Top 10 Things Every Parent Should Know About Teenagers

10. Our music is often the opposite of yours. It's very rare for my dad's musical tastes to line up with American Top 40. My mother has it a bit easier, fortunately.

9. We will fool ourselves into thinking we're completely and utterly in love. Don't mess with us about it; it's embarrassing and will only make us resent you. Just be supportive, please.

8. Unless we're willing to text you in school, you're not cool. Often you guys try way too hard to be cool. My dad fails. My mother wins. It's just how it works out.

7. We hate it when you bitch about us in earshot. If you have to do it, at least make sure we can't hear you. It hurts.

6. There are multiple versions of us. Not in a schizophrenic way, necessarily. I just mean that I act very differently around my parents than I do around my friends, or around my aunts and uncles, or here on my pseudo-anonymous blog. Just realize that you may not be seeing every aspect of your baby's personality.

5. Two out of a hundred parents think their little boy or girl has sexted. Thirteen in a hundred teens have done it. I'm not saying go through our texts or anything (that's a gross invasion of privacy, or what we teens like to call not fucking right), but just keep a bit of an eye out. But keep in mind that thirteen of a hundred isn't very many. Odds are, your teen not only hasn't sexted- they despise the thought of it!

4. Facebook has different privacy levels. You know how I told you that you see a different side of your teen than his or her friends do? I was being literal. Your teen can hide posts, notes, pictures- pretty much anything- from you on Facebook. Do with this information what you will. (Yes, I'm fairly sadistic, ratting out on my fellow teens like this, heehee.)

3. We like gift cards more than gifts of clothing. As much as you think you have our style down, you probably don't. Instead of buying forty dollars in clothing, give forty dollars in gift cards on the condition that whatever's bought has to get your approval (if you have a particularly sneaky teen, you may want to check the receipt as well, just to make sure you're seeing all that he our she bought!).

2. The bedroom is our safe haven. Here's a short tale for you: my father dug through my stuff. I guess he was looking for drugs or something. He then told me off for having a little jar of chocolate frosting in my dresser. I never trusted my father again. The end. Moral of the story? Don't overstep any boundaries unless you have a damn good reason to do so. Be gentle.

1. We do love you. Really, we do. It's just that we don't always like you. You're kind of irritating sometimes, you know?

My "Perfect" Guy

I swear, this should be the last guy-central post for a while, my darlings. The one I posted about last night? Yeah, I've been thinking about it, and no. See, that's what does me in: thinking. Anyways.

To entertain myself, I've been taking these quizzes to see what my perfect guy would be like. Of course, most of them require you to have a certain amount of knowledge about him anyways in order to answer the questions. Based on the questions and my answers, he's a vague idea of my "perfect" guy. (Random aside: it's weird to think that my future husband- or husbands, if I'm anything like my mother, hehe- is out there somewhere. God knows what he's going through.)

He's definitely good with words. Witty is a good word to describe him. He's funny, for sure. Not into slapstick, much more into smart and clever humor. And sex jokes. He's not the best kisser in the world, but it's enough to make me feel alive. He's tall enough for me to at least rest my chin on his shoulder comfortably while dancing. His friends are fairly geeky, but I like them and they like me. He wouldn't abandon them to spend all his time with me; the very idea of that is sort of offensive to him, really. He's probably good at math. Sexual enough that when I make an innuendo he'll be able to shoot one right back at me, but not so overtly sexual that it's uncomfortable. Definitely someone with whom I could talk about more spiritual things. He's open-minded enough not to mind my antics, but grounded enough to know when to pull me back into the real world. One of those guys that always seems to have reading material on him, whether it's a book, a magazine, or a news article he pulled up on his phone. He can definitely make it through an issue of Wired! A bit of a ponderer, a bit of a wanderer.

That's all I care to type up or think about for now. *le yawn* So much for "vague idea," eh?

100 Facts About Me

A couple of the people I follow on Twitter have started doing this thing where they tell everyone one hundred things about themselves in one hundred tweets. As I don't have the capacity to force myself upon my followers like that, I decided to run with the concept and simply post all one hundred facts in a blog post instead.

