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Molded by the Hands of Fate

alexandra.coffin — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 05:23:58 +0000

I am a self-mutilator, a lover, a barefooter, a smoker, a fighter, a recovering addict, a picker, an advocate for humanity, a teenaged human being.

Is any wonder that I take medication three times a day, or need a dose of nicotine and music just to feel the earth spin beneath me?

I am one of seven billion on this planet.

Occasionally, the thought is comforting, that this life is meant only to please me. It's absolutely impossible to please anyone else with only my sheer existence. I can only make my decisions based on my analysis of their consequences and hope to God that someone won't die along the way. And even if they do, I can't do a damn thing about it.

Still, other times, the thought makes me spit. My ego takes over, and I want desperately to be bigger than I am. I want to scream as loud as I can, thinking that I can outshout the billions of others. I gnash my teeth in disappointment, in despair, because I feel I've failed. I'm insignificant.

And yet, I am not.

After all, I'm a lover, a friend, a daughter, a sister. I can never drop these labels on my own-fate must have his hand in it.

So maybe I am a lump of clay, molded by the hands of fate. Take the razor blade out, put the cigarette in, pull the cigarette out, put in rehab, pull out of rehab, adjust this, trim that...

And I'm left on the rack-as is.

Irregular, like a toss-out at Ross.

Hey, it's where I shop.
It's where I got this sweater.

Patches...

Complicated

annielives — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 04:14:27 +0000

****************
Part 1 (His P.O.V.)
****************

He waited at the crosswalk for the signal. Without effort or forethought, his mind turned to her. He knew it was complicated. It was foolish. It was wrong. Still, the attraction was there. There was no denying it. It lingered there - teasing them, taunting them, testing his loyalty, questioning her integrity, ripping apart his sanity, her composure.

He longed for a feeling he hadn’t known for a very long time. He wanted to be ravaged with the intensity and screaming desperation of a rabid animal. He wanted to share in the hunger and the madness and the mystique of this other woman. And suddenly, she was there.

He pulled her away from the curb, absolutely astonished at her timely appearance. He sunk his hands into her auburn hair and pulled her to him, holding her, inhaling her, not caring what the people on the street must think. He took her in his arms and took just a moment to brush the hair out of her eyes. She made him so insanely happy again.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then her ear, her cheek, and once again - found her lips. And he was amazed that she let him hold her, kiss her, burn through her like no one had ever done. He was so lost in her that he barely heard the words, “Hey buddy, the light changed. If you’re not going, get out of the way.” Grimacing, he stepped off the curb and crossed the street.

He forced himself back to the mundane reality of his pathetic life. He made it to the restaurant, gave his name and waited for the table to be ready - and waited to see if she’d really show at 2:00 p.m. - thirty minutes from now. He’d arrived early. He knew he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any other woman. She was the only thing he was sure of right now.

He wanted to touch her, to taste her, devour her, and then, at last, he would be inside her. He knew with her there would be no holds barred, no uncomfortable moment, no barriers at all. She would take him to the brink of insanity, and then, lost in denial, he’d slip over the edge. “Sir, your table’s ready.” The vacant look on his face slowly recovered and he acknowledged the hostess. “What?”, he managed. “I said your table is ready sir, are you all right?” He nodded and stood up. The waitress took off, away from the picture window and into the room. He followed her to the table.

From across the street, she watched him stand up and make his way towards the table. It was 1:45. Now, she knew the same thing he had been thinking earlier. It was complicated. It was foolish. It was wrong. And she walked away.

****************
Part 2 (Her P.O.V.)
****************

They met at a social function in the ballroom of a hotel. Christmas decorations were up and the evening air was absolutely electric. As people were bustling around her, she fought to get the olives on her shiny plastic plate with the over sized tongs. She kept them from rolling everywhere but some strategically placed cubes of cheese. Proud of her small accomplishment, she was momentarily oblivious to the world.

She came back to reality with a jolt, not caused by the commotion around her, but by one lone pair of eyes, quietly regarding her. He stood at quite a distance, but she could still see his expression. Amusement. His smile told her how entertained he was by the cheese and olive war she had currently waging on her plate. Not even sure why, she flushed with embarrassment so strong - it colored down to her soul.

She felt the immediate and mighty urge to swing swiftly around, but her mind worked faster than her body. In less than a second, she had already envisioned the scene - her spinning around and subsequently losing the war to both the olives and the cheese. Which would be fine, she told herself, but not in front of him. She wouldn’t allow him the pleasure of watching one more display at her expense. With much effort, she s-l-o-w-l-y turned around and calmly (on the outside) made it back to her table. She sat down with her coworkers. No one even noticed. She had become invisible once again.

When she coaxed within her - the nerve to look over his way, he wasn’t there any longer. Her eyes desperately searched the room, eventually finding him seated at another banquet table, not nearly far enough away to give her comfort. Their eyes met. She hadn’t had time to look away. He smiled. What could she do? She smiled back. He subtly tipped his glass in a toast shared only between them. This made her blush. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and looked away. She was terrified, but still longing to look over just one more time. It was disconcerting to look at him, and know - absolutely know - that they both wanted to take each other to bed. She had already been undressed in his eyes, but that wasn’t what embarrassed her. It was the fact - he knew she’d done the same.

Did he also know her first vision of him, across the room, included wine and grapes and some of those damn cubes of cheese? He couldn’t know what a sap she was! He couldn’t know about the romance novel stuffed down in her purse under the wallet and Kleenex, the one under the car seat, the ones littered throughout her apartment. She had waited for someone to look at her like he was doing all of her life. Twenty-eight years. Instead, she’d been invisible.

It was when she couldn’t take this line of thought anymore that she went out onto the patio. Just like in the movies. She stood looking out at the lights of the city, out at nothing, and he was there. He put his hand on the small of her back, and as she turned, he slipped his hand into her long auburn hair. That was it. That was all it took. He said, “My God, My God, where did you come from? How?” And he kissed her. And she let him.

The noise from the party started to move towards the patio. He said, “Friday, two o’clock, Angelo’s. I’ve got to see you again. I’ve got to.” And he was gone. The last thing she saw, as he walked away from her, was the Christmas lights reflect on his wedding band. And it cut her to the bone. There she stood - her knees weak, her lipstick faded, unable to speak, or think, or talk. Her coworkers stepped out onto the patio, laughing and carrying on. Her entire world had just begun and ended in the same moment. As usual, they didn’t notice.
Friday was six days away. She had time to think this through, time to decide. Maybe his wife was in a wheelchair, on her deathbed with cancer or lupus or something really bad. Maybe they were separated. Maybe, maybe she had died and he just still wore the ring.

And maybe she should get a big “L” tattooed on her forehead. She didn’t know what to do. She’d had boyfriends, she’d had lovers, but this man - his eyes. My God - for the first time she realized she didn’t even know his name. Just like a movie. This rendezvous, if you will, was the craziest thing she’d ever done, well, thought about doing… Not just the craziest, also the stupidest. Definitely the most immoral. She made herself go to Angelo’s on Tuesday, for a late dinner, just to check it out. Her heart told her - he was her soul mate. Her head told her - she was an idiot.

On Friday, she got there at 1:00 p.m. She walked in. She walked right back out. Across the street was a pub called O‘Malley’s. She thought to herself, “just like in the movies.” She got a table by the window and watched. And waited. And worried.

