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

Girly-men

Dear Metrosexual Twig-Men and/or Men Who Look Like Boys,

I am almost at a loss of words here... but, unfortunately for you, I will soldier on.
What. The. Hell.
I think that about covers it.
Whatever happened to embracing your masculinity, guys? When did it start becoming cool for guys to dress like a chick? Why are we so overrun with men who would rather scribble madly in their black spiral notebooks, or get a manicure, than go punch something/someone when they're upset?

The last I checked, the following is what most women find attractive about you/why we keep you around:

1. Your muscles are sexy
2. You look so, so good in jeans and a t-shirt
3. Your communication skills are... sparse
4. Your recreational choices befuddle us

I fail, then, to understand why you have decided to chop off your collective cojones and embrace the twisted world of emaciated, Emo fashion and high-priced cocktails. How am I, an intensely pro-sex, straight adult female, supposed to fantasize about a guy who looks like a jacked-up, butch lesbian or, at best, a teenage boy with whiskers? You're making this way, way too hard for me, fellas.

However, since I have a vested interest in seeing your ranks improve, Oh Twig-like Metrosexual Abomination, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.

1. Put down the eyeliner and pick up a barbell. And a hamburger.
(I don't care how nasty your gym bag smells after some time lifting weights, playing basketball with the guys, or a quick pick-up game of baseball, I would rather smell dirty-dirty man stink than some unisex cologne you dropped $100 on. Oh, and please... if anyone should be ordering a salad with the dressing on the side, it's me; I'm the girl in this relationship, m'kay... and I would likely order something with a little more punch. Unless you're really, really craving the dandelion greens with crumbled feta and an aged balsamic reduction, order the 'Entire Rib of Cow' special with a side of 'More Beef', roll up your sleeves, and tear into that sucker like a kid at Christmas. There's something primal and sexy about a guy who shows healthy-to-high levels of testosterone... one such exhibition being food choices. Now, I'm not a big girl by today's health standards, but I don't want to look at a man and think, "Hm... nice eyes, cute smile, but I'd break him in a second." I want a guy who has the muscle tone he should have for his age, not that of a high school senior.)

2. Put down (or burn) the skinny jeans, and put on some sweats.
(Why... WHY with the skinny jeans, guys? I see so many of you walking around with tattoos (a personal attractant for me, yes) on your arms and scruffy, sexy faces... only to find your man-junk all vacuumed sealed into these size 2 pants. It doesn't stop at skinny jeans, either. No, I like to call this craptastical wardrobe brainwashing the 'Jonas Brothers DiCaprio Effect'; khakis (not so bad, in moderation), a polo shirt (gag me), and/or a sweater vest (wave 'bye-bye' to your chances of getting laid), and some loafers (no words), and you've got yourself a Mr. Douche doll. I'll be completely honest and say that yes, this may seem like sex-on-a-stick for some women, but me? I'd rather see my guy in a pair of jeans (that don't advertise the size/lack of size of his unit) and a t-shirt... or, really, whatever he's comfortable in. That, to me, is incredibly sexy.)

3. Put down the notebook and raise your voice.
(Ah, poetry... the centuries-old method of self-expression, and super-romantic 'wooing tool'. I don't really know how to proceed with this one, Oh Man of Missing Masculinity, as I have some mixed feelings here. While I can appreciate the time, effort, and creativity that goes into writing a poem or love song for a girl, and have had a couple written for me that I treasured, it has always felt... off... to have a guy be that expressive. I'm sure I will get many an e-mail/comment about this from my male friends, but this is just what I feel. I like my men a little more closed-off; willing to cuddle after sex, but not wanting to immediately jump out of bed to write a sonnet (or ten) about my breasts. Hey, I like 'em too, fellas... but poetry as self-expression for a guy? If it's the only form that you're using, it's going to be a turn-off.)

4. Put down the gourmet Gouda and pick up a Wii controller.
(I'm sure you've heard plenty a stereotypical woman spout-off about "I just wish HE'D cook some of the meals", or have watched your fair share of The Food Network, but really...? When did the weekend plans of the (admittedly stereotypical) American male turn from video games, movies, sports, projects, etc. to sauteing, blanching, scrap booking, or intensive, voluntary manscaping? Stop taking over the woman's hobbies, damn it! Go back to your Wii's, your ESPN, your table hockey, and leave our stuff alone! Not only are you infringing on our millenia-old territory (what do you think cave drawings are, if not the earliest form of scrap booking?), but you're becoming too much like US. If we wanted to date other women, we would... hence lesbians. Totally fine, just not my bag. I want my man and I to have a few, key differences other than the obvious anatomical ones.)

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 Strong and Mighty Tower of Masculinity that I know you have inside of you.

I love me some men-folk. I do. I also understand that men, like women, are multi-faceted creatures with widely differing personalities within their own subset. I respect the rights of each individual to pursue the lifestyle that makes them happy... I also happen to respect my own right to wonder what the hell they're thinking when they walk out the door looking and acting like a neutered version of themselves.

All of that being said, I'd still do you.

Stay out of my closet,

Krystal