1. I have commitment issues, but I'm working on those.

2. I seriously adore my friends. All of them.

3. I have this habit of making awkward situations even more awkward. (This was shamelessly stolen from my favorite comedian in the whole wide world [besides, of course, Dan Cummins], Mike Birbiglia.)

4. I'm proud of my ability to laugh at myself.

5. I write fanfiction.

6. I skipped a grade (I did the first semester of kindergarten, then after Christmas I did first grade).

7. My favorite color is either red or purple, but my favorite thing to see is gray. (The sky when it's about to rain, wet pavement... well, maybe just anything associated with rain.)

8. I love rainy days. Clearly.

9. I have a minor caffeine addiction that comes out to play even more so during the school year. And it fucking plays rough.

10. I pretend I'm badass sometimes.

11. I have the most awesome glasses ever.

12. I watch documentaries voluntarily.

13. I'm addicted to Harry Potter.

14. Without mascara, I feel naked.

15. I dislike pink, but just realized that my pink tights are my favorite tights, my BlackBerry is pink, and the laptop I lifted from my mother is pink.

16. I want to work at Starbucks.

17. I love strawberries.

18. And chocolate.

19. And chocolate-covered strawberries.

20. My right eyebrow is always neat, and my left always looks fucked up. No, I don't do that on purpose.

21. Coke, not Pepsi. But definitely Pepsi Max over Coke Zero.

22. My iPod Touch got stolen in the eighth grade. Fuck whoever did that.

23. I know too much.

24. I always have to predict the ending. Maybe that's the basis of my commitment issues, haha.

25. Dust irritates me.

26. I always sleep with my blanket stuck under my feet. Otherwise the monsters and/or sharks will grab me.

27. I can't have my legs outside the blanket. That demon from Paranormal Activity will take me.

28. I adore headbands!

29. I have no cleavage unless I wear my ridiculous push-up bra and cross my arms.

30. According to my Facebook, I work at Grammar Nazis. I'm the chief, because I'm that hardcore.

31. I love tennis, even though I suck at it.

32. All my friends have had this one math teacher other than me.

33. For three of my four math classes I've taken in high school, I've had the same teacher. I love Mrs. McKnight- she's a BAMF.

34. I overcame my fear of being in front of others by taking Theatre freshman year.

35. I have a mini-panic attack whenever I make a mistake.

36. I love wearing high heels and don't get uncomfortable after walking about in them.

37. I drink too much milk.

38. I'm addicted to the internet.

39. Electricity intrigues and vaguely frightens me.

40. I hate wearing eyeshadow.

41. I have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life.

42. I love skinny jeans.

43. I love hot chocolate, and I drink it during the summer.

44. I guess I'm kind of a bitch sometimes.

45. I'm damn hilarious.

46. I like math.

47. I find stickers to be awesome.

48. I dislike the practice of smoking weed.

49. I think guys in ties and glasses are hawt.

50. I'm a vegetarian, and I ain't fuckin' scared of him.

51. I love you if you get that reference.

52. I have strange-ish taste in music.

53. I want to move to either London or Seattle.

54. I resent the fact that my mother and step-father are putting a limit on how far I can go for college (and I have to go along with it, as I won't be eighteen until the very end of my freshman year at university).

55. I lovelovelove baby carrots, especially with ranch (dipped or drizzled, I really don't care).

56. I reorganize periodically because I feel like I have to.

57. I was adopted at age eleven or twelve by the guy I called Dad, Daddy, or some variation thereof from the age of four up until fifteen. (Now I call him by his first and last name, haha.)

58. I have four siblings, four step-siblings from Mother's re-marriage, a step-brother from my dad's marriage, and a half-sister from my dad's re-marriage. Urgh.

59. I don't want to have children.

60. I wish I had a British accent.

61. I think in a British accent most days.

62. I enjoy coloring pictures.

63. I named my desktop Luke, my laptop Deb, and my calculator George.

64. I have this horrible habit of inflicting water damage upon my mobile phone.

65. I have a record player and about fifteen vinyl records (including all but one Beatles album).

66. I used to have pet chickens. Then they were destroyed by some stray dogs.

67. My first boyfriend told me he loved me after two days, and since I was so shocked I just naturally told him I loved him, too.

