He walks like a boss.

And he fucking loves corners.

NNNNGGGGGGHHHHH.

“Go anywhere,” is their tagline. Implied is “…and drink wine while you’re doing it.” Because how could one possibly enjoy star gazing, or urban foraging, or a Dave Matthews concert without the lingering taste of cabernet? I hope this opens the floodgates for more hippie- and yuppie-targeted wine products. Like the following:

Hackey Sack Pinot Noir
Tagline: “Best Served Chill”
Packaging: Plastic pouch shaped like a gigantic hackey sack. Challenge your friends!

Slacklining Merlot
Tagline: “If you’re a white guy with dreads, you’ll love our big reds.”
Packaging:  Dual bottles can be held in each hand to improve balance.

Geocaching Rosé
Tagline: “As mildly pleasant as your outdoor activity.”
Packaging: Comes with its own Northface fleece.

Hula Hoop Syrah
Tagline: “Swirl. Sip. Swirl.”
Packaging: COMES IN AN ACTUAL HULA HOOP.

 Farmer’s Market Chardonnay
Tagline: “Pairs well with Camembert and Camelbaks.”
Packaging: Plastic pouch that turns into reusable tote.

How to Hike (Not Run) the Dipsea:

Start in Mill Valley. Find parking. Find the trail head. A five year old helped us.

Keep following the signs for the Dipsea. There will be plenty.

Keep going uphill, and uphill, and uphill, until your shirt clings to your back and you have swampass.

Think about counting the stairs so that you can brag to your friends later.

Stop thinking about counting the stairs.

Start thinking about breathing enough instead.

Use photo ops as excuses to stop and catch your breath.

Record, for posterity, animals peeing by the trail.

After epic amounts of uphill, prepare your knees for the opposite direction. Try not to remember that you have to come back this way.

Examine the following closely:

• Moss
• Poops
• Bridges
• Tiny waterfalls
• Slugs

Because they are cool.

Stinson Beach is the halfway/turnaround point. At this point, you may be making half serious, half joking remarks about hitching a ride home from a stranger.

Of course you’re joking.

Maybe.

When you get to Stinson remember that really, it’s a pretty awesome day.

Refuel with either food you carried, or whatever you want from the cafe near the beach.

Turn around.

Repeat.

This is Eryka.

Eryka loves moss.

This is Mimzy.

Named after a mentally retarded South Park character, Mimzy has teeth like a shark, and enjoys short walks on the beach, garbage trucks, and food. All food.

A few weeks ago, Mimzy went to the ocean for the first time in her short life. Here’s how it went:

Above is Ryan. He is in the air force and was celebrating “Mustache March” to the fullest.

After the beach we went to the Botanical Gardens in Golden Gate park. Mimzy wasn’t allowed in, so we let her eat a few flowers outside first.

This is Eryka in some Erica flowers.

This is Eryka REALLY into the Erica flowers.

This is Eryka stoked on turtles.

On the way home Eryka took these photos with my phone. And then set the first one as my wallpaper. I love her.

photo courtesy of Franciov

These are the things every hairdresser says to me when I get my hair cut.

Every. Single. Time.

1. “It’s okay that your hair is really thin because it’s also kind of curly.”

2. “You’re swimmer? You should put conditioner in your hair before you get in the water. And do you wear a cap?”

Conditioner renders your head so slippery no cap will stay on in the water. Also, every swimmer worth their salt wears a goddamn cap.

3. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

Knowing me, no. And now I’m uncomfortable.

See also: Intense discomfort during the shampoo. Who in blazes designed those sinks with the neckholes, because I have yet to come across one that doesn’t make me feel like I’m trapping all my blood in my head. Also intense discomfort with weird cloth that sometimes gets wrapped around one’s neck. I think I would mind bits of hair less. And stop making me try to talk to you.

4. ”You should use a diffuser to dry your hair. Here. I’ll show you how.”

You mean I point the end that blows out the hot air at my scalp? Ohhhhhhhh.

5. ”Your hair will be even curlier now that there isn’t so much weighing it down.”

No. It won’t.

6. *runs fingers through my hair over and over* “I’m just placing your curls.”

Pretty sure you’re just turning everything into a loose, frizzy mess. Please take your hands away.

7. “I’m going to use some saltwater spray for a ‘beachy’ look.”

