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| Redesigning teen room, help. ? I would like my room to look like a mini art studio. I love those kinds of style. with like a gothic look to it but like not so dark with the colors, like a good contrast to dark and light. also with a lot of room, like I have a lot of crap and need to put it all away in a tiny room. oh and there is no budget so I can spend as much a I like. Please help! and thank you for your answers!! ps, I am also redoing my tiny *** bathroom, how should I style it? |
| Paint your room black and put a white stripe in it. In the tripe put your pictures in it awards or whatever you can also paint stars your room to Good Luck |
| Man in his 30s interested in younger teens? I recently found out that one of my buds who's in his mid-30s is into teenage girls. I am currently his roommate and the other day I found his stash of magazines, all of which pertains to young teens.. After speaking to some of our close friends they told me that he's mentioned numerous times about how 'cute and innocent' younger girls are, and that they have 'tiny asses' that apparently turns him on. They also noted that they believe he's been driving around the local high school. What I'm curious is.. should I ask him about this? This definitely weirds me out and I really hope he's not serious about any of this. How am I supposed to talk to him about this? |
| Pedophile. Report him to the police, that's just sick. It's one thing to believe they're cute in an adorable way, but stalking schools is over the top. YOU have the power to protect a girl from being abducted on a walk from her bus stop. |
| Why do people look at me with shock...? I'm a tiny girl..I hardly look like a teen, much less like an almost grown *** woman, I stand four foot- eleven inches tall with a baby face [curves being my only tell-tale sign of womanhood really] When I explain that I am highly independent now, and after soul searching have found the independance i almost lost, I am focused on taking care of me first [education, school, health] and helping others as much as I can as a very very close second [advice, a shoulder to cry on], I'm highly opininated, and I look at all things with logic, I express my veiws and opinions with little regard as to what others think of them and i live my life for me, not for what you or anyone else thinks of me...Tell me..Why am I met with a look of pure shock? Is it because I am young? Is it because I am wiser than my years? What is it about me, that take people by suprise |
| They look at you in shock because it's highly unusual for such a small person to have such a massive spot on their chin |
| Relationship problem/contemplating suicide: sorry it's long, please answer? I am a 35 year old man with modest mean. I have been married to the same woman for 5 years with 2 guyren. In my glorious high school days, I was considered archetypal “cool” guy. Needless to say, I had many girlfriends and developed a very high physical standard (very vain, I know) for the women I date. I had a chance encounter with a barely legal teenage girl a few months ago while I just finished dining with a colleague at the food court of a mall. She was clad in a low-cut spaghetti-strap tank top that revealed her midriff (and her belly button piercing) and a very tight and tiny denim short shorts that had a slight glimpse of cameltoe. She possesses none of the physical traits I desire. She was not slim, tanned, tall, or leggy. In fact, her legs are somewhat thick and her midriff/stomach is not flat. The only good thing about her is the top-shelf, perky breasts. I was quite annoyed when she started talking to me out of the blue, but found her to be quite interesting and engaging. (I unknowingly had an erection when I looked under her top.) I have to admit that I, not short of confidence, gained some weight the last few years and my hair has some early sign of gray. Meanwhile, my wife is becoming quite a bore especially after the birth of my guyren. She isn’t the hottest girl I dated either. I just thought it was time to have a family when I married her. Anyway the young girl and I exchanged numbers at the conclusion of our encounter and I didn’t think much of it. However, I couldn’t get her imperfect features off my mind. I called her 3 weeks later to arrange a meeting. She was short, cute, and innocent in her brunette ponytail and braces. Not only does she have the looks, she's got the personality to match. Again clad in sexy short shorts, I began touching her thick legs while I was driving. We drove to a remote area, had a few beers in the car. Then I took off her shorts, revealing her sweet little panties just covering the sweet tasty pinkness of