68. I'd rather be deaf than blind.

69. I constantly crave potatoes in some form or other- fries, mashed potatoes, hashbrowns, tater tots, chips... it doesn't really matter.

70. I can easily type over 80 wpm.

71. My mother and biological dad, Vlad, had a cat whose name was Russian for a phrase for which the approximate English translation is "Dumbshit."

72. I vaguely remember a fat white cat named Yoda that hated my mother- especially when she was pregnant with Bitch 1 and Bitch 2 at the same time- but Mother has no recollection of this.

73. I like grilled cheese, especially with ketchup or tomato soup.

74. I think Spanish is a sexy language, and I love speaking it.

75. I let the toilet paper roll off the top, not out from under..

76. I leave the shower curtain open.

77. I leave the toilet lid down.

78. I tend to be a Jack... er, Jane-of-all-trades and master of none.

79. I read all the books with Dewey Decimal numbers 1-100 in my middle school's library.

80. I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in three days, but I would've finished it more quickly if my mother hadn't kept giving me chores. At least I pre-ordered from Amazon.

81. My first flute was a piece of shit we bought online.

82. I forget to sleep.

83. I forget to eat.

84. I forget to bathe.

85. I love businesswear, as long as it can be cute/sexy. Pencil skirts rock.

86. I swear like a fucking sailor sometimes.

87. I loathe attending church. I love Jesus and all, but fuuuuck.

88. I'm big on Linux. Originally this was only because I hated Vista and Ubuntu is free.

89. I sleep with my regular pillow, two smaller pillows on either side of me (so the monsters don't get me, duh), and a stuffed Cogsworth (from Beauty and the Beast, the little clock dude!).

90. I cry fairly regularly. That wave of... I don't know, but it's the opposite of ecstasy, comes over me and I end up curled up in a ball sobbing until four in the morning.

91. I like falafel. A lot. Nomnomnom.

92. My first role model was Anastasia, in the animated film.

93. My first legitimate role model was Hermione Granger, and yes, my parents did resent that a little.

94. My mother had a rule when I was in fourth grade that I had to go outside during the day, as until that point I would stay in and read. Much to her chagrin, I simply took my book outside.

95. I firmly believe my sister (Bitch 1) is a sociopath.

96. I know that everything will work out in the end.

97. I enjoy walking places.

98. Being in the car- for as little as five minutes, with certain cars- makes me woozy.

99. I like things that are on fire. Just not my home.

100. I firmly believe I'll be truly happy someday.

Ever Fallen In Love (and All I Blog About Nowadays is Dudes)

Yeah, like the Pete Yorn song. From the Shrek 2 soundtrack. "Ever fallen in, in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?" (It's stuck in my head.)

I think I may have a chance at experiencing teenagery love. You know, the average adolescent relationship with a first kiss and no "I love you"s and a bunch of movie dates.

All I've been blogging about lately is guys. Ugh, I'm such a teenage girl sometimes.

So anyways, this one shall be referred to as Mr. Gatlinburg; it suits him. He's a friend of mine, has been for a while. He's very funny, and pretty charming as well. The kind of guy you'd want to put his arm around you, I s'pose. And maybe this is the hormones talking, but *psst* I don't even care that he failed Biology three times.

I should totally care about that.

Also, this is my first time blogging via email. How's it look?
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

Little Moments

Over the second semester of last year, there were... moments. Moments where I caught myself feeling way beyond what I probably should have. I don't even know this guy's favorite color. I have no idea what kind of music he listens to. But are those arbitrary things? Do they matter? I think they do, but I have no idea. I've known (well, known of, certainly) this guy since the seventh grade. We never really spoke a ton, even though we've had every math class together from the seventh grade forward. That changed last semester, though.

We were all hanging out in the science classroom before class. For whatever reason, I brought it upon myself to make fun of him (we're talking about the President here, the same guy I've been rambling about the last few posts). When the teacher said we were going to draw random seats, I said something along the lines of, "God forbid I get stuck sitting next to you," to the President. So, of course, I ended up sitting next to him for the first half of the semester.

