Girls gone wild

“Anything I've ever done that ultimately was worthwhile... initially scared me to death.” ~Betty Bender

I attended Girl Scout camp Little Notch, every year for 12 years, both as a camper and then a counselor. That would be 12 years straight of a thin mint induced estrogen fest, where I learned how to cook over an open fire without singing my eye lashes, how to canoe, kayak and sail, how to save a drowning child and that sexual harassment is a very bad thing. That last part is a long and excruciating tale of injustice and why 16 year olds are evil whores.

I was sent away for a reason that I cannot pin point now. Possibly because Peg wanted me to be surrounded by tree hugging girls, which only went to turn me into an organic granola eating, uber liberal vegetarian; or maybe because she appreciated a solid seven to 12 week period without me incessantly whining. Whatever the case, I’ve always valued the time that I spent there, because of that whole estrogen love fest thing. It sounds cliché, but women helping other younger women become better women. It was quite the supportive atmosphere and 2003 was the last time I went seven consecutive days without feeling the need to shave because some boy might see my legs. No one cared. It was a beautiful thing.

And since then, I’ve always been devout in empowerment, once again, cliché but the honest truth. I mean only a woman who wanted to make her self a better woman would subject herself to 9 Saturdays to hear other woman speak about the fabulous life of politicos (or Politicas) in Washington. So you can imagine my sheer excitement and the amount that I peed myself in such a state when I discovered BlogHer (or SheBlog if you’re Savage). An entire weekend of women helping other women bloggers become, well…better bloggers. Obviously in my case this will require a one on one tutorial for eight hours a day for two weeks straight, but still, it will at least hopefully maybe scrape the surface.

That said there is a little conundrum. Only minor, nothing all that catastrophic or mind blowing, it’s just that…there are new people. Many new people. So many new people who will inevitably hate me and find me trite and boring and then will roll their eyes and wonder how the hell I’ve managed to survive through the past 22 years without being committed. This is how it goes with me. Every year prior to Girl Scout camp, I would get the same freaked out, I’m going to die because they’re going to throw pig blood on me, type feeling. It doesn’t matter that I would attend and come home cheerful and so black that I looked blue and ready to purchase a Sunfish. Nope. Didn’t matter. Because it still happened every year. It also didn’t matter that I attended with people that I knew who could vouch for my being an OK person to know. Because the fear is real and ever present.

Right now I have a round trip ticket to San Jose. Kris, Stacy and Amy will be there. They’re excited about me going, while I feign a smile and feel like vomiting every time I have to think about it. It’s traumatizing. It’s also sad and pathetic and my rational mind can process it all and knows that all will be well and that the aforementioned ladies, will most likely not want to toss me off a balcony by Sunday. But like I said, the fear is very real and women can be fun but can also be scary.

Now, I’m closing me eyes and taking deep breaths. Because if I keep writing about all of the extremes and the ‘what ifs’, my eyes are going to bug out of my head…All will be well…

Post Script: Remind me to tell you about my irrational fear of going across the Delaware Memorial Bridge. Not because it’s high or the deep cold water or because my car could fall off and I could die an untimely death. But because once you cross that bridge, I cannot just turn around and go back to Albany. It’s too far from home, yet so close to DC and I can’t turn back. Which means that I have to go to DC and endure whatever happens to be awaiting me there. Fear sucks man.