How To Persuade Your Parents

This truly is one of the greatest skills I’ve developed in my seventeen years, and because I’m such a generous person, I’m going to give a few tips to help you teenagers out.

*Disclaimer: since I’ve only dealt with one set of parents, my tips might not work with everyone. But hey, they’re worth a shot.

 

1: Baby Steps. Never ever pitch the entire idea to your parents to begin with. Never. Always begin with the tiniest, least-threatening portion of your plan.

For years, my parents insisted that they weren’t going to let me get my license until I was seventeen, in order to ensure that I’d have plenty of practice driving with them before I was on my own. They had this terrible picture in their minds of me wrecking and dying, so they seemed to think that twelve additional months of practice would eliminate those odds.

Instead of immediately pushing to get my license at sixteen, I slowly eased into the idea. I already had a job, and I mentioned that being licensed would make getting to and from work a trillion times easier. I was running cross country, and it was a struggle for my mom sometimes to make sure I had a ride to and from practices and meets, so I tossed up the idea that if I were licensed already, I wouldn’t need to find someone to bring me home. With my mom’s work schedule, it was difficult for me to make it to early morning meetings for the various clubs and organizations I was in before school, so I suggested that being licensed would be really helpful.

Finally, my mom gave in and agreed to let me get my license before I was 17, but there were a lot of stipulations. I’ll get to that later, though. On to the next tip.

2: Pick The Easier Parent. You guys know the drill… if Mom says no, always ask Dad. If Dad says no, then go ask Mom. That’s how it was as a little kid, going back and forth until you got the answer you were seeking. But by your teenage years, you should know which parent will say yes, depending on the circumstances. Always start with that parent, and once they’re on your side, it’ll be much easier to drag their other half along for the ride.

In my case, I’m much closer with my mom than I am with my stepdad. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure where he stood on the case of my license, whether he was just agreeing with my mom or if he truly cared about my waiting ’til I was seventeen to drive alone. So, naturally, I worked on my mom first, and once she broke down and sided with me, she just filled him in on what was going to happen and things went pretty smoothly from there.

3: Compromise. Remember earlier, when I mentioned those stipulations that my mom gave me for obtaining my license? Here’s where I’m going to hit harder on those. Mom agreed to let me get my license, but told me I could only drive to and from work, to and from cross country, and that I could only drive to school on days I either had practice or a meeting before or after school. I was a little put-out by that at first, since I really was longing for the freedom of being able to drive wherever, whenever without being accompanied by an adult, but I know my mom very well. I know that if I let her think things will go according to her plan, there’s always a little room to wiggle around her rules later. And so, I agreed to her stipulations. Only months after I got my license, I was allowed to drive into town and to my friends houses. Today, I mention heading an hour or two away into the city with a friend, and my mom barely bats an eyelash. Baby steps and compromise work hand in hand in getting your way.

Another thing I should add is that I volunteered to pay for my driver’s ed class, which was two hundred dollars, and my mom really didn’t feel like paying for it. I’m pretty sure that by stepping up and responsibly saying “Mom, this is so important to me that I’m willing to pay for it in its entirety,” I really gained some brownie points.

4. Slow Extension. This, too, was already mentioned in my last point. At first, I had to follow my mom’s stipulations exactly. But slowly, I began extending the boundaries, and now, there really isn’t much of a boundary set at all. In a matter of months, I’m going to be eighteen, and I’m really proud of my mom for how well she’s doing with slowly letting go in preparation for the day I move out on my own. (Which is nine months away, for the record.) The idea here is that you need to slowly push your limits, and eventually, the limits will begin to expand.

5. Guilt Trips. Of all the tips I’m giving you, this is by far the dirtiest, sneakiest, most manipulative. It’s also extremely effective when it’s done properly. You can’t overdo guilt trips, or they’re annoying and make you look irresponsible (and when you’re trying to get your way, irresponsibility won’t help you out a bit). You also can’t entirely discount them from your plan of action.

