Purple Haze and Lackadaisical Labor Days

Once upon a time, labor day weekend, a full tank of gas, and a topless baby blue CJ7 were all it took to make me smile in that way that made my cheekbones hurt. I know I was that girl, but I don’t remember her much anymore.

I remember tucking my hair under a grimy knit ski cap, we’d crank up Rage Against the Machine, and three hours later a car full of young adult hormones and Natty Light would tumble out onto the desert floor of Utah’s Goblin Valley to spend a weekend playing the world’s best game of capture the flag.

We’d build a little tent city at the campground just outside the park and break off into couples and singles, set up a fire, drink, smoke, shoot, swear, and inevitably some girl would get drunk and puke, or cry, or both – and it was wonderful.

Those weekends seem a lifetime ago now, though I can still remember the perfume I was wearing: Realm, a musky amber scent laced with vanilla, sugar, and pheromones – a perfume that boy from once upon a time liked so much he couldn’t hug me without breathing in deeply and pulling me against him for another note. 

I can still create a fire with one match and a ziplock baggie full of dryer lint pulled from my mom’s laundry room on the way out of town. I can still make “magic cobbler” in a dirty dutch oven, and, I still have that road-worn CD he gave me for my seventeenth birthday … and memories, of Labor Day, once upon a time.

Delightfully Chaotic

“She is delightfully chaotic;
A beautiful mess.
Loving her is a splendid adventure.”

– Steve Maraboli

A colleague once introduced me as “the most fascinating whirling dirvish” she’d ever met.

It was one of the greatest compliments I have ever received.

Although, perhaps what she meant was, “She’s a chaotic mess, but at least she’s interesting.”

If I were a perfumer, Chaos would be my signature scent, wrapped in a cerulean paper of make-do, and tied with a ribbon of figure-it-out-as-we-go.

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Chance and I are longtime friends. The abundance of the universe, combined with trusting my intuition, and a compulsive need to overachieve has never done me wrong, though it has lead to naive hubris a time or two … the limousine with the Irish beer execs, the spur of the moment trip to Calgary, a midnight stroll through Shanghai, even my 18th birthday impulse tattoo all turned out to be charming anecdotes rather than cautionary tales.

Your results may vary, read all labels before beginning any Irish Beer Drinking Tattoo Binges, and if it lasts longer than four hours, call your Doctor.