I had the sniffles something awful, so I was rather noisy that first week of the semester. At some point, the President said, "Well, that's attractive," and all of a sudden something in my head clicked and I thought, "Oh, no!" a la Mike Birbiglia. I thought it would go away, but of course it didn't. By Valentine's Day, I was dating someone else, and when he asked if he could be my Valentine, I said no in a more snippy manner than intended. He just said, "Oh."

Before then, we'd joked all the time about how clearly I was desperately in love with him, and at some point he'd tripped up making a joke about babies and had somehow managed to imply that I was going to have his babies. (I'm laughing just remembering it- at first he stuttered, trying to fix it, but then he just went along with it, which was even funnier.)

After that, it was weird for a week or two. Eventually we got back to normal, though we didn't joke about being in love with each other as much. I go back and forth between thinking that it's because he realized I liked him and didn't want to egg me on and that it's because he realized he liked me and didn't want to accidentally seem too obvious.

One time in the library, we were sitting talking at one of the tables- our math teacher was off doing something or other and had sent our class to the library for a few days- and we were talking about all the books in my bag. I said something about how they weren't going to fit in my purse, and I believe I started pulling things out of my purse and stacking them rather precariously. Of course, my calculator (a lovely bulky TI-84 Plus, my little baby) fell, and he caught it against my leg. Either he held it there for a second too long, or my mind stopped time for a moment. The latter is incredibly likely.

And then there's the time we did a science experiment involving burning metal solutions to determine which metals burned which color flames. The teacher, being an advocate for general safety and not catching on fire in the classroom, warned us all to pull back long hair and long sleeves. I pulled my hair- which I'd been wearing down regularly (without putting any effort into it) since it was cold as fuck- up into a bun while the President pulled his sweatshirt off. Which, by the way, he looked very good in, but even better out of. He can really pull off a t-shirt and jeans. Anyways, he looked at me and said, "You look... different with your hair up." I don't remember what I did, but I probably shrugged or some such. When my dear friend... hmm, what shall I call her? Oh, I know, Luna! When my dear friend Luna came over, she (as usual) told me I was looking exceptionally sexy. So, of course, I said in a very clearly-joking arrogant voice, "Yeah, [the President] here thinks so, too." And Luna and I laughed. But I thought- I could have sworn- I heard him say something along the lines of, "That was the message I was trying to get across," or "That was the general point." It was a while ago, so I don't remember the exact phrase, but it was something like that. But I think I imagined it.

To quote the great Brad Paisley, "Yeah, I live for little moments like that."

Issues to Rival Those of a Magazine Rack

I'm going to try and go through all my relationship issues- and all my issues that may even vaguely affect my relationships- and get them out into words. I think it might help me feel better. Usually when I have something to write about, I start writing and realize that either a) what I'm writing about has zero significance whatsoever, or b) there's not enough substance to create a post around it. So, yeah. There are a lot of shitty-ass posts you guys get to miss out on purely because they aren't worth posting.

Oh, and maybe in the future I'll just print this out and give it to any male who wants to be in a relationship with me. Ooh, that's either the best idea I've ever had or the worst. Aww yeah.

Issue #1: I'm bound to stop liking him.
It has happened time and time again. When I found out that a guy likes me, it destroys all chance of me liking him. I have no idea what causes it. Theories include a) I enjoy the chasing ritual too much for my own good, b) I'm afraid of commitment, but my hormones make me like boys, c) I want a guy that's a challenge, so much so to the extent that I want the entire relationship to be a challenge, and me knowing he likes me just doesn't provide a challenge, and d) I'm so afraid of getting hurt that the minute it threatens to become a "relationship," I back off. My personal favorite is theory c, but I think deep down it's a mixture of all of them.

Issue #2: I fully expect the relationship to fail.
I just do. I don't really know why. I have a theory, though; they say that people's attitudes towards relationships are greatly influenced by what they saw with their parents while they were growing up. Whether that's true for everyone or not, it would certainly be fitting for me. My parents have not had the greatest relationshit history (see Issue #3).
 

