Your introduction to a full-moon party went something like this: Acting on a whim, you met a handful of women (let’s call it a coven) for a backyard party with promises of potluck, pleasantries, guided visualization, and just enough wackiness to make you a card-carrying member of your own Ya-Ya Sisterhood. But one sip of that witches’ brew and the next thing you know, it’s three days later. You wake with a massive headache and a back tattoo of what you hope to God is a sloppy Georgia O’Keeffe flower and not a massive vulva. Naturally, the thought of another full-moon party has you on edge. So start slow, say with a glamorous tryst on the seventh-floor tropical... More >>>