Aesthetics

It's strange how much a change of environment will change your appearance.

My wardrobe took a conservative and feminine turn after 5 months in Paris -- less skin (oh, California), more shape and curvature. London led it down a slightly more edgy and vintage turn -- more colors and patterns. And now, in San Francisco, it's hard to describe it as anything other than urban practicality, at least 99% of the time -- can I ride my bike in this?

Man friendly; not bike friendly.

I've had moments here where I feel like I've somewhat lost my previous sense of femininity. I've also been wearing less and less makeup as the years have passed on, which isn't to say that has any correlation with a lessening sense of femininity. If anything, I see it as shedding the unnecessary, impractical -- something simple and more natural. Although I have to admit -- I fucking love make up. I'm good at the application and the experimentation, but I really can't be bothered to wear all that shit on a daily basis.

So it's been somewhat of a struggle to mix up my closet as of the past year in SF. The weather isn't usually quite warm enough to wear the array of dresses I have, and even when tights and cardigans can make up for it, it's not practical on a bike. Considering I ride almost every single day, the chances that you find me in a dress or skirt is pretty close to null. And that makes me sad, because dresses and skirts are up there as my favorite item of clothing. Not to mention that my previous heel-queen self has relinquished my throne to all things flat and durable. Despite my previous ability to dance for hours on 5-inchers, I now squirm at the thought of wearing heels to anything more than an art gallery. This is where Southern California girls get their advantage -- they don't have to walk anywhere on a daily basis other than that hour in the mall or that 10 feet to their car from the store.

With that said, I've been trying to make compromises. Trying to get a bit more creative, come up with something that's not stylistically dead and still serve the purpose of the SF streets and my daily commutes.

I've been jonsing for a proper parka -- although the style I have in mind is a bit more synthetic/shiny looking and of a deeper green, I settled for the following:

Oversized hooded parka, ASOS

I'm obsessed with hoods.

And because I can't get enough of military green, or coats:

Funnel neck toggle coat, ASOS.

Check out the bee-yoo-tiful pleating in the back.

And to introduce a new member to the never-too-many supply of cardigans, my personal funfetti cake cardigan:

Vero Moda multi-color flecked cardigan

While it ain't easy trying to stay below the budget, it sure helps to have a boyfriend who wants to help you dress the way you do :)

On the subject of dressing, I went frame shopping in the past weekend for a handful of posters that deserve to be dressed. I didn't expect frames to be that f'ing expensive, but I did manage to frame the two of the smaller posters. The other two were a massive 20x26.

You can't really tell from this photo that it's a floating frame, because the margins are so damn small, but the dude I bought this from at an art show really made it difficult to fit this in a preset frame size. I had to trim this shit like 4 times. If you know how shaky my hands are, you'd give me a god damn trophy:

And an appropriately sick present from Jeff of 12FV found its home:

Oh, that's right. These will be hung, for all to see, in my next apartment, officiated as of today. SOMA, HERE I COME. I've beaten the SF housing monster. For this year, at least.

And for now, I'll just heave and sigh over gorgeous leather handbags, forsaken embellished tops and jersey dresses, and forget about delicately adorned flats. I've got some jungle-proof gear to pick up and mud-trudging shoes to try out for Brazil in December.

Criminal negligence

I have forsaken thee, mine blog. So much that it's practically criminal.

I was surprised to find out that people have still been trying to access my older blog (xanga), which I managed to update incredibly consistently through the course of 5 or 6 years. Yet, at the same time, I think my blog now is of a very different nature, consisting less of daily ramblings and focusing more on focused topics that require more than 5 minutes of thought.

Why the extended hiatus, you ask?
L-fucking-SAT. That, combined with trying to work more than 40 hours a week so I can save money, combined with trying to have time for my beloved manfriend 400 miles away (which necessarily involves scheduled video-calls and plane rides), now combined with house-hunting (lease is up in less than a month) is a fucking trip.

This kind of trip, it is not.

There is nothing particularly new to discuss about the LSAT, nor is there anything really worth mentioning regarding work (other than the fact that my team pretty much got wiped out and my favorite people are leaving). Al is always lovely and maintains my sanity (and occasionally tests it, but what else would love be?).

But

Housing. Man, fucking housing. Looking for housing in San Francisco (no, not East Bay, not South Bay, not even fucking West SF because you guys just don't count, with your asses way the hell 5 miles over) is probably one of the most ridiculous ordeals that man man will ever suffer, comparable to surviving the bubonic plague. Trying to find a bedroom in SF was harder than landing my current job. Open houses were always packed and awkward, and interviewing to be a potential roommate turned out more to be like a talent show or popularity contest than a practical decision on who wasn't fucking insane and poor.

"So," this hipster, I-live-on-the-corner-of-Dolores-hipster-fucking-Park-and-act-it girl asked me at her open house, "If you were to make a book into a movie that hasn't already been made, what would it be?"

Within 3 seconds, I replied, "The Dice Man. Heard of it?"

"No."

"It's a 1970's cult classic about abandoning all human inhibition. Sex, drugs, rape, murder. A psychologist begins a religion based on pure chance at the hands of a die."

"Ooh... interesting. ..."

Oh, interesting? That's it? Had no follow up? Pretty sure nobody beat that answer, that effortlessly. Yet I was not chosen. Despite my willingness to pay $1200/month for a damn room and my obviously sound mind, not to mention that she was totally impressed with my knowledge of the Bay music scene for having just moved there. That's why we are not roommates. Beez ass beez. Who asks that kind of shit to fill a room. You're not a coop full of screenwriters and aspiring actors. And if you were, you better damn well know The Dice Man. Because that book needs a damn screenplay, even (or, especially) if it's a shitty, low-budget effort.

And the movie poster will look exactly like this.

And she was no exception. So many people interviewing for roommates seem to have settled themselves on some type of pedestal, obviously feigning interest in the potential tenants they were speaking to, or just lifting their noses to their wine glass, sipping some shit and talking about the gentrification of the neighborhood. That, or it's just one big mess of an open house and everyone is just fighting for a chance to get a word in.

Anyway, that pretty much sums up the experience I have with room-hunting in the heart of San Francisco. I guess you pay for what you get -- namely, location. Thankfully, this time around, I have the roommates, just not the house. Hopefully it'll be less like surviving the plague and more like convincing the Ganja-treat-vendors at Dolores Park that you really don't want their treats.

Even if it's banana bread.

Or blueberry muffins.

Really. I don't want it.