Thanks Giving

Birthday Pup

This month, our little baby girl turned one year old. I can't believe how fast they grow up! For Sophia's birthday, we took her to Carney's for a scrumptious hot dog (her favorite) and the whole family watched Babe.

I can't explain my puppy's taste in movies. She likes animal movies, sure. But what she REALLY loves? Super gory horror movies with lots of blood and screaming. When my husband and I rented "The Human Centipede," she couldn't take her eyes off the screen. Same thing with "The Fly" and "Mortal Kombat."

Every now and then, she'll watch "An Education" but her favorite movies involve gross stuff. Go figure.

So here is a year in the life of Sophia, the teacup Chihuahua.

Nine weeks old.

One Year Old.

Her first day with us. We picked her up from LAX, where she was so tiny, she could fit in the palm of your hand. We bought her from AffordablePup.com.

It was love at first sight. Everything we put beside her just reminded us how tiny she was. Instinctively, this made us want to protect her. During her first week, we took her to the Farmer's Market, Target, Starbucks, Ralph's and just about anywhere we went. She became very fond of my Fendi Spy purse, where she fit quite spaciously.

Wherever she went, a crowd would circle. With her amber red hair and dark mask, people thought she looked like a little fox.

As time passed, little Sophia grew. Her short, chubby frame stretched out into a long, slender figure. But most curious of all, her ears got HUGE. Instead of looking like a fox, she quickly turned into a fruit bat!

To build her independence, we let Sophia sleep alone in her crate each night. But after a while, it became harder and harder to put her away to bed. She yearned to stay with us, cuddled in bed, watching movies and gnawing on chew toys. Eventually, my husband convinced me to let her sleep with us. Just once.

And now she's a regular fixture in our bed.

Easter time. Sophia got into the spirit with her bunny cape. Let me tell you: this is a little girl who LOVES clothes. I used to think dressing your dog was the sort of annoying Hollywood thing that dogs resent and owners relish. But the first sweater Sophia got kept her little body so warm, she would fight you if you tried to take it off. She now has a wide assortment of little outfits, and she just loves it.

Basking in the sunlight. It's a little known fact: chihuahuas LOVE sunbathing.

I learned this when I found Sophia curled up by the porch, laying inside the single ray of sunlight peering into our apartment.

Outside the Grove, in her Fendi purse. Sophia loves shopping. It gives her a chance to hang out with mom and dad, and sleep. Basically, her two favorite activities.

We entered Sophia to be in a coffee table book called "Hipster Pups." My assistant and friend, Michelle, made her this Lady Gaga "Paparazzi" outfit, or as we called her: Puppy Gaga. Sadly, she didn't make it in the book. All the winners were wearing black-framed glasses.

For Halloween, Sophia went to ZOOM ROOM, a canine social club that has puppy training classes and parties. On this particular day, they called it DOOM ROOM. Sophia was dressed as a pumpkin.

And finally here she is on her birthday. All grown up. 4 pounds, 7 ounces. We love her so much, and we're bubbling with excitement to celebrate Thanks Giving and Christmas with our special little girl.

Motherly Nostalgic,

Sabrina London

Come Here Fur A Minute...

I made a vow last year that I wouldn't sell fur coats again. They were heavy, cumbersome to ship, and a lot of people had different definitions of the word "soft." But then I looked at some of my favorite vintage stores' winter collections, and found myself quickly forgetting last year's mayhem.

Obviously, every vintage lover should possess a '50s mink stole, but this year what excites me are mixed calico pelts. Blending furs together can create a really modern, bohemian look. I'm also a sucker for mod fur collars and anything amber-toned.

Vintage '70s Arctic Silver Fox Coat - Bustown Modern

Vintage '70s Red Fox Fur Vest - Bustown Modern

Vintage '80s Shearling Trim Leather Coat - Bustown Modern

Vintage '60s Mink Collar Swing Coat - Bustown Modern

Vintage '60s Tweed & Opposum Fur Coat - Bustown Modern

Vintage '70s Rabbit Fur Bomber Jacket - American Archive

Vintage '70s Red Coyote & Fox Fur Coat - American Archive

Vintage '80s Fox Fur Trimmed Cape - Tinroof Vintage

Furried,

Sabrina London

Winter Wonder Wear

Over the weekend, I bought a pair of 6 inch high, superiorly badass Michael Kors platform heels.

Minutes later, I picked up a pair of Dr. Scholl's "fuck-me" insoles and refilled my Vicodin prescription. Is the long-term muscle degeneration worth it? Probably (not). But in the meanwhile, I modeled this week's vintage in full Viking goddess glory. The funny thing is, you can't even tell I'm 6 foot 4" in these pictures.

