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Rape is the only crime in which the victim becomes the accused.  –Freda Adler

There is a lot of chit chat today about victimization.  Unfortunately the victim the media SHOULD be discussing it being painted as the villain.

And of course she is.  Because OBVIOUSLY it’s her fault that two boys made a fucked up choice to flaunt their power and abuse someone without power.

(seriously–if you didn’t read the sarcasm in that?  You need to find a different blog to read)

But I’m not going to waste time painting the picture of the obvious that we live in a rape culture–where rape is a joke for many, and a reality for more.  You all know at least one person who has been raped, even if he or she hasn’t told you.  Even if she never went forward with the information knowing what the culture would say about her.  Even if she thought that going forward with her story would only tarnish her as “whore” and him as “victim.”  Because that is invariably what happens in our society.

No–I want to talk about the idea that men cannot help it, that boys are inherently violent and that we need to take that into consideration when they do atrocious things.

Lemme share a story that is not about rape, but rather about power.  Because rape in its purest form isn’t at all about sex, and everything about power.

When I was in high school, our school had a kick ass football team.  Maybe not the powerhouse of surrounding towns, but good enough.  We weren’t a small town, nor insular, but like any other town we had one high school, and our athletes carried a certain power.

And like any other town with a high school, there were parties involving alcohol and teenage stupidity.  And at one of those parties, a few of the football heroes took advantage of someone without power and beat him nearly to death.

There is no question here posed that he “deserved it” or was “asking for it” as I think we can all agree that being beaten that badly is NOT something someone deserves, even if they are being an asshole or said something nasty about your mama.  No one deserves to go to the hospital because they don’t have any power.

(and for any of you harboring any blame toward a rape victim, I want you to think about that example and apply it to her.  I don’t care if she was walking down the street nekkid with a sign that says “rape me”–it is STILL NOT AN EXCUSE)

Anyway, our town felt the brunt of this case because it actually made national news, and our school football team was painted with a broad brush as thugs and bullies.  And it felt unfair–because most of them weren’t.  But let me be clear here–a couple of them were, and deserved to pay the consequences of their actions.

As a result of this horrible beating, our school came out with a “Code of Conduct” that all athletes and anyone in extracurriculars had to follow.  And if you broke it–even at non school events, you could be kicked off your team/whatever.  Even we band geeks had to follow it.  I don’t remember it–prolly because we didn’t go about beating people–but people were up in arms about it.  As an adult looking back on it, I can now say of course!  That makes sense.  If you beat someone to death, you don’t get to play football–even it it was a private party.   ‘Cause here’s the thing.  The code needed to happen, because at least a few guys needed a reminder about how to act.  I’m sure there was a rule, or at least should have been a rule like 1) don’t beat the shit out of people because you can.

Because this is my point–ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES.  and if you choose to use power over another person, there will be a consequence.  It may be a punishment. Or maybe you think you’ll get away with it.  but even that will have a consequence.  Because if you abuse power, and get away with it, the world is doing you and the rest of us a disservice.  Because then we will see the abuse as something normal, as a part of human nature, and we will become numb to it.  If someone gets away with abuse of power, it only sets a precedent for others to do it, and then when someone stands up and shouts “ABUSE!” they will be viewed as the abuser instead.

They may have been rising stars, and they may have had a future ahead of them, but their choices–AND THEIR CHOICES ALONE–ruined their lives.  Not the person they abused.  Because their actions already ruined someone else’s life

If we refuse to hold boys up to the same code that we hold women to (don’t dress this way, don’t act this way, don’t get raped) then we are doing them a disservice.  We are saying we do not think they can do better, that they are no better than animals, that they cannot evolve.  and that, gentle readers, is a steaming load of horseshit.  MY son will be taught to NEVER abuse his power–because he is going to be big and strong if genetics are ANY indication.  And he will know–because I will never shut up about it–that abuse of power is a cardinal sin in this house.  End of story.