He walked up to the door around 1:30, nearly half an hour early. He was ambling slowly, seemed preoccupied. He even aimlessly bumped a stranger in passing. Her mind panicked. She thought, “maybe he’s taking his time, just coming to let me down easy, because we’d made plans… Maybe it’s a setup and we’ll go to a hotel and (you know) and then all his friends will jump out of the closet, laughing and laughing, at me - the joke… Maybe he already had an appointment, that’s why he told me Angelo’s at two. He knew he’d be there. He won’t remember me. He won’t even recognize me. I’ll just be invisible again.”

She watched him move away from the window, following the waitress to the table. Their table? Maybe he is my soul mate. Maybe it was really a class ring. But she knew the truth in her heart. She stepped out of O‘Malley’s and watched as he faded from view through Angelo’s window. She knew this was complicated. It was foolish. It was wrong. As she turned her eyes into the sunlight, squinted, and walked down the street, she walked away, not knowing the rest of the story . . . .

**************************************
Part 3 (past, present, future & the waitress)
**************************************

The waitress led him to the table and he sat down, facing the room. It was 1:45. His mind was racing and he was beginning to feel ill. He thought about ordering a drink to calm his nerves and realized that was the worst thing he could do. He would not let himself resort to a sorry crutch that his wife had used for years. A crutch that had ended up taking a life, two years ago. Instead, he ordered a chocolate milk, large. The waitress gave him a funny look, but walked away with her notepad. This was his story.

He was 35 and had been married for 17 years. They got married the summer after they graduated from high school, so she could live with him when he went overseas for the military. She got a clerical job at the embassy. Things had been good. But they were so young then. And clueless.

They found out she was pregnant just before returning to the states, so the welcome back party was for two and a half. When they came back, his parents showed them a nice sized house about thirty minutes away from them. Her parents were only about an hour. They stayed with his parents until they closed on it and moved in to their new place excited and expecting. Four months later, their son was born.

It took a long time for him to realize that things had gone sour. He tried to get home often, but was gone at least two days every week, sometime three or four. Once, when he came home, the baby was screaming and she was passed out on the couch. Whatever was left of the bottle of vodka, had seeped into the carpet.

He got her to bed, let her sleep it off and sober up. He thought one of her parents must have died, or something tragic. She said the baby wouldn’t stop crying and she couldn’t take being alone all the time. From that day on, things changed.

He called her brother and told him move his family out of his apartment and move in with them, rent free. The house had room, and a big yard. He respected his wife’s privacy, so he never told her brother why. And besides, the problem seemed to go away. His mom had experienced postpartum depression, so he was not going to be an insensitive jerk.

His wife was thrilled to have family nearby, and help with the baby, and she wasn’t alone anymore. Three years later, the family next door put their house up for sale, and her brother snatched it up in a heartbeat. So, family was near family.

Life went on pretty smoothly from then on. She seemed happy. He never found her drunk, passed out, or the boy in harmed in any way. Except for a few bruises, but you know, boys will be boys. He was home more than half of every week and she never complained about anything that had happened during the time he was gone. He thought everything was under control.

While he was at the base, he got a phone call from the hospital. His son, seven years old, had fallen and injured his face and ribs. They were wiring his broken jaw back together. He rushed to the hospital and was greeted by his brother-in-law. His wife was not there.

Dismayed, he had to sit down when his brother-in-law whispered quietly to him, “She’s sleeping it off. She’ll be fine. She must have been so upset to find him hurt like that. I guess he fell and hit the coffee table? She must have went into shock. I came over and nobody answered when I knocked on the door, so I let myself in.

“She was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. There was some vodka on the table. He was lying on the floor there. I thought he must be dead. By God. But he wasn’t. He was fine. I mean, he’ll be fine. It’s not too serious. I guess if I must’ve thought he was dead, lord, what must have been going through her mind.”

He didn’t know how to respond. He could only give a blank stare and look straight ahead, his eyes boring right through the wall. His mind was racing, trying to put this picture together. He didn’t want to believe the worst. He wanted to have complete faith and trust in his wife, and believe every word he’d just heard. He heaved a heavy sigh as he stared at their past, at that day years ago he’d come home by surprise.

For the first time, it hit him. He’d come home by surprise. In all this time, that had never occurred to him before. He wasn’t supposed to be home until the next day, but he’d finished early. Did that have any bearing? The picture forming in his mind was scaring him to death. Her brother was saying something to him.

“What? I’m sorry I was somewhere else.”

“Oh, that’s okay, bud. I said that was one heavy sigh of relief there. I’m so glad the doc said he’ll be okay. You know, I have to go pick up the kids from the old lady across the street. If you need anything, call or knock.” And he was gone.

Sitting there, waiting for the doctor, reviewing their entire marriage, looking for clues to reassure him, or clues to unmask a lie - looking for the truth, not knowing which way to look. His questions were answered when the nurse called him aside. They went into some kind of private area. She asked him where he was when this happened. And how many injuries his son had had before. The line of questioning was really a line of attack.

He told her he hadn’t been home, he’d been on the base when it happened. He thought his son had fallen on their coffee table. She gave him a doubtful look and gave him the name of a social worker who would be coming by to see them. That’s when they started counseling. And bit by bit, the sad truth unfolded. Here is his wife’s story, as recorded, in her own words:

“I didn’t think I had a problem. Not at first. My parents always had a stocked bar. I’d sneak drinks because I thought I was being cool, being rebellious. My mom and dad always seemed to have a cocktail with dinner, or in the evening. It was no big deal. I only drank on occasion. When I drank too much, I told Mom I was too sick to go to school. She never suspected a thing.

“When we were married, I still had it under control. I only drank enough to feel calm. I hid the bottle behind the household cleaners under the kitchen sink. I really tried to stop when I got pregnant, and I was so proud of myself. I guess, subconsciously, I did know I had a problem, or why would I have been proud?

“After the baby was born, sometimes I just couldn’t handle the pressure. The day he came home and found me drunk, I was so filled with shame. I didn’t tell him it was a longtime habit. How could I tell him when I’d kept it a secret for so long? And I was sure, after that, I could change - without any help from anyone. And I did pretty well, at keeping the fact that I couldn’t stop a secret.

“The nurse thought I’d hurt him on purpose, that I was an abusive parent, but that’s just not true. I never hit him once. Not ever. Sometimes, he was just so hard to handle. I didn’t want to say anything, because I wanted to be strong enough to handle it myself. I didn’t want to lean on anyone, my husband or my brother or anyone. Sometimes, when he would cry, I would shake him and tell him to stop. I never meant to give him bruises.

“And that day he broke his jaw, I didn’t hit him. He came home early from his friend’s house. They’d had a disagreement over sharing. I was so frustrated, because this was my time. My bottle of vodka was on the end table. I yelled at him, because I thought he needed to learn to get along with people, if he was going to make it in this world. He cried and cried. I started to shake him to tell him to stop it. It was making my head explode with pain. He turned to run away from me and fell hard against the table, then slipped to the floor.

“I panicked. I thought he was dead. I ran to him, myself crying by this time, and I felt his neck. He was still alive, thank God. I didn’t think he was hurt at all. My mind was so muddled, and the quiet was such a relief. I just sat down for a minute. It seemed like a minute.