* * *

It's finally that time of year again, where adorable sweaters get paired with tiny shorts in revolt against logic and safety. Thankfully, Urban Outfitters has a mean spread of sweater tights, which I strongly recommend you snatch up immediately.

Here's a sneak peek at the latest heading to Alameda Vintage this Thursday night. As you might imagine, I'm pretty stoked to have a kitty AND a puppy sweater in the same lot. Pretty stoked indeed.

Vintage '70s Rainbow Batwing Sweater.

Vintage '80s Cutie Quail Sweater.

Vintage '80s Angora Kitty Sweater

Vintage '70s Southwest Sleeveless Sweater

Vintage '80s Novelty Puppy Sweater

Vintage '50s Honeycomb Cardigan

Vintage '60s Crocheted Blue Bonnet Shawl

Baby It's Cold Outside,

Sabrina London

New Studio

Today was the first day in my new studio. That's right, ladies and gentle beans. I have a studio now. Gone are the days of modeling clothes from 1:30 to 4 PM to maximize prime daylight. Gone are bad weather days affecting my entire week. It's all indoor, professionally lit photography from now on and I couldn't be happier.

Secret between you and me? I always feared the glass ceiling with outdoor porch photos. Even though there was a certain charm to everything being modeled on a porch, just a white wall and three-point lighting makes a world of difference. It's clean. It's simple. It's professional.

Our store is one year old and I'm truly looking forward to the next chapter in Alameda Vintage. I suspect the site will be getting a makeover soon, starting with these new, totally rad studio pics phasing out the porch photos. I can't believe it! It's Miles Davis cool and it wouldn't have been possible if we didn't get kicked out of our old place.

Thanks, dog prejudice! You did it again.

Professionally Lit,

Sabrina London

House-Warming Gift

Vintage '50s Barren Trees Dress - Times Up Shop

With all the craziness over the past few days, I decided some retail therapy was definitely in order. I found the most STUNNING vintage '50s dress from Times Up Shop, a vintage boutique based in Copenhagen, Denmark. European vintage? Yes, please.

The barren tees print reminds me of Salvador Dali's "The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory" painting. Something about the muted tones, the horizon line, and the dead trees just has Dali written all over it. Also, the painting is from 1954. Coincidence? Probably!

I'm so, so in love with it. When we moved, I threw away so much of my old clothes from college. It was liberating but nostalgic. I said goodbye to a lot of memory pieces: the jacket I wore when I met my husband. A couple peasant maxi dresses from my first trip to LA. I thought about auctioning a few of these, but it felt unnecessarily awkward putting a price tag on sentimental treasures of years past.

More than anything, I'm elated to start over. New wardrobe, new memories. I simply can't wait to get this dress.

Undressed,

Sabrina London

The End of Porch Fashion

On Friday afternoon, I was relishing my day off, enjoying a cheese quesadilla in my underwear and husband's Captain America shirt. It was one of those rare nothing-to-do Fridays where I could flip open my laptop and spend all day writing. Utter bliss.

Then: a staunch knock on the door. Gestapo-worthy.

This triggered my little chihuahua into a panic. Her alarm system activated, and I hurriedly rushed her to the kitchen, simultaneously looking for a pair of pants.

"Sabrina. Open up. It's Tatiana."

Worse than the Gestapo, it was my landlord. A tall, deliberate Ukrainian woman, who scared the shit out of me. In two years, I'd never placed a work order because I was scared of getting yelled at or having my rent increased. The first week I moved in, I accidentally locked myself out of my apartment one night. She appeared 30 minutes later in her pajama pants with a scowl that could sober a baby. "You must be SERIOUS, Sabrina. You grow up. This can never happen again. I charge you $100 if this ever happen again."

Guess who developed OCD that night?

As I approached the front door, with no pants on, I had the immediate sense of bracing myself. For all her no-nonsense, Tatiana was also extremely non-confrontational. If she received a noise complaint, you wouldn't hear about it for months. This hands-off approach to management came in handy when my brother needed a couch to crash for X months or when my husband and I bought a puppy without permission.

About that.

I was never trying to artlessly break the rules by bringing home a 3 pound chihuahua, but our neighbors had cats. Giant ones. And I justified if we could litter box train our puppy and teach her to be quiet, she was no different than owning a giant, sociopathic feline. That's right, I call Dexter on that shit. Cats have no remorse.

As I unlocked the door, I wondered if I still remembered what Tatiana looked like. It always sort of surprised me. I knew she was tall and her accent robust, but then you remember she lives in Hollywood and that's where silicone lip injections and DD boobs throw you for a loop. I opened the door, and was met with a familiar snarl.

