Dear Teen Me

A bunch of awesome writers came together and started Dear Teen Me, a list of letters to their younger selves. Now, I’m not a bone fide author yet so I can’t be on the website of course, but that’s not going to stop me from participating.

Dear Teen Me,

You end up writing this letter and then deleting it and starting over. We just rambled for a bit but I think I know now what you need to hear. I’ll make it short too, because I know you listen best that way.

Never doubt your writing. You couldn’t make yourself stop even if you wanted too. Be okay with growing and changing your mind, but never stop. Oh, and maybe you shouldn’t show your friends your early stuff though, it’s pretty terrible.

There’s nothing wrong with observing people, learning why they do the things they do. In the end, this really helps with your writing, but don’t lose yourself either. It will be so easy to ignore your own self for the lives of the people in your books or your friends, but don’t neglect yourself either. Tell all the stupid jokes you want, if people don’t laugh then they are just being lame. Bad jokes will always be the best jokes.

Don’t be afraid to like your music, your books, your television shows or your movies. Video games are pretty neato too, but don’t let yourself get lost in that fantasy world. When you start feeling frustrated at a game, maybe it’s time to take a break. Also, later, when you’re in college, don’t be afraid to leave your room. I know that you’ll start feeling really crappy and panicky, but if you want things to get better you have to go out and make them better. I know that will be tough advice to follow on those days when you lock yourself in your room having a panic attack because you’re hungry but you’re afraid to go to the kitchen. Please try your best to keep it from getting that bad.

Good news though! During the worst of it you will meet the best guy in the world ever. He will love you even when you hate yourself. Because of him you will realize that life isn’t that hard, you just have to try. It’s a shame it takes someone else to kick you out of your funk, but I suppose that is why humans are social creatures, we really can’t do it on our own.

One last bit of advice, don’t get that haircut. It looks really cute on the model but you’ll just screw it up, trust me. You know what hair cut I’m talking about.

The Resurrectionist by Jack O’Connell

I’m still around, I swear, and I thought I’d bring back my blog with a book review! There will be minor spoilers in the review, just so you know.

I’m reviewing The Resurrectionist by Jack O’Connell, a story about a father who wishes to bring his son out of a coma and seeks the help of an ominous private hospital run by creepy doctorman.

I will say this for the book, the ending was pretty good but all the stuff before it was kind of hard to get through. It was for me, anyway. The main character was a broken record and very one-dimensional. The author centers this character only on his desire to resurrect his son. It’s understandable that the character would be obsessed with this, but we aren’t given anymore about the MAIN character until the last few chapters. And even that is kind of cramped together at the end. We don’t go on a journey with this character or learn about his past at all. Basically we get 20 chapters of him whining about his son which, honestly, gets really boring after a while.

When it comes to the other characters. They’re a little better, but they don’t feel real to me. They feel like they are designs planned up by the author to look cool. They are tools. He doesn’t let them be more than that. They never really become people.

The only good parts really come when the author switches over to the alternate reality of the Limbo comic-book world. We only get snippets of their story sprinkled in the main story but they feel more real and likable than any of the major characters, to be honest. The only time I felt anything for any of the characters was at the climax of the comic book, when Chicken Boy see’s Kitty’s grave.

The Resurrectionist, at its heart, is an issues book but the main character didn’t work through anything until the end. He didn’t even get worse and then get better. There was no change, no movement in the story at all. When it was over, I didn’t feel any sort of accomplishment at all.

Like I said, the ending was pretty good, but even if it were the best ending in the world, if wouldn’t make up for the train wreck that came before. If you insist on reading the book, borrow it from a friend or pick it up at a library before you buy it. Just warning you.

Commercial Rants #1: How Real Men Do It

Today I introduce a new section of the blog where I bitch about terrible commercial choices. Like it or not, television commercials have become a big part of our lives and are not just a way to advertise a product but also a chance to entertain or even be artistic. Unfortunately, some companies seem to be completely disconnected from the real world and make stupid decisions when it comes to making commercials. Since I am unable to actually do anything about it, I’ve decided to instead grump about it on my blog. First up, the 1800 tequila blog.

To refresh your memory (or just fresh it at all), here are two 1800 Tequila commercials:

Let’s consider the first video. We have a fellow trying to pull off the everyman character but really just looking like an all around tool dissing on other alcohols about how girly they are. Now, first off all, let’s consider the 1800 bottle. It’s clear glass. The label is white with a gold trimming. There’s a freaking palm thing shaped into the base of the bottle. Sounds pretty fancy to me. And let’s compare it to the other tequila bottle to the side. It is also glass but the label is simple gold lettering  and has a noticeable lack of glass palms. I think that the bottles speak for themselves.