“I swear if I’d known his jaw was broken, I’d have called 911. But I couldn’t tell that by looking. God, I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him, either one of them. Please, I’ll do anything. Please, God. Whatever you want. Just don’t take my family away from me. “

Whimpering, she finished, “please, I’ll do anything you want.” She was crying. Her husband, also in tears, reached out and held her. He didn’t want to lose her. He loved her. He loved his son. He knew she wasn’t mean, she was just sick. People understood these things now. Their whole family would get help.

The social worker was pleased, but wary. He took a leave of absence to stay home with his boy. His wife entered rehab and was gone for several months. The secret was out, now things could get better. And they did. She stayed clean and sober,

After eight years in the military, he left and worked with his dad, who had a general contracting company. It wasn’t the work he was used to, but it was a nice change and it allowed them all to be together - and be a family.

One day, when their boy was 11 years old, she got a phone call. Her parents were getting divorced. Her mom was devastated, they had been married thirty-two years. Her dad wanted to marry his 23 year old secretary, who was pregnant with his baby. She talked to her mom for over an hour, and told her husband she had to go be with her. That wasn’t the truth. Her mom was flying to Key West to think this whole thing out. On her dad’s credit card, of course. She didn’t stumble in until after midnight, staggering her way to the stairs. He made sure she got to bed, and then he prayed. He didn’t know it, but in the next room, his son prayed too.

The next four years were a roller coaster ride. Sometimes she could stay on the wagon, twice she went back to rehab, several times she didn’t come home all night. Their son tried to nurse her, every time she was hung over. He tried to do the chores and shopping, and didn’t tell his dad how bad it was when he wasn’t home. He loved his mom so much, and his dad. He couldn’t stand the chaos, the drama, the crying. So he tried to cover up.

Until, one night, she didn’t come home. The fourteen year old opened the door to the police. His face registered the reason for their visit and he just crumpled to the floor. Coming out of the study, seeing his son, the police in the doorway, a surreal moment froze him in time. He couldn’t move and just stood in the doorway of the study staring at the horrific apparition before him.

The car was totaled. Her funeral was four days later. They’d found the broken bottle of vodka and her purse lying near the car. He and his son were on their own. They couldn’t stop her disease. In the end, they couldn’t help her. Two years had passed since then. He and his son had grown closer. It would only be them now. That was his vow the day of her funeral. He would never love again. He could never love again. There was an emptiness and a loss so great - that even his desire was extinguished.

Until he saw the girl with the auburn hair. And now, here he was waiting for her. He couldn’t do it. How could he ever expect her to understand everything that had happened to him, to his son? And how could he push a new woman onto his son? She had no idea was she was getting into. He came back to: it was complicated; it was foolish; it was wrong. Making his decision, he jotted a quick note, paid up, and gave it to the waitress.

“I’m expecting someone in five minutes, but I just got paged. I have to go. Can you give her this note for me?” The waitress agreed and he hurriedly walked out of the restaurant before he had to face her. He never knew she had already walked away. And she never got to read his note:

“I knew you were my soul mate - from the moment I saw you, your eyes, your auburn hair. But I can’t even ask you if it’s possible for you to feel the same. My wife died two years ago. Drunk driving. It’s just me and my son now. How could I ever ask you to deal with all the pain we have experienced in our family, all of the baggage we carry? I couldnt. Take care, my angel.”

The waitress ended her shift and went home. As she closed the door to her small, plain apartment, she sighed. On the table was a suicide note she’d been working on. She read it over, shook her head, and tossed it into the trash can. Shoes kicked off, coat discarded, she wound her way through the mess and sadly made her way to the bedroom. A bottle of pills on the end table caught her attention and she just stared blankly for a few moments then let out another sigh that the world couldn’t hear.

Undressing for bed, she began emptying her apron pockets to put her tips in her top drawer and she came upon the note the man had given her. A little surprised, but now, she remembered. She knew she shouldn’t read the note, but then, what did it matter now?
Not even knowing the whole story, as she read the words on the napkin - tears softly slid down her cheeks. Soul mate. Drunk driver. Baggage… The vision of the preoccupied, worried man tapping his fingers entered her mind. Then, the pacing young girl from earlier invaded her memory.

No. She wouldn’t let it end this way. A sense of purpose surged through her veins. She’d keep this note, and watch for the girl with the auburn hair who had come in and left so abruptly. Maybe someday she would come back. She took the bottle from bedside the bed and flushed the pills from it down the toilet.

The waitress knew that only she held the key to true love, even it if wasn’t hers. At least not this one, but just maybe… Her eyes now quietly reflected a glimmer of hope that had drifted into her soul as gently as a leaf falling, as accidentally as fate unfolding. And with that, she slipped into bed and peacefully closed her eyes for the first time in a long time.

Life Continues On

aroundnaround — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 21:29:12 +0000

No update yesterday. I had one of those rare days where I just didn't feel like updating. No particular reason - nothing bad happening. Quite the opposite actually - things are going relatively well.

The highlight of yesterday was an appointment with the psychiatrist. We don't ever really talk about too much other than to review my current progress with medications, anything happening in my world and the world around me that might be impacting how I'm doing. On the medication front, we are continuing to reduce the Lamictal ... yay! Less drugs is better as far as I am concerned. I have found that since being off the Clozapine that I have felt much happer and more settled. One of the weird things that I was experiencing with Clozapine was restless legs and being off of that, now I find myself better able to sleep at night. It's not listed as a side effect of Clozapine, but my psychiatrist has seen enough of it that she is considering reporting it as a side effect.

We discussed a little about the things I have been doing - the WRAP, the SAFE program and my never ending quest to push my limits in regards to the agoraphobia and panic. I find myself in a bit of a state of apathy about it - I continue to strive to do more and know that I must do more, but ... but ... I don't know what to do about it now. We discussed me returning to work and I said that at this point, I'm not certain if the panic I feel when I come downtown is related to associating downtown with work or if it is downtown in general. I'm thinking it's probably downtown in general as I get those same panic feelings at having to go just about anywhere. It looks more and more that I may have to pursue retraining but the thought of this absolutely and wholly terrifies the crap out of me. A few things about this prospect: 1) I love my job and would hate to have to look at doing something different 2) I've done the job I have for 15 years, and am not even sure what the hell I could retrain for 3) What could I retrain for that wouldn't take me out of the house too much 4) Retraining in itself would mean being out of the house more (maybe I have to look at pursuing a degree online) 5) I'm not at all certain that I can be retrained 6) Just doing the WRAP training has been stretching the limits of my concentration. What I told her is that I don't know exactly what's wrong right now but something just doesn't feel right. I suppose the previous six points are what doesn't feel right.

One thing she did say which has buoyed my sense of hope is: "You look much better than when I saw you in July. Things are proceeding in the right direction." Even now, I smile as I think about this. It's been a long 18 months, filled with many ups and downs - it's nice to get affirmation from someone who knows what it looks like when things are going right for me.