You know why rape victims seem to deal with the trauma of their rape so well?  BECAUSE as a society WE HAVE NO CHOICE. So many people have been a victim of rape that it has become the norm to “deal” with it.  Because the more noise a victim makes about it, the more abuse she is wont to suffer. We deal with it and survive because no other choice it open to us.

I don’t want to hear another thing about those “poor boys”.  They made choices.  Bad ones.  And now they are paying a slap on the wrist penalty for those choices. And that girl has to continue being victimized through the media and in her hometown as the perpetrator instead of the victim.

THAT is rape culture, people.  And it is why we feminists and others are so “uptight” about this whole “rape thing”.  When words like “legitimate rape” enter our culture, it is no different from the 1950′s idea that she was “asking for it”. Someday we are gonna wake up and see that horror of all this.

Someday.

I hope.

I REALLY REALLY hope.

*not holding my breath*

Today is the annual “Spread the Word to End the Word” campaign.  It is a subject near and dear, which i blogged about in detail last year.  So i’m not going to go into a long rant this year.  BUT

You are better than using that word. When you use it, you are giving a signal to every bully in the area that you think a group that once carried that label medically is deemed as “other” and “less than” and therefore a target.  Even if you are not referencing them directly, EVERYONE knows what you mean.  And when you use it, or let others around you use it, you are saying it’s ok to treat an entire group of people badly.  You are saying it’s OK to bully, and harass, and even take away their rights.

Yeah–we’re annoying in this.  Yeah, you might consider us the “word police”. And hey if you wanna keep using it, indeed shouting it from the rooftops to exhibit your freedom of speech, then do so.  Just know MY freedom of speech may compel me to call you a douchebag for doing it.

Just STOP IT.

I see you over there, givin me the stink eye as I check my mail.  It must feel good to sit there in your righteous judgement, huh?  I mean, you are the example to all the other moms:  you dress well, you shower daily, you make bread from scratch and you are president of the PTA.

But Mutha, lemme tell YOU what you don’t see right now…

That mom over there spent all morning trying to get her kid services he so desperately needs, and all her friends have abandoned her because her child is not like theirs, and it makes them uncomfortable.  And she feels horribly alone and she worries about her child and how he will be treated every minute.

But you can’t see them because all you see are dirty sweat pants and unwashed hair.

That mom over there could really use a friend, because she recently gave birth to her third child and her post-partum depression is off that charts.  Right now she might be thinking about making sure the kids are with their grandma before she takes the pills tonight.  She might be thinking about leaving her husband.  She might be thinking of running away.

You’ve seen her before, but have never offered her more than a cool nod, even when you noticed she looked frazzled and spent.

She sees it, and thinks she must be a horrible person because she can’t seem to make friends.

Now you are talking to one of the moms you do know, but you can’t hear the story beneath her story because all you can focus on is your own parenting, and you can’t hear that her marriage is faltering and she could use a shoulder.  You only think that if there is a problem, your friend must be doing something wrong.  Because marriages, like your own, work well when you do everything right.

Take a minute to LISTEN and HEAR and SEE the men and women around you.  Not the face they show to the world, but the underlying story of hardship with which they might be struggling. Enjoy the camaraderie that comes with making adult connections.

Put your eyes back on the prize:  COMPASSION.

Recognize that not everyone has the same views as you do, and not every parent is going to parent the way you do.  EMBRACE it, and them.  I’m not saying accept truly poor and abusive parenting that puts children at risk, but for godsakes, don’t  put someone who wants a few seconds to decompress in the same category as a negligent parent.

Eventually all you will have is your blog and your righteousness and nothing else, because no one wants to know they are being judged all the time by the people around them.

When your children are grown and out of the house, no one will be there to go on grand adventures, or to play card games.  No one will invite you to join their book club because they all know that you hold your opinion to be the most important, and no one feels that you are at all kind.

In fact most of them think you are mean.  And will not be sorry to see the back of you.