Issue #2b: That, or I expect it to never end.
At first, this doesn't seem like an issue; it just seems like a little girl fantasizing about dancing with her Prince Charming. And, on a certain level, that's exactly what it is. (Shit, throat going dry, eyes watering, gotta go in a different direction...) However, it is a problem. I'm not going to magically have a happy relationship just because I want one. Everyone fights, and every relationship has its rough patches. I can't just expect that since I'm elated for the first five minutes, everything is going to work out perfectly. But I do expect that. Hell, for one example of what could go wrong, just check out Issue #1. Crap's for real.

Issue #3: My parental units... they're fucked up.
My mother and my birth father divorced before my first birthday. I didn't see him or speak to him until about a decade and a half later. I still don't call him Dad. My mother and the man I grew up calling Dad divorced the winter I was in eighth grade. It came straight out of the blue to me. I only call him Dad when I'm around him or someone who might tell him I call him by his full name when he isn't there to hear it. My mother was engaged to a very dependent man through my freshman year. She kinda sorta kicked him out of the house one weekend the summer before my sophomore year while I was at my "dad's." Speaking of "Dad," he married a gold-digging whore who led me to have suicidal thoughts and behaviors and refused to leave her despite the fact that he- along with my mother- had made a very explicit promise that we, the children, would always come first. Apparently what that meant was that we, the children, would come first until "Dad" got some fresh pussy. I can't believe I actually typed that. I'll be done with this topic now.
 
Issue #4: I can't decide about physical stuff and PDAs.
On the one hand, I hate couples who stand in the hall and make out. They're fucking annoying. They're almost as bad as those people who walk reaaaaally slow and in a line, blocking everyone who isn't daring enough to push through them Red Rover-style from doing something as simple as walk to third period. Yeah, I know, I'm refocusing. Back to what I was saying. I like the idea of making out, to be honest. Lips touching, hands running through hair and roaming the body... that all sounds good. Hugs, on the other hand, I find incredibly awkward. I hugged Pansy Boy good-bye every morning outside my first period class. I hated that shit. I look retarded when I hug people anyways. Now, a chaste kiss? I could probably make that work. But in public? It depends. On what? I have no clue. I have a feeling this is one of the ones that will work itself out in its own time, without the therapy necessary for Issue #3, hehe.

Issue #5: I don't want to have to say, "I love you." 
Maybe this is less an issue and more of a pet peeve. I don't really know; I haven't been in enough serious relationships (at the time of writing, I've only been in one, and I ended that after a month) to know if what I feel is normal. I have this major aversion to saying those three little words. I think this aversion stems from the fact that my first boyfriend, Pansy Boy, told me he loved me after, oh, I think it was two days. We got together through text over winter break. We'd known each other for maybe a week before the beginning of winter break. We flirted incessantly over Twitter and via text. He asked me out, we had a few snow days... we hadn't seen each other for weeks, and he told me he loved me. And I panicked and told him I loved him, too. I felt like I had to constantly tell him I loved him throughout the relationship. Looking back, even Pansy Boy can admit he was a needy bitch. But acknowledging it isn't enough. That crap has stayed with me.

Ugh, I think I'm done for now. Too much heavy stuff, and halfway through this post I had to run and complain to Rissa about the President (not Obama, the guy I've nicknamed the President for the purposes of this blog).

Damn You, Spreadsheet of Truth

I often come up with unorthodox solutions to help me with my problems. In situations in which most people would turn to a best friend, I turn to a friend I only barely know. So, of course, in a situation in which most girls would scratch their pretty little heads and shrug their pretty little shoulders and put the matter at the back of their minds, I turned to a spreadsheet.

I have this thing with spreadsheets. They make me feel... safe, I suppose you could say. Spreadsheets, graphs, charts- they all give me a feeling that everything is going to be okay. They're comforting. Call me OCD, call me a freak, I don't care.

