Alright dude, first off, lose the Abercrombie, the epitome of perturbing awkwardness with pseudo-fashionable clothing rests in your every stride. Let me simplify that, you look like a try-hard. Maybe if you ditch the Abercombie tee, the American Eagle button down, with a popped collar, WITH A POPPED COLLAR, what goes through your head!? I am at loss for words now, cant even finish my thought, the fact that you assume, with any level of continuity that a pink button down would be okay ON TOP OF a pink tee that reads "A & F" in cursive infuriates me...er uhm...us. Whatever, I...uh...we? Alright, this irks me, I will just stick with singular pronouns from here on out. Anyways, the purpose of writing this does not come with bashing your dress game, although I still feel it stands as one of the main reasons. But, I digress, you see young grasshopper, you have much to learn, and in my infinite wisdom , I shall enlighten your feeble mind. Well, first off, I would like to inform you NOT to give that valentine to Kristin, you know, the blonde gal that sits two rows in forward, who always has a capri sun at lunch. Yeah well she will take the chocolate and throw your love note in the trash, but chin up, she gets chicken pox two weeks later, karma has your back, bro. On to more important matters, well actually, this may sound weird, but I thought that maybe you could give me so advice. See, I remember explicitly sitting in Mr. Faranacci's 6th grade class and pondering what I would look like, where I would live, who I would befriend, and what I might think of myself as a teenager, a big, bad, teenager. And, honestly, me, I do not quite know how grand and enticing the ever-thrilling existence of a teen really stacks up. Quite frankly, the things I would love to go back to a day when after my school schedules consisted of catching up on my Club Penguin account and seducing the ladies on AIM, after a quick snack of course. Now after school consists of homework, college applications, government applications for college, college scholarships, college, college college, and mom yelling at me about college. Sure, most of that has passed now, and second semester senior year has its perks but you get the idea. Point in hand, stressing about which pair of crocs you should wear to school (Crocs, oh my god, you totally wear crocs, I forgot about that, you need help child) as opposed to fretting about meeting deadlines that could ultimately decide your future for the rest of your life seems quite more amiable. Not to mention, you can still rock out to "Kidz Bop" without eliciting judgement, not that I still...I mean...uh...oh, and I guess one more quick piece of advice, stop caring so much about what people think of you. Do not quit the flute because that little urchin behind you said it was "a girl instrument". Do not deny the fact that you played Rooster Hannigan in "Annie" for the 5th grade play because you overheard someone say doing drama club "is gay", you barely even knew what that meant in 6th grade, kid. Do not take down the transformers poster you had in your locker because the kid next to yours took down his posters. Man up bud, take control of your life, live it how you want it, because if you make the same mistakes I did, and quit doing the stuff you thought was fun because other people did not think it had the same "cool" factor as their new bmx bike then you'll lose what makes you, you, even if you're individuality culminates in your stupid, god awful crocs. But all in all, rather than giving you advice, and preaching to you as if I know everything about the inter-workings of life, I guess I want to know something from you. Honestly, if you look upon my life, how I live now, who I am, well, would you be proud of me? Until next time, dude.
Seriously, crocs?
No comments:
Post a Comment