Photographic Evidence of Unironic Wearing of Flowers in the Hair

So as we speak, what I am supposed to be doing is loading my car up with quick draws, a 60 meter rope, my harness and other various assorted climbing gear for a trip up to the Gunks. However, I stayed out too late last night, drank 37 beers or so and filled my evening with frivolous activities such as parlour games and ill-advised nicotine consumption. Thusly, I was slothful today and slept until 3 p.m. So now God is PUNISHING me by sending a big old fat thunderstorm over New Paltz, meaning I can't climb tomorrow, I'm not loading my car, and instead am doomed to yet another day in the concrete jungle breathing in carbon monoxide and growing ever fatter. There will be no pretty views like the one above (taken last week during my Mt. Tam hike outside of San Francisco), no physical exertion, no fresh air, no hot shirtless guys in peak physical condition offering me a belay. Woe is me.

However, what this does give me is license to stay up too late and deliver to you, my dear readers, the aforementioned promised evidence that I, Erin, unironically wore flowers in my hair in San Francisco. I figured I had already frightened the natives with my startlingly white, New York certified ghostlike complexion, obtained through a firm commitment to exposure of 8 to 10 straight hours of fluorescent lighting each and every day. Why not freak them out a little more by living out the lyrics of the most famous song about their city?

Without further ado, here it is:

Good thing I have to stay home tomorrow, because I'd hate to strain my smile muscles. Having already been asked to produce one broad smile this week (see picture below, and thanks to Jonah for showing me a great time in the Bay Area), I'm not sure how much more exertion they could take.