A Geek Among Goddesses

            I'm an LA girl, born and bred. I've lived here my whole life. Only, my LA is not the LA you see on TV. I live on the outskirts of LA in "The Valley." The Valley is the suburban terrain occupied by the near-normal residents of the LA area, meaning-- no one I know accessorizes their giant designer  purse with a miniature dog. We still have giant knock-off purses …and tiny dogs, but not usually as matched sets. We are the part of LA which spawned the dreaded Valley Girl of the 80's-- and yes, they were real. If you look close enough, you can still find a few. In other words, we breed a unique idiot of our own here, separate from those nuts over the hill.

            Basically my life has been typically suburban, with a few star sightings tossed in along the way for flavor. I was never one of those "Lifestyle" women; with their business-casual day and their cocktail-party night-life with the girls.  I went to PTA meetings, and Scout meetings, and council meetings. That's where my ladies hung out. I had some pretty wicked Friday nights with the girls…all 17 of them in their little uniforms, selling cookies door to door. We were a force to be reckoned with, I tell you.

            Then one day,  into this mundane little universe, an idea was introduced, and I was just restless enough to try it. I had this new friend, who was not from The Valley originally. She was one of those elusive, bohemian  "California Beach Girls." And typical of her kind, she made friends with all sorts. She knew a group of LA Ladies, and one of them was having a party, and she invited me to go with her. I was a little intimidated. It was "A Goddess Party." (Did I say a little intimidated? I meant a lot. )

            My first instinct was to decline the offer because I didn't really need any sex toys or lingerie. However, as it was then explained to me, these lovely LA Ladies just got together for a fun evening of relaxing music and wine and conversation-- just a "girls night-in." No purchase necessary. They celebrated their womanhood by taking time out to appreciate themselves and woman-kind, in a way only a woman could.  It sounded kind of interesting, (albeit a little like a tampon ad.) A night with a group of adult women, that didn't involve kids and husbands in any way. It could be fun. And I was ready to embrace my womanhood…figuratively speaking that is. So, I agreed to go.

            I was a tad overwhelmed. I was a small fish headed for a big ocean. I knew I was going to be out of my league. I am not a Goddess. I'm barely a minion. I fussed about what to wear, and how to dress, and how to do my hair. I didn't have a hairstylist, unless Super-Cuts counts (which it doesn't.) I didn't think Wal-Mart sold anything that anyone else would qualify as "designer." I rarely wore make-up, and what I did wear came from the corner drug store-- on a classy day, otherwise that little compact that came with Barbie would do in a pinch. I didn't travel, or have an interesting job. I couldn't imagine what I would say to these women, and despite determining that I would go, I wasn't at all certain there would be anything relaxing or refreshing about the evening.

            My girlfriend picked me up and we drove along the hillside finally arriving in an upper-class neighborhood. She found a place to park and we leisurely walked down the hill to a little house nestled in the dark. A sophisticated woman answered the door and greeted us appropriately. She had big earrings, beautiful skin and a giant glass of wine. I followed my friend around like a lost puppy while she hugged women she knew and was introduced to women she had never met, and as we were given a guided tour of the little guest house we were all gathered in. It was decorated with love and care. Plush furniture, coordinated colors, splashes of uniqueness in every corner that said, "The woman who lives here knows herself….and she doesn't have any kids."

            I relegated myself in typical fashion to a stationary location-- the one chair I was, to some extent, confident could support my weight. The last thing I needed was to shove my fat ass through her designer wicker. Eventually a few other women would make their way into the area, and I would join their conversations, mostly listening, occasionally asking what I hoped weren't stupid questions. One or two asked about me, most just moved on to other locations with company they knew better, but I am comfortable as an observer and it really didn't bother me, much.

            I grazed a little on the exotic snacks, but I have a steadfast rule about eating food I don't recognize. I was pretty hungry by the time the pizza arrived. I waited my turn with my cute designer plastic plate in one hand and my "I'm not drinking alcohol" red-plastic cup in the other, anxious to finally eat. Huh, designer pizza. Who knew? I mean, I just always thought pizza was pizza no matter where you went. I ate pizza in Italy, it was a little different than American pizza, but well within the range of normal. I had never eaten an artichoke alone, much less on a pizza. Over-sized mushrooms and a host of other items, some I didn't even recognize, on a sauce-less dough disk. My most daring pizza experience to date had included pineapple! I was FAR less adventurous then than I am now.

            After dinner everyone lounged about enjoying their goblets of wine. Mind you, I own one wine glass. It was a free gift with purchase of a romance novel. It is the size of a "normal" glass of wine. I had never seen wine glasses like these. They were big enough to wash my hands in-- both, at the same time! This of course is when the real fun began. The hostess broke out a set of Tarot cards, and some Runes. There was a book about reading palms, and one about the mystic healing power of rocks. Some sage was burning, auras were being read and cleansed, and some new age music played soft in the background. A few hours of amateur fortune-telling, and a tureen of wine later, I was having a pretty good time. I was actually relaxed. I didn't feel fat and frumpy. I felt enlightened and rejuvenated; as though I had received a spiritual facial.

            As the night was winding down, before it was time to say adieu, the group gathered together for a Goddess Walk. Wine tankard in hand I joined the haphazard procession of women as we strolled into the cool night air and began the short journey to the end of the paved road and into the canyon, guided by the bright light of the full moon and the soft voices of my fellow Goddesses. There was an easy, slumber-like quality to the meandering, at least until it became a hike, then the soft conversation gave way to heavy breathing and snide comments about the practicalities of combining wine consumption and mountain climbing. But most of the Goddesses just ignored me and continued onward and upward.

            At last we reached a clearing and our death march ended. The women gathered in a circle together, absorbing the ethereal beams of the moonlight. "Now," our fearless leader announced, "we howl at the moon." En masse the woman began to howl. I was doing my part, by not howling with laughter, out of respect to these fine ladies who had welcomed me into their coven. When they were done howling at the moon. The hostess then encouraged everyone to close their eyes. At this point I was pretty well sure if I closed my eyes I would open them to find everyone naked…and I am never drunk enough for that game. Luckily for me they just did a little swaying and chanting. With my one eye open I peaked up at the hillside above us, at the lone house with the canyon view and imagined Mrs Kravitz from Bewitched peering out her curtains and calling "Abner, Abner! Look, they're down there howling at the moon again. ABNER!"

            The night ended there. We all wandered off back to our homes, as though everybody spent their Friday nights in the knee-high weeds howling at the moon with a bunch of Goddesses. It's one of those "only in LA" kind of things. Still, I consider myself better for having taken the ride. I could have spent that night sitting in my dark living room with my husband watching an episode of The X-Files, instead of participating in an episode of my own. And that would have been fine, but what would I have gained. No one would want to read about that. You have to embrace the unexpected adventures life offers. Most of your life will be ordinary. Some nights you just need to howl at the moon.