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Wrapping up Edinburgh with a tour of – what else? – the famed castle. It was really magical. We spent hours just wandering around, soaking up the incredible history and completely foreign architecture. In addition to housing the Scottish National War Memorial (that was probably our very favorite part) and National War Museum of Scotland, it also contains Edinburgh’s oldest surviving building, early 12th century St. Margaret’s Chapel.

Fun with cannons! Contrary to how it may look, we were there on a fairly crowded day! For the most part it wasn’t bad at all, but in some popular attractions, like the Stone of Destiny and Honours of Scotland, the lines got long and moved slowly. All to glimpse the crown jewels, sceptre and sword, which date back to the 1400s and 1500s, and the stone upon which Macbeth’s stepson sat when he was proclaimed King of Scots in 1057! Definitely worth it. The reason you’re not seeing more photos of that sort of thing is because often photography was prohibited (not that that stopped some tourists, which horrified us!).

Some well-behaved interior shots. I wanted to take a break and thank y’all, from the very bottom of my heart, for all of your kind, supportive, infinitely wise advice for Violet. You’re truly amazing!

It’s not Buckingham, but even the Edinburgh Castle has a changing of the guards! It’s a lot more low key and folks just kind of cluster around to look on and it’s very officious and whatnot.

It wouldn’t be fair to leave Scotland with at least a few of these silly tourist shots, would it? Nah. I’m not sure what you call these little holes in the castle walls for looking or shooting or dumping things through, but M squished herself into one. It was a long way down! Let’s all be glad she didn’t fall out. (The flask was in her pocket.) KIDDING, KIDDOS. I’m just kidding.

I poked my little head through one at M’s insistence, and she stuck hers through one to take that picture up there. Cheeky! I don’t know if it even needs mentioning, but I will say whether we were strolling around hand-in-hand in the castle, down the streets, or nuzzling in bars or restaurants, nobody batted an eye at the affectionate lesbian couple. We didn’t expect anyone to, but it’s always nice to know that’s the case in practice. In case anyone was wondering.

Some lovely scenic shots of Edinburgh’s Old and New Towns, as well as the Firth of Forth out there in the distance. And below, some more goofy, silly parting shots. Hope you enjoyed them!

For the record, I’m wearing my vintage shoes with Asos trousers, a ruffled tank from H&M, and a French Connection for SEARS jacket. The sparkly necklace is from Banana Republic.  The tomboy’s wearing a vintage cardigan with Zara trousers and Aldo shoes, and her Dior Homme eyeglasses.

That’s it, then! Off to Dublin next!

Cheers,

FFAF

I’ll just let y’all drink that in for a second (but only just). I can’t even begin to imagine what I might have done, as a tender young femme, if I saw a sight such as this strolling along the beach at sunset one blustery May night years and years and years ago. At the very least, I would have pinched myself.

Tonight, we are celebrating the solar eclipse, the beginning of M’s birthday month, and the eve of summertime as marked by the petite’s last day of school, which is tomorrow  - but mostly the beginning of M’s birthday month. I found 10 of the most incredible vintage cocktail glasses during a lunchtime jaunt to a nearby thrift store, and upon coming home I promptly mixed up a round of Chapel Hill beverages, with a bottle of Hudson Manhattan Rye, Grand Marnier, and fresh-squeezed lemon juice. (We haven’t got any oranges, so the orange peel garnish was missing, alas.) I made her favorite meal and we dove into a tiramisu for dessert.

We’re now into a completely impromptu cocktail comprised of bourbon, triple sec, Domaine de Canton, a splash of orange mango juice, and a tiny little float of lemon soda. It tastes like something we’d order at Smuggler’s Cove. In short, it’s delicious.

If you haven’t yet figured it out, these are the butch companion photos to Sunday’s post! She’s wearing her Dior glasses again – something is wonky on the prescription with the Warby Parkers, so we have to get them fixed – and a very natty outfit, why I can almost see her fishing off the dock if only we had a tackle box and things with which to fish. She would fish in a tie the same way I’ve shown up to camp in stiletto boots.

How do we feel about fishing? I used to fish quite a lot when I was younger. In rivers and lakes and sometimes even wading for crawdads very many years ago. By far my favorite place to fish was tucked into a great lot of big rocks teeming with snakes on the Stuart Fork River in the Trinity Alps. Why am I even talking about this? Maybe because M’s favorite new thing is that ridiculous fool on River Monsters.

Pants: Zara
Shirt: Hurley
Sweater Vest: H&M
Tie: Calvin Klein
Shoes: Aldo
Eyeglasses: Dior Homme

LOOK AT OUR NUSTO PUPPY. Hi, Conor. Hey, Bird.

SBJ: “Bebe, do you want to talk about this shirt? The green one. You like it.”

M: “Oh, yeah! I like that one. It’s thick, like a tent made out of canvas, back when they had tents made of canvas. For hiking Mt. Everest before REI ruined everything. Ooh, Whip It is on. It only has two stars? That’s bullshit.”

SBJ: “Focus, sugar. There are details like the tiniest forest green pinstripes over the softer sage green, and those great, weighty cuffs.”

M: “No, you said COOL green and you wouldn’t let me wear it with my army green jacket. Also, it has the motorcycle patches, so you don’t get road burn.”

SBJ: “Exactly. It is a cooler green, that’s true. Your army jacket is a warm, ruddy green. They don’t mix.”

M: Audible eyeroll.

It was Monday morning when I took these. I was rinsing off in the shower quite innocently when M burst into the bathroom and cheerfully declared that it was St. Patrick’s Day. I had to brusquely remind her that it was very unfair to pinch wet, helpless, naked girls and she sheepishly retreated.

