Having your fruit guy at the farmer’s market call you up to the front is the crunchy girl equivalent of knowing the bouncer at the club

gm. Did you stare at big life force fire ball today?

GM, take your medicine. And by medicine I mean standing on the earth barefoot.

Energetically, I get it. Materially, I’m still working on it.

Me when I see someone in the airport with a mountain valley, corded headphones, a glass container of ground beef, blue blockers, and a pale, panicked look from not being in the sun for a few hours

I’ve gone from ripping Jell-O shots and shaking my booty on boats to slamming a Yerba mate and lecturing everyone on the boat about toxic sunscreen and building a solar callus. The definition of fun continues to evolve.