You’ve shown them how judgemental you can be, how, when they need a few measly seconds, or minutes or even a freaking hour to hear their own thoughts and grab a little peace in whatever form it can take, you will look down your nose at them and call them bad parents and think yourself better than them because you have tried them in your court of personal opinion and found them guilty of being themselves.

I know you think you are trying to help them.

I know you only want to show them the joys you experience being a parent the way you want to be a parent.

But those other parents can’t hear your joy.  They can’t hear your urge to help.  Because your judgement is screaming way too loudly.

May you never know the loneliness that can sometimes accompany parenthood.  And if you do, may someone far more compassionate and caring than you come to your aid, for heaven help you if you come face to face with a mirror during those times.  Because your kind of noisy, high-horsed judgement and disapproval?  I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Revisiting an old post…

April 21, 2011

12/21/12:  I wrote this a few years ago, but it is a fantastic reminder to myself.  This kid is still my light, and I am thankful for him and his tremendous growth.  He brings a light to anyone who knows him, and i am blessed to be his mother.

Blessed yule, everyone!

December 21, 2010 (the year Ben was diagnosed)
Today marks Yule–an ancient holiday originating in Northern Europe when the people needed a reminder that is can’t stay this dark forever and that eventually, the light will creep into the castle a little too early, and the work day would last a little too long, and they’d be yearning for days of warm fires, mead and a little greenery in the hall. It WAS going to get better. Yeah, it’s been dark for a while, and Sven really needs to slow down on the wenching if he refuses to shower, and those stores set aside for winter need to last. The solstice marks the shortest day of the year, but the following days will get longer. So just take it easy on the mead there, and realize the light will return.I have to admit, even if I didn’t celebrate Yule, this would still be an important time of the year for me. This is also the time of year my son was born. A day after solstice, as a matter of fact. On that first day that had just a little bit more light.

I won’t bore you with cliché analogies about how he is the light of my life (urp). He is, but I try to keep those sentiments to myself, else a large target for the pelting of rotten vegetables becomes visible. So instead, imma take this image in a different direction.

I was commenting to a friend about last night’s lunar eclipse that coincides with this year’s solstice (not visible here in LA though due to this Ark-worthy storm rolling through) and that it’s a great symbol. We must endure the dark in order to revel in the light. And that is what Yule is about. You burn the largest log, you bring green into the hall and you celebrate with those winter stores with those you love and live with. You remind yourselves that it will be warm again. Not tomorrow, mind, but it will warm up.

And really, that has been our journey this year with Autism. It was dark earlier in the year. All I could imagine were the negatives and the uglies. But like a good cask of mead–early intervention, a fantastic pre-school teacher, more “direction” for me and our home activities, and this blog have made the light more possible. And that light that is coming includes even more therapy, the growing of my Autie community of blogger friends and fans, and Benji himself. Everyday he shows more improvement and growth. Everyday, there is a little more light.

Forgive my Wiccan aside here, but I have to share this. When I was pregnant with him, I read my Tarot cards regularly–especially before we knew whether he was male or female. And almost every time one card would come up–the knight of swords: the bearer of the sword of light and truth. That’s how I knew he was a boy–little did I know that card would come to mean so much more. It was a truth that stung, but really, he is that light. As simple as that.

So lift your glasses friends, and gather around the warmth of a good fire. Regale your loved ones with tales of daring and truth, and cherish these times of rest. Do not fear the dark–without it we would never appreciate the light.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another glass of wassail to spike…

Blessed Yule, y’all.

So my Bestie tagged me in an award thingy where i get to name my five favorite books.  Basically it’s passed from writer to writer (blog, author, whatevs) so that we can share our favorite books.

Seriously–picking 5 was impossible.  There are a gajillion more books on my favorite–I picked some that changed me, or set me on certain paths, or that i simply cannot live without…

The Handmaid’s Tale

This book marked my awakening as a feminist.  Not only did it hold all that yummy biblical imagery that i adore–but it was intelligent and scary.  When one or both parties start chipping away at my rights, i remember the lessons of the Handmaid’s Tale, and start hollerin.