her tight teen you-know-where. She looks like a bad little girl that I took over my knee and spank silly in her cute tiny little panties. Realizing she was wet, I made the naughty little girl to strip naked revealing her perfectly puffy nip, pretty tight pink you-know-where, and ripe perky breasts. Then the rest was easily predictable. Her tasty little *** and sweet squeezable perky teen t!tt1ies were too much to resist. Shortly after realizing when I had just done, I felt ashamed and manipulated, so I gave her a bare @$$ spanking until she started crying (and pee-ing). Before anyone accused me of being a pedophile, this girl is 100% legal. My question is: why am I attracted to such an imperfect girl? My ongoing relationship with her gradually became less dramatic and more predictable, yet I don’t want to leave my wife. This relationship doesn’t seem like the normal boyfriend-girlfriend, friends with benefits, or even re-living my high school glory days. What is wrong with me? I’m terrified. |
| ur cheatin on ur wife, and u ought to be ashamed. i think u should break it off with the girl, and tell ur wife the full story. you can seek counselling too; u need to be honest with her. after that, u can decide whether u want to end the marriage, or patch up. its gonna be hard either way. |
| Parents of teens? How do you deal? OK, Mother Nature. I G.E.T. it. Enough already. Having my first baby physically wrecked me, and emotionally meta morphed...scarred is so the right word. I've said before, that having guyren is like little bits of your flesh and soul running amok. Life as known before, never to return. But these teen years are just such a rough transition. One day you are gazing at your tiny bundle and catching your breath at that first hint of a smile, possibly gas induced grin, forever memorizing every wrinkle while they sleep heavy on your chest and worrying that you might break their fragile bodies... And the next you are taking away their cell phones, grounding their smart ***, worrying about the wrinkles you are getting and wondering if they will break you. One day you are sniffing the yummy fuzzy baby head, chewing on the chubby feet and rasberrying the chicken neck. The next, you are censoring the itunes purchases, confiscating the, "Converse that reek like unto cadavers" and taking away the car keys. And you were never so much in awe. And then you were never so miserable. And it's just fractions of seconds in-between. And then this Little bundle grew, and became independent, like you groomed them to be, like their supposed to. And this separation is just as painful as the birth separation...but longer. These painful labors are not hours, but years. And the Mom in me realizes that this is just another necessary step. But knowing doesn't make it easier or less painful. And holding tighter will only make it worse. And she'll be seventeen in less than a month, and I realize that she won't actually appreciate me for at least another ten years...and/or when she gets to experience little pieces of her flesh and soul running amok. Mom. And I have three more... |
| Wow, I agree. We have a 17 year old son, who really has been a sweetie -he's mature, kind, loving - but just can't help being a typical teen some days. And so funny you mention taking away car keys - I just did that Christmas Day when he left the house in a huff after being very argumentative. He took off in the car, not for long, mind you but when he came back he sat in the car outside in the freezing temps, and when he came in I asked for both sets of keys. Mostly, what we have is misunderstandings... from words. We both have to clean up our acts -- though I spent most of Christmas Day in tears over all of this. We really have been lucky with him, especially since he's our only guy, we made sure he wasn't 'spoiled'. He's really a decent young man. He doesn't smoke, has absolutely no interest in booze/drugs - he likes being the nerd he is, and his nerd friends! Thank goodness!!! It's the gentle balance right now of being parent not jailer. It was hard while he was learning to drive - knowing that was the biggest independence thing, and then letting him go out with friends, etc. Now he's interested in a particular girl, so that's what will be upcoming for us to deal with. But I still see the little boy in him - and I still get all the hugs and kisses I want/need... And it's very true about what you say about them appreciating us more in their 20s - I know that's how I was with my parents. All we can do is what we know best - to love them. |
