The Ultimate Type A Hippie Capital

Beloved Readers,
(OK let's face it - I know it's just you, V - so shall I rephrase?)

Beloved Reader,
Within a handful of hours on my first full day in San Francisco, I experienced several Type A Hippie moments, as well as an amazing lunching experience. I'll fill ya in on the city's amazing veg food later (plus pics). But for now, the details about getting in touch with my true Type A Hippie Self...

You know you're a Type A Hippie when...
You're packing your purse for an afternoon of job interviews and notice that your Inner Type A packs an extra pair of contact lenses (in case one unexpectedly and freakishly pops out of her eye en route to the office) and a pair of tweezers (in case one dark and unsightly chin hair decides to make its presence known right before the interview, threatening to distract the interviewer with your Arab hairiness), and your Inner Hippie packs a snack bag of raw almonds (in case of extreme hunger and a lack of vegan food options) and an individual to-go packet of powdered soy creamer (for that pre-interview cup of French-press coffee).

You also know you're a Type A Hippie when...
Your Inner Type A insists on taking her lunch break outdoors - black stilettos, Ann Taylor Loft skirtsuit, and all - and your Inner Hippie selects the crunchiest meal (a lentil cashew burger from the Plant Cafe), consumed on the steps outside of a museum (where all of the homeless people are sitting and eating their scraps).

But most of all, you know you are a Seriously Hardcore Type A Hippie when...
Your Inner Type A removes her signature nosering before her interview, so as not to risk appearing unprofessional or to distract her interviewer with her dazzling bling... and upon discovering that the piercing FULLY CLOSED during the two-hour timespan of the interviews, your Inner Hippie goes to Walgreens and - I shit you not - purchases a box of sewing needles, a packet of matches, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, then proceeds to repierce her own nose, locked in the unisex bathroom at the Plant Cafe. (After stabbing my unusually-fast-healing-cartilege with a self-sterilized sewing needle, I now have a newfound appreciation for the phrase "blood, sweat, and tears"...)