I'm amazed at how much her and I talked about during our half hour. It really is a case of a "turbo" talk when I see her. I brought her up to speed about hubby's impending return to work (Wednesday is his first day in the field.) She looked at me and queried how I would do with being alone a lot and, weirdly enough (or maybe not so weird, I dunno,) I said I was looking forward to some alone time. For 18 months, hubby and I have been keeping each other company 24/7 and with the exception of my trip to the Sunshine Coast, it's not always been easy. I love him dearly. I have enjoyed our time together. I'm also looking forward to time by myself.

Okay.. a few other things before I close this blog entry...

My shoulder is doing really well. Between the anti-inflammatory and the Tylenol 3, I've managed to get myself to a position of experiencing no pain. So nice! I have a few things on the go this weekend where I could potentially irritate it again, but will be taking active steps to not do so. One of these is my brother needing his carpets shampooed - I will be showing him how to use the shampooer and doing the oh-so-rare thing of stepping back and watching him. Hard to give up that control (Yes, I am a control freak) but necessary.

Hubby and I have sat down with the kidlet and discussed her behavior of late. She has taken to staying out very late, drinking and probably a whole doing a whole lot of other things I don't want to know about. We talked about courtesy and respect, and hopefully things have been sorted, enabling our household to once again return to an environment of peace. This discussion was critical because with hubby's return to work and me once again taking up the reins as the primary caregiver, house-holder-together-person, I did not want to be locking horns with a teen who had lost sight of the fact that she wasn't the only one living in the house.

So, that's it in a very long nutshell.

I'm happy. I'm content. And holding on tight to these feelings!

Bye for now.

As Far As Certainty Can See

Lois — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 13:42:54 +0000

Unexpectedly seeing a much-loved friend who's wandered out of my life, while I'm out and about, brings back welcome memories.

The poem, “The Luxury to apprehend”, by Emily Dickinson, teaches me more about this kind of encounter.

And it expands my thinking, and the feelings that go with thoughts, of family and friends lost in death, or because of geographic changes.

The Luxury to apprehend

The Luxury 'twould be

To look at thee a single time

An Epicure of me

In whatsoever presence makes

Till for a further food

I scarcely recollect to starve

So first am I supplied.

The Luxury to meditate

The Luxury it was

To banquet on thy Countenance

A sumptuousness supplies

To plainer Days whose Table, far

As Certainty can see

Is laden with a single Crumb —

The Consciousness of thee —

This is a complex poem that can be discussed for a long time if you enjoy that sort of thing. Anyone grieving after a death; or, who misses someone whose path has taken them elsewhere, is described here. This particular poem is among those I count as old friends. Reading it brings back a memory I cherish of the early days of a friendship with Margaret Freeman, who introduced the poem's marvels and helped me to understand it, several years ago.

The moment I attributed the word "luxury" to the thoughts I have (“The Luxury 'twould be/To look at thee a single time”) for my deceased daughter, I was strongly attracted to the riddle.

The poem suggests what every bereaved parent knows: Now that I've known one so cherished, I am more discerning about (and, eventually more interested in) other kinds of people. The dead child has made “An Epicure of me”.

Whatever is happening, “in whatsoever presence makes” in my life, ultimately, “I scarcely recollect to starve” for anything more, because now that she has been in my life it is a new “Luxury to Meditate...To banquet on thy Countenance”. True, compared with the living person, memory is a “...single Crumb —”. Still, the "banquet" of having had her in my life is “a sumptuousness (that) supplies/To (these) plainer days”.

Digest A Poem A Day — Accept What Comes Your Way

That'll teach her!

lifeisacookie — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 10:44:10 +0000

A 14-year-old Iowa teenager abandoned by her grandparents under Nebraska's extremely loosely translated (and enforced) safe-haven law is back with the cranky codgers who didn't want her.

Well that's gotta be awkward!

Her 'guardians' said dumping the girl off on the state was meant to 'teach her a lesson'.

Ahh, ok -- teach her a lesson like, say, going to bed with no dinner? Grounding her from the television or telephone? Having to take on extra chores around the house?

No? Guess those would have been the pansy way of doing things.
::: what the heck did this kid do?!?!? :::

Can you imagine what the suppertime is like in that house?
Watching grampy gum his pudding while granny guzzles a fiber drink and screech at you in her crotchety old-woman voice ...

"In my day, we didn't have all these new-fangled gub'mint programs and fancy services! In my day we turned brats like you out into the wild to fend for yourselves ... and we liked it!"

Oh yeah ... good times.

Daughters Job Interview

skzdalimit — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 03:43:16 +0000

My daughter Leah had a job inteview this evening at a local movie theater. She was all excited at the prospect of getting her first job and got dressed up and everything for it. I walked her out to her car to see her off and gave her a hug, telling her how proud I was of her and all that mushy fatherly talk.

I watched her pull out of the driveway and went back inside to work on my homework. About 10 minutes later I heard a car pull in the driveway and went out to see my daughter walking into the garage. Asking her what happened she told me she felt really stupid. Her interview was for next Thursday and not tonight. We both laughed and walked inside the house.

Here's a picture of my proud daughter before she left earlier this evening:

Career Opportunities

shaggerty — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 19:24:19 +0000

While browsing the List of the Day archives, I spotted the September 17 entry, Your Worst Job, and began analyzing my own early career path.

Having avoided the service industry for most of my working years, I don't have too much whining to do about my jobs of yore. My fellow cube rats will agree that the white-collar environment can be a special circle of hell, but I've always had some guilt about excess sniveling when my job involves an air-conditioned environment, free coffee and access to clean restrooms. I feel like an overeducated tool - an overeducated tool who isn't above griping about her job, but at least I'm a little uncomfortable about it.

That said, I have had some notable jobs that "informed my character." The significant ones:

•Babysitter of three little boys, ages 2, 3 and 4: I made megabucks from this gig. Nobody else in my suburb was willing to take on these guys, so their mom had to up the hourly rate significantly.

At their house, I learned the art of loose parenting. They could have Popsicles once a day, outside, while wearing only their diapers. Afterwards, they got rinsed off with the garden hose before toweling down and coming inside for fresh diapers. Mom's orders. Who was I to argue?

They also ate quiche for lunch once a week. None of the toddlers I currently associate with would even consider eating quiche.

•Cashier at Jitney Jungle: This was a joyfully monotonous job. My duties included scanning groceries, checking IDs, counting cash (this was in the Olden Days, when people used cash) and stocking cigarette and candy displays.

It was a people-watcher's delight. The poor, the rich, the drunk, the recently paroled, the great unwashed ... a sea of humanity made its way through my lane day after day. Most customers were friendly, though some were crotchety. It was always a delight to bend the rules for the friendly customers and enforce them to the letter for the crotchety.

My favorite customer was a man who always told me that he was going to pay me with "Hawaiian money." I was the only cashier who ever got his joke; more than one freaked out and ran to the management booth for help.

I enjoyed analyzing the combinations of products that people bought, stringing together my own narratives for their lives with plot details involving the contents of their shopping carts. Cigarettes, beer and diapers were a popular combo that really needed no explanation. My favorite grouping was a bottle of bleach, a hairbrush and an order of potato logs from the deli.

I only caught one shoplifter. It was an elderly lady who added up her purchases on the back of an envelope and paid me with wrinkled bills and coins that she carefully mined from the bottom of her old, ragged purse. She never bought a brand-name item if there was a generic version available, and there was never a hint of luxury in her basket.

