:: a letter to me ::

All of the clothes from your teenage closet (and for that matter your mother’s closet,) will be sold at Urban Outfitters in 20 years.  Keep them. Except the crushed velvet dress. Crushed velvet is always a bad idea.

That boy you’re obsessed with? The star athlete who will inspire endless games of MASH and whom you will giggle like a maniac around at every chance? He will tease you with flirting before true love waits rallies (or whatever other dumb club you joined because he was in it) for four years before dating someone who is skinnier, blonder and dumber than you from another school.  They’ll get married and when you see him at your reunion he will have far less hair and far more contempt for his boring life. You win.

Chill out already. Stress does nothing but give you ulcers and waste time. 

Be nice to the quiet, shy kids.  They’ll grow up to be some of the most interesting and successful people you know.  Or serial killers.  Either way it’s a good idea to stay on their good sides.

All of the geeky things that you love dearly and tell no one about?  They’re awesome. You’ll meet lots of awesome people who think so too.  But spending over $159 on the one ring to rule them all miiiight be a bit extreme.

Trust your gut more.  

Your parents do not have virginity detectors, nor will a scarlet A be emblazoned on your forehead if you choose to have sex.  That being said, waiting isn’t a bad thing, because it’s never special to lose your V card to a boy wearing a blue velvet cowboy hat and a beer buzz. Just saying.

Speaking of, your parents also know that you’re stealing their Miller Lites out of the fridge.  They’re being really cool about it, so do your dad’s knees a favor and stop dropping the empty glass bottles behind the hottub. Also clove cigarettes are disgusting, full of fiberglass, and will send your best friends mom into a “are you doing drugs you hippies” shitstorm.  The tie-dye skirts and attempts at dreadlocks will not help your case.

Be less critical of others.  We're all fighting our own battles. 

Stuffing your training bra to see what you’d look like with boobs is tempting the gods.  You’ll get them and they’ll be awkward, and boys will make inappropriate comments, your back will hurt, and you’ll wonder why anyone could ever want something hanging there.  But you’ll also get drinks at bars very quickly, so really it’s a wash. 

You will not be best friends forever with everyone.  But those few that do remain will be the best people you’ll ever know.  Treasure them.

The unplanned can result in magic (and Sara Bareilles tickets.)  Stray from the beaten path.

1 comment

  1. This is beautiful. (gosh I loved MASH)

    Erin, beingerin.com