From the Standpoint of A Teen…

What’s up, everybody?

I haven’t seen you guys the past few weeks, been hectic with college starting back again. I got papers and more papers. Not to mention, I’m also working on two of my novels, trying to salvage enough time to accomplish all of it.

I’ve been good, y’know, being eighteen, getting used to Life; although, I’ve been getting used to it since I came into this world. It’s not as if once you leave high school, you’re initiated into this Adults-Only Section–and no, I’m not talking about the place where they store the dirty movies.

That ticks me off. Not the dirty movies, just the adults who forget what it’s like to be young, to have a fresh view of the world. I’m talking about the adults who patronize those on the fringes of adulthood: this teeter totter that rocks perilously over either side of an angst-filled abyss.

We don’t have a friggin’ map. People don’t provide one for us, and most of the time, we have to cut our own path through the jungle. Machetes are not provided. Also, water evaporates fairly quickly.

Guess I let it get to me sometimes, which is not so bad as it is disheartening. I think it’d be better if we all shook hands and congratulated one another on our accomplishments–but the world can’t always be so black and white.

We have different perspectives for a reason, yeah? For one, we’d be super bored without them. Imagine having a conversation with someone about Lord of the Rings, and for some reason, the other guy is as big a fan as you are, which should be impossible, ’cause you’re number one, right?

That’s to say we’re all a number one in one area of our lives. Least, I like to think so. Maybe you’re number one at pool or darts; hell, give hockey a shot, and you might end up in the NHL.

Chances, man, take ’em, but don’t get me started on how many times I’ve missed out on publication opportunities because I’ve forgotten the deadline. Yeah, I’m working on that part, getting better, though; y’know, learning from failure.

I know for a fact that the majority of my followers are adults, so, if you’re reading this, lemme plead to you from the standpoint of a teen:

  • We’re not all lazy, and if we are…we’ll work on it, got eighty more years, anyhow.
  •  Getting a job is not as easy as it used to be, but we’ll bust our asses until we find one.
  • Lastly, do you remember when you were our age?

Yeah, yeah, I get it’s called a generation gap, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it; and besides, the best way to get past a gap is to build a bridge.

A metaphorical one, of course.

Think daily,

A Southpaw



A Nightmare On College Street

It’s beginning to sink in…

You see, college is just around the corner, and I feel unprepared. It’s not as if I’m not ready, which I am; c’mon people, gimme a break! But it is scary to consider there will be no more guiding leash. Only yesterday, my mom was telling me I had to get a full-time job this summer. Geez Louise, Mom, I’m eighteen, it’s not like I can be a functioning member of society!

Eight hour work shift, my ass. I’ll go the full nine yards–yep, that’s me, being the overachiever. Get busy at a restaurant washing dishes, or pile horse crap onto a trailer at some farming store. Sure. And how much am I getting paid again?

College’ll be fun, of that I have little doubt. I’m studying for a teaching degree, gonna educate these high schoolers about the beeuty of grammar–oops, spelling error. I look forward to attaining my degree and becoming a teacher, which will be my safety net while I write stories and send them off to publishers. I’ll teach stuff. I’ll say stuff. I’ll write stuff on a whiteboard. Man, it sounds like the best job in the world, don’t it? Add on top of that a shitload of coffee and–well, you know what comes after you drink a lot of coffee.

Dorms don’t seem my cup of tea. I have heard plenty of horror stories about roommates and their different variations. It’s like someone puts together a Build-Me-Frankenstein doll kit and sticks all these body parts and brains on bare bodies. Yuck, gross image, right? Might have to go wash out the old noggin after that one.

But I digress–God, I hate when people say that–college is not all it is cracked up to be. No…it’s much more terrifying, a real fright for the kiddies. When people leave college, they always say…”I had to ask where the bathroom was on the first day” and, even scarier, “The kid in the desk next to me drooled on my notes.” The horror! Oh, what a monstrosity!

And on top of all that,

I have to pay for it!