| Ladies: Would you like a guy that is a jerk? Like a guy that is a bit of a smart-***, sarcastic, cocky, tiny bit of a jerk, talks about kicking *** a little bit, curses, isn't overly nice, etc. Nice guys finish last. Always....unless they are sexy, & in that case, they can act however they want, & still get girlfriends. But usually nice guys are the girl's best friend, or the girl just rejects them. Bad boys are what women want, however, I know a guy cannot be too much of a jerk, otherwise, he'll scare the girl off. So I am guessing the challenge is trying to balance out the bad boy persona & the good guy side as well. I realize being myself is important too, as it seems ladies can very easily sniff out fakes, & I would be myself. I do have an evil side like anyone else, & honestly, my more evil side is the more real me anyhow. ....I know there are a lot of teenagers on here, & I cannot stop you from posting, nor am I wanting to, as I realize there are very smart & mature teens who know A LOT more about love then I do%2 |
| A quick fix for that is next time you are getting dumped for being too nice just punch the ****** in the eye and ask her if she still thinks your nice :D |
| POLL: 2nd chapter to my book! (ITS NOT LONG!) read please and give advice!!!? I ask the flight attendant lady where my seat is located. She smiles and points to the right. “Right over there, Miss.” I make my way toward my seat. I hate how people stare at me as I pass them. I am not an endangered species, nor a celebrity. What is so interesting about me, anyway? Just a normal teen, making her way to her seat. Damn owls. My seat is located by the window. I am fully satisfied with that. I set my bag in front of my seat. I get cozy, and I stare out through the window. One last look at “trouble-for-me-ah”. California...oh California. Today was the last day of school. I missed it, of course. Considering the fact that I missed half the school year. The teachers are so used to marking me absent. In fact, it makes them relieved if I’m not there. I bet the principal got the day off today, there is no fun for him without my *** isn’t around. Who’s he going to yell at? Who’s referral is he going to sign? Who’s he going to chase out of the cafeteria at 250 miles per hour? Guess he better go return those brand new Nike shoes he purchased. He didn’t even get a chance to chase me with them. As people were getting seated, a man in his twenties, settled in the seat next to me. He flashed a smile as he sat down. His dirty blonde hair was slightly covering his dark eyes. He seemed like a nice guy. His strong cologne filled my senses up quickly. I was surprised women hadn’t chased him down the aisle. The flight attendants started to fill the aisles. They did the whole mine thing, where they motion toward the exits and show everyone where the oxygen masks are located. Sometimes I wish they would run out of oxygen and shut up, but that’s just me. I plug in my headphones and fade into a deep sleep. After I buckled my seat beatle, of course. * * * I feel something poking me as I struggle to open my eyes. I eventually open them and let the light in. It was Cologne-Man. A flight attendant looked at my funny. “What drink would you like, Miss?” she asked me, putting her head in my face like a turkey. She probably thought I didn’t hear her, which I did. “Alcohol....” I mumbled, looking the other direction. “Excuse me?” “Cola. Coca Cola, please.” I looked down as she poured me a cup. She handed it to me and moved down the two inch aisle. What a difficult, difficult job she has. I looked out the window, the plane had reached a high altitude. I drank my Cola and started to dig through my hand bag. Chap-stick, cell phone without a SIM card, a tiny photo album, a tampon, a notebook and a blue pen. My mom took away my SIM card, worried that I might keep in touch with my friends at Stillet High School. According to my mom, they are worthless human beings. I strongly disagree. I pull out the notebook, and grab the pen. I open the notebook up to the first page. I stare at the college ruled lines I being to draw a martini glass. The ones that have the olive inside. Right by it, I draw a marijuana leaf and a stupid looking cigarette. I look at the three, focusing on them. I wonder if Cologne-Man is eye balling my wonderful Picasso illustrations. I wrinkle my nose and I start to scribble on the martini glass, next the marijuana leaf and lastly the cigarette. I scribble so hard that I rip through the page. I was angry, I was lost, I scribbled my heart out. I started to cry. It was then when I realized what an ******** I was. What a daughter I was. Cologne-Man had his head back on his seat. Wouldn’t surprise me if he passed out from the smell of his strong cologne. His eyes were closed, and his lips seemed like they were smiling. He didn’t seem like he had much on his mind. I would give anything to be him. Anything. |
