Teenage boys ...

I love my 14 year-old, Drew.  He's entertaining.  He see's the world through a lens of the immaturity of a 14 year-old boy sprinkled with adult sarcasm.  The two worlds don't always successfully merge, but when they do it's comedic magic.  Drew has one- liners he occasionally drops that are vastly innapropriate.  He lacks the finesse of adult maturity to drop these little bombs, but he's insistent they make total sense.  I have to bite the insides of my cheeks, often, to try and not fall into hysterical laughter.  The
"mom" in me will kick in thinking, "teach him he is totally inappropriate" while simultaneously being completely entertained by his humor.

Really? Gross.

I pretend to know what I'm doing, but the reality is I am totally clueless and along for the ride where Drew, my 14 year-old son is concerned. As I watch this person I call "son" navigate the rigors of the teenage world I am struck by one overwhelming thought, "how in the hell has the human race continued?" Girl world I understand.  The complexity of femininity I have somewhat mastered. It's intricate, messy, wonderful, and confusing the way a girls brain works.  It's like a constant chess game... and the Queen protects the King.  It's not a coincedance.  Boys?  Boys don't think.  I am convinced they never think, plan, and.or prepare like a girl.   

Beavis and Butthead ... not a genius "idea" from some random comedic mind.  Beavist and Butthead HAS to come from observing 14 year-old boys.  When Drew and his bestie get together I can swear they are snarking and snorting just like a bad B&B rerun.  The word boob makes them giggle.  Honestly. I am learning a lesson I thought I had cracked the code on as a teenager, and now I'm positive I was just as insightful as assumed.  It's a tragic secret making any and all moments of female teenage angst at the hands of some boy seem like a giant waste of energy. 

Attention, sing it from the roof tops!  Girls, teenage boys do not care.  They do not care that you care, they will not worry about dances and dates and calling you.  It's not because they are inhumane or cruel, they just don't care.  They are genetically backasswards and they can't help it. Justin Bieber (gross) is making a mint on making you think they care, they don't.  They don't want to be your "boyfriend", they don't dream about you at night, they don't sing love songs and yearn for your attention.

Case in point:  Last week I was cleaning under the couch.  I discovered a "note".  It was folded origami style into a beautiful whatsamijiggar sort of fold. It was covered in bubbly little letters colored "just so" with little doodles and squiggles, also "just so".  It had obviously taken the female sender alot of work.  The name in bubble letters was my son's best friend, Danny.  I had a brief 5 second pause about opening this gem and reading it.  Was this equivalent to reading a diary of private thoughts?  Of COURSE I read it.

Enclosed is the heart felt sentiments of some poor young thing pouring her heart and soul into her words.  It was a Taylor Swift love song sort of note filled with all the angst a teenage girl could muster ... followed by a "suggestion" that Danny come to a church dance.  Uh-huh.

Drew came home from school and I said, "uh, Danny left a note here."  Drew snatched it, read it aloud at the top of his lungs, started laughing maniacally, and squeeled, "I'm gonna make his life a living hell."  What?  Drew!  I asked Drew what in the world he was saying, Danny was his friend!  Drew casually responded, "Mom, it's what guys do, we destroy each other and build each other back up."  WTH special needs behavior was this nonsense?  He was insistent and entirely serious that this is how boys work. (Still putting on that extra coat of lip gloss? Rethink.)

Danny arrived at the house a few minutes later to "hang out" (note: when boys reach about 10, they no longer "play", they "hang out").  I said, "Danny, who's ..." and I said the name.  Danny turned about 20 shades of red and Drew squeeled, "ahahahha!"  Danny squeeled (like a girl), "what?!  I don't even like her!  Drew!"  Drew proceeded to turn on his friend right in front of my eyes belittling him to a nub of his former self.  Danny responded in kind, "what, Drew? what about YOUR girlfriend?!"  My ears perked up,"yeah Drew, what about YOUR girlfriend?"

Danny and Drew were both in hysterical Beavis and Butthead nervous, hysterical laughter at this point.  Drew was saying, "shut up, shut up!" and Danny was saying, "hahaha, no, no!"  Really?  Really?  Danny then proceeded to tell me about the "details" of Drew's recent break up.  My darling son, it would seem, didn't just "break up" with this lady friend. Oh no, he had to make her hate his gutts first.  I don't know what wierd sort of boy psychology this is, but it made perfect sense to Drew and Danny.  What did he do?  My dear son sent some ridiculous utube websites to his lady friend. They weren't graphic or sexual, just wierd.  When she watched them on her utube (whatever and however that works), Drew then proceeded to tag and report her for sexual content for said websites.  WTH.  WTH.

After being "reported and tagged" the lady friend had to apparently shut down and get a new utube page... and she told Drew to get bent (smart girl, he's my son, but what a little ass).  Danny and Drew could barely maintain control while telling me this story. There was no purpose, no reason, and it made no sense ... to me ... because I have a working uterus which apparently equivocates to a working brain cell or two while these two ding bats were working off of one shared brain cell. 

I tried to change the subject and ask them WHY they don't go to any "dances".  In the esslesiastical eyes of the law (same thing in Utah, there IS no separation of church and state), they are able to go to dances.  They are the magic age of 14.  As a girl, I remember 14 being the magic number.  14 meant you could go to dances.  Dances were important.  I was completely convinced boys thought they were important as well ... they don't.  Danny said, "dances are stupid."  Drew said, "we don't go because we don't want our scout leader to "roofy" us".  WTH.  I suggested to both of them that there were girls there and possibly date potential.  Both agreed with each other ... stupid plan.  They insisted dances were "stupid" nesting grounds for apparently being "roofied" by their scout leaders. 

Drew's school had an end of year 8th grade dance.  I only found out about it's existence because of an e-mail blast from the school.  I asked Drew.  "So, are going to the dance?"  His response, "uh, whatever, it costs $12 and I have to wear church clothes."  Suddenly it hit me ... there is an entire female population that has been planning this dance for months... and my son, the child these girls were spending hours and angst over focusing on buying the perfect dress, coifing their do's, and checking their gloss, could give crap one.