One day, I saw her in an empty lane slipping three or four Snickers bars into her bag. My duty, of course, was to Get The Manager, but instead I played lookout for her, making sure that no one else saw and that she got out of the store with little fanfare for her walk home.

I imagined that this was a special circumstance. Maybe she had a grandchild visiting, or a friend coming over to watch a rerun of a favorite movie on her old TV set that, no doubt, sported a pair of foil-covered rabbit ears.

Maybe she stole things all the time and I just didn't know it. Maybe she was getting senile. It didn't matter. I wasn't about to have a poor old lady arrested for a little chocolate.

•Marketing Coordinator, unnamed small business: I extended two weeks worth of work into six months of employment with this company. The boss knew it and didn't care. What counted was that such a small business had a Marketing Coordinator on staff, even if there was nothing to coordinate.

Luckily, I was by myself in the office most of the time and had ready access to the Internet and free coffee. Not so luckily, when the boss was there, he grooved to barbershop quartet music and Rush Limbaugh. He also whistled. Inside. A lot. To this day, I can't help but glare at anyone who dares whistle in my presence.

My replacement tracked me down several weeks after I left and called me to see what the job duties were supposed to be. I still remember his exact words when I told him the truth: "Seriously? Christ."

Take 5 (+2) with Jon McLaughlin

Amy — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 17:19:54 +0000

By Amy Sondova “Beating My Heart” the first single from Jon McLaughlin’s sophomore album OK, Now (Island/Def Jam) has been making waves on the radio (both figuratively and literally) for weeks. Produced by Jon Fields (Switchfoot, Jonas Brothers), the album has a soulful, bluesy pop-rock inspired by the likes of Billy Joel, Elton John, and perhaps even John Mayer (though Jon is resistant to compare himself to his peers). Jon was kind enough to “Take 5 + 2” with Backseat Writer on the precipice of his album release, which was this Tuesday, Oct. 7.

You're a Christian who's also a musician, but you find the whole division between secular and Christian music a bit nonsensical. Why do you think it's not always beneficial to listeners to throw music into these categories?

I think the categories prevent people from listening to good music. There's a lot of good music out there and there's some bad music, too (I have written my share) - the problem is that when I get put into a category of "Christian" music or "secular" music, or whatever, my music takes on all the stereotypes that that genre brings with it. So whatever a particular person feels about "Christian" music, good or bad, they're going to put some of that on my music before even hearing it. And there are people out there who won't listen to "Christian" music simply because it's in that genre, and there are those who won't listen to "secular" music for the same reason.

So, you're that cute singer who belts out "So Close" in the movie Enchanted. Being a fan of Disney ballads, what was it like to perform one written by Academy Award winnining composer Alan Menken, who wrote songs for The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, and Beauty and the Beast? (Psst! Tell us a little bit about being on the set with Patrick Dempsey, Amy Adams, and the rest of the cast!)

I can't even tell you what an honor it is to be associated with names like Disney, Alan Menken, Steven Schwartz... it's ridiculous! Being on the set of the movie was really fun - I felt a bit out of my league working with Patrick Dempsey, Amy Adams, James Marsden, and Idina Menzel. They were all the nicest people and it was cool to get a glimpse of what their lives are like working late nights on the set and putting in such long hours.

After your appearance in Enchanted, sales of your first album on Island/Def Jam soared, causing many people to cling to your heart-wrenching song, "Beautiful Disaster." What inspired the writing of this song?

The great thing about “Beautiful Disaster” is that it's relatable. That's also the unfortunate thing about the song. Everyone has a weird, warped image of themselves on some level and this song doesn't really offer a solution to the problem (although I wish it did) but it at least lets people know that everyone's in the same boat.

Similarly, on your new album (which is amazing) you composed the lyrically-driven song "4 Years" which encourages kids to just be themselves. Why did you write this song?

"4 Years" is a song I've been wanting to write for a long time. Ever since I graduated from high school. I just wanted to write a song that would remind high school kids that high school is not the rest of your life...and that every decision in high school is NOT life or death. When you're 15 it's hard to see past graduation day and part of you feels like the world you're in while you're in high school will be for the rest of your life - but it's not true....it's just 4 years.

Ok, Now's first song "Beating My Heart" was actually written "on the spot." Can you regale me with the story?

Well, it had been over a year since I finished Indiana and I was experiencing a little writer's block but it was beyond time for me to start writing songs for the new record. So I was wracking my brain but nothing was coming. So one day, the band and I were at a sound check and Chad, my drummer, asked me to play some of the new material I had been working on. I didn't have anything written but I didn't want to admit to the band that I was having writer's block so I said I had this new song, it's not quite finished, but here it is...and that's what came out.

I'm gonna make this a "Take 5" +2 because I have to ask a Billy Joel question because you're such a big admirer of his work. If you were asked to perform a song on a Billy Joel tribute album, what song would you pick and why?

I would do ANY Billy Joel song because they're all awesome...but if I had to pick one I would probably pick "New York State of Mind" - I just love that song. Everything about it.

Since you're "the movie song guy," which song from Ok, Now is predicted to be the next "movie song"? I'm thinking “We All Need Saving," but what's your take?

I think you're right. There's just something about "We All Need Saving" that feels like film. It just feels like it should be synced up to that one scene in that one movie.

Print copy of Take 5.

Mucking with Photoshop and HDR

dhewitson — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 15:55:54 +0000

For anyone who has any interest in playing around with HDR (high dynamic range) pics, and who find Photoshop a bit uncooperative, here's a great piece of software that you can download and trial free of charge for as long as you like, as long as you don't mind their watermark stamped all over you pic. The software is called Photomatix Pro 3 and can be downloaded from http://www.hdrsoft.com

Here is the original pic, before I had applied Photoshop's gradient mapping and other techniques (apart from burning in the clouds):

The idea with HDR is to take a number of photographs at different exposures and then merge them. The camera should be set on aperture priority and then bracketed. Of course, as far as I'm concerned, that's just silly. Why take seven pics if you can take one RAW image and adjust the exposure in Photoshop?

The nice people at Adobe disagree. They're happy for me to adjust the exposure, of course, and to save seven different versions of the pic - from super dark to extremely bright - and they're happy to apply the HDR recipe to the pics. And then they get to the end and tell you that there's not enough range to create a decent HDR pic. Ah well.

If you open your images in Photomatix, though, the software will allow you to create what they call a 'fake' HDR. It does the whole job pretty quickly too, and has a very simple tutorial to follow if you're feeling a bit intimidated. Obviously my pic still needs some more work. And the fellows at Adobe were probably right: I need to shoot something with a whole lot more contrast to create a really good HDR image. But it's a fun technique nonetheless - kind of in the class of shooting with infrared film, or cross-processing your slide or print film.