| While I was reading, I felt more like I was reading through the events of someones day, than a book chapter. I get nothing about the character, no emotion, no insight, just words and action. I can only speak for myself when I say, I feel nothing for the character. There is more to writing that describing a sequence of events, something has to happen, or the events have to progress the story or characters. I see places where character development could occur, but nothing happens For example, you talk about school, but nothing really comes from that. Why was she in trouble, why is she leaving, how does she feel?. You also talk about a man wearing cologne, is his character going anywhere? Is there a reason we are introduced to him in such detail? Your chapter could be longer if you added more detail, character development and story. Its a good start but needs a lot more work. |
| Ex-Girlfriend advice...? I broke up with my girlfriend of after two years (only 16 now) around 4/5 months ago I think now. It was or what I thought was a serious relationship contrary to the belief that teen relationships are only about physical attraction and whatnot. Anyway I loved this girl and I would've tried my best to do anything she wanted. But we argued alot, mainly due to me being an *** I believe but nothing really serious, I guess I was just a bit possessive because I was afraid of losing her (ironic) and she'd basically had enough of the arguments. She got another boyfriend almost immediately... I was crushed at first for a while but now I'm torn. I've been clinging on to some feelings for the better part of two months in pure desperation and hope that one day she'll want me back and realise how much I truly did love her. But part of me realises that the chances are very very slim of this happening too. Do you think I should let go or just hang on for that tiny chance as long as I can? |
| You can, remember anything is possible with the right attitude and hard work And if you have that second chance, don't take it for granted don't let her go You know how many men ruin their relationship with a great girl and ruin it and end up miserable because you found out that you need her? Yes next time you have a girlfriend or if you get her back Please don't be a jerk. Don't you hate learning the hard way? Yeah. . . me too Hang on there man |
| I've been writing this story. Any good? It is about a girl named AliceAnne Ryan (Alisanne with a unqiue spelling) who was moved to a foreign planet, called Micah, when she was about 10 for purposes that are revealed later. When someone whose close to her is hurt, she has to visit Earth, her home, to save her. While she is there, AliceAnne meets the boy she has been picturing in her head for her whole time on Micah. She just starts to get her Earth life back when something interrupts her's and her family's life. Here is some of the beginning. I don't want to add too much *There is slight swearing, but nothing that a mature person shouldn't be able to handle... just the regular words of teens **Oh, and it is narrated by AliceAnne if you don't catch that =] : I live on a different planet than Earth. I have lived on this planet, Micah, for too many years to count. I live with a few other people. Brandt, a tall, skinny black man, and Adam, a muscular man with pale white skin. Melissa, a petite teenager with curly black hair, lives very close by. I go to Melissa for any problems I have. As nice and Brandt is, and as funny as Adam is, I cannot trust them to give me good advice. “Pass the bread,” I shout for the millionth time to Brandt or Adam. Whoever happens to hear me first. I’m starting to believe that neither will hear me any time soon. “Brandt Joseph Benson! Adam Jason Morrison! I swear I am going to get Mel down here soon to whip your asses if you don’t pass the freaking bread!” Adam glances up. “You want the bread?” I start laughing (out of pure hysteria). “You are guyding me! Of course I do!” Adam slides the breadbasket across the table to me. I always sit on the opposite side of the table than Adam and Brandt, mostly because they drive me crazy, but also because they will find something about me to make fun of if I sit within five feet of them. I take a piece of bread from the basket. “Butter,” I demand. “Now, AliceAnne Michelle Ryan! Calm yourself just a bit!” That was Brandt. He’s just a tiny bit of a smart ***. I usually try to ignore it but I am in no mood today. “Pass the butter!” I hiss. “I’m hungry and I want to eat so give me the butter so I can go back to ignoring you guys and pretending that you don’t exist!” Brandt slides the butter to me silently. “Better. You two are going to work on being more polite to me from now on.” They