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Prom and Punch

What is the number one stress of high schoolers all across America?



I’m talking about prom, people! The biggest dance of your teenage life prom? The one where the guy asks the girl, and then–it–well, it goes on as normal from there. Anyway, it’s coming up for a lot of folks, which is exciting!

Don’t know if I’m going or not. I did the whole asking thing, but it didn’t turn out in my favor; go figure, huh? Might as well go stag and freak out a shitload of people with my dancing skills.

Woah, check this cat out!

Is he doing the worm? No, it looks like the anteater! 

Dude, didn’t the anteater go out of style three years ago?

Yeah, man, this cat is kicking at a dry litter box; let’s beat it. 



Excuse Bill and Ted there, they sometimes pop up. But I don’t see Keanu Reeves much anymore; rumor is he finally found the sweet spot of Hollywood and is chomping on feature film candy as we speak.

If I do go to prom, I’ll likely stand in the back and drink punch like a creep. Girls’ll walk up to me, and I’ll say, “Hey…you think the punch is good, or what?” I will name it a victory if they don’t dump their punch in my face–oh, not the shirt, please not the shirt!

It’ll be nice. It’ll be real nice.

And you know? That’s exactly what the farmer said to Old Yeller before he shot him.

Actually, I haven’t watched it in a while, so what do I know? Guess I have plans now.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Here Goes The Post-Pubescent Teen…

So, I’ve got a cheap band-aid wrapped around my thumb. It’s irritating the hell out of me , not only because it’s hard to wash my hands, but it does not seem to be doing its job of stopping the soreness. While you’re reading this, imagine me in mortal pain: the tears, the blood, the guts–oh, dear Lord, someone get an ambulance!

I’m kind of in a pissy mood though. Generally, that doesn’t happen me too much, as I am a  pretty optimistic dude–and I almost misspelled optimistic, this is going great–but sometimes you gotta bite the onion and breathe in someone’s face.

That’s a weird image. Don’t do that.

You ever like someone and–

Oh, here the Teenager goes…blah-de-bloo…so sad romance…boo-hoo. 

Anyhow, as I was saying, you ever like someone and tell yourself: well, I suppose this is the one, the one I’ll wait for, the one I’ll spend money on, the one I’ll ask to dances, the one I’ll be able to fart around. You know? And then life bitchslaps you and says, You got it wrong, son! It’s snake eyes for you! Then you want to punch life in its happy little face because you’re so angry and depressed and demotivated and tired and hungry and overworked and overpaid and–okay, back on track, I promise.

If you haven’t felt that, go feel it. You’ll think someone dropped a bowling ball on your heart.

What I am pissed about, and I know all are listening with bated breath, is–at last breaking free of that one sided game of Tag, You’re It…but then, sooner than you think, coming right back to it because a stinking piece of hope crept back into your brain and said:

Oh, heeeey, remember that one girl, you know, that one, the one you said you were done with for all eternity, not including loopholes? That one? Thaaaat one?

Yes, but why are you bringing that up again? I was thinking about Rocky Road ice cream. 

This is just me, you know, speaking out loud, but, you know, you might, maybe, have a little–a teensy bit, a smidgen, really–chance, or, opportunity, at, well, having a shot with them again? So, sign here on the blue line and seal your life away! Ding-Ding-Ding! We have a winner!

Yeah. That happened to me. It sucks. Know’s what worse? It’s still happening.

And, for the holy, high school, almost a graduate, life of me, I can not get the thought out of my head. I think God took a bottle of Gorilla Glue, laughed, and lathered it on the back of that puppy before slapping it on my brain. Hey…maybe that’s why I had a headache last week.

Or I ate too much ice cream. I’m a fiend for it.

Sorry, God, you can go back to shopping at the Hobby Lobby in Heaven.

Oh, girls, or boys, if you’re a girl reading this post, they can make you soooo–

Oh, ah! Brain Freeze! God, come back–quit fantasizing over coupons!

Think daily,

A Southpaw