I want to walk around with you

Last weekend was deeply satisfying. Friday night our friends had a hip hop show at a jazz club - confusing, I know - and we ducked into a fancy-beer bar first for a drink. I had not heard of any of the eight beers on tap, which was exciting, and rare. I got a rye that I know can't remember the name of, but it was delicious, and I will definitely be back there soon. Their sign should say: Like Toronado, But Nicer.

The show itself was entertaining, especially now that I have learned that the most crazy-dancing, bra-as-shirt-wearing lady at the party is a Wellesley alum. Of course.

Saturday morning I went to hiking yoga, which was glorious. It was a warm and sunny day, and the class took us up Telegraph Hill and down tiny little streets with amazing houses on them. Every twenty minutes or so we'd stop walking and do some poses.

Up the Filbert Steps.

We finished up with stretches at Washington Square Park, where even the street weirdos looked at us like we were posing like nutbars, then we went up and over Telegraph Hill one more time.

It was a nice reminder how good it is to be a tourist in your own city every once in a while. We wrapped withsome shopping at the Ferry Building farmer's market, picking up our valet-parked-for-free-by-the-SFBC bikes, and pedaling home for a nap. Kristina and I then reconvened on the patio of Ziryab for beer and wine in the rest of the day's sun. At night Mike and I headed to Alameda for an impromptu gathering that ended late at night with me asleep in my college roommate's lap, just like old times. I got a pretty good back scratch out of the deal, too.

Sunday we drove north to Russian River Brewery for dinner (check out that wicked Comic Sans site!) and their epic beer sampler.

Four of these were sour beers, which I got all to myself. Mike handled the hoppiest ones, per usual. We refilled our growler with a lovely pale ale (that we wound up getting to share with friends on Monday after we shanghai'd them into coming over).

The point of Sunday night was the Animal Collective show in Petaluma, and it was weird, as expected. It was made weirder by the fact that it was all ages, and no beer was served. It was also regular-type Animal Collective weird as well, but they played Summertime Clothes and I was fulfilled.