Lorelei

dhewitson — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 11:47:06 +0000

Heaven or Hell???!!!

teenmindz — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 10:40:20 +0000

I like to have fun in my life because life is short and you should enjoy every moment you get. You should make the best out of everything and don't get sad over bad things in your life for a long time. If a bad thing happens, then alwayz focus on the bright side because, then only, you will have fun in your life. Now, as you all know, I go to an American school where it is co-ed with no uniforms. But do you really think I should consider myself lucky??? You might be thinking that going to an American school would make my life better; but what is the point of going to a co-ed American school when all the girls run away from boys. I mean a teenager who has a crush on a girl would want to ask out the girl but I won't because there is no point in asking her out. Every girl here acts like a little third or fourth grader; they like to hang out with just girls only, no boys. This means that all the boys are being forced to hang out with just boys only. How fun is that??? I have fun with my friends, who are all boys, by like: chilling in McDonalds, playing basketball with the street ballerz, going to the beach with my friends, etc. But it's still not that fun. Only if the girls would just make themselves a little bit more mature and hang out with boys; it would just be a pretty good life. I go to school not to study but to hang out with my friends but it gets boring if you hang out with just boys. Every teenage boy would want to hang out with girls but if the girls here act like lesbians, then I can't help it. This is how my school is and it sucks!!!

More pain. More exaustion. More stress.

gatgt — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 06:43:53 +0000

It's been a while since I've last seen you people? How's life? How are the kids? Oh thats great! I'm so glad to hear you got that new job! YAY!

Ok that was weird just a little bit.....

So as the title shows, I'm in more pain, I'm more exausted, and I'm under more stress. I was at the Wisconsin Dells last weekend with my friends fo an overnite stay at the Wilderness Resort. I'll lay out a simple equation, and lets see if you can figure it out.

5 teenage boys+3 story play pen with a labyrinth of secret tunnels+ 2 tbsp. of stupidity= x

You stumpped? Ok, I'll just tell you the answer! X equals skinned knees, sore heads, and cut arms... So that covers the pain part, but what is causing this exaustion? Does it have anything to do with the fact thats its 1:38 in the morning? Naw.... Thats not it..... As for the stress, all I have to say is that I'm getting a C in Accelerated Math. AHHHH!!!!!!!!!! I mean, it's not like I'm stupid! I got A's and B's in every other class!!!!! I'm a failure! Wah wah wah.........

The Car

ponderbox — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 02:00:37 +0000

Every morning, my mother takes me to school. At 5:30 AM, my alarm rings and I spill out of the bed in search of my toothbrush. Like a sloth, I dress myself in the dark and drag my backpack behind me. Right at that moment, all the thoughts come rushing back to me; thoughts about how much I need to do and whether or not I finished all my homework. I yell for my mother to get in the car, politely. She puts on a shirt, but doesn't bother wearing any pants. Why bother? She doesn't get out of the car. I'd do the same thing too.

We sit inside, and I wait for her to turn the key. Quickly, I push a button and switch through radio stations, hoping, for once, that she won't start speaking. But of course, she speaks. And so, while she continues talking, sometimes to herself, sometimes to me, I stare out the window and watch as we get closer and closer to school. She can't see the sadness in my face. She can't see the turmoil about to burst in my brain. She can't see the stress from not being able to sleep at night, because that's the time when the thoughts start creeping in. These thoughts echo in my mind as soon as my head hits the pillow. With every blink I see multiple choice questions and college applications. "Are you a Florida resident?" my brain resonates. "What extracurricular, if any, are you in? Post your SAT/ACT scores." Spiders appear at every corner of the room, even corners that don't exist. My troubles pour onto me like a pair of cement shoes, drowning me in a sea of self-doubt. So I lay there, as an insomniac would, a prisoner 24 hours a day to everything that happens. The mind, at least mine, is like a movie theater. Except that inside this movie theater there's a torture master who forces you to sit in plastic chairs and watch indie movies all day long.

I snap back to reality, and yet, I'm still paralyzed. Next to me, my mother is still talking. About what? I don't know. I can hear her voice, but words are not evident. It's almost as if I've been involuntarily snagged into a different dimension. Inside, my eyes are watering, but on the outside, my staid face takes over all emotion. The lights are a little brighter now. My mother pulls up to a stop sign. She finishes talking and lays her hand on mine. All of a sudden, everything comes back to perspective. I can see my school from where we're at. A techno song starts playing on the radio, and I had been waiting for a good song to come on all morning. The sorrow seeps out a bit, while I bob and weave my head to the bass of this song. Simultaneously, my mother also does a little jig. She parks the car in front of the school. I heave a deep sigh. "Bye, mami." She smiles and says "Biy!". Another sigh follows as my feet try to get out of the car, but my torso is in deep combat with the car seat. Somehow, I managed to pull the rest of myself out of the car. She drives off. I swing my backback over my shoulder. I look behind myself, in the opposite direction of my mother. I turn, begin to walk towards the large red doors of high school, and find that I'm alone. At that second, the thoughts come back to say hello.

Studyin' Is Not My Thing!!!

teenmindz — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 20:37:39 +0000

As I had said in my earlier post that I hate studying, I'm going to spend one whole blog post just to tell you how much I hate studies and why. Many of you out there might disagree with me, but you have to keep in mind that I'm a teenager who wants to have fun in his life. Maths, English, Science...IT'S ALL BULSHIT TO ME!!!I mean I don't give a damn about my studies. All I know is that when I sit to study, I read two words and start day-dreaming about my crush, Mary, or my favorite sport, basketball. I mean, really, how else do teenagers act??? You can't ask teens to study and get A's all the time. AND I just don't want to study; I want to think about something else, something that is more interesting to think about. All of these school shit just doesn't suits me. It makes my brain blow up. And now, on top of that, I have my parents always telling me to study because I am now in grade 9 and it's high-school. I think studying is just too much; it is way over the limits. I think that a TEENAGER should do whatever he wants to do; and not just sit and study like a nerd. But the most surprising part is that I just happen to be smart and I get A's in my classes without even studying. This makes my parents think that I study hard. I'm just so happy and lucky that I'm smart.

!!!About Me!!!

teenmindz — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 18:55:16 +0000

Hey!!!My name is Shahroz Ahmad and I'm a 14 year old teenager in grade 9. I have a very good life but the sad part is that I live in Saudi Arabia; I don't like this place at all but my dad's got a job here and I have to live here. The good part is that I go to an American school called, Yanbu International School. The school is CO-ED meaning boys and girls go together and it has no uniforms. I'm pretty good at studies because I'm smart, not because I'm a nerdwannabe. People actually call me a jock because I like to play all sports and I'm good at many of them. I am also pretty strong for a 14 year old because I go to the gym and workout. I have pretty nice, shaped biceps and 6-packs. I'm going to talk about my favorite sports and workouts later in this blog. I also have this big time crush on a girl in grade 8 called Mary; but the weird thing is that it's been a year since I had that crush and it still didn't go away. I don't know but I might be in LOVE!!!I'll talk about my love life later. So, that's a little intro to my life and I will go into detail later.

The Diary Of Teenager: part 13 - Life moves on...

ssupreeth — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 16:36:28 +0000

This is the 13th part of my blog series...The Diary Of A Teenager....If you haven't read the earlier parts....go ahead they are all here.....

_______________Life moves on______________

Quickly getting over a recent break up is the prerogative of boys. That’s the real truth that was somewhere submerged in my heart after what I saw that day. I never spoke to Shalee again. She did try to talk to me several times that day, but I avoided any possible conversation. Later I came to know that she had rejected Rohit’s proposal. But that wasn’t of any interest to me, I was hell pissed off!

