Does anyone have a DeLorean I can borrow?

America's preferred mode of time travel since 1985

America's preferred mode of time travel since 1985

Perms.  Just Say No.

Perms. Just Say No.

There are so many things I’d like to go back and tell myself when I was in high school.  Some are minor, like “never get a perm at the Hair Cuttery” and “no one thinks you’re a bad ass just because you have a wallet chain”.  And some are of greater import:

Uncle Mullet.  Have mercy.

Uncle Mullet. Have mercy. Just because they do it on TV doesn't make it right.

That boy is not worth your tears. You know which boy I’m talking about.  The one whose folded up picture you’ve been carrying in your wallet for two years.  The one with the crinkly blue eyes who sounds just like Bon Scott when he sings and only dates cheerleaders.  In fifteen years he’ll hit on you at the grocery store, not knowing you spent four years mooning over him, and he’ll be buying a six pack of Schlitz and he’s going to still have that early 90s mullet and you are going to vomit a little in your mouth.  Dodge that bullet now, love.

Your parents are wrong. Not always, but a lot.  Don’t listen to them when they tell you that you can’t or shouldn’t do something you want to do–they’re wrong.  They are afraid because you are lovely and sensitive and they don’t want the world to eat you up and spit you out.  What they don’t know is that you are smarter and stronger than they’ve allowed themselves to believe.  Listen to your instincts first and their advice second.

Don't forget the J, the I, the M, the M, the Y, yo--I need a body bag.

Don't forget the J, the I, the M, the M, the Y, yo--I need a body bag.

Use condoms. Every time.  Even if you’re on the pill.  Even if he complains.  Even if you don’t have one with you but you’re really horny and he’s really cute.  Keep the junk under wraps, because you are one fertile bitch.

Just read the fucking books. When you read the Cliff’s Notes, you pass the test but miss the point.  The books are good, and you’re going to end up reading them anyway.  Do it now before you have a toddler clinging to each of your thighs.

Were mullets really this ubiquitous in the 90s?  I'm amazed we survived.

Were mullets really this ubiquitous in the 90s? I'm amazed we survived.

Your music collection sucks.  Seriously. New Kids on the Block?  Wilson Phillips?  C+C Music Factory?  Okay, you’ll still be listening to Nirvana in fifteen years, but don’t bother replacing your Michael Bolton tape with a CD–pick up some Leonard Cohen instead.

You are beautiful. And it has nothing to do with what you look like.


Bonus Uncle Jesse.

Bonus Uncle Jesse.

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