Once out of the shower, I hastily threw on a bright green dress under a pink coat and got ready to head to work. Safe! M was rushing off to make a 10AM meeting herself, but she was much too handsome, and the morning light too soft and kind, to miss. I dashed inside to fetch my camera and snapped these while she puttered around on the lawn with the dogs, chattering away happily about all the Irish whiskey she planned to drink later that night.

NEVER EVER DID IT OCCUR TO ME THAT IT WAS NOT ACTUALLY ST. PATRICK’S DAY AT ALL.

I think we ought to get a free pass on Thursday, the 17th, on the real St. Patty’s Day. What say you?

Denim: RSQ London
Belt: H&M
Cardigan: Zara
Shirt: Lifted Research Group Clothing
Boots: Lounge by Mark Nason

This little lace jacket is the best thing ever. Well, the best $24.95 I’ve ever spent at H&M, anyway. (Since the time I got this dress.) Since it’s been all Tahoe! Tahoe! Snow! Snow! here lately (you didn’t think I was done posting those, did you?), I thought I’d give y’all a wee break to show you how delightfully sunny and temperate it’s been this weekend.

It was a perfect Sunday. We slept in, made Eggos and cooked our bacon in a bit of Macallan’s short-lived Amber Whisky Liqueur, which was a very clever idea I had while lying half-awake in bed this morning. A friend gave us about 8 0z. of the precious golden liquid last night and we are savoring every delicious, pecan and maple flavored drop. I gave the dogs some much-needed baths and M tooled around the yard, and then we fetched the petite from her grandmother’s, where we all had birthday cake for her auntie.

And then we went to go and see COUNTRY STRONG, and it was fantastical. Yeah, I said it. F A N T A S T I C A L.*

*This has nothing to do with my crush on Blair, I mean Leighton.

Last night we had dinner in the wine country, Yountville to be specific, to celebrate a friend’s birthday at a restaurant called Ad Hoc (for temporary relief from hunger, you know). Yountville at night is positively enchanting, all the trees alight and the picturesque road twinkling like a pristine Mamet set just waiting to be wrecked by humanity.

Ad Hoc was bustling just the right amount when we arrived, the service was almost impeccable and the courses came out at an indulgently languorous pace – we were there for 3.5 hours! There were two highlights for me: the fried Tolenas Farm quail with blonde castelfranco radicchio and a chili garlic vinaigrette, and their magical, magical monkey bread. I’d never had monkey bread! The birthday boy, who is from Kentucky, couldn’t believe we’d never encountered it before. It was served with pecan ice cream and miles and miles of sweet, golden caramel.

We drove all the way back home and had a round of festive nightcaps at the Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge in Alameda. That’s a pic of us in our little tiki booth up there – I should have worn my coconut bra!

Nothing much else to report except my excitement at having mastered the fine craft of careless, so-what French braiding! I was going to leave them down in pigtails, but the silhouette was so interesting that I twisted them just above the nape of my neck, tucked the ends in haphazardly and pinned the mess into place. On a whim, I clipped these feathers and rhinestones in like I would fresh flowers and that was that.

Lace jacket, hair clips: H&M
Cowboy boots: Nocona
Dress: Zara

The earrings were a Christmas gift from M – dainty, faceted citrine drops with hand-hammered silver rings, the watch is Guess with a vintage band, the talon bracelet and single feather silver necklace are from Banana Republic.

When she reads this it’ll be the first time she heard it, but when we were shopping for a dress shirt and tie for M to wear on Thanksgiving, she came over to me (I think I was tenderly stroking and sighing over a plethora of leather gloves at the time) with an armful of choices and combinations, and very sincerely asked me for my opinion. I put the gloves down, redirected my focus and firmly gave her my even, thoughtful opinion.

Two things I absolutely love about us: No sugarcoating. Not ever. No gingerly dancing around, no tiptoeing on eggshells or wincing through broken glass. We call it like we see it. It isn’t a carte blanche to be unkind, not at all, but it’s beautifully honest and good grief, does it ever save us some time. Less pussyfooting, more cuddling!

That’s one thing, ranging from simple things like sartorial choices to the most deafening life choices, but there it is. The other is that we’re both terribly independent, hard-headed and stubborn, and in that vein M has always been the sort of gentleman to dress herself, and well. She knew instinctively which choice was best; when I pointed to the superior shirt-and-tie pair she nodded vigorously in agreement.

Alas, she hadn’t been 100% sure and wanted to know what I thought. Her extremely rare uncertainty made the whole thing 84,000 times more sweet and endearing. Anyway, it all turned out well, didn’t it? This getup is smart and woodsy and casual all at once. Somebody hand her a pipe and a hunting dog already.

(You are welcome for the gratuitous crotch shot. That’s some belt buckle.)

Dancing around in my Grandma’s secret garden. It was bloody cold back there!

Denim: RSQ London
Shirt: Calvin Klein
Tie: Ralph Lauren
Wool Blazer + Tie Clip: Vintage
Belt Buckle: Express
Shoes: Zara

Chauncey the Terrible! Piano times! Mussy-sikking! This concludes both parts of our Thanksgiving Day extraordinaire. Back to regularly scheduled FFAF, with an exciting holiday dress challenge posed by a devout reader and darling friend. If I had to title it, it would be:

“I know my extensive tattoos are tremendously gorgeous works of body art, but I also like to accessorize and I’ve got this amazing green party dress for the holidays. Help me work it!”

The dress is really adorable and I can’t wait to dig into this little project!

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.

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.)