The Mists of Avalon

A friend of mine once compared me to Morgaine–and it was the nicest compliment i ever got, in my book.  She was always that perfect flawed hero to me–TRYING to do good, but fighting those emotions that often get the better of her.  Misunderstood.

I love anything Arthurian, but this book and the others around it hold a special place in my heart.

Of Mice and Men

I remember it clearly.  We were assigned this book in 9th grade.  I sat down to read the first chapter for homework–DID NOT PUT IT DOWN UNTIL I FINISHED IT.  George, Lenny–Steinbeck just painted such a story that i couldn’t put it down.  I never had the same luck with any of his other books, but i certainly don’t look at rabbits the same way…

The Tao of Pooh

In my studies for school i read A LOT of religious scholarly stuff.  Most of that stuff–pretty dry and many religious scholars take A LONG TIME to get to the point.

The beauty and simplicity of Taoism in a nutshell.  ANd i still use the Taoist pickle jar opening method–thank you Tigger.  I try very hard to no be a “Busy Backson”, and i worry a great deal like a certain small animal.  Pooh is my reminder to slow down and let go.

Archeron

Confession–i love trashy sci-fi/fantasy romance novels.  LOVE THEM.  This book is actually the first one i read from this series, and i had to go back to the beginning, and read all of them.  Pure fluff.  with some greek mythology.

(I will admit i love the mash-up of mythology and sci-fi.  It is just more fun in my book)

Like i said–this is just a short list.  There are a gajillion other books i love, and it’s why I love my kindle.  I realize that not everyone loves them–but i love that i can have many of my favorite novels right there, weighing in under 5 lbs. (and don’t worry, i’ve got shelves of “real” books too.  The middle path people–the middle path)

If you know me IRL, you know I LURVES me some Day of the Dead.  It creates a happy spot inside me that I simply cannot explain.  Granted I am fairly OBSESSED with the macabre, but it’s just so…so…Joyous!  And I love that! Instead of moping about lamenting how much we miss them, let’s celebrate the lives of those we have lost!  The altars are a physical example of the love we still feel for the dear departed, and the novenarios and festivals are so happy!  LOVE LOVE LOVE!!

Perhaps it is because that is how I would want to be remembered.  No sitting about all mopey!  Have a drink!  Dance!  Remember the times I made you laugh at inappropriate things or at inappropriate times!  THAT would be a much better time than somber remembrances.

This Year’s Altar

So, here are a few pictures of my dead.  Some i knew–some go further back.  Some were blood relatives, some friends–all FAMILY.  A drink awaits you on my altar!

David Fairfield

My grandfather and his brother Norman

My grandmother

Baron

SHERMAN! I miss this dog damn near every day. ya ol’ hound!

My Grandmother and the women of her family.

My Grandmother. (no, i DON’T know where i get it. Why do you ask?)

My grandfather and his brothers and sister

My Grandparents on their wedding day

Pete’s Dad

(Originally posted Dec 1 2011.  But i’ve noticed an uptick in the mommy wars, so i thought it would be a good time for a re post)

I was canning before canning was cool.

So, I’m trollin’ FB in the wee morning hours before the house awakens, and I come across this link  to an article shared by Confessions of a Pagan Soccer Mom. (she didn’t write it–she was just sharing it)

And I read the post written (which, if you don’t wanna click through, disparages women who “urban homestead” by suggesting we are hipsters with 1st world problems and a silly distrust of our national food safety, and that we have in a sense stepped “back” in our feminism by choosing to live this way) and i think, WHISKY TANGO FOXTROT?

So then I click through to the Washington  post article, (which was her original subject, which makes the “hipster” argument, but actually makes it sound cool–TOO cool) and I’m just gettin all worked up.

Because *I* am that woman she is talking about, and she’s not being very nice in her judgy assitude. (i’d love to take credit for that word–but someone used it in reference to this article, and I fell in love with it.  Consider it now a part of my vocabulary)

what plants would look like under my care…

I make bread.  I make jams and pickles and can them.  I spin and knit.  I make a lot of shit from scratch.  I sew clothing and other items.  I try my damnedest to budget and stretch my food supplies to live a life of less waste.  I recycle.