In my own example scenario, while I was trying to convince my mom to let me get my license, I constantly hit on the fact that it was getting colder and darker outside, and that pretty soon walking home from work (even though it’s only about a quarter of a mile) was going to be dangerous and difficult. I also mentioned how terrible it was to have to wait an hour or more outside in the wind after practice or a meet for her to get off work and come pick me up (I didn’t mention that I sort of liked the quiet time to myself while I waited). Moms are compassionate. They love their babies, even if sometimes it doesn’t seem like it. That’s why this tip can be so effective. If my mom thinks for an instance that I’m too cold or that I’m too hungry or that I’m in some way not taken care of, she immediately wants to fix it and make sure I’m safe and secure. Hit on your mom’s motherly instincts and it’ll be a struggle for her to turn you down.

It’s important to note with this tip that saying things like “but mom, it’s not fair. All the other kids get to…” will potentially backfire and ensure that you do not get your way. Never use the phrase “not fair” or compare your situation to that of another child. And again, don’t over do the guilt trips. That’s also ineffective.

 

I wish you luck on your mission of persuasion.

What My Bedroom Says About Me

I was sitting in bed, attempting to get a few more scholarship applications done posting homecoming pictures on my various social networking sites, when I began glancing around my bedroom, and I realized that it’s been at least since last April that I actually cleaned my room. This sparked a curiosity that led me to Google “What does my bedroom say about me?” and the following is what I discovered…

 

According to the first quiz, I “become sad easily and am subjected to wild mood swings.” As much as I would love to brush this one off and complain about how terribly incorrect it is, I can’t. One minute I’ll be laughing so hard I’m crying, and the next I’m bawling my eyes out because of some stupid thing that a boy did. Classic teenage girl, eh?

The next quiz called me “Miss Messy!” and said that I’m “laid back, and I like my bedroom to show it.” This one is probably the most accurate of all.

My third result labeled me as “Hippie Chic.” Once I stop laughing at the utter ridiculousness (is that even a word?) of this one, I might have a real comment.

The next test told me that I’m “Sexy, Childish, Romantic, and Dreamy.” How a person can be simultaneously sexy and childish, I don’t know, but hey… I’ll take it.

Number five was a quiz I discovered on some teenage gossipy website, and it for some reason took what I said about the state of my bedroom and told me that I’m “Shy around boys and don’t really give off vibes when I like them.” I’m really not sure how they came up with that (and it’s actually really inaccurate), but I’m a little put out that the website seems to take everything about a girl’s life and lead it back to boys. That’s a rant for another day, though…

After that, I discovered that since my room is supposedly “bright and cheery,” I’m an “energetic and bright person who’s room only gets messy when gaming systems are left lying around.” I don’t even own a gaming system.

The final website I encountered wasn’t a quiz, but rather it was a set of slides that showed a picture of a bedroom and described the type of person who lives in such a room. I’m still not sure how I feel about the fact that my bedroom looks most like the one described as a “Teenage Boy’s Bedroom.”

 

Since there really wasn’t too much of a correlation between the answers I found online, I’ll give you a brief little description of my bedroom, and then you can tell me what my bedroom says about my personality.

My sheets and blankets and pillow cases don’t match–they’re all different colors and patterns because I use the first clean thing I find. I have piles of college mail piled so high on my desk that it’s practically impossible to see it most of the time. My shoes used to reside in a rack on the back of my door, but they’re currently scattered all over my floor, wherever I happened to kick them off. My dresser is overflowing with clothes, so I’ve taken to piling them in baskets and on my rolling desk chair and on the floor wherever I find room. On top of my dresser are dozens of body sprays and lotions and hairsprays and leave in conditioners and earrings and nail polishes and all those other things that girls have stockpiled in their bedrooms. I’ve got quotes and number bibs and ribbons from cross country hanging on my walls. Inside my closet hangs my prom dress from last year, and that’s also where I keep all of my books and bags full of clothes that I’ve been intending to donate for years.

