Failing My Way to Womanhood

Turning 18 might be the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. I can vote! And get married! And receive the maximum sentence for homicide! Maybe all on the same day if I’m feeling ambitious. You see, I am now an official, card carrying (according to the State of California DMV) woman, and that’s a bit terrifying because it begs the question, what kind of woman do I want to be? Now, I have a vague idea already, independent, can do 100 push-ups in a row, and finally able to own the fact that my ideal man looks like the lead for a Tim Burton movie (tall, skinny, has scissors for hands, the usual), but after that it’s all ???, ???, and ????

All of my role models (except Dan Savage and Salem from Sabrina the Teenage Witch) are women. “But what about Gandhi?”, you may cry. “What about Martin Luther King? What about JESUS??” To which I would reply, “Did Gandhi have the gall to dye his hair and eyebrows fuschia and take up jazz singing at the age of 76?” Please. That was my Grandma Vicky. “Did MLK fight off a mountain lion using only a NorthFace fleece?” As if, that was my Aunt Marge. “Jesus may have died for our sins, but did he join a sex cult to do research for his masters thesis?” If so they conveniently left it out of the Bible. My beloved sociology professor on the other hand? Well, I’m sure you know the drill by now.

These women that I look up to: my friends, aunties, and teachers all come from incredibly different walks of life. Yet they have a few essential things in common. They live their lives intentionally, fighting their fears. They know what they’re about, and are working hard to make it happen, all while putting together cute outfits, and having amazing personalities.

Me on the other hand? So far, what I’ve learned about being a woman is a) Acne doesn’t just magically go away the second you turn 18 (seems like that should be illegal but ok) b) The best part of a metal show is that there is absolutely no line for the women's restroom, and the worst part is everything else. (To all the ladies I see looking bored to tears next to their boyfriend thrashing about like a dying fish, why are we doing this to ourselves? We could be at home eating snacks from Trader Joes and watching My Strange Addiction!) and c) Life is absolutely terrifying and exhausting, and some days you just want to take Lyft home, but then you remember the whole being sold into sex slavery thing. Not that it even matters, because you don’t have enough money for Lyft anyway, so you just have to boss up, take the subway and pray you don’t get stabbed by a crackhead (#relatable). Yup, that’s pretty much the sum total of what I’ve learned in the 4 months I’ve been a woman. How will I ever become the woman I want to be when I still haven't figured out basic stuff, like how to rock a beret in a way that looks more French and less Che Guvarra, and how to open a pad without alerting everyone in a five block radius?

According to a couple fairly reputable sources (a woman I met on the bus, and Cosmo) the answer to becoming this woman would be mastering calculus because, “If a woman can do calculus she can do anything!”, and learning how to properly suck the D (“The day you learn that you mostly use your hand and create the illusion that you are putting an entire erect penis in your mouth is the day you really become a woman”) I did get a D in calculus, does that count? No? Ah well.

So how did these women do it? In my head their transformations from awkward adolescent to confident queen took place in a smoothly edited montage set to “Eye of the Tiger.” In reality, they did things like accidentally murder their bosses parakeets, elope to Mexico with men who didn’t speak a word of English (not a problem if only they had spoken Spanish), and get perms. In short, they messed up. A lot. They took risks, often foolish ones, made mistakes, and got knocked down. But they always, always, always got back up again. Learning from their mistakes, they continued to move forward. So there may be hope for me yet. You see, unlike calculus, and fellatio, I am amazing at messing up.