Exams went off like usual. Some hits, some misses. One thing that I learned from the experience of giving exams was – no matter what time management says and how perfectly you master it, every student (like me) attempts most of the question in the last hour. The last minute, when the teacher snatches the paper, is the time when we really get to know how to crack the most scoring and difficult sums.

The whole holidays went in day dreaming the new school and I hardly spent time thinking about Shalee. April 6^th was the day I stepped to this new, bigger, better school life. The building was twice that of my old school. I don’t know whether my old school was small or whether this one was big, anyways it seemed big. Navendu, another classmate from my old school and his brother had taken admission in the same school. I preferred to call him nabi-buba or sometimes nabi. Dressed in the light brown check shirt with mud brown trousers we felt smart. Actually it was just the craze of wearing a new uniform. After all, our old uniform was not very different from the government school uniform.

Nabi and I felt a bit embarrassed and got all excited at the same time on seeing beautiful (sexy was a bad word for us) girls and short skirts. At the end we both recorded a new lesson of life: the bigger the school the shorter the skirts become. Life was finally turning interesting. We were allotted different classes, and I was pretty happy about it. Not that I disliked his company, but I have always felt that there should be some distance in relations, otherwise they get spoiled were quickly.

Enter class:

When I gave the entrance, we sat in well furnished room. This was a sub-standard one compared to that. I saw a vacant seat in the second row besides an unnoticeably ordinary looking guy was sitting. It did take five minutes to break the ice and I somehow wasn’t the one who initiated.

“Hi. I am Karan; and you?” he asked.

‘Hmm ya. I am harshit’, I replied.

“So… you new? You seem to be.”

‘Well yes I am. And you?’

“Me too,” he replied with a smile.

After a few minutes a cute guy with specs came and introduced himself as Gaurav Rustogi. He was a guy with whom you automatically get friendly. As he spoke to me, one of the girls sitting in the last row commented - ‘Leave him yaar! he’s neither a girl, nor does he seem like a gay.’

Gay? Gosh another forbidden word from the list. These girls do not belong to the species I have till now been dealing with, I thought. But even they didnt know what I was....after all looks are deceptive!! Girls if that is what you want then I am game!!

When was the last time you heard your teenager's side of the story?

Shalini Verma — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 15:07:15 +0000

When children have setbacks the first reaction parents have is an emotional involvement to the whole situation. There is danger that they fall prey to taking the situation personally and feel shamed by it.

Do you assume, before you have heard his/ her side of the story all the way to the end, that your son/daughter is at fault and tell the child off for putting you in a difficult position with maybe the teacher or school or neighbour?

Well, the good news is that we have found the problem. Its you !!

Try this one: The next time your teen is upset about something that you consider minor, try to see it from the child's point of view. Adults and children percieve things differently, so avoid applying your judgements unthinkingly. Saying things like, "Stop making such a fuss," "It will pass," or "I can't understand why you're bothered by that" are no options in this game.

These are ruled out because they don't help the child to get over the issue. Instead helping him think through will help.

Also by listening to his side of the story, you show to the child that you take him seriously and respect his point of view, are treating him fairly and don't always assume the worst where he is concerned. All of this will go a long way in maintaining his self esteem.

Just a few Do's and Don'ts

Assume the best of him not the worst.
Let him tell you about his dissapointments, don't belittle him.
In arguments between brothers and sisters, listen to everyone's story, then ask each one of them in turn to suggest a possible solution.
A child may not always be looking for a solution, he may just need space to vent out and feel lighter. So keep your opinions to yourself unless asked for by the child. Please!!
Do not assume the child is wrong if he has grievance against a teacher. Suggest he go to the counselor/principal to be heard in a neutral space.

Reaching out to Today's Teenager

merganzerman — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 03:47:56 +0000

Have you ever wondered how to reach out to teenagers? Many of them look so bored when you try and talk to them. However, they are very interested; no matter how old you are, if you take the time to enter into their world. So, how do you enter into their world?

First thing to do is be interested in them – like them for who they are. One way of showing interest in going to things that involves them. Go to their concert, play, or athletic event. Compliment them if they do something meaningful – and be specific about it.

We had on our show two people who are very active with the Young Life program. They shared how they are interacting with kids, the techniques and strategies they are using, plus share how to successfully enter the teenage world. It is a program that is making a difference.

Click on the link below to listen to the show.

http://www.kbxl941.com/tvs/48-thursday-october-2nd.html

14-Year Old Chinese teenage girl Forced to drink, Forcefully stripped Naked and Sexually Abused .....14岁少女醉酒后被七八名男子强行侮辱

ryblogging — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 16:48:11 +0000

( http://ryblogging.wordpress.com )

It happened last Friday 03102008 at a hotel lounge. A 14-year-old girl May was forced to drink by several men and she became drunk.

More than 7 men dragged her to an isolated corner near a park,pinned her down with their legs and hands and forcefully .....

Celebrity Skin

roberto127 — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 13:11:40 +0000

The quote, “the sky’s the limit” is the type of quote that can prove applicable to many situations. Reaching for the American Dream, poetry and space exploration to name a few. With the sheer will of man, anything seems possible in this day and age. Yet there are some mountain tops that are simply impossible to clamber. What the human body can achieve, for instance, is quite simply limited. The physical anatomy of the human being prevents people from attaining the “perfect” body that so many crave. But with the usage of an application known as Photoshop, this dilemma can easily be avoided.

A representative from Diet Health.com interviewed Tim Lynch, a photographer/retoucher that’s been in the magazine business ever since the introduction of digital photography. He’s said that over 5 years ago, hiring people to alter photos was rare due to the cost. But now, it has almost become expected and necessary to utilize Photoshop in every picture. In order to efficiently advertise their magazines, they need captivating images that are next to flawless. Mere make-up, lighting, exercise, and dieting has proven itself as less than satisfactory which has led most magazines to digitally enhance their photos. What they alter includes, but is not limited to: deleting blemishes, sunspots, acne, scars, wrinkles, other unsightly marks, changing the size of waistline, eyes, bust, altering body fat and skin, altering hair, clothes, and skin color. So many effects that are all used to market their content. Tim Lynch also commented on how many of the Hollywood types have their own personal retoucher that is responsible for enhancing released photographs. In fact, the celebrity will not permit that any of their altered photos be released without their consent.

The controversy on using Photoshop is whether or not the publishers are deceiving their audiences. The sole reason being that many people do not realize that the face on the cover of a magazine has undergone some sort of digital enhancement. Magazine publishers have even commented that it is presumed that their audience recognize the photos as having been digitally altered in some way or another. Many argue that this has lead teenage girls to pursue the unattainable of goal of perfection. They follow all the healthy steps such as diet and exercise, but are unable to look exactly like the girls on the magazine covers. It has even lead teenage girls to develop eating disorders and self-esteem issues. The fact of the matter is what impact this is having on the youth. Has this challenged teenagers to attain the unattainable? Though this has contributed to emotional/physical imbalance among some teens, it is not the only factor. What the rest of the media portrays as “perfect” sways many to follow suit. Using Photoshop has dramatically changed the magazine industry. Even though many disagree with altering photos, the general consensus of utilizing it has proven very positive. People simply love creating “perfection” even if it’s not realistic.

Officially a Mother of a Teenager!

homeofhearts — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 12:23:34 +0000

September 27th we celebrated my eldest sons 13th Birthday. His actual birth date occurred earlier in the month, but we held off on the celebration until the 27th. He had arranged for a full days worth of events.