Now, after that whole mess, we have the second commercial. The 1800 tequila bottle actually has a feature that allows you to pour a shot with its top. Now, this is pretty neat, but sounds pretty fancy to me because, as we all know, real men drink alcohol straight from the bottle anyway.

Why the commercial fails?

Well, the whole point was to market 1800 tequila as a real man’s tequila without all the fancy crap. What exactly this has to do with the quality of the alcohol is lost on me. But that aside, it’s obvious that their marketing plan was ruined right from the get go. Mostly due to that stupid glass palm thing, I think.

Why Yogurt Commercials Are Trying to Kill Women

Okay, maybe I love the dramatic a bit too much, but let me explain. I actually have a list of different topics that I want to eventually address in this blog and this post actually passes over three different topics so it makes me feel awesomely productive. First, I want to rant about yogurt commercials. One of the most recent ones I’ve seen features a young woman of slender build standing in front of a fridge that has a cheesecake and obsessing. If she has just a small piece and some celery later she won’t feel guilty, or a big piece and nothing for dinner she’ll be okay, stuff like that, and there is so much wrong with this commercial that it is infuriating. First of all, the actor they picked is beautiful and certainly doesn’t need to lose weight. It would at least make a little more sense if she was a little overweight, just kind of chubby, but the fact that a skinny girl is so obsessed with her weight that she won’t allow herself one small slice of cheesecake really speaks to how the media has warped what a woman is. And I understand they are just trying to sell a product, but yogurt companies aren’t looking out for your health, if it were up to them, all you’d eat was yogurt.

Yogurt’s still pretty delicious, so I’ll still eat it. I’ll just frown extra hard at their stupid commercials.

This brings me to another issue, the difference between loving your body and just being lazy. There was a movement to counteract Hollywood’s idea that beauty is super skinny skeletons on crack. Women empowered themselves by loving who they were, loving their bodies, all shapes and sizes. To an extent, that’s awesome. Not all women are really skinny (though some women are and they certainly don’t deserve our hatred either) but empowering yourself isn’t just about loving yourself, it’s about loving your body. Think of yourself as a plant. If a plant is given too much sun or too much water, it dies, too little and it wilts. You have to find a good balance between the two. What I’m basically trying to say, is stop empowering yourself with that donut, fatty, and go for a walk sometime.

In everything there needs to be a balance of leisure and work, water and sun, of veggies and cake. So, today, eat a nice big salad for dinner with very little dressing and maybe some chicken pieces on it (grilled, even) and tomorrow, let yourself eat that piece of cheesecake. Enjoy your yogurt, be angry at their stupid commercials and go outside and do something. It’s a beautiful day.

Why Nice Guys Are Terrible People

Now, before you get on the defensive, take a moment to understand my definition of a “Nice Guy.” We’ve all heard the story of some guy friend whose sacrificed his time and everything else to see to a female friend that he has feelings for after she’s been hurt by yet another jerk boyfriend. So, this Nice Guy, after spending a late evening comforting the object of his affection, goes home and emos about how nice guys never get the girl and about how, no matter how much he gives her, no matter how nice he is to her, she will never notice him.

So, why is it that the girl keeps falling for the jerks and keeps getting hurt? It certainly couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that maybe she is just as insecure as him and that she settles for the only guys who seem to show any real interest in her? Crazy, I know! So, Nice Guys, maybe the next time you are b’awwing in your journal about how she doesn’t see you, maybe you just haven’t made yourself seen.

Another thing that really gets me about Nice Guys is how unconsciously manipulative they are. None of them are good friends just to be good friends, they all have an ulterior motive. They don’t want the girl to be with just any guy who will make her happy and treat her right, they want the girl to be with them. Everything they do for her is part of some big plan to ultimately get in her pants and the worst part is they don’t even realize how dickish that is.

Now, Nice Guy-itis is easy to catch but once you’re aware of the symptoms they are easy to cure with two easy steps.

Step One:
Call up the object of your obsession up and tell her, to her face, how you feel about her. Don’t put your friendship on the bargaining block though, if you really care for her, make sure that she knows that, while it make take a while to get over her, she will always have your friendship. If this isn’t actually true then you don’t deserve her and you might as well end the relationship now. But don’t fool yourself either, getting over someone does take time and I’m sure she’ll understand if you need some time away from her.

Step Two:
Become human. Stop seeing yourself as a nice guy, as just a friend or as a boyfriend. You’re more than just a man who loves a girl. Stop defining yourself with such simple terms. Actually, stop trying to define yourself at all. You are a complex creature with many aspects that makes you who you are. After you’ve gotten over the desire to label yourself CONGRATULATIONS! not only are you now a functioning human being but you are now all grown up.

