Like girls who eat what they're given

Judgemental Jug disapproves of your deviant lifestyle.

Maybe it's the price range I'm looking at, but the housing hunt has been an endless source of amusement for me, both in the Craigslist prowl and in the subsequent interviews. I have never interacted with so many people so eager to show how hipster, how green, how backflippy their lives are. Not that I'm not playing the same game, but a part of me wonders whether anyone realizes how ridiculous this process is. Will my conception of a meditative space or love of fermentation affect how annoyed I'll get when you leave hairballs in the shower? The aggressively 420-friendly crews, the older gay men wanting live-in escorts, and the "you can't even think about meat but we do yoga" houses are the best though.

Sing ittttt.

Lately, my fetal position and happy baby pose has been 90s jams and Sister Act. Now you know where I go when my mind otherwise doesn't want to interact. For two popsicle-dollars at CREAM, you pick two cookies and an ice cream. And then you rally to finish it all before it drips into a sticky mess. Not quite Diddy Riese, but it'll do the trick for munching.

And we're at the top of Twin Peaks. Market street is a light corridor and we're just driving and driving after making Indian food all day. Bend It Like Beckham's aloo gobi is as good as always, and we even made our own naan sans tandoor. All washed down by some bitter monkey astronaut hopbrew. I also roofie'd the host.

Mushroom masala, aloo gobi, palak paneer, butter chicken, naan

Cappucino and double chcolate cookies with matcha ice cream

Great Western Power Company bouldering comp was somehow less crowded than Ironworks, and way more friendly. Three V4s and two stemmy V5s later, I placed 28th place out of 122 climber dudes in Intermediate! I'm realizing I need to move out of my crimp-and-stem happy place and into slopers and roofs. I left right before free pizza arrived, but fell straight into the Ethiopian glory of Addis with Talia/Jason.

Not a shabby Friday after the most awful client conversation I've had as a youngin' lawyer to date. My assumption that in a feel-good career that you always get to be the nice guy is being slowly debunked or at least I'm becoming wiser in the Ways of the World. The two of us sat there watching someone cry over Skype for half an hour, and then we lamely said we should keep in touch. Coming from someone who's never dumped anyone (you do the math), I just felt pooptastic. All the traumatic stuff has never phased me, but it's the realization that some things just can't be fixed through persistence is honestly what messes me up.

I'm not known as TryHard Bear for nothing, I suppose.

The 20th of April started with Yoga for Cyclists. Four-person classes are awesome, and I'm approaching capoeira-era levels of flexibility (see: Mermaid and/or One-Legged King Pigeon Pose). Some spring rolls, a rice krispie treat, and some beers later, and I'm in regenerative stasis.

So far, El Tonayense taco truck has maintained its psychic bond with me, so whenever I hunger for lengua and carnitas, it just pops into existence, often right outside Mission Cliffs. Avoid its carne asada and chicken offerings, and go straight for tongue. I kept seeing Mexican families getting buckets of this stuff before finally trying it. Topped off with radishes and pickled peppers, om nom nom.

Insert your own demotivator/political metaphor.

We took an impromptu trip on Sunday after Baker beaching to Sutro Baths to watch the sunset and to scurry into the cavelette. It's funny the sense of well-being you get from having frothy Guinness on warm sand and wading into the Pacific until you're on the edge of getting riptide'd out. And right when all is white foam and reflected sunlight, you're like, "I'm Robin Williams in What Dreams May Come." Hey, are you still with me? We ended the weekend with some awesome Korean eats at Mother's Hands, all served up with a side of Asian mother guilt. "You not finish this? You not like?" was enough to prompt a trough-cleansing reaction. "We do like, we do like," we cooed afterward, leaving our 20% tip to Tiger Mommy.

Grimaces since we're missing the sunset to take this hot picture.