I do NOT however raise chickens. (but wish I knew someone who did) and I am a horrible gardener.  I try every year and it’s just sad.

I do these things not because of some moral imperative but because I consider it my job as a SAHM.   *MY* job–not your job, not her job not his job.  MINE.  I will willingly help someone learn anything I know, but I never expect anyone, ANYONE to adopt what I do.  I don’t do it for any kind of status (although I can be a praise whore about it–but I think we can agree that another issue entirely) and I don’t do it in protest or whatnot.  I do it because I can, and that enough for me.

But that’s beside the point, because it doesn’t matter why I do what I do.  Who the fuck cares?  Haven’t we had enough mommy judging?  I also sit my kid in front of the computer or telly sometimes (OK, a lot of times), and lord knows there’s enough flack about THAT floating around.

I mean, WHY, as women, do we have to constantly DO this?  I don’t care that a woman works outside the home bringing in money.  I don’t think she’s any less of a woman.  Nor do i find those who home school or are more “homesteadier” to be any better or worse than myself.  We all do what we do.  Do we judge men this way?

I’ll admit it: I get it, kinda.  I mean–we (women i mean) carry around this self-judgy shit that isn’t easy to throw off.

not really her kitchen. Hers is prolly cleaner.

Example–I’ve got a friend (I KNOW, right?) who is 1)gorgeous 2) skinny 3) GORGEOUS and 4) keeps an immaculate home.  I mean FUCKING IMMACULATE.  If she’s got dirt or dust somewhere, she must keep it in a secret fucking room where trolls live because I’ve never seen an out-of-place item or speck of dirt in her house.  EVER.

And when I see her house, do I think to myself–”what a lovely home”?  NO.  First thought is always “WTF am I doing wrong that I cannot keep house half as well as she does?  She’s got two kids fer chrissakes and I’ve only got one!”  Instant self loathing.  At least I am hating myself in a lovely space though.

(Really Mar–you are AWESOME, and seeing your home only makes me want to be a better homemaker.  And thinner.  Mostly just a better homemaker.)

So, it’s like we’re set up to judge and feel guilt when we feel we find we are not meeting some stupid self-perceived perfection mark.  And sometimes, we lash out at those who are doing such as awesome job.  Like hating on women who make their own bread because you never have.

Shut it! The both-a-yas!

Not to mention the fact that many of us feel guilt for either staying home or working outside of it because there seems to be this perpetual battle of “my mothering is better” on both sides.

I will admit that I feel guilt on a DAILY BASIS that I am not working (in the traditional sense), especially when we have to tighten the budget for one reason or another.  And this is after I work two jobs from home and spend a majority of my time in therapies and teaching my son.  I still feel guilty.

And there are moms who work outside the home who bring home the bacon, fry it up, help with homework and read bedtime stories and still feel like they aren’t doing enough.

We are thrust into this perpetual battle over the stupidest shit.  Is your kid alive? check.  Do you qualify for either “Supernanny” or “Hoarders”? No?  Then you’re doing ok in my book.

Not that my book even fucking matters.  Because my book only matters here, in this house, with my kid and husband and dog, and kinda the neighbors but not really.  And it really just irks me that women still feel they have to play this game.

[Do men play this game? because I am curious as to what y'all judge each other on if you do]

I really disliked this author’s idea that by living my life like this, I was “taking a step backwards” in my feminism.  (But I also dislike the idea that by doing this I am more of a feminist, as the hipster homesteaders tend to claim.)  And then she just had to make it better.

I made a fairly ubiquitous  non-comment stating some of what I stated here(without the cussing or name calling), wanting to point out that food dyes, at least in THIS house, are a problem, and that I try to control what my kid eats because of his Autism.  And I get this:

Carry on?  CARRY ON?