Horror Stories from the Mind of a Child

I had a wonderful childhood but considering all I’m about to tell you, it’s amazing I haven’t become a complete nut job (shut up, I said COMPLETE nut job). The other day I was talking to folks about three particular incidents from my childhood that are right out of a horror movie. Or maybe just the product of an overactive imagination.

First is the story about my bear. When I was little, a woman my dad worked with hand-made this lovely little bear, dressed it up in christening garb and gave it to my dad to gift to me. I loved this bear. I slept with it every night, talked to it and such. It was my best friend, for a while at least. Eventually I started sleeping all on my own and I spent more time talking to my real friends than anybody else. Still, this bear was a treasured toy so I set it up with its very own doll-sized rocking chair where it could rule over my room in dignity and grandeur. That is, until one terrible night.

I had this awful nightmare that my beloved toy came to life and had nothing but evil plans for me. I managed to eventually wrestle myself from the dream and, when I awoke, I grabbed the bear and buried it at the bottom of my toy box. But then a random thought passed through my head. If my bear was in fact evil, it probably was not happy being stuffed at the bottom of the toy box. So, I spent a good three months sleeping with that doll just to keep it from getting angry at me. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well those three months.

This wasn’t my first run in with a teddy bear. Another one of my beloved toys was a doll called Bedtime Bubba, a country-talking bear in footy pajamas and wielding a flashlight. I used to carry him around with me everywhere but like every other toy, his novelty eventually wore off and he found his way stuffed underneath my bed along with the coloring books and piles of lost socks. Problem is, eventually his batteries started to run out. Normally, to get him to talk or his flashlight to work, you have to press a button, but apparently, when the batteries are low, he will talk just fine on his own. I use the word “talk” loosely though. It was more like he was grumbling curses straight from the fires of hell. That, coupled with his blinking flashlight, was enough to fill my nightmare quota for months.

My last toy-inspired horror story has no real explanation but it is, once again, dream fueled. When I was very young, we lived in Virginia. On the day we were moving away from our house in Virginia the old woman next door came over and gave me a present. I don’t remember the woman but I remember her handing me the doll, a little blond-haired girl in the prettiest blue dress.

Fast forward about a little over ten years and I’m about sixteen or seventeen. I had this terrible nightmare that this same little doll had come alive, glowing red eyes and all. But, it was just a nightmare, nothing to be afraid of. I get up to go to the bathroom and when I return…

oh god

There is that same doll, laying on the floor about three feet from the dresser she was originally standing on.

There are many more little horror stories I could tell you about from my childhood but I’ll shut up now. I would like to hear about your own stories though.

What I Learned About Love

My first experience with love (with a guy we’ll call J) was a disaster but one I look back on fondly. It was awkward and new for me and he was much more experienced than me. It’s hard for me to put into words what this relationship meant to me. Or how it felt. At the risk of sounding pretentious, when I think back on it, it’s like summer. Dusty and sunny and dry. I remember the sensations more than anything else about it. How his lips felt, his skin and arms.

There’s one moment I remember best during our entire “relationship” thing (or whatever it was). We were in the shed behind his house along with a friend of his. They were skateboarders (yes, I dated one of those guys) and they were being goofy. And just one of those things happened. You know. One of those moments when you know you have to kiss. Everything just felt right, it felt like summer, and I could see him coming in for the kiss. So I licked his nose. Well, not just his nose. I licked him all the way from his chin to his forehead because I suddenly thought it would be funny, at the expense of romance. And it was pretty damn funny.

Anyway, we didn’t last. We didn’t really have a relationship. I don’t know what we were supposed to be. I suppose it ended after I went to college (he was younger), I don’t really remember.

Between him and our next fellow there were a few flings, some kisses and almost somethings, but my next big relationship was S. Well, technically, he was my first real relationship and it lasted nine months.

I was crazy about this guy. Whereas J was puppy love, S was the first guy I could one day see myself maybe marrying. He was always good to me, treated me well. Well, right up until the last couple weeks of the relationship when he turned distant. And then he tore my heart out. This relationship isn’t defined in my mind by its duration, like it was with J, but by its ending. While J was my first love, S was my first big heart break.

I was a mess for a long time after him. He never really gave me a chance for closure, no chance to hate him or yell at him and it I can say it did have an effect on my next relationship. I’m not going to go all dramatic and say he’s “Wounded me forever!” but every now and then that fear he instilled in me pops up and threatens to ruin what good I have going for me. But, that doesn’t give me an excuse to sabotage myself either.

So, what has all this taught me in the end? Well, lots of things. Like, how kissing isn’t really that hard and that you’re probably going to date a bunch of losers until you find the right one (and that’s okay). I also learned that relationships aren’t about the differences between sexes but about two people coming together to share their lives. Most importantly, I learned that it’s okay to be angry and sad and mope and yell but eventually you have to just leave it all behind and let yourself be happy again.