So what does my bedroom say about me?

Dear Boys…

Dear Boys,

Why do you like me? Wait, no. That’s not how I wanted it to come out. That makes it seem like I don’t want any boys whatsoever to like me, and that certainly is not the case. What I really mean to ask is this: why do you never like me when I want you to?

When I make sure to shower and spend some time on my hair and dress like a girl and wear makeup just to impress you, you never pay me any mind. In fact, I can’t name a single time that I’ve actually made an effort to look presentable and gotten the attention of a boy that way.

No, instead, the ones who seem to fall for me are the ones who see me at my worst. The ones who see me with a red face, all sweaty and stinky after I get done with practice. The ones who’ve talked to me when I’m a vulnerable little wreck of a girl. The ones who I don’t touch my hair or makeup and only wear cutoffs and baggy running shorts around. Why are you boys like that? It just doesn’t make any sense at all to me.

What am I supposed to do here? It seems to me that showering actually deters boys. So is that the solution? No more showering?

Worth a try, I suppose.

Hate’s A Strong Word, But…

I don’t like to hate people. And I also don’t really like to gossip, because it just makes me feel bad. But I’m going to make an exception today. Except that I’m not going to mention names, it’s going to be a generalized post, so does that count as gossip? I don’t think so.

 

You know how they say that the longer you know a person, the more their personality influences your perception of their physical looks? For instance, if you meet a less-than-attractive person who is extremely sweet and bubbly, they instantly become so much better looking, and vice versa. It’s that inner beauty shining through, or in the case I’m referring to right now, the utter lack of inner beauty that shines through.

So there’s this girl I know, and she’s not the nicest person. I’ve stuck by her side, being her friend though. I mean, everyone else thinks she’s a rude word that I’m not going to say, so she really doesn’t have any other friends. Me, being the kind of person I am, I decided that I’d be there for her because I think everyone deserves a friend.

But then she stabbed me in the back, probably more times than I can count. And I’m talking big time, like starting a horrible rumor about me that lasted for three years, insulting me behind my back almost constantly, calling me her “heavier” friend (note: I’m not even remotely close to overweight, so who even knows where that comment came from), and insulting my family. It’s one thing to start rumors and insult me, but it’s entirely another to call my siblings names. That’s a big no-no in my book. But still, after everything she did to me, every time I was in tears trying to figure out what to do about her, I stuck by her. Because I’m a forgiving person, and everyone deserves a second chance. And a third chance. And a fourth chance. And a fifth chance, and so on.  And for some crazy reason, I thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d see that she was in the wrong and change. 

After a while of being good friends with her, I went downhill. I started gossiping, starting rumors, telling lies, and insulting people, just because that’s what she did. I for some reason thought that everyone loved her and that they’d all love me if I acted like her. (Again, back to my post ‘Perfection‘ where I mentioned that I’ve always cared too much what others thought about me.) She and I were the same. We were just as bad as one another. The only difference was that my conscious ate at me. I stayed awake at night trying to figure out why I was doing those things. I zoned out in class after being rude to someone, asking myself what made me do that. And then it hit me–once I was around her so long, she influenced my behavior.  As much as I had previously thought that I could change her for the better, that’s not what happened at all. That plan never works, whether it’s a friendship or a relationship, the good always turns bad if they’re in it too long.

So I told myself I was done with that ridiculous behavior. I was going to go back to my natural, nice self. A friend of mine was actually the catalyst for my decision to change when he asked, “when did you get so mean?” And he then proceeded to shake his head in disappointment and walk away. We haven’t really been friends ever since, though I’ve been slowly patching up that relationship. It hurt a lot to know that my behavior did me no good and in fact earned me the reputation of a, well, you know what word to insert here.