I realize she was just trying to be nice, but you know what I read with her words?  That condescending  nod and pitying look that says “oh you poor thing–the hardships you must bear!” and I wanted to cock punch the bitch.

(one might say pity makes me a little stabby.  If one wanted to get shanked, that is)

And what’s with the “close to  an autistic boy” shit?  it’s like saying, “oh, I have a black friend” in order to justify the bullshit coming out of your mouth.  You know someone with Autism, do ya?  what, did you stand next to a kid having a meltdown in a grocery store once? Did you watch Temple Grandin and now you’re all knowledgeable?

Am I overreacting?  Probably.  But if she can write a piece meant to get her some attention in order to stir up the pot and draw readers to her blog, then I can overreact and stir the pot back, right?

Pity sucks.  Period.  I don’t need her judging my life and I DON’T need her pitying it.

the only person from whom i’d accept a smidge of pity. But only if i am allowed an equal amount of jibber jabber

Now if you’ll pardon me, I need  to go start my bread dough and throw in a load of laundry and create a menu plan for the week.  And to stop reading blog posts from women who would NEVER  survive a zombie apocalypse.

You’ll recognize me during the apocalypse.  I’ll be the one enjoying a fresh slice of bread…

see that? THat bread right there? I made that. And she can’t have ANY. (mostly because we ate it all)

You guys–I may have figured it out.

Here I am, almost 42, entering peri-menopause and lamenting over the fact that I did not misspend enough of my youth.  I apply a nightly regimen of creams and lotions in order to hold back the creeping lines, and all in the name of youth.  That thing we were too cocky to hold on to when we had it, and now scramble for like free TV’s on black Friday.

But I’ve discovered the secret.  It was right in front of me ALL ALONG.

For months now, years really, I’ve been carefully gathering data and only the finest anecdotal evidence, in a triple blind study.  Disguising myself as a horribly pragmatic adult with seemingly mature decisions to make daily, and even going as far as producing offspring to further solidify my claims as a boring adult, I’ve been able to observe in all but pure invisibility, the actions and words of the seemingly young.  The Uber-hip yoga-moms with their large sport utility vehicles and non-GMO orange slices for soccer practice.  The virulent breastfeeders and their crunchy manifestos.  The sensitive fathers teaching their sons to pour tea before participating in group sob-and-drum circle.  I’ve watched them, I’ve listened, I’ve eaten their tofu and spirulina.  I have gazed upon their seeming agelessness in the face of crows feet, paunches and age-specific multivitamins and I’ve distilled their secret to one simple philosophy.

In order to be young, you must ACT young.

Now, I don’t mean the carefree joie-de-vivre of embracing life to its fullest–to experience the things you were never quite brave enough to do in your youth, to live so authentically that no one, not even the Dalai Lama, could doubt your sincerity.  No–that is far too complicated, and we all know that no one can actually DO that.  Why, it would mean telling the truth, and owning to your weaknesses and taking responsibility for you own thoughts and actions.  NO NO NO!  It’s much simpler!

You have to harken back to the days of high school, and dare I say it, middle or jr high.  When I say you must act young, I mean that you must adopt a lifestyle that is selfish, egocentric and maniacally dramatic–and the fountain of youth is yours for the taking!

And lucky for you I’ve got a guide here on how to achieve that level of adolescent immaturity!  This secret was entrusted to me by a team of German scientists, who have been studying Americans now for 20 years in order to bottle and contain this sweet youthful nectar.  They wanted to make sure the secret was seen by as many people possible, and so chose me as their viral ambassador.  Trust me–these five little rules will change your world.

1. Be confident.  Even if you are completely ignorant of a topic or situation, you have to BELIEVE that whatever you have to say on the topic is completely relevant and needs to be heard by everyone around you.  Do not worry about silly things like well-documented facts or scientific studies.  What is important is the contents of your mind and the volume at which you speak them.  If you are online, make sure you post your opinion multiple times in different places, even using ALL CAPS if no one will take you seriously.  Remember that whatever you think about the topic is the most important argument that has ever been made.  Do not allow yourself to be ignored.

