link to the phone number. It rang. I narrowed my eyes at the worker, standing just twelve feet away from me still at the register, focused intently on a stack of paper, watched her twitch and finally, after three rings, pick up the phone. P H E W. I helpfully volunteered a description of my phone, frantically making eye contact and forcing smiles, and suggested that it would only take her a few seconds to slide it through the mail slot or something so that I could get it back. “Yes, ma’am, we have your phone right here. It’s here. You need to come back when we’re open.”

My toffee was bad. My job vexed me. I am owed money. My data is held hostage at a thrift shop with rude workers. Bullocks.

Then, after a long and strangely soothing trip to the grocery store (maybe it had to do with huffing a fresh fistful of basil), I went home. It was warm inside. My girls greeted me; M helped me pull all the bags in from the car. Our handsome new striped armchairs had arrived, along with a great big mystery box. We were having piping hot lasagna with a loaf of garlic bread for dinner. Comfort food. I opened the mystery box. A sweet note from my friend Ali, who has recently launched a gourmet cookie company with her mom, and – heaven help us – piles and piles of her delicious creations. (More on that – and our first ever giveaway! – on Black Friday, so be sure to check back and enter to win.)

M made me giggle during this FFAF shoot out in the biting cold of our yard, she shined a flashlight on me and I fought to keep a candle lit in the wind. (“It’s supposed to be creepy,” I explained.) The moon was huge and shone eerily through the branches, which swooned and tottered around it like baby ghosts. (“It was orange and SUPER creepy before,” M explained.)

And just like that my day was right side up again. Hurrah!

Enjoy these spectacularly politically incorrect Thanksgiving pin-ups and have a dreamy, delicious holiday, everyone! We’re very much looking forward to my 90-year-old grandma’s brandy-soaked San Francisco Thanksgiving, with collard greens and pumpkin cheesecake, pop culture pumpkin pies and puppies. My mother’s given us just two assignments: an appetizer and a dazzling, festive cocktail for all to imbibe. I’m plotting something herbaceous, probably Italian, with spiced pear and sparkles. We’ll see how it goes!

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?

Today, my mother’s belated Happy Anniversary card to M & I came in the mail. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that she sends them on days like this or for M’s birthday or on Mother’s Day. They always warm my heart and make me feel like a tremendously lucky (thirty-year-old) kid.

Here’s what is said:

“Marriage starts off with hearts full of hope and shiny new rings…and some lucky couples like you find friendship and love beyond what they could imagine – simply by looking for it together. Happy Anniversary!”

(Then she writes here…)

I didn’t forget, I’m just late! : )

Hope you had a chance to celebrate your special day. I was thinking about the two of you. Miss you guys – let’s plan a family day real soon, k? Love you both!

- Mom & Dad! XO

It’s the FFAF mini version of the It Gets Better Project, which you’ve surely heard of by now. We might do one!

These were taken last Friday night, when we went out to celebrate our anniversary. It’s a black taffeta party dress from Target (I know, I know), paired with my Linea Paolo peep-toed, pony-haired pumps and a vintage clutch. The earrings are ancient and I have no idea from whence they came, forgive me.

I got a spectacular haircut tonight. It’s all flat-ironed and ultra-sleek, so I have no idea how it’ll pan out with my usual styling, but it’s an exquisite cut, it really is. Due to its severity, M says it’s great for occasions such as courtroom appearances, officious work gatherings, parent-teacher conferences, church events and the like.

Enjoy, kittens, because it’ll never look like this again (as I have neither the patience nor expertise to get it this way on my own):

Apparently, the rest of the country is on fire and the skies are trying to put them out with mediocre success, but I shan’t take up valuable white space with that sort of nonsense.

It was a very brutal Friday at work.

No, it was a very brutal Friday from the moment I woke up until, hm, champs ‘o clock.

It began with delays at my BART station (our metro of sorts), because some moron was walking around on the tracks. 30 minutes late. On the upside, there was perfectly cooked bacon when I arrived. A few harried hours later, I had a noon meeting, with food provided, but I don’t do pre-made sandwiches so lunch was actually half of a somewhat stale pastry chased by a bottle of OJ, eaten one-handed around, oh, 3PM. Of course, there’s nothing like a 3.5 offshore-centered earthquake from a high-rise building to make the afternoon exciting, not that I felt it (I was far too busy running around dealing with far less thrilling aftershocks of another sort).

It is no wonder then, that I made a beeline for Godiva after leaving the office, partly for my own sanity and partly because I’d promised my girls some treats. The smirk below, then, is directly related to A) Friday, at last and B) champagne truffles.

That, and the fact that we’ve got a 1.75L bottle of 10 -year Eagle Rare single-barrel Kentucky bourbon sitting atop the bar.

Plus, this dress is excellent and I’ve figured out that the Fekkai Marine Summer beachy wave hair stuff works much better when my hair is dry.

Dress, Calvin Klein
Scarf, Pier One ($10!)
Boots, Donald J. Pliner
Sunglasses, Kenneth Cole
Denim Jacket, Old Navy
Suede Tote, Banana Republic
Leather Earring, Idyllic4U (Brooklyn Flea)

Here’s what I’m thinking for my own personal inspiration sheet for Fall 2010 (or, like, life):

Weekend plans include, but are not limited to, the following:

What have y’all got going on? Is there anything else I’m missing, besides a massage and a good soak in a hot tub? Here, listen to this song, it’s pretty:

Edited to include this sandwich explanation: Pre-made and packaged sandwiches disgust me. I will also never, ever eat at one of those creepy, psychotic “dining in the dark” places. I must see exactly what you are putting in my probably very sparse sandwich, and I will watch you like a goddamn hawk tracking a sweet little bunny rabbit in an open field on a lovely Spring day if you are making it for me. I cannot believe that people actually consume sandwiches that have been sitting there for fuck only knows how long, with the spread or oils or whatnot soaking all into the bread and the other contents withering inside of suffocating plastic wrap. I also really loathe mayonnaise, and I still can’t quite figure out how I am friends with people who are known to eat it by the spoonful. The same is true for salads, you know, even if all of the ingredients are tidily separated from one another. Salads should be fresh. They are not fresh if they are boxed. I realize that being impossibly fussy makes me somewhat disagreeable, but I’m not quite as obnoxious as vegans or gluten-free types or people who can’t handle dairy without a big to-do, so there.