Here's the situation: you know the nerdy boy I've been pining after the last few posts (who, for clarity, we will now call Kirby)? Well, as is the usual when I like someone and they like me back (I think I may write a post about that particular issue of mine), my feelings for him sort of faded. And by "sort of faded," I mean I can still see myself dating him, I just don't see myself kissing him, and when I think about him, I don't get that little lurch in my stomach. Unfortunately, that means I won't let myself date him (I refuse to allow myself to date someone to whom I am not even slightly physically attracted, as I believe that relationships should have a healthy physical level). I don't think it's anything he's done; it's just me being me.

So, while I'm pondering that, along comes a boy we will call the President. Why? Oh, you'll find out. God forbid he ever reads this blog. *shudder* If any of my "readers" who know me still actually read this, and you figure out who the President is (because honestly, if you know me and even know of him, you'll figure it out), you'd best not tell him about this blog, or so help me I will kick your ass. And cry, probably.

Now, I used to have quite the crush on the President. Unfortunately, none of the signals I was sending out seemed to get any reciprocation. I resigned myself to the fact that I was being obvious, and that if he liked me, he would have asked me out by the end of the school year. So... I gave up. I gave up, and (shit, now my throat's going all dry and my eyes are getting all watery) I listened to Bulletproof ("I'll never let you sweep me off my feet," indeed) a thousand times over, and I got over him. I actually stopped talking to him for a period of time. I don't think he noticed, but... maybe he did. I don't know. The first week of summer vacation, getting it off my chest, I told him that when, on Valentine's Day, he'd asked if he could be my Valentine and I said no, I'd actually meant to say yes, but I didn't have the guts to go back and fix it. Of course, he asked me about the message later, and I just told him that I was frolicking about telling people all the things that had been stuck in my head all semester, and that this was all brought on by a Mountain Dew overdose.

Anyways, I thought I was completely over the President. That I was totally into Kirby. But no, the President just had to come along and fucking mess everything up. Actually, he didn't "come along;" he just responded to my starting a conversation. I sent him something along the lines of, "ello there!" and we went from there. The conversation ended with us having gone back in forth in nonsense (him in French, me in Spanish) and having created a Facebook page for his run for presidency (hence, the President), him going off to bed to sleep, and me wondering what the hell had just happened.

I realized some things while thinking about that conversation: a) I like doing ridiculous things for no reason, and b) the President makes my heart beat and my stomach tickle. Oh, and c) I really need to work on typing things right the first time.

Because this just put me in an absolute tizzy, I ran to the only available comfort... a spreadsheet (see, Persephone is asleep and Ember is at the Deathly Hallows part 2 premiere without me, the little chit). Down the leftmost column (column A), I put all the traits I value in a guy and how much I value them on a scale from one to ten (one being least, ten being most).

Example: Friendly (7)

Then, at the top of columns B and C, I put their names. After that, I just worked down each guy's column, giving him a score for each trait. For example, for Spontaneous (which was worth eight), Kirby got a five and the President got a seven.

At the bottom of column A, I put Total (164) because total, the value of the traits ended up being one hundred sixty-four points. Then, I added up each of the guy's point totals and put them in the Total row.

Kirby got 118.5 points (or 72%), and the President got 133.5 points (or 81%). It's not a wide margin to win by, but I may have upped Kirby's scores a bit for fear I'd be unfair due to my recent feelings as of late, and I may have brought the President's scores down for the same reason.

I think the reason I like spreadsheets is that they tell me what I already knew in a manner I can't ignore. It's fact now.

Emotions and Other Crazy Little Things, None of Which I'm Going to Mention are Called Love

I don't understand why... okay, fuck it, here's a song lyric really quick that seems to apply fairly well here:

I'm thinkin' maybe I can't have relationships, 'cause lately they're not makin' any sense... and baby, you're the one thing on my mind, but that could change any time. ~3OH!3, Double Vision

That's pretty much it for the past few months. I've been sitting here wondering if I'm even capable of having a legitimate relationship, nothing has been making any miniscule amount of sense, and it seems like even if He (and I'm not capitalizing to mean God, I'm capitalizing to mean whichever boy/man/male I'm into at the moment) is the only thing I can think about, soon enough it'll be someone else.

Also, you absolutely must listen to the comedy stylings of Dan Cummins. He is one seriously funny little bitch. That joke's called "Not Actually a Gender-Neutral Noun."