erupt into laughter. Here on Micah, there are only supposed to be animals, but Mel, Brandt, Adam, and I all live here, too. I think there is more people somewhere, too, since none of us four make all this food and it doesn’t grow here, either. More people live on other parts of Micah, I think. I don’t know how we all got here, though. When I asked Brandt and Adam they refused to tell me. I turned to Mel and she told me that I was too young. Mel is eighteen. I am twelve. My birthday is July twentieth. Today is November third on Earth. Micah-time doesn’t include months, just days. Except days here are thirty-four hours. Mel taught me how to view my clock in Earth time. Some other people on Micah made the clocks. Apparently those clock-makers put Earth time on the clocks, too, but made them incredibly hard to find. It is two o’clock in the afternoon, EST Earth Time, or EET as Mel calls it. We run on EET for our official Earth Time because seemingly the first human here was formerly from somewhere in New York. Mel told me that I was first from New York, too. Rochester. She says that is very northern New York. Mel was from California, a state on the other side of America. I can sometimes remember my life in Rochester. Mel says that I had lived there until I was about ten, and then I came here. But I still don’t know how I got here. All of them, Mel, Brandt and Adam, refuse to tell me how. There is one face I remember. His face is pale… his hair is a dark brownish-black—it’s hard to tell what color his hair is in my last memory. He looks about ten in my last memory of him. His face is smiling slightly in my last memory. I wonder all the time what he would look like if he were angry or sad or excited or jealous or proud. I wake up and I immediately run to the window. I push back the curtains and peer outside. I love to just look out the window at Micah. Micah is full of flowers and plants and animals and grass and insects and everything nature-lovers adore. Out my window is the most gorgeous view: tall green grass, a large oak tree, moss smothering the huge silvery rocks, and dahlias and gerbera daisies everywhere. Wild animals, like chipmunks and cats, roam around. This is the most beautiful view I have ever seen. I am most definitely lucky to be living here on Micah. I’m sure Rochester is pretty, but Micah is just gorgeous. A light breeze comes in through the open window. It smells today like the dandelions sprouting in the shadows of the tall sunflowers with a hint of dew from the grass. Yesterday it smelled of the daffodils and the snow. Mel says that most plants can’t surviv |
| Okay what you already need to do is stop tossing facts out left and right, lay out a fact, and explain it a little bit. Don't just bam bam bam smack things into our face. Like this: "I live on a different planet than Earth. I have lived on this planet, Micah, for too many years to count. I live with a few other people. Brandt, a tall, skinny black man, and Adam, a muscular man with pale white skin. Melissa, a petite teenager with curly black hair, lives very close by. I go to Melissa for any problems I have. As nice and Brandt is, and as funny as Adam is, I cannot trust them to give me good advice." Explain your relationships with them. Explain why you moved, explain explain explain. Too often people don't explain enough. "Brandt Joseph Benson! Adam Jason Morrison!" I'm assuming those are middle names. And I happened to glimpse at another time where you do this. Why? We could care less what their middle names are, and it makes it seem like you're trying to give too many facts. “You want the bread?” I start laughing (out of pure hysteria). “You are guyding me! Of course I do!” It's only bread, why are you going crazy about it? :) “Now, AliceAnne Michelle Ryan! Calm yourself just a bit!” Again facts need to be narrowed down. Explain them throughout. "Mel is eighteen. I am twelve. My birthday is July twentieth. Today is November third on Earth. Micah-time doesn’t include months, just days. Except days here are thirty-four hours." again with one fact right after the other. Out of the sake of time and sanity, I'm stopping here. I don't mean to be over critical, but I really enjoy the story idea you have. If you just change these things up a bit and explain in detail, then I would more than likely find this enjoyable to read. Otherwise good luck. |