2.  Do not, under any circumstances, use manners or polite conversation.  This goes along with #1.  If people cannot accept how you speak or what you say, then they are old and stupid, and it is your duty to name-call and curse at them, insulting their age, heritage and fashion sense.  People who cannot accept the language of the young are obviously 2 steps from the grave, and their opinions shouldn’t really matter.  Who cares about civil discourse or letting others voice their opinions?

subset 1:  never take other people’s needs or feelings into consideration.  YOU are the epitome of youth–and it is YOUR needs and feelings that need to be heeded.  I mean, if we had to go about being considerate of everyone’s feelings, you might never get heard or even noticed!

3.  Be offended and butthurt whenever possible–especially if you are being ignored or criticized, or if someone thinks differently than you.  The only thing more impressive than confidence, is the speed at which you can show you are hurt by what other people think about something of which you really have no opinion.  Especially if it has nothing to do with you at all.  Practice your disdainful outrage.  Perfect your puppy dog eyes.  Learn to threaten others with the oh-so-effective “I will block/unfriend you” argument that has been known to bring facebook followers to their knees in abject fear and horror that you will no longer pay any attention to them or grace them with your biased opinion.  Indeed, scour blog and facebook posts, searching for someone posting an opinion and think “how can I make this about me?” I’m sure you will find a topic or idea that you can tie directly to religion, politics or sexual orientation, and from there, you have your platform for spouting your opinion.  It may seem daunting, but I promise,  with a few ill-chosen words, you can prove your immaturity with very little work and garner a great deal of attention

subset 1:  being hurt if someone fails to compliment you.  If they cannot make the time to compliment your new profile picture, or how AMAZING your last post was, then you need to let them know how hurt you are by their lack of support.

subset 2:  accusing others of being immature.  remember–if someone strongly or loudly disagrees with you, they are obviously acting TOO young, and need to be reminded to grow up.  This needs to be said with confidence, and some disgust, to really get the point across.

4.  Tell people’s secrets and talk about them behind their back.  But not in a grade school way.  Try to remember the nuance of high school–don’t use people’s names directly, but be clear enough that people know who you are talking about.  Couch all this language in “concern” so that people don’t just think you are gossiping.  No–it need to appear that you are really “concerned” about someone and wouldn’t really “mention any of this” if you weren’t.  Chew your lip if possible, or type “*nervous laughter*” so that those who are listening in don’t think YOU are the bad guy.  This is an art–and don’t worry if you don’t grasp it right away.  You can always refer to rule #1 & #3 if the situation turns ugly and you are accused of gossiping.  And if that doesn’t work, make sure to comment on their sadly out-of-date hairstyle.

5.  The fifth and final trick to staying young is really the simplest:  NEVER think before you speak.  Simply blurt out the first thing you think without apology.  Be willing to ignorantly jump to conclusions without hesitation. Because remember–whatever you think is important, and other people have the right–no, the NEED to hear what you have to say. Maybe by spewing an offensive and unreasonable opinion, your youth will rub off on them, and you can bring the joy of youth to someone so old and mature that they would never THINK to say anything so ignorant or offensive.  It’s not only a way of life, its a method to force youth upon the unwilling and make them hip again!

These simple methods, along with listening to modern radio stations, shopping at Forever 21 and Hot Topic, playing sports that no one else your age is even trying to play and mismanaging any interpersonal relationships you may have, can bring you the joy and life purpose that only immaturity can bring.  AND?  You can legally drink!  Which adds a whole new level of inappropriate behavior to the five rules above.

Seriously, who needs botox?  If everyone adopts this behavioral regimen, we will be fresh faced with dewy optimism in no time, returning us again to the greatest nation status and the envy of every third world around!

For the finest of examples of this behavior, please look at Facebook, and most social media.  A few minutes in should make you aware of the masters of these methods right in your own social circle, and you too, can join the Youth Revolution!  See you there!

huh?  HUH?