It’s Friday, and the moon is full

Winston Churchill once said that one should never end a sentence with a preposition. Well I once said “Winston, I’m my own woman and I do what I want to!” 

Things I liked this week:  

-Homemade goat milk yogurt with the last of the raspberries and cinnamon glazed pumpkin seeds atop. 
-Utah peaches on our Montana rooftop with autumn storms around and about. 
-The amazing selection of musicals on Amazon Prime, and my new computer speakers to hear those sweet melodies with.
-Wild Rose Hip Tincture, and enough rose hips gathered to make Rose Hip Jelly after. 
-Taking a bath with the Persian poet Bihari alongside. 
-Biking everywhere outside, through, and toward. 
-Moose and Copper have started providing for themselves by eating the apples Our Very Own Apple Tree has cast aside.
-Entering the last year of my 3rd decade on this beautiful world, the Boiling river during, and the amazing day in the woods after.
-This photo of the most epic high-five below.



This has been a rather arduous week, so there is a longer list than usual of things I don’t like:

-Misplacing my entire day’s tips while buying an avocado.  Good news is, that $60 avocado was full of flavor inside.
-Wikipedia-ing Bihari, and discovering he is not someone I would actually want to take a bath with. 
-Exactly what all that extra fiber from the apples does to Moose and Copper within. 
-Ending all my sentences with prepositions, alongside. (ok. that one doesn’t make sense but seriously, no preposition fits in)

     In other news, I was finally tracked down and roped into an apparently long overdue, decidedly intrusive test.  Known in upper circles as a Papanicolaou test,  we down here on the streets know it by slang: PAP smear.  Usually, when I hear the word smear I think of nice things like peanut butter, or a super decadent lotion;  not a q-tip the size a microphone, an idea which is both naive and a little optimistic on my part, I suppose.   So Tuesday, I went to get this PAP smear, because it’s impossible to get birth control in Montana unless you either get prodded and poked every year, or you have an underground hook-up for uncut, black tar Lutera.  
    Thus, the setting is in place for my rant.  Doctor, o, doctor, when you are spelunking elbow deep between my quivering thighs, can we please just sit back and silently acknowledge and appreciate the uncomfortable nature of the situation at hand, instead of talking about everything other than that you are, in fact, rooting around in my plumbing.  Yes, yes, it is very true that the weather has been a bit dry lately, but, doctor, the weather isn’t the only thing that’s a bit dry right now, so I’d appreciate you wrapping up the task at hand.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I am very comfortable with my body, and consider myself an extremely sex-positive person, but I have a hard time concentrating on a psychological probing of what the tattoo on my hip symbolizes when I’m being probed in a much more pertinent manner and I’m still trying to figure out exactly what you meant when you told me I had a “peek-a-boo” cervix, and what exactly that clicking sound is, and why the hell you didn’t warm things up first.  There’s always time to for chit chat and playful banter later, when I feel we are on equal playing fields (like atWild Joe’s, sipping on lattes) and my ankles aren’t around your ears.  To be perfectly honest, I would really just like to lie back and think of England, as the saying goes.  But thanks for the good times, I’ll see you next year when you corral me in for another one, and ladies, make sure you know what’s going on with your junk, because a healthy vagina is a happy vagina.  


Friday Reflections

Being a fan of lists, reflections (in mirrors and otherwise), and routine, I will be posting a similar post to this every Friday.  Please enjoy this quick peep into my week.

Things I like
-Moroccan red clay facial masques with turmeric, buttermilk, Vitamin E, and Primrose.
-Turning our new bedroom into a sheik’s paradise.  I’ve always wanted to utilize draperies to their fullest potential, and I finally have had the opportunity.  Now I just want to lie amongst the pillows and have Aaron read Arabian Nights out loud to me, which isn’t really his style.
-Flourless chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, creme de cassis glazed raspberries, and espresso whipped cream.  Thank you, Barefoot Contessa, you have forever changed my life, and my waistline.  Both for the better, of course.
Death by Chocolate
-Autumn creeping in.  I’ve realized there is no great cliche or old adage for the fact that the seasons are transitioning from summer to fall.  I can say “spring has sprung”, but I can’t say “Fall has fallen”, so I’ve settled for “Autumn is all up on us”.
-Barbecues and pickling parties.
-hair makeovers
-that I actually  have a bathtub for the first time in 6 months.  I’ve been taking so many baths there’s already a ring of doom around the tub, I’m persistently pruney, and the tub is so slick from bath oil that it’s a health hazard everytime Aaron tries to shower.

One thing I don’t like

The concept of saying “my friday”, or “my monday”.  Really,  it’s pretty egocentric to declare it “your” Friday, since it’s my Wednesday (and everyone else’s who ascribes to the idea that we should just go ahead and stick with the Latin derived days of the week that people have been using since the Roman empire).  Although you never know,  perhaps good old Nero realized that he was beheadings and city burnings free for the next two days, and thus declared that his “Dies Veneris”, had officially begun.  Lets take it back even farther..pretty sure Venus, the Roman goddess of beauty, love, and sex, and the inspiration for Friday, the Day of Venus, didn’t decide to block two days off every week from being sexy and lovable and tell all her love-lorn worshippers that it was her friday and she was out of the office till Dias Lunae.
At base, I shy away from setting my internal clock by the capitalistic monster that is the American work week, separating 5 days of hell with a day of yard work and then a day of church-going.  I work when I have to, reflect and meditate on the esoteric when I have the opportunity (4:30 am bike rides to work are great for this), and fill the rest of my time with meaningful experiences that make the time I do spend at work worth it, including but not limited to; good books, great snacks, long walks, and lots of tea.  I will never live to work, and as long as I’m not forced into a situation where I have to work to live, I feel like I’ve got a pretty sweet system worked out.   When it really comes down to it, they’re all hump day to me, but seeing as how it actually is after 5 on a Friday. I hope all you folks lucky enough to have the Coveted Work Week look down upon us unfortunate ones with favor, and rain many tips down upon us as I feed you and yours copious amounts of food in exchange for at best meager tips this weekend at the restaurant.