Slowly but surely, I reversed my wrongdoings. I apologized to people. I started smiling and laughing more (now people joke that I never stop laughing) and went back to my easygoing self. And I’m happy. Really happy. Honestly, being nice just puts you in a good mood.

I haven’t talked to the girl I mentioned earlier in almost eight months, and to be honest, I’m perfectly content with my decision to leave our friendship. The bible talks about forgiving someone 7×70 times, and you know what? I forgive her. I’m over what she’s done for the most part. But the bible doesn’t say that we have to keep putting ourselves in situations that can only bring us harm, so I no longer feel obligated to stand by her. If she wants a friend, she can turn to the dozen people who are just as fake and mean as she is that choose to associate with her on occasion.

Here’s the moral of the story: 1) if you’re good, stay away from the bad ones because they always influence you before you get to them, and 2) your reputation is dependent on that of your friends. If they’re known to be mean, you’re going to be known as mean. That’s just how it is.

Well, then. Glad I could share some hopefully enlightening words with you.

 

 

You Gotta Love Life…

Just kidding! That title is complete sarcasm. Let me start off by saying that I did not have a good day. At all. The only positives are that I had subway and my sunburn has turned into a nice tan. A farmer’s tan, but still a tan. At least that leaves me looking a little less like a vampire and a little more like a normal human being, right? Right.

Back to the negative stuff. Any of you guys ever dealt with someone making obligations and then not fulfilling them, so you had to step in and do their work for them? That’s my day in a nutshell, but it didn’t just happen once. No, it happened several times, and mainly by the same person. I have a really good work ethic. I can be lazy about starting something, but once I get into it, I work hard and the result is great. That being said, I kind of expect everyone else to be the same way.

Unfortunately, there seems to be a very small percentage of hard workers near me. That’s probably the most frustrating thing about my situation. I worked hard today (and I’ll continue to do so the rest of the week), but I had a little fun. It’s just that I was doing all the work while everyone else sat around and socialized instead of just finishing things up so they could go home. Grr. That’s my biggest pet peeve.

Whew! Anyway, now that I’ve let out an itty bitty rant for ya, I’ll get to what I wanted to end this post with: unfortunately, since this entire week is mondo-super-extremely-exceedingly-excessively-immensely busy for me, I probably won’t do much posting until Sunday. Maybe even Monday, since by the end of the week I’ll be so exhausted and frustrated that anything I post won’t be worth reading.

And so, I have a challenge for anyone who reads this and anything else I post! Using the contact form on my page or via comments below, give me ideas for future blog posts. It can be whatever, and I’ll try my hardest to write on it. Give me topics, ideas, questions about me or something else… whatever! I’ve got a page of ideas to write from already, but those are getting a bit boring, and I’d rather write off of a suggestion.

Anywho, I’ve gotta be up nice and early for yet another stressful day!

Dr. Seuss, You Were Genius

“Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for the wind to fly a kite. Or waiting around for Friday night or waiting perhaps for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance. Everyone is just waiting.” -Dr. Seuss

My First

I was seven years old when my second grade teacher assigned us the writing project that completely altered the course my life would take. We’d just finished reading one of those Farmer Brown’s Barnyard books. My teacher told us that we had to write an extended ending, and then promptly plopped down into the chair behind her desk and opened a book of her own to read.

The book’s story line is fuzzy to me now, but I remember that I enjoyed it. I always have been an avid reader, and even back in early elementary school, I jumped at the chance to get my hands on a new book. Writing, though… that was different. I’m sure we did some little assignments where we pasted a couple of sentences that were packed full of misspellings and grammatical errors onto a poorly drawn picture, but I can’t remember any of the specifics. That day, though, I decided that I was going to try my hardest to write an ending that would do such a great book justice.

Finally, after working almost the entire class on my ending, I turned in three full pages of writing. I imagine that there was a gigantic smile pasted on my face, since just thinking about that day makes me grin like mad.