San Franny Recap and Shit I Want Wednesday

Sweet Jeezus.  I'm finally back from San Francisco a day late and several hundred dollars short.  I was supposed to return to real life on Monday but I'm tragically impulsive and horribly narcoleptic and decided to stay an extra day.   I had wanted to check out some shops and live it up in San Franny like a classy-ass broad but my plans got head-butted by the cold hard fact that I was there alone with my kids.  SF is NOT a kid friendly town by any means and I swear to Cthulhu that my chilluns were the only chilluns in a 5 block radius.  Those artist-hobos and trust fund-hipsters didn't know what hit them.  Still, it isn't hard to have a good time in San Franny, even if your travel companions are between the ages of 2 and 9, and I'll tell you why:  The food in San Francisco is fucking delicious.  There seems to be a creamery and a bakery on every corner and I can't swing a baby without hitting an organic grass-fed burger joint.  I made figurative love to all of it.

Tapas and sangria at Esperpento in the Mission:

My offspring going to town on cured ham, alcachofas a la plancha, tortilla de patata, calamares fritas,  and pollo al ajillo.

Saffron, brown sugar-banana, dutch chocolate and vanilla coconut ice creams at Xanath in the Mission:

11:00 pm and cracked out on ice cream.

Grass-fed wieners and oysters on the half-shell in the Ferry Building:

I totally talked my oldest one into eating these

Rose, lilikoi, blood orange, and chocolate macaroons PLUS princess cake from Fillmore Bakeshop in Pac Heights:

Best macaroons.  Ever.  I'd give my right ovary for another half dozen.

Gigantic sandwiches from Mollie Stone's

I forgot to take a picture of my actual sandwich because I was too busy stuffing my face.

My weight in sourdough from Boudin:

I couldn't stop eating this and it wasn't even mine.  It was Liam's.  I ordered a salad like a dainty lady.

Wine and lethargy in Dolores Park:

Play your cards right and you'll find a lady selling Space Cakes for $2.50.  I settled for 2-3 glasses of wine and playing with strangers' dogs.

Salted-caramel soft-serve from Bi-Rite in Mission Dolores:

Once again, I forgot to take a picture because I was too busy nomming.

Hamburgers the size of your head from Urbun Burger in the Mission:

It's pretty hard to fuck up burgers and beer but still, pretty good in my opinion.

So, I hope this explains why my jeans are tight and my wallet is empty.  I hope we can do this again, San Francisco.  Loooooooove you.

On to some shit I want! (other than a faster metabolism and more macaroons.) 

 I was introduced to this in San Francisco by my brother:

I had never seen or heard of this before.  It's called Ploom.  It's like an e-cigarette though there's no "e" involved since it is powered by butane and it uses actual tobacco (or herbs) instead of chemical nicotine. It's like a portable vaporizer/hookah.  There's different flavored little pods that you just pop in and puff away and I like the fact that it's smokeless so you don't smell like a bum's nutsack like you do after smoking conventional cigarettes.  I just wish it was a little more stylish.  I should have taken a pic of me using it but you essentially look like you're sucking on a highlighting marker.  It does say "beta" on the side (it's a san franny start-up) so maybe they'll come out with a style that looks more Auntie Mame and less like an orally fixated co-ed.

Ploom, take note.  This is what I want:

Shit I Want Wednesdays - My Pink Kitchen. I think.

Psssst...I'll let you in on a little secret.  I live in my parent's house.  

Now kittens, don't get jealous; it's not as glamourous as it sounds.  Granted, my parents aren't really here and I have a big 90-year-old house to myself but nothing is mine.  It's like living in a museum that my kids repeatedly trash everyday.  I can't ever think about painting a room or changing the decor because it isn't mine.  

So, obviously, I'm totally working my butt off to get out of here and find a home to make my own, right?  Um, kinda.  Soon.  Eventually.  Mostly, I sit around and daydream about how I'd redecorate and right now, I want a pink kitchen.  I'm not exactly a girly girl, nor is pink my favorite color, but there is something so frivolous about a pink kitchen and I figure the kitchen area of my future home is mine and I can do whatever the hell I want.

Formica shouldn't make me drool, but in this case it does.

THIS is a refrigerator.  I can tell I'm a total control freak mom because I want Little Miss here to close the damn doors.

Duh, necessary.

It's not like those dishes are going to wash themselves.

I have a white one but I'm convinced cakes and breads will taste better when made with a pink mixer.

Pyrex dinnerware in Flamingo Pink.  Now, I'm a total pink pyrex junkie and I CANNOT find these in real life.  I have them in Lime but Flamingo is proving elusive.  Eventually I'm going to have to bite the bullet and start getting these online.

Found these on Etsy.  I need these for water.  Or highballs.  Okay, mostly highballs.

Want some punch?  What? Of course it's spiked.  What are we? Mormons?

So that's my list.  Totally reasonable, in my opinion.

Shit I Want Wednesdays - Vanity

When I was little, I had an antique vanity in my bedroom - the curvy, swirly kind with lots of drawers and a fancy mirror.  Mostly, I used it to display my bottle of Love's Baby Soft, store toys, and write coded letters to my best friend.  When I grew up and moved out, I attempted to take my beloved vanity that had been mine for almost 20 years.  I didn't think about it really, I just assumed it was mine.  However, my mom said, "NO.  That's MINE."  Why? Because she's kind of a bitch, that's why.

Here is a picture of my mother.  You may recognize her from film.  I also wrote a book about her.

Gasp.  No vanity.  Every girl needs one and I was relegated to balancing my shitty Loreal makeup on a faux-marble bathroom sink like some sort of fucking plebeian (typing that made me laugh.) Without a vanity, reproducing my dreamy 1930's Hollywood Starlet boudoir was kind of impossible.  I could always buy a new one but it requires the perfect storm of finding one I like and having the wad of cash to buy it.  (Translation:  I'm lazy.)

Anyway, I'm kind of tired of my surroundings:  beige walls, ivory matelasse bedspread and a buckling computer desk from Target that's warped because of beer condensation and coffee spills.  Being in a house filled with men has made me put anything girly and feminine away.  I want a vanity so I can be pretty and put on makeup and play dress-up for at least a couple minutes a day.  But I know fantasy is not reality.

This is what I'm imagining:

But this is probably closer to reality:

I'm 2 prescriptions and 3 cats away from being THAT lady.

But let's pretend for a second that I'm more of the Jean Harlow type and my kids don't break everything they touch.  This is what I want:

Mirrored Vanity.

Lady Buxton Jewelry Box.

Jean Harlow's Vanity Set.

A pink princess phone.  So people can call me while I'm sitting at my mirrored vanity and I can say, "Hi.  No I'm not too busy.  Just putting some fake eyelashes on and getting ready for bed."

Fifi Chachnil Marabou Slippers.  Something tells me that these are glamorous in theory, but after clacking a couple steps on my wood floor, these will be kicked off tout de suite.

Annick Goutal's Grand Amour.  

And when I get tired of staring at myself in the mirror, I want a pink typewriter nearby so I can write my novel/screenplay. 

Did you get all that?  My birthday is in October.  Merci in advance.