Actually you’re going to use some saltwater spray for an “unwashed hippie look.”

Snoring Hummingbird

Snoring Horse

Snoring Duck

Snoring Beagle

Snoring Elephant Seal

Snoring Penguin

Below are the five worst swim team mascots I can think of. There are already enough people calling themselves dolphins and otters. And these are funnier.

1. The Wet Pussies

photo courtesy of m a t t i e u

Cats hate to swim. That’s why this is hilarious. Not the other reason.

2. The Rocks

photo courtesy of Chris_J

Our coach once sent an email to the team that included the phrase, “You are rocks.” We think he meant “You rock.” But are not 100% sure.

Also, we’re in San Francisco. And sometimes we swim in the Bay. And Alcatraz is in the Bay. And some people call Alcatraz “the Rock.”

That makes two really good reasons we should call ourselves after an object that does the exact opposite of what a swimmer does.

3. The Butt Cracks

Everyone has seen a man who wears his speedo a size or two too small. And the resulting inch or so of ass crack that peeks out. This is a recurring topic of conversation in the swimming community, and I want to encourage that.

4. The Octi-Jockeys

5. I’m going to send this last one to our coach as a 100% serious mascot submission, which would make us the San Francisco Missile-firing Raptor Sharks.

Aside from the deaths of loved ones, serious injuries, financial disasters, and war, below is a list of ten things that turn my mood immediately from good to fucking terrible. I will assume you are exactly the same.

Ten (Minor) Things That Ruin A Day:

1. Step on a lego in your bare feet.
2. Realize you lost your keys. Frantically empty entire contents of bag on to sidewalk. Hear a metallic jingle and feel sudden rush of relief. See that it was just a buckle hitting another buckle or something. Realize you really did lose your keys in a second, totally-soul-crushing moment. Then, THEN find said keys. Spend the rest of the day pissed off at keys and bags in general.
3. Read an article about a teenage athlete who is sailing around the world/reinventing ski-cross/going to the Olympics/just fucking killing it in general. Also they’re really attractive. And rich. And sixteen.
4. Something is stuck in your teeth, but you cannot get it out. Nor do you have floss.
5. Attempt to parallel park, don’t quite get the angle right, and turn the process into a five-minute wiggle-back-and-forth-like-a-retard maneuver. Pedestrians watch you the entire time.
6. Justin Bieber.
7. Visit Facebook because you are bored. Hate the inane shit that everyone posts there, but read it for a solid 30 minutes anyways. Somehow finish by being even more bored and also loathing yourself.
8. A giant, spiky booger is in your nose but OTHER PEOPLE ARE LOOKING AT YOU AND YOU CANNOT PICK IT.
9. It’s one of those days where the internet is just lame. All of it.
10. For whatever reason, your asshole is incredibly itchy.

1. Be related to someone who has a birthday. Someone who admittedly does not like “sweet things, or desserts, really.” Remind yourself that you have to love them because they are blood but why can’t they enjoy cake like a normal human.

2. Remember that they love chocolate chip cookies.

3. Read this blog, and then this post. Develop a girl crush.

4. Get all excited to use your cast iron skillet. Then look in the mirror and say, I am not a pioneer. I do not live in the mountains. Calm down a little.

4. Bake the shit out of it.

Ingredients (copied exactly from eatliverun’s original, because it is truly excellent)

2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt (plus more for sprinkling)
2 1/2 cups flour
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

Mix the dry ingredients.

Soften your butter, whether that means liquefying it in the microwave or on the stove top, or gently warming it but allowing it to stay solid. This is a cookie, people. It doesn’t matter that much.

Beat/stir together the butter and sugar.

Add eggs. Add vanilla.

Add the wet stuff to the dry stuff. Mix in chocolate chips.

Grease your skillet (or pie pan. Whatever.) Pretend you’re baking something like oatcakes or cornpone* for the hungry farmhands who are out in the fields right now. Give yourself a mental slap across the face.

* Is that a sex act yet? Because it should be.

Dump the batter into the skillet and smooth out the top. Generously sprinkle salt (sea or Maldon if you’ve got it. And I bet you’ve got it, if you’re the kind of person who reads recipes on blogs. It’s okay. I do it too.)

Bake at 325 degrees for 45 minutes.

Allow giant cookie to cool.

Stick a candle in it.

DONE.

1. Breathing.