"Sabrina, you have dog?" She said. This was a question.

I stared at her blankly. The puppy alarm system had not stopped barking from the kitchen. How had we slipped under the radar this long? We had Sophia for almost a year, and not a single complaint.

"Please, come in," I said and stepped aside for her boobs. It was the only phrase that came to mind. Didn't Olivier Martinez invite in Richard Gere after Richard found out he was fucking his wife? I took a deep breathe and opened the kitchen door. Sophia waddled out, trepidatiously. She feared strangers.

"Landlord tell me to check if you have dog. Neighbors complain. If you have dog, she say, you must give up dog or you move out in three days."

I felt my stomach sink somewhere in my lower intestines. Tatiana wasn't the landlord?

"You are no allowed to have dog, Sabrina. No. Dogs. Allowed."

Perhaps she was speaking in the third person. Foreign people do that, right? Pronouns.

"Landlord does not allow dogs, ever. Cats, yes. But dogs not allowed."

"Tatiana," I said. "I understand where you're coming from. But Sophia is trained. She uses a litter box just like a cat. And we're very strict about barking. If we'd known someone had a problem with it, we could have done something. No one said anything to us.

My husband and I are not planning to have children. Just this puppy. She's our family and we can't give her up."

Tatiana shrugged without empathy. "Then you have 3 days to move out."

Oh holy hell.

"Three days? Tatiana, I've lived here for over 2 years. I can't move out in 3 days, it's not possible. Please just give us some time to find a new place. If we absolutely cannot compromise on the dog, give us a chance to get something else lined up. This is coming out of no where."

"I don't make rules," she said. "Three days."

Suddenly, tears spilled down my cheeks. I picked up Sophia in my arms. This wasn't a decision. This was an eviction notice. And I looked around the home I helped build, the place where I'd spent Christmases and New Years, the place where my husband proposed to me.... the idea of leaving was devastating.

Not prepared for the emotion they call sadness, Tatiana was immediately unnerved by the perspiration coming from my face and said, "Stop it. Stop crying."

"This is our home, Tatiana. We were planning to live here for years. And you're telling us we have to leave," I said. "I know it's not your fault. I know we broke the rules. But we were good tenants. Our rent was always on time. We didn't ask for anything. We loved this place and built our life here."

"Maybe you write letter," Tatiana relented. "To landlord. And tell her what you tell me. Ask her if you keep dog. I tell you now, in 23 years, she never make exception. But you write letter. And don't tell her I told you so."

I wiped my eyes. It was the wispiest of olive branches but at that point, I would cling to anything. "Okay. I'll write her a letter," I said. As if that would help. As if it would make a difference. For 5 or 10 minutes, I actually believed it might.

Tatiana pet my dog before she left. She told me she had a dog once in the Ukraine. She loved dogs. This was not her rule.

I called my husband and broke the news. I couldn't stop myself from sobbing. After Tatiana left, and I heard myself say "maybe if we write her a letter," I knew we were doomed.

The next morning, my husband, brother (who was still crashing on our couch), and myself went in search for a new apartment. We decided to make the best of it and try to upgrade from our current studio to a one-bedroom. It would be impossible to beat the incredible city view, but if we could stay in the same neighborhood, I could be happy.

We checked out a few places. One without air conditioning. Another that looked like it was from "The Shield." Then we found Kaitlin Court - a beautiful courtyard complex 4 blocks from our old place. The manager met us - and Sophia - and said if we signed a piece of paper saying she was a service dog, she could live there.

On Sunday, we moved out. It was the longest 20 hour day of my life. Packing, boxing, moving, lifting. It never, never ended. But the emptier our studio got, the more it reminded me of how little we had when we first moved in. I remembered having nothing more than a couch and some silver ware.

At 3 AM, my husband and I came upstairs to get the last of it. We walked through our empty apartment. Our first home. There were so many memories here. So much love and excitement and good news and fights and makeup sex and movies. We held hands in front of the balcony, where I had photographed so many vintage dresses. You could see all of Hollywood from our window.

"This is hard," I said.

"I know," Sean said.

We both cried, quietly. "You know, honey. I know this is especially difficult because we were kicked out. We didn't choose this. And I know this place has always felt perfect to us. But Sophia is not welcomed here. She's our little girl. And if she's not welcomed, then it's not perfect for us."

I nodded.

"Let's build a new home. Our new place is beautiful. And though it won't be the same, we can make it better. It will already be better because we'll have Sophia."

He kissed me. I nodded, knowing he was right but not ready to say so just yet. I took the keys off my key ring and placed them on the kitchen counter.

"It will be okay, sweetheart. I love you."