Life - a.k.a. Sucky McSuckSuck

Dear Life,

If you're going to screw me over, I would at least appreciate a nice dinner first.
Sure, I may have become a bit of nag in the last few months - "Wow, you really suck right now", "Please stop sucking so hard", and "ENOUGH WITH THE SUCKAGE ALREADY!" can all seem a bit harsh. I understand that. I do. However, your all-encompassing determination to mess with every last centimeter of my emotional, physical, spiritual and habitual self has been nothing short of mean.

"Take another little piece of my heart now, baby..."

The last I checked, the following apply to you:

1. There are billions of others out there - so why play favorites?
2. Karma is your coworker... kind of... ?
3. You would have no purpose without people to, um, live you...

I fail, then, to understand why you seem so damn determined to target every aspect of my existence with your Ray Gun of Perpetual Bullshit.

However, since I am not quite the evil nag you seem to think I am, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions:

1. Make like the '60's and spread the love (or pain).
- I mean, really. What's with opening a can of Koncentrated Krystal-Killing Kola? Sounds a wee bit high in cholesterol to me. Why not target someone who has, I don't know, just punted a puppy off the roof of a mosque they just pissed on? Seems like they may deserve this epic beat-down more than I would. Maybe.

"I just want to kick you while you're down, man..."

2. Have a little chat with Karma before acting.
- There has got to be some kind of record keeping system. I mean, really, between the two of you couldn't you form some kind of procedure for when, where, what, and how much crap one person can take at one time. You know the saying "All work and no play makes Krystal a dull girl"? Well, switch "dull" with "dead" and you'll be headed in the right direction.

I buy the effing toilet paper. That has to count for something, right?

3. Read Job 7:17-21.
- Are you TRYING to kill me off?! If the purpose of Life is to be lived, then why hit me with the arsenal? I feel like a cross between a slice of Swiss cheese and Silly Putty - neither are sexy, and I don't appreciate it. I know I don't have it as bad as that poor ol' dude Job did, but there was really a point two weeks ago where it was close. When everything that can go wrong does, it's a good clue that maybe, just maybe, it's not all my fault (for once). I don't have the power to give someone breast cancer. I don't have the power to flood the crawl space beneath our house and bust the brand new gas furnace (but I wouldn't). I don't have the power to give my sons Pink Eye, hives, upper respiratory infections, diaper rash, asthma and night terrors... but something out there does, and I would like to calmly, politely, June Beaver-ly ask it to LEAVE US THE FUCK ALONE.

This, too, is not sexy...

All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the LESS SUCKY version that I know you have inside of you.

I know, I know... what a bitchy letter. I wish I could say that I'm sorry, but you've just tapped me out. There are people - and entire countries - that have it much, much worse than I could even comprehend, and reminding myself of that does help on occasion.

Until you start kicking me in the ovaries. Again.

Shape up,

Krystal

Teenagers of Little Sense (Pt. 1)

Dear Teenagers of the 21st Century,

OMG, wtf is wrng wit u?
Whether it is your obvious lack of clothing practicality, your blatant disregard for personal hygiene, or your selfishly manic desire for the newest and best of everything you can get your hands on, I'm just plain tired of you whippersnappers and your idiocy.

The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. "Eighteen" is still a "teen"
2. Chat-speak is not a language offered in school
3. Respecting your elders = getting to live
4. Hormones are a part of life... not the POINT of it.

I fail, then, to understand why you are so extremely annoying. Here, I'll put it to you in the form of an "if/then" SAT question: "If THE WORLD IS DOING YOU A FAVOR BY LETTING YOU CONTINUE TO EXIST, then the following must also be true: A) YOU SHOULD PROBABLY KISS THE GROUND THE ADULTS WALK ON, B) YOU SHOULD STOP DRESSING LIKE A HOBO, C) YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT SOMEONE WHO ISN'T YOU, or D) All of the above."

Guess which is the correct answer.

However, since I, too, was once an Annoying Mass of Adolescent Angst (hard to believe, I know), I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.

1. Until you are able to support yourself fully, just admit that you need your parents or other adults in your lives.
(Forgive me for failing to notice the cruel torture of having a place to live, free of charge. How could I have overlooked the depravity of having clothes provided to you, also free, and in the correct size and gender class. And, oh, let me not forget the food; how dare your parents or caregivers provide you with all of the meals, snacks, in-betweens-ies, and drinks that your exponentially morphing bodies need to survive and thrive. Seriously, GET A HOLD OF YOURSELVES! Ignoring the fact that it isn't cool to bitch and complain about how horrible your parents are (because, really, what does that accomplish?), it's just plain stupid. Do you honestly want them to never feed, clothe, or house you again?)

2. Unless your goal is to work at McDonald's when you're 40, stop incorporating chat-speak into your daily vocabulary.
(Dear, Sweet, Youth of America... you are quickly becoming the most unintelligent generation to ever gangsta-walk on this earth. It's one thing to send your friends a quick 'OMG', 'LOL', 'u r gr8' - filled text message in between class, but it becomes another thing entirely when I hear chat-speak come flying out of your mouth in an actual conversation. With a human. In the real world. I know we've all been taught that "it's what's on the inside that counts", but when the words you're using sound like a stroke victim attempting to spell their name, well, no one is going to care about what's on the inside. You may think you have a winning personality and enough charm/luck/money/intelligence to get you far in life, but the second a potential boss hears you bust out with "I saved the company over $3.2 million by catching a sales mistake last year and, OMG, let me tell you, Mr. Douchehammer, I was ROTFLOL," you're outta there.)

3. If you swear, glare, or "holla" at me on the bus one more time, I will drop you.
(I use profanity on a near regular basis, I admit it. The leg-up I have on you, however, comes from using it either accidentally/unconsciously (aka - spontaneously), or using it to emphasize a point I am trying to make. When you start dropping f-bombs like the conversation is an Iraqi war zone, you sound... well, like a teenager. And teenagers can sound preeeetty stupid. You do the math. Oh, and what's with the glaring, Oh Sulky of the Attitude Clan? When my only possible offense is breathing, I don't see how that earns you doing your best Mr. T impression at me from across the bus/room/store/city. Finally, I am way too old for your pimply, pubescent ass. If you really want a chick who digs much younger men, look up "Letourneau" in the phone book. Otherwise, show some respect.)

4. Keep. It. In. Your. Pants.
(Ignoring the fact that the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) reports that 19 million new STD infections occur every year... and nearly 50 percent of these new cases happen to young people between the ages of 15 and 24... and not only that, but the American Social Health Association (ASHA) reports that half of all new HIV infections occur in teenagers... well, no, wait; you can't ignore that. STOP GETTIN' FREAKY! It's, well, freaking us out. I won't be like some of your parents and tell you that sex is a dirty, gross thing that married couples "have to do", because that would promote its own set of problems, but what I will tell you is this: you only have so much time to be the age you're at right now. Why rush it?)

All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Upright, Non-Delinquent Youth of America that I know you have inside of you.

In all seriousness, you have so much potential. I am in awe of the talents that so many of you possess already at such a young age, and can't wait to see what kind of influence your voice has in the future.

Just... pull your pants up, okay? I don't want to see your boxers.

Get off my lawn,

Krystal