It's It...redux

Out of all the memories I have of my almost four years of living in San Francisco -- the too few and far between sunny days spent in the park, the mad dashes to catch the last train of the night and the rush of happiness that came with slipping through the closing subway doors in the nick of time, Friday evening yoga classes at Yoga Tree in the Castro -- my fondest memories revolve around food (other times in my life where this is also the case: my childhood, relationships, any other time I've been awake).

Although I've found my haunts and joints that I love in my grimy - yet still charming - city of Los Angeles*, they pale in comparison to the places I came to know and love in SF. Perhaps it's because I didn't learn to appreciate and really worship food until I moved there. I got my first taste of everything from jaw droppingly expensive meals, what it means to eat locally, how good vegetarian fare can actually be (said the non apologetic carnivore), the most delicious meals I've ever had for a mere pittance, and everything in between when I lived there.

*like the Allston Yacht Club on Echo Park Blvd. and Garage Pizza on Sunset Blvd.

You couldn't bribe me with a lifetime supply of Hog Island oysters or falafels from Truly Mediterranean to move back to the city by the bay, for I'm attached to Los Angeles as I am to my own limbs, but still...sometimes, I get cravings.

Cut to this past Tuesday night. I'm walking home from my very favorite bar. One that doesn't serve hard alcohol and whose chalkboard menu won't list any beers you've ever heard of (if you're a novice, such as myself), but is warm and welcoming and whose back patio housed the meeting spot of a certain new man in my life, one fateful evening (Valentine's Day, if you can believe it).

Craving ice cream, as I'm wont to do, I quickly ducked into the drug store and was met with a beautiful sight: from the bottom shelf in the frosty freezer peaked my favorite San Francisco edible. I wouldn't have even recognized it, had I not been so very familiar with the wrapper (having almost shoved the entire thing, familiar wrapper and all, into my facehole on many occasions).

I've written about them before -- the magical being that is an It's It ice cream sandwich. Since I moved back to LA three years ago I've been searching for them in every liquor store I patronize, begging sweaty ambivalent owners of said liquor stores to carry them, and driving into the Valley, of all places, just to track down the illusive treat. And now, here they are practically at my doorstep...sold in singles, no less (the first I've found in LA).

I walked back to the house and finished the whole damn thing, wrapper and all (jay kay...maybe) by the time I reached the front door. That's the way they should be eaten: while heading somewhere in a rush -- whether because one has to catch the very last train, or in the case of Tuesday night, because one has to piss so freaking bad she can feel it in her very fingernails (woe is me and my minuscule bladder).

Another piece of my heart has now secreted itself away from San Francisco, where it can begin being encapsulated by the life I've formed for myself here in Los Angeles.

What's something from your ex-city that you wish you could have brought along?

P.S. If you live in LA and want to try an It's It (which I HIGHLY suggest) you can find singles here (only vanilla, sadly), and boxes (including mint!) here.

Six Months + Six Dresses #2

Presenting my second dress in the ongoing series Six Months + Six Dresses, brought to life by Miss Kyla Roma. This dress was purchased at the new Highland Park thrift store, Urchin, which rocks my freaking world. You can find my first entry here.

I highly recommend, should you ever be given the opportunity, to work on a project that allows - nay - encourages AND funds the acquiring of vintage dresses, which you then get to keep when said project is over.

This is not just a fairy tale I have concocted in order to justify my crazy clothes hoarding ways, my friends, this actually happened to me. I know, right?! Although I can't yet announce the project, I can show off the wares.

In addition to recommending involvement in such a project, I'd also recommend that you make sure your slip isn't showing when posing for pictures in one of your favorite dresses from the aforementioned vintage-dress-buying-spree.

A dainty and demure pearl buttoned dress such as this one is best paired with a waist-cinching belt and tasteful yet comfortable shoes, along with a bitchy glare and a tough-as-nails attitude, of course.

Posing coyly and cutely is recommended...

however jokingly encouraging your boyfriend to pose how you were just posing is not (although also kind of is because the resulting photo will make you giggle every time you look at it).

Sipping jalapeno margaritas at your favorite local restaurant in your new fancy dress that makes you feel like a naughty housewife from the 50's who may or may not be wearing tawdry lingerie underneath her modest frock is highly, highly recommended.

Getting to wear new fancy dress for a hot as hell and equally stylish boyfriend who ALWAYS opens the car door for you even after months of dating and you insisting that it isn't really necessary is the cherry on top of a wardrobe full of cute new dresses.

I know this post is supposed to be about my dress, but this guy?...oh my goodness I'm so nuts about this guy. It's been three months and I'm absolutely smitten with him.

Write, Right?

Holy crap I've been busy lately. Really, this feels like the first time in my life where I'm truly, crazily, happily busy. Instead of going home after my 9-5 desk job (which is boring, yes, but I appreciate in its ability to provide a roof over my head and a new dress every now and then), lately I've been heading to Alie's house, where we'll spend the evening giggling, brainstorming, and most importantly, writing (okay fine, high-fiving a lot, too).

Writing Necessity, Exhibit I

My life feels like it's at a turning point, one that I always hoped would happen, but in the same vein, always worried wouldn't. I'm going to be 30 in a month (!!!), and I feel like I'm racing towards this awesome finish line, one that once I cross will allow me look back at 29 as the fucking awesomest year of my life. Twenty nine isn't even over yet and I can already say that statement without hesitation (although I don't want to jinx it, so don't tell the powers that be).

Writing Necessity, Exhibit II (with gratuitous boob-grab shot, courtesy of Alie Ward)

It's really an amazing time in my life, and I'm so excited about all the wonderful things to come...moooost of which I can't share with you right now. Trust me friends, I'm dying to spill it. In fact, I've been feeling a little less excited than I normally would, I think because something about blogging it makes is just so much more REAL, ya know? It feels like the next chapter in the story of Georgia Is Your Friend, but instead of all you lovelies following along like normal, I have to keep it to myself. That is a hard thing to do for an over-sharer like myself.

It of course all revolves around the McNuggetini and our other videos, which has evolved from a lil ole blog post to perhaps the beginning of a career, which just boggles my mind but makes me oh-so happy at the same time. We're mentioned and quoted in this article for the Associated Press today, so go check it out when you have a moment. I promise to update on the goings-on when I can, and post more cute vintage dresses and tawdry stories in the meantime.