Sashes, beer, and belly dancing and the many lunar landings of my friends punctuate the eras of my life like a semi-colon separating a complete thought in time.
Where would I be without these cycles of moon friendships? A stagnant tidepool muddled with debris of wrappers and plastic bottles I suppose.
I smile when I think of the five pound replica of the city teetering on her head during the pageant days, or her with the pidgeon legs talking about the military industrial complex, or her with her blonde hair and soft voice berating the devils of the media, or her with her cats and renaissance wedding.
The waves of my female friends keep me afloat.