First from 1pm through 5pm he would DM(lead) a Dungeons and Dragons game with all his friends age 10 and older. This part of the day I thought was going to be crazy with screaming and rampaging of villages and such, but surprisingly it took another route through Temples with Golems and such to battle. It was interesting to say the least. He found this particular adventure on the RPGA.com site and I think from now on I will have to read the adventures prior to him using them, as at one point all the characters reversed genders and became naked! LOL It was really funny! This ended early so a great game of Capture the Flag ended that session. They ate lots of Little Pizza pockets and Soda!

For the next part of the day, we had all his friends from all ages join us in family fun with a rousing game of Double Board Twister and create your own cupcakes and lots of music making and board games. Everyone ate and played. It was so much fun for all the kids. I have so much frosting left over!!

I was so grateful for all the families that were able to attend, and we missed many families that were not able to make it. We love sharing these special moments in our lives with our friends and family.

Here are some pics from the day. Our camera chose this day to have its last working moments before joining the pile of broken electronics no longer worth fixing. So limited pics.

[gallery]

Genau verkehrtherum

dontblog — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 03:08:06 +0000

Meine Cousine ist zurzeit zu Besuch und da muss man sich ja was einfallen lassen, wie man zwei 16-jährige Teenager unterhalten kann. Ich fürchte nur, ich bin inzwischen wirklich zu alt, um da überhaupt noch mithalten zu können. Musik von Aggro Berlin und ähnlichen Labels finde ich schlicht zum Kotzen da frauenverachtend und gelinde gesagt alles andere als tolerant. Mal vom beschränkten Wortschatz und fehlender Grammatik abgesehen. Aber meinen Nachbarn von nebenan wird es gefallen. Die hören das liebend gerne laut. Und so können sie Strom sparen.

Die Clubs, die die Mädels sich ausgesucht haben, sind auch nichts für mich. Ich hab sie trotzdem hingeschickt, von mir würden die beiden sich eh nichts sagen lassen und da sie schon super ausgerüstet mit immerhin nicht gefälschten sondern nur geborgten Ausweisen unterwegs sind, kann ich sie eh nicht aufhalten. Ich weiß schon, warum ich der Idee von eigenen Kindern etwas skeptisch gegenüberstehe...

Immerhin habe ich die beiden noch in den Tierpark geschleift, blöderweise gestern als es regnete statt vorgestern, als die Sonne schien. Den Tag haben wir im Einkaufszentrum verbracht. Wenigstens habe ich jetzt einen neuen Schal, einen Pullover und ein paar Hosen.

Welcome

laxxr — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 01:11:53 +0000

You may wonder what this blog is about...
Well, let me explain a couple things.

My name is Mr. Modern, (Well, not really) and I am not an adult. I am an average teenager living in the suburbs.

So why do you care?

I am the kind of guy that wants to publish myself on the web, and be a help, and a service to people.

So I decided to create a Blog.

This blog is about modern trends, as I observe them, and what to know, so you are in the know.

This blog is for anyone interested in knowing what's what in today's world, according to an average teen.

So to start off with, let me explain who I am.

I am a teenager who lives within a suburban town, and I watch and observe everything. I am known to be extremely tech-savvy, and with this savvy-ness I hope to answer any questions you have.

I am not one of the popular kids, but they all know me, and say hi from time to time. I see and observe and discover things I feel a normal teenager would not notice or even care about. Things about trends, social patterns, and other things.

This blog is to share these discoveries with you, giving you examples (with changed names of course) of instances where I observed these happenings.

I don't care what you think of me, my blog, my writing skills, or my dramatic way of expeessing myself, I do care about your problems, your questions, and your curiosities regarding the teenage world, technology, and culture.

So I am here to help. Please ask questions about anything, and I will try to answer them to the best of my ability.

I hope you will find this blog useful and interesting and full of information.

If you like this blog please tell others about it. More people to help, means more questions answered. Feedback is especially appreciated.

Sincerely,
Mr. Modern
Age 16

P.S.
Here is a list of topics to be covered:

Movies
Music
Teen Culture
Social patterns, traditions, practices
Technology:
Cellular Phones
Computers
The Internet
Gaming
Modern devices
Computer/Portable Music Player
accessories
Things you may not know were technologically possible.

Things to check out on the Internet, or your computer.

Computer tips, tricks,
and "did you know?"s

Texting/Internet-chat lingo and ettiquette (for those who don't know what "brb", "gtg", or "idk, my bff jill" means).

And anything else that you ask about!

My life in a nutshell.

kaytee930 — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 22:05:16 +0000

     I’ve spent probably about 5 hours on this blog site just perusing the posts, and I decided it might be fun to make my own. I have a feeling this is going to eat up a lot of my time which should be good because I have way too much time on my hands.
     Let me give you a run down of my life. I live on a 46’ sailboat and have for the past 3 years. I lived in Atlanta, GA for 13 years before moving to FL to live on the boat. I’ve sailed to the Bahamas twice, Washington, D.C., the Florida Keys, Mexico, Belize, and now Guatemala.
     I live with my two parents, and we have two dogs. One dog is my baby, and the other I don’t like so much. She’s too hyper and loud, and I guess I’m just a one dog kind of person. Anyways, I also have an older sister, but she hated living on the boat so she moved off almost a year ago.
     So what do I do all day? Well, I guess it depends on where we are currently living. Like here, I don’t do much of anything. Just school, read, watch movies, play the Sims 2(which I’ve been obsessed with for the past week), and sleep. It’s not very fun, so I’m looking forward to moving back to the States next May.
     I live on the Rio Dulce in Guatemala. I absolutely loved it when we first got here, and I still like it but some stuff has happened that has changed my mind set a little. I guess it started when I became friends with a 17 year old Guatemalan boy which is pretty remarkable considering I speak English and he spoke Spanish. I speak some Spanish; enough to get by here.
     So we became friends, and then one day it all changed. Let’s just say, he wanted something more then friendship. I mean, I had a huge crush on him, but I wasn’t ready for that just yet. So, we basically just stopped talking to each other, and he stopped working here where I live so I haven’t seen him in about 2 months. But that kind of made me begin to realize that maybe people aren’t as safe here as I thought they were.
     Okay so then a fellow cruiser here gets murdered by 4 Guatemalans with machetes down the river from us. Then a Guatemalan in a town down the way gets murdered. Then the security guard that works at my marina got murdered. Needless to say, my family is beginning to feel a little unsafe here.
In the beginning, we were planning on living in Guatemala for 2 years, but after these incidences and other things, we’ve decided to move back to the States come May. Between now and then, I’m going to the USA for a month in a week! I’m so excited. Then we are going to Honduras for a little bit, then the Bahamas.
     So there’s my life in a nutshell. Oh, I guess I left out the details of my social life, wait that’s because there is none. Ha, I’m just kidding, but a lot of the time I don’t have a social life. I do have three best friends though; two are girls and one is a guy. They all live in the USA, but I talk to them online all the time.
     I’ll probably post on here a lot about random nothingness, but feel free to read it if you want. I watch a lot of movies & tv series, and I read a lot of books, so I’ll probably put up a lot of reviews and stuff. Thanks for reading.