| How is the beginning of my story? As much critique as possible please.? It's for teens :) I must admit that this isn't the best I can do. I have done better but something about this doesn't sound right. lol. I stood in the show motionless. The now ice-cold water pounded down my back as I bent a little over staring at the mark on my ankle. My hands propped me up as I felt the slippery tiles. Should I tell mum? I contemplated inside my head. I couldn’t tell dad because he was away – he was always away on business trips. The cold water would have annoyed me and made me go crazy any other day. Not today. Today I welcomed the cold in as each miniscule ice droplet trickled off my back, my legs, and my long auburn hair. It had been bothering me for a few days now – the mark – but I just put a plaster on it hoping the mild burning sensation would go. The birthmark that I was born with on my ankle was small ever since a couple of days ago. I swore that it was getting a tiny, tiny, tiny bit bigger each day and the big C kept popping up in my head: Cancer. Wanting to get it checked out vs. wanting to tell my mum vs. I am losing my mind kept spinning around in my mind. A sigh escaped my lips. I could have a serious disease and all I could do was stand in a freezing cold shower and sigh. I should have whipped my *** out of the shower, downstairs into the kitchen and blurted it out to my mum. No. I should have blurted it out to my mum as soon as I knew something was up a few days ago. The birthmark itself wasn’t agony; it just seemed to burn more each day and grew in size. In the back of my mind I knew that I needed to go to the doctor and soon decided – after I hauled myself out of the showers and warmed myself up – that I was going to make an appointment soon. Soon never came though. Mum wouldn’t leave the house and she kept asking why I even wanted her to. She jumped to conclusions about my having a boy around – yeah right! I wasn’t going to tell her anyway that I was going to make an appointment – I’m sixteen and it’s private. Not that I couldn’t talk to mum or anything, I just feared the worse. Getting up early for school bothered me loads. No matter how many times I have heaved myself out of bed, or even gone to bed early, my eyelids protested against the sudden light flourishing in from the summer morning and I fought hard to close them again. But I had to get up. I had to get dressed. I had to make my way to school. I scraped my feet across the pavement while switching from song to song on my iphone. “At least I’ll only have to do this for a month or so,” I muttered to myself as I rounded the school corner and into the old school. Monday – first unit: Science. Crap, though I did have Lexie in my class – sexy lexie as we all called her. “You’re late, Miss Carter!” Mrs. Hetherington announced to the whole class who turned their heads towards me. Thanks Mrs. Hetherington for attracting the attention on me. Thanks! “I am aware of that,” I said. I say it daily. I am always late. No matter how early I leave . . . I’ll still me late. Heck, I could have left the night before and still wouldn’t be able to get to the school in time when it’s only half a mile away. “No need to have jip with me, Tessie!” she always hissed my name – ugh. I nodded and strolled over to my seat who had an ugly face in it. “This is my seat, Annabelle,” I huffed out and rubbed my forehead. I can’t do Monday mornings with double science and a burning ankle. She pouted and made her blue eyes surrounded by black go all sad. “Aw, is poor little wittle Tesssssssie all tired? Did you stay up past your bed time last night? And you know how I hate being called Annabelle. When will you learn that it is Annie?” Her face morphed into an angry one and she hit her own hand. “Naughty, naughty Tessie, mustn’t do that again!” “Alright Miss Pearl, I’ll handle this.” Mrs. Hetherington twisted her sag bowl of a head, powdered with make-up, over to face me. “Tessie, today was a collapse day on the seating plan. You would have known that if you listened to me last Friday. If you were here early, you could have chosen who you’d work with.” She pointed over towards Lexie who gave me an apologetic look. “Lexie, I would have assumed you’d sit next to. Now every person is taken up in the room. I’m afraid you’ll have to sit at the back and work on your own.” I blinked five times, rotated myself around, and heard Annabelle giggle as she got to sit next to Damien. Nah, he wasn’t that popular and he was an alright lad, but he definitely was the most popular in the class – excluding Annabelle. And no, I will not learn to call her Annie. When I call her Annie will be the day that I’d be friends with her. Now let me think when that day will be . . . I might have to check my calendar . . . oh yeah, NEVER! |
| should it not be 'bent over a little'? 'placed a plaster' 'i'll still be late' 'which contained a ghastly face' hmm, how old are you. i kinda get the same feeling you do:that something isn't right. if you want you can email me some more of your stuff and i can give you criticism. x0x |