Woman on the Verge of Paradise: Shalom and Erotic City

Sign reads "May you find Paradise to be all its name implies."

Thanks for joining me on the verge of Paradise, as this chapter of my life unfolds. If you're new to Life by Chocolate, or just madly trying to catch up with your blog reading (Can we ever truly catch up?), this non-fictional autobiographical story begins here. My last Paradise post is this one. While I strive for accuracy regarding place and time, I alter names as I see fit. This does not include Nora Profit, Mimi or Mojo the cat. Those names are perfectly right and perfectly real.
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I was looking for Lost on Main and I was. “Excuse me,” I stopped the nose-ringed hipster strolling my way, “Where’s Lost on Main? I seem to be.” She suggested I turn around and walk two blocks up Main Street. “It’s on the left. You won’t see a sign; it’s hidden. Good luck.”

I eventually wandered into a dark club feeling lost. That rude man (in my head) revisited. “Would the woman who’s clearly new in town and all alone – as in, ALL BY HER LONESOME, LONELY SELF– report immediately to the losers’ section. And what are you thinking, wearing a long-sleeved sweater to a dance club, girlfriend? You’d be better off in your Quaker-Jewish-Nun attire.” I readied my middle finger, just as Tony waved me over.

Disco lights highlighting my inappropriately conservative blue-knit sweater and prudishly loose fitting black pants, I crossed the dance floor. Tony introduced me to chavurah[1]  members, Veronica, Laurie, and Ellen.

“Did Silona make it?” I asked. “She’s in the fashion show,” he informed. Silona and Tony, leaders of the Chico Chavurah, consistently offer a comforting presence.

Tonight’s event, attended by over 100 people, would benefit the Shalom[2] Free Clinic. This benificiary, a brainchild of locals Nancy and Karen, melds the Chavurah and First Congregational Church through charitable partnership. Every Sunday, volunteers of all faiths gather at the church nursery school to provide free medical and counseling services for county residents.

Soaking up the crowds’ supportive vibe at Lost on Main, I knew I’d landed in the right place. Take note, world. Chico understands “shalom”.

I asked Tony about helping out, so he introduced me to Nancy.

“Nice to meet you, Nancy. I have a counseling license and would like to volunteer.” 

“You just made my night! We really need counselors! Come over any Sunday.”

“I will. What time is best?”

We were interrupted by an enthused emcee. “Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on the stage. Tonight’s fashion show is about to begin.You don't want to miss any of it! First, let’s welcome Samantha in her lovely blue velvet evening gown.” Samantha looked gorgeous, as did every woman to follow. I gawked at their sexiness and laughed at the nerdy guys.

One by one, the male models sauntered down that catwalk with the confidence of Cassanova and the poise of Quagmire. They sported cackis, t-shirts, and baggy bathing trunks. Daniel added a two-handed-index-fingered-point-“right-back-at-ya-‘cuz-I’m-so-cool” gesture. He got to me -in a good way- but disappeared right afterward. Drats.

Erotic City blasted at the show’s commencement. Ellen and I hit the floor. I was suddenly grooving with a roomful of fun, energetic women. One lady, about my height (i.e., really short), started twirling me.

“I’m Robyn. I’m new in town,” I told her while spinning.

“I’ll put you on email lists. We send out notices about women’s club events.”

“Sounds great.” I gathered a hugely fake smile. “Thank you!” I calculated the odds of meeting a man at one of these women's gatherings, realizing the numbers can’t offer worse hope than my current statistical projections.

“Would the lady in the long-sleeved sweater, the one who came here ALL ALONE,” the rude man started up again, “just switch teams already! Girl, you’re not meeting a man, but you have no problems with the female populace. You could, say, start with some pinch hitting. What are you waiting for?”

“Everytime I comb my hair,” Prince continued. “Thoughts of you get in my eyes. You're a sinner, I don't care. I just want your creamy thighs.”

Damn. I know the rude dude's right, but I want to hold out for just a bit longer. You know? To be blunt, I have needs. These needs can only be met by men. I so desperately need, need, I need...to keep writing about stupid men. Not that all men are stupid, but it's the stupid ones I tend to meet. And only the stupid ones. Thus, I need to continue the search for a man. So I shall, for just a bit longer.

"Some time, some time, some time. Erotic Ci-ty."

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[1] Chavurah = a Jewish group that gathers for worship and social events.
[2] Shalom is a Hebrew greeting meaning, simply, “hello